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The station feels heavier these days. Mornings used to buzz with sound, Jisung humming off-key in the locker room, Changbin shouting for someone to hand him his boots, Felix’s laughter echoing through the hall like sunlight breaking through smoke. But now, the walls seem to breathe quietly, as if afraid to wake something fragile.
Hyunjin sits on the edge of the bench in front of his locker, half-dressed, one boot unlaced, and the chill of the metal seeping through his shirt. He’s listening. He knows he shouldn’t, but the voices from the next room have that sharp, brittle edge that stops him mid-motion. It’s Chan and Minho. Again.
“He’s not ready, Min,” Chan says, his voice low but tight, like he’s holding back from shouting. “You saw the damn report. He still can’t stand for more than an hour without getting dizzy. His pulse spikes at random—”
“I know,” Minho cuts in, sharper, the sound of a locker door slamming punctuating the words. “You think I don’t know? But keeping him home’s not helping either. He’s crawling out of his damn skin.”
There was a pause, the heavy kind that made Hyunjin’s chest ache.
“He was stabbed, Minho,” Chan snaps, his voice cracking slightly. “He’s been hurt majorly twice in the past fucking year. He doesn’t need to prove anything to us.”
“He’s not trying to prove something,” Minho fires back, quieter now, but somehow angrier. “He’s trying to move on. There’s a difference.”
Hyunjin closes his eyes. He can picture Chan standing there with his arms crossed, every muscle locked, and Minho glaring, shoulders tight, too proud to admit they’re both right and wrong at the same time. It’s been like this for weeks, the push and pull between wanting to protect Felix and wanting to let him breathe.
He remembers the first time he saw Felix awake after the mall, pale, shaking, and his voice hoarse when he whispered, “I thought I was never gonna see you again, Hyune.” That memory still catches in Hyunjin’s throat like smoke.
The voices quiet, then murmur again, lower now. He’s just about to stand, pretending he never listened, when the sound of a door opening slices through the tension.
“Morning, hyungs,” Felix’s voice calls, warm but thin, like sunlight through dirty glass. “You guys arguing already? You’re worse than Jisung and Binnie before caffeine.”
Hyunjin turns, and there he is, small against the metal lockers, a bakery bag in one hand, and a uniform shirt hanging just a bit too loose around his frame. He’s still too pale, still moves like his body hasn’t fully decided it’s healed. There’s a faint bruise peeking out from under his collar, the kind that lingers long after the others fade. But his smile is bright, unwavering, and for a moment, Hyunjin forgets how to breathe.
Chan freezes, guilt flashing across his face before he schools it into something softer. Minho just exhales, jaw working as if he’s biting back everything he wants to say.
Hyunjin sees it all happen in a second, Felix catching their silence, the way his smile falters just barely before he recovers and pretends not to notice. And Hyunjin hates that look, that mask Felix has learned to wear, one built form politeness and self-preservation.
He moves without thinking. “Hey, Bok,” Hyunjin said quickly, stepping forward, his voice light like it’s nothing. “Come help me for a sec, yeah? I forgot how to work the coffee machine again.”
Felix blinked, surprised. “You always forget how to—”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m hopeless,” Hyunjin interrupts, slinging an arm around his shoulders and steering him toward the kitchen. “Come on before Chan-hyung tries to brew motor oil again.”
Felix laughs, a quiet, breathy sound that eases something tight in Hyunjin’s chest. He leans into the touch, not enough to hurt, just enough to say thank you without words. As they leave, Hyunjin glances back once. Chan’s watching them, eyes dark and heavy with something between guilt and fear. Minho catches Hyunjin’s gaze, and for a split second, they understand each other perfectly. Take care of him.
The kitchen smells faintly of burnt toast and disinfectant. It’s small, two tables, a coffeepot that wheezes when it brews, and a corkboard covered in shift schedules and bad jokes. Felix sets the bakery bag down and starts unpacking muffins while Hyunjin fumbles with the filter like it’s the most complicated machine in the world.
“You don’t have to distract me, you know,” Felix says after a moment, voice soft, almost teasing. “I heard them.”
Hyunjin winces and tries for a laugh, but it comes out thin. “Yeah, figured you might’ve.”
“They’re just worried,” Felix murmurs, breaking a muffin in half. “I get it.”
Hyunjin looks at him, really looks. The way his fingers tremble slightly as he sets down the muffin. The faint circles under his eyes. The way his shoulders stiffen every time a door opens somewhere down the hall.
“They’re worried because they love you,” Hyunjin says quietly.
Felix smiles then, that same tired, stubborn smile he’s been wearing since the hospital. “I know. But if I stay home any longer, I’m gonna forget who I am. I need this, Hyune. Even if it’s just answering phones and filing reports. I miss the sound of the sirens, even if I can’t chase them yet.”
Hyunjin nods, because there’s nothing else he can do. The truth it, Felix looks fragile, but he sounds alive, and maybe that’s the cruel part of healing, how it can make people look whole long before they actually are.
They carry their coffees back to the front, the morning light spilling through the big bay windows and catching dust in the air like floating ash. Felix sits behind the desk, the old familiarity of the space wrapping around him like a blanket. His nameplate gleams faintly under the light. He hums as he types, the melody soft and familiar.
Hyunjin lingers in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame, watching him. For a moment, it’s easy to pretend nothing ever happened. Felix’s hair is brushed neatly back, his uniform crisp again, and there’s a faint curve at the corner of his mouth as he scrolls through the call logs. But even from here, Hyunjin can see the slight tremor in his fingers and the way his left leg bounces unconsciously beneath the desk.
Across the bay, Chan claps his hands once, his voice cutting through teh stillness. “Alright, team, morning checks. Let’s get through it before the phones start ringing.”
The sound jolts everyone into motion. Minho’s already pulling open the supply cabinets, muttering under his breath as he counts IV kits. Jisung’s rummaging for the clipboard he definitely lost yesterday. Seungmin starts scribbling on a maintenance chart with his meticulous neatness as Jeongin checks through the trucks’ compartments. Changbin rolls his shoulders and starts testing the lift harness, muscles flexing against the fabric of his shirt.
And Felix—of course Felix—immediately gets up from the desk.
“Hey,” Chan says sharply, turning from where he’s inspecting the engine bay. “You’re not supposed to be—”
“I’m not lifting anything,” Felix interrupts quickly, grinning as he brushes a stray crumb from his muffin off the desk. “Just checking the med kits. Sitting still all morning will make me go crazy.”
Chan sighs, dragging a hand over his face, the exasperation barely disguising the worry in his voice. “You’re supposed to recover, Lix. Not reorganize our trauma bags for fun.”
Felix tilts his head, that familiar teasing spark glinting in his eyes. “Who said it’s not fun?”
Hyunjin bites back a smile. It’s such a Felix answer, the kind that makes the world feel normal again for a split second.
Chan opens his mouth, then shuts it, clearly losing the argument before it starts. “Fine,” he mutters, defeated. “Stay near Minho. And if you start feeling dizzy, you sit. Got it?”
“Yes, Captain,” Felix says sweetly, with just enough sarcasm to make Chan’s ears turn pink.
A bit later, Felix is kneeling beside one of the ambulances, prying open the supply drawer with practiced ease. His fingers move gently, tracing the labels, counting compresses and saline packs. His brows furrow slightly in concentration, a look Hyunjin knows well, one that usually means this is my safe place.
Minho glances down from the opposite side of the stretcher, his clipboard under one arm. “You shouldn’t be on your feet this long,” he mutters.
Felix smiles without looking up. “I’m not on my feet. I’m kneeling.”
“That’s not better,” Minho replies flatly.
“I’m fine,” Felix says automatically, and Hyunjin hears how practiced that word has become.
Chan moves between trucks, clipboard in hand, pretending to focus on maintenance reports, but his eyes flick toward Felix every few seconds, never straying for long. There’s a quiet pull between them, a gravity that doesn’t need words.
Felix leans back on his heels, stretching his arms, and the sleeve of his shirt slips just enough for the morning light to catch on the pale scar across his forearm, faint now, but still there. Chan’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“Hey!” Jisung calls from across the bay, grinning. “You two look domestic as hell over there.”
Felix blinks. “Two?”
Jisung smirks, gesturing loosely between Felix and Chan. “Yeah. You—crouched like some over-eager nurse—and Captain Hover over here, pretending to check tire pressure while watching your every move. It’s giving newlyweds.”
Chan nearly drops his clipboard. “Jisung—”
“Oh, come on!” Changbin laughs, tossing a wrench onto the worktable. “You can’t blame him for hovering. What was it you said when he woke up again, hyung?”
Felix’s head jerks up. “Oh no.”
Jeongin pauses mid-step, curiosity piqued. “Wait— what did he say?”
Jisung’s grin turns devilish. “Oh, you don’t remember? Our fearless Captain here—”
Chan groans. “Don’t—”
“—was sitting by Felix’s hospital bed, right? Freaking out, looking like he’d been through a blender, and the second Felix opens his eyes, the very first thing out of his mouth is—”
Felix, laughing with his embarrassment, supplies it softly: “I love you. I love you so much. Will you marry me?”
The room erupts.
Jisung is doubled over, wheezing. Changbin slaps the side of the truck for balance. Even Suengmin looks up from his checklist, expression deadpan but eyes bright. “Efficient,” he says dryly. “Got all the emotions and the proposal out in one sentence.”
Chan groans, covering his face with his hand. “I was emotional! He’s just— I thought I was losing him, and then he—”
Minho chuckles, his voice softer than the others. “We know, Chan-ah. Everyone was scared as hell that day.”
Felix looks over his shoulder, cheeks flushed pink but eyes shining. “You meant it, though, didn’t you?”
Chan freezes, hand still half-covering his face. He lowers it slowly and meets Felix’s gaze. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Every word.”
Felix smiles then, small, soft, and utterly sincere. “Guess I should start looking at rings then.”
Chan exhales a shaky laugh, crossing the space between them to press a brief kiss to the top of his hair. “One day, yeah?” he murmurs, voice almost too low for the others to hear.
Hyunjin watches, the sight lodged somewhere deep in his chest, the kind of love that’s both fragile and immovable, the kind that survived blood and sirens and fear. The others pretend to busy themselves again, but everyone’s smiling now, the kind of smiles that only come from relief.
The laughter lingers as they fall back into routine. Minho checks tanks. Changbin tests hoses. Jisung logs reading into the tablet, humming under his breath. Seungmin calls out inventory numbers. Jeongin gets out of helping because no one can say no to their maknae. And through it all, Felix moves slowly, methodically, re-labeling the trauma bags and double-checking expiration dates. Every few minutes, someone passes by and hands him something: a bottle of water, a clipboard, a look that says we’re here if you need us.
Hyunjin finishes the extinguisher inspection and glances up just in time to see Chan standing behind Felix again, a hand hovering just above his back but not touching, close enough to help if Felix wobbles, but far enough not to crowd him. It’s an instinct, one Chan can’t seem to unlearn.
Felix turns slightly, catching him. “You can relax, you know.”
Chan smirks faintly. “Not a chance.”
Felix shakes his head, smiling. “You’re impossible.
“Yeah,” Chan says softly, his voice turning tender. “And you’re back. That’s all I need.”
Felix smiles at him, small and shy, the kind that trembles a little at the edges. His fingers toy absently with the clipboard, and the light catches the gold in his hair. For a moment, teh whole world feels suspended in that quiet, the hum of the ventilation system, the faint squeak of boots against the floor, and the soft metallic ring of a wrench somewhere in the bay.
Then the alarm blares.
The station’s peace shatters in a single sound, a shrieking tone and flashing red light flooding the room. The air changes instantly, the laughter gone, replaced by adrenaline and urgency.
“Structure fire,” Seungmin shouts, already at the control panel. “Commercial, multiple floors with heavy smoke showing!”
Chan’s head snaps up, his posture shifting from soft to steel. “Let’s move!” His voice carries through the station like a commandment.
Minho’s already on his feet. Changbin throws down his wrench. Jisung and Seungmin are sprinting towards their gear, Jeongin right behind them.
Felix jolts—the sound, the movement, the muscle memory—and before he can stop himself, he’s halfway to the lockers, eyes bright and breath quick. He reaches for his gear hook—for the helmet that isn’t his anymore—and the realization hits him like a punch to the chest. His hand stops mid-air, and the color drains from his face, replaced by the hollow ache Hyunjin’s seen too many times in recovering firefighters, the moment when instinct collides with reality.
Chan catches the motion out of the corner of his eyes. He hesitates, one glove half-pulled on, the urge to run warring with the instinct to stay. But Felix forces a smile before he can say anything.
“Go,” he says softly. “There’s people to save.”
His voice is light, but his eyes are heartbreakingly empty in that second.
Chan swallows hard, then nods once. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”
Felix nods, that little smile still trembling on his face. “Be safe, hyung.”
Hyunjin’s chest tightens. He can’t imagine what it feels like, hearing the alarm, feeling the pull of the job in your bones, and knowing you can’t answer it.
As the others rush past, they each leave a small piece of themselves with Felix. Minho claps his shoulder. Changbin mutters, “Keep the coffee warm, yeah?” with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Jisung waves his helmet over his head as he runs by, shouting, “Don’t eat all the muffins without me!” Seungmin offers a quiet, “don’t overwork yourself.” Jeongin pauses just long enough to squeeze Felix’s wrist, his eyes wide and worried. “We’ll be back soon, hyung.”
Felix squeezes his hand back. “I know. Go get ‘em.”
Then they’re gone, the bay doors rolling open with a thunderous groan, the trucks rumbling to life, and the flashing red lights painting the walls as the engines roar out into the street.
-
The world is a blur of smoke and heat when they arrive on scene.
Flames roar from the upper floors of a sprawling industrial complex, thick black plumes clawing at the morning sky. The air is alive with motion, sirens, shouting, the hiss of water against fire. Sparks dance through the daze, orange and furious.
Chan jumps from the cab before the truck fully stops, mask already in hand. “Bin, you’re with me on primary!” he barks. “Minho, Hyunjin—medical and search support, side entrance! Jisung, Seungmin, Jeongin—back perimeter, check for trapped civilians, and watch your exits!”
“Copy that!” Hyunjin shouts back, the heat licking at his gear even from here.
They move like a machine, practiced and wordless, every movement born from muscle memory and trust. Hyunjin feels the rush of adrenaline flood his veins as he grabs his line and follows Minho into the smoke, visibility dropping to near zero.
The air tastes like ash. The word narrows to sound and instinct, radio chatter cracking in his ear, teh crackle of collapsing beams, and the dull roar of the inferno above them.
“Left side clear!” Minho yells.
“Copy! Moving forward!” Hyunjin replies, the words muffled behind his respirator.
They find a man collapsed near a doorway, his arm burned, and coughing violently. Minho kneels immediately, checking his vitals. Hyunjin steadies him, hauling the man up under one arm and guiding him toward the exit where paramedics are waiting.
Outside, the firelight paints everything in shades of red and orange. The ground steams where the water hits it.
Chan and Changbin emerge from the far side, soaked, faces streaked with soot. Jeongin is carrying a child out, wrapped in his jacket with Seungmin right behind him, usually calm face grim and focused.
“Get medics over here!” Chan shouts, waving down a nearby team. His voice is raw from yelling over the roar of the fire.
Hours seem to pass before the flames finally weaken under the combined assault of four companies. The last of the smoke curls upward, turning the air heavy with damp heat. The world goes quiet again, the kind of silence that only comes after chaos.
Hyunjin yanks off his helmet, sweat and soot mixing on his skin. His arms feel heavy, his lungs ache, but they’re all standing. That’s what matters.
Chan leans against the engine, chest heaving, wiping soot from his mouth with the back of his glove.
That’s when a voice calls through the haze, bright, familiar, and out of place in teh wreckage.
“Bang! Stray Kids 143, long time no see!”
Hyunjin looks up as Haechan from Station 127 strides toward them, gear half-unzipped, and helmet hanging from his hand. He’s grinning, all teeth and confidence, the same as ever.
Chan’s face brightens despite the exhaustion. “Haechan! Damn, it’s been a while.”
“Good to see you alive, man,” Haechan says, clapping him on the back. “Heard about the mall. Hell of a situation. Glad your medic’s pulling through.”
Chan nods, voice low. “Yeah. He’s getting there.”
“Hey,” Haechan continues, glancing around the rest of them, “how are your new recruits fitting in?”
Hyunjin blinks, brow furrowing. “Our what?”
Haechan looks surprised. “Your new guys. Word at dispatch is you got three replacements, mid-level transfers from the south district. Said they were to coer the gap while your medic’s on desk duty.”
Hyunjin glances at Chan, confusion tightening his chest. “We don’t have any new recruits.”
Haechan raises a brow. “Seriously? That’s weird. Thought you’d have met them by now. Maybe admin’s just slow with the paperwork. You know how it is.”
Before Hyunjin can press him further, Jeongin steps forward, wiping a streak of soot from his cheek. “Felix is doing well,” he says quickly, his voice steady but cautious. “He’s been on desk duty for a few days now. Adjusting, but he’s happy to be back.”
Haechan’s grin softens. “Good. Tell him 127’s rooting for him, yeah?”
Jeongin nods, and the other firefighter gives a mock salute before heading back toward his team.
Hyunjin watches him go, unease curling low in his gut. He walks over to Chan, who’s still frowning slightly, eyes scanning the smoking building like it might give him an answer.
“Hyung,” Hyunjin says quietly, “did you hear that? About new transfers?”
Chan turns to him, expression hardening in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Haechan-hyung said we’ve got three new firefighters assigned to our house, replacements for Felix.”
Chan blinks. “That’s the first I’m hearing of it. Nobody told me a damn thing.”
Before Hyunjin can respond, Seungmin’s voice cuts across the clearing. “Cap! We’re being called back to the house!”
Chan’s head snaps up. He and Hyunjin lock eyes, the same unspoken understanding that comes before every storm.
Chan exhales slowly, tossing his helmet into the truck. “Let’s move.”
They pile in, exhaustion setting in beneath the adrenaline, the city rolling past in blurs of gray and sunlight. The faint smell of smoke clings to their gear, seeping into everything.
Hyunjin stares out the window, mind replaying the morning, Felix’s hopeful smile, his hand frozen halfway to his locker, and that quiet, be safe, hyung.
He wonders if Felix is still sitting at that desk, waiting for the sound of the engines to come home.
And as the sirens rise again, wailing into the bright sky, Hyunjin can’t shake the feeling that something—whatever waits for them back at the firehouse—has already started to burn.
-
The truck bay is still glowing orange when they return, the heat of the morning sun mixing with the smoke that clings stubbornly to their gear. The engine hums low as it backs into the bay, the hiss of brakes loud in the stillness. Steam rises off their jackets, curling around them like ghosts. None of them speak at first. The only sounds are the clang of metal, the muffled coughs, the hollow scrape of boots on the concrete.
Hyunjin’s fingers ache as he unclips his helmet. His hair sticks to his temples, his throat feels scorched, and every breath tastes faintly of ash. The fire had been a bad one—too big, too hot, too long—and now the weight of fatigue hangs over all of them like a heavy fog.
He blinks blearily toward the front of the bay, instinctively searching for the desk, for the small, steady shape of Felix waiting there. He half expects to see him already standing, coffee steaming in his hands, that tired but bright smile ready to greet them home.
But the desk is empty.
The chair is tucked neatly in. The mug sits on its side, the dregs cold and dark. A half-finished report lies under a pen that’s rolled too close to the edge.
Hyunjin frowns faintly, something uneasy twisting in his stomach. Felix had promised to stay in the station today, maybe even take a nap between calls. The silence feels heavier without him.
Across the bay, Chan steps down from the rig, gear still half-fastened, face drawn tight with exhaustion. He’s about to speak when the sharp echo of footsteps draws everyone’s attention.
The Chief walks in then, immaculate as always, posture straight and uniform crisp. The sight alone changes the air in the room, and conversations die mid-breath.
“Captain Bang,” the Chief says, his voice clipped and formal. “A word.”
Chan blinks, confused. “Sir? We just got—”
“Now,” Chan hesitates only a second before nodding, hanging his helmet on a hook. He looks back at the rest of them, the faintest flicker of apology crossing his eyes, then follows the chief down the hall and out of sight.
The station settles into an uneasy quiet. Minho exhales slowly through his nose and starts stripping off his jacket, muttering something about debriefs. Changbin wipes soot from his hands with a towel, face unreadable. Jisung drops heavily onto a bench, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Seungmin’s flipping through the report clipboard he pulled from the truck, more out of habit than interest. Jeongin sits cross-legged beside his gear, quietly cleaning his gloves with a rag, his movements small and methodical.
No one talks much. It’s that familiar kind of silence, the one that feels like it’s waiting for bad news.
It doesn’t take long to come.
Ten minutes later, the intercom crackles to life, the static cutting through the stillness like a blade.
“All firefighters, report to conference room A immediately.”
Every head lifts. No one says a word.
Hyunjin can feel something crawling under his ribs, sharp and uneasy. They’re too tired for this. Too raw. Whatever this is, it won’t be good.
They walk down the hall in a slow, heavy line, the sound of their boots echoing against the tile. The hallway smells faintly of smoke and cleaner, like the scent has seeped permanently into the walls.
When Hyunjin steps into the conference room, the first thing he notices isn’t the chief. It’s Felix.
He’s sitting at the far end of the table, his back to the door, shoulders tense. He’s talking softly—laughing, even—but not with them. Three strangers stand near him, unfamiliar faces in perfectly pressed uniforms, turnout jackets slung over their arms. Felix’s laugh catches when he sees the rest of the squad walk in. It falters instantly, replaced by something small and stiff, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Hyunjin stops in the doorway, confusion slicing through the fatigue. Chan stands beside the Chief at the head of the table, his expression tight; not angry yet, but close.
“Good,” the Chief says, his tone efficient and cold. “You’re all here. Let’s get started. I know it’s been a long morning for everyone.”
He glances down at his clipboard, as if this is just another procedural update. “As of 0900 hours, this station is officially hosting three new temporary transfers. Firefighters Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Jung Hoseok will be joining House 143 for operational coverage until further notice.”
Silence.
The words don’t register at first. Hyunjin’s brain feels slow and fogged. Then he sees it, the gleaming new patches on their sleeves, the way their gear bags rest beside the wall, and the faint smell of clean leather that never lasts longer than the first real fire.
Chan’s voice cuts through the quiet, controlled but strained. “With respect, sir, I wasn’t told about any transfers.”
“You’re being told now.” The Chief doesn’t even look up from his notes. “The department made the decision this morning. Personnel redistribution for efficiency and coverage. You’re short-handed in the field.”
Chan’s jaw flexes, the muscles in his neck tensing. “Sir, we’re not short-handed. My team is fully operational.”
The Chief finally looks up. His gaze flicks briefly toward Felix, not unkind, but clinical and impersonal. “Your medic is on restricted status,” he says simply. “You’re down one active firefighter. These men will fill that gap.”
Felix flinches like the words physically strike him. He looks down quickly, his hands twisting in his lap. The light catches the faint line of the scar alone his wrist, a reminder of everything he fought to survive, now reduced to a scheduling issue.
Hyunjin’s stomach twists. Around him, the others shift, Minho’s fingers flex into a fist, Jisung bites the inside of his cheek, and Seungmin is staring hard at the floor.
The Chief continues, oblivious to the tension. “Kim’s transferring from 115--specialized in high-rise operations. Min’s a certified EMT, excellent field medic support. Jung comes from 133, commendations for technical rescue and rapid intervention. You’re gaining experience here, Captain Bang. This arrangement benefits everyone.”
He turns slightly towards the new men. “Gentlemen?”
Namjoon steps forward first, his movements calm and deliberate. “We’re honored to be here,” he says smoothly, bowing his head. “We’ve heard a lot about this station.”
Yoongi’s voice follows, deeper, careful. “We’ll do our best to contribute, sir.”
Then Hoseok, bright, grinning, and easy. “Happy to be on board. Hope we’re not stepping on any toes.”
Felix forces a small laugh at that, quiet and unsure. “You’re not,” he murmurs, though his voice sounds thin in the air. “You’re just… helping out. Right?”
Chan doesn’t answer. His eyes are fixed on the chief, dark and unreadable.
“Orientation starts tomorrow,” the Chief says finally, tucking the clipboard under his arm. “Get them settled, Captain. And make sure everyone remembers they’re on the same team.”
Then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving a silence so thick it feels like pressure in the air.
Felix doesn’t move. His hands are clasped too tightly in front of him, knuckles pale. The three newcomers stand awkwardly, glancing between one another and the rest of the squad.
Finally, Minho breaks the silence, his voice even but heavy. “You three know you’re filling someone’s spot, right?”
Hoseok blinks. “We were told you needed the manpower,” he says, confusion flickering across his face.
“Yeah,” Jisung mutters under his breath. “That’s one way to put it.”
Felix’s head jerks up. “Stop,” he says softly, a tremor in his voice. “Please. It’s fine. Really. It’s not their fault.” He’s smiling again, but it’s fragile, his eyes glassy. “I’m not— I’m not being replaced. This is just temporary.”
No one believes it, least of all him.
Chan takes a slow breath, his tone quieter now but filled with something dangerous. “Temporary or not,” he said, looking at Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok in turn, “understand this. This station has been through hell together. You respect that. You respect him.”
His gaze flicks briefly toward Felix, who won’t meet it.
Hoseok swallows, nodding quickly. “Of course, sir.”
Namjoon’s expression doesn’t change. Yoongi glances at Felix and offers a small, uncertain smile. Felix manages one in return, faint and tired.
The meeting ends soon after, though no one moves right away. The newcomers linger, polite and careful, waiting for direction. Felix is the one who gives it—the same way he always does—stepping forward to help them find their way around, to make it easier for everyone else.
Hyunjin stands near the doorway, watching as Felix leads them towards the lockers. His voice is soft, explaining where things are stored, which bunks are empty, and the rhythm of the station’s morning routine. The kindness in his tone doesn’t falter, even when his eyes fall on his old locker.
It’s been scrubbed clean. A new label gleams on the metal.
KIM NAMJOON
Felix’s fingers hover for a moment near the handle, then drop to his side. He smiles anyway, small and polite, the kind of smile you wear when it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
Hyunjin can feel something crack quietly in his chest.
He turns away before Felix can see the pity in his face. The hallway feels colder as he steps back into it, the hum of the station too loud in his ears. Behind him, Felix’s voice drifts through the open door, still gentle, still kind, even as something in it starts to sound a little hollow.
Hyunjin doesn’t need to see his face to know.
Felix is breaking, and he’s doing it quietly, the only way he knows how.
And as Hyunjin walks back toward the bay, he realizes the fire they fought this morning wasn’t the only one waiting for them.
This one burns quieter, and it’s happening right here, in their own house.
-
Dinner at Minho and Jisung’s house was supposed to be a comfort, something light and familiar. It had been planned a week ago, back when the worst of Felix’s recovery still seemed like it might finally be behind them, before the morning’s fire, before the Chief’s words, and before the sight of the three new names stenciled where his used to be.
The house glows softly in the dusk when they arrive, its warm lamlight spilling across the snow-speckled yard. Inside, it smells like garlic and soy sauce and toasted sesame, Minho’s cooking, comforting and mouthwatering. The walls are lined with framed photos and post-its, little reminders of a life outside the station. There’s music playing low from a speaker on the counter, something jazzy and gentle.
Felix slips off his shoes near the door without a sound. He looks small under the light, hair still slightly damp from his shower at the station, cheeks pale, and eyes distant. He murmurs a greeting to Jisung and Minho and goes to sit at the far end of the table, as though he’s afraid of taking up too much space.
The rest of them file in with the quiet rhythm of habit. Chan’s hand hovers just behind Felix’s back when he passes him, a touch he doesn’t quite complete. Hyunjin notices the way Chan’s eyes follow Felix to his seat, not as a Captain watching his firefighter, but as a man watching the person he loves try to make himself invisible.
The table fills with food, stir-fried vegetables, marinated chicken, and a bowl of steamed rice that Jisung swears isn’t burned this time. The other jokes half-heartedly, voice soft and forced, trying to carve out a version of normality.
“Hyung even measured the salt,” Jisung announced proudly.
“That’s because you almost killed me with it last time,” Minho replied dryly, reaching for the kimchi.
There’s a little laughter, and for a moment it almost works. The clatter of chopsticks and bowls fills the air, the sound of comfort and home. But beneath it, there’s an invisible tension running through the room, thin as wire and fragile as glass.
Felix sits quietly between Hyunjin and Jeongin, his food untouched. Every now and then, he picks up his chopsticks, moves a few grains of rice, and takes a tiny bite to make it look like he’s eating. His eyes are somewhere else, not here, not tonight, maybe still in the firehouse, staring at the locker that used to have his name.
Hyunjin feels it before anyone says antyhing, the heaviness that keeps pulling at Chan’s restraint until it finally breaks.
“You haven’t said a single word all night,” Chan says softly, leaning forward. His voice is low, gentle but cracking at the edges. “You don’t have to act like this doesn’t hurt, Lix.”
The table stills.
Felix blinks, startled, eyes flicking up from his plate. “It’s fine,” he says quickly, too quickly. “They’re just— it’s temporary. The department’s short-handed. They had to— they’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Felix,” Chan starts again, quieter but firmer, “you don’t need to defend them. You don’t need to defend this.”
Felix shakes his head, jaw tightening. “I’m not defending them, hyung, I’m just— I’m being realistic. It’s not like they did this to hurt me. They’re just doing their jobs. And I—I can’t—” He stops, breath catching. “I can’t be mad at them for being what I can’t anymore.”
His words land heavy. The sound of them feels like something splitting quietly open inside the room.
Hyunjin’s heart twists. He’s been sitting close enough to feel the faint tremor in Felix’s leg under the table and the way his hands fidget restlessly against the hem of his sleeve. He knows that tremor, the one that comes right before Felix shatters, but refuses to let anyone see.
“Hey,” Hyunjin says softly, reaching out to rest a hand over Felix’s. The smaller hand flinches first, then stills beneath his touch. “You’re allowed to be upset, Lix.”
Felix’s breath stutters. His eyes lift, wide and glassy, like he’s been caught off guard by the permission. The silence that follows is sharp enough to hurt.
Then he exhales, the sound shaky and small. “Can we not talk about it?” he whispers. “Please? It’s done. We’ll get through it. Then everything will go back to normal.”
Hyunjin nods slowly, eyes softening. “Okay, angel,” he murmurs. “No more talking.”
He shifts a little closer and pulls Felix gently against his side. Felix doesn’t resist, he just goes, leaning into the warmth like he’s been waiting to. His head tucks under Hyunjin’s chin, the faint scent of his shampoo mingling with the spices in the air. Hyunjin wraps an arm around him, grounding him there and keeping him from fading.
“Movie night still stands,” Jisung says suddenly, voice bright and clumsy, trying to bring them all back from the edge. “And before anyone says anything, I get to pick this time.”
“Not another documentary,” Suengmin warns.
“it was educational!” Jisung argues.
“You cried for forty minutes,” Changbin mutters.
“Because it was beautiful!” Jisung protests, throwing a napkin at him,
The laughter that follows is tired but real. They move into the living room in a soft shuffle of socks and blankets. The lights dim, the TV flickers to life, and the room glows in a wash of blue and silver. The snow outside drifts quietly against the windows, blurring the edges of the world beyond the glass.
Felix curls beside Hyunjin on teh couch, half under the shared blanket, his eyes fixed on the screen, but unfocused. As the movie drifts on, his body slowly relaxes, muscles softening and breath deepening. Hyunjin feels the exact moment the boy drifts off, the way his weight drifts just slightly, his head tilting until his hair brushes Hyunjin’s collarbone.
He glances down, smiling faintly. Felix’s lashes cast shadows against his cheeks, his mouth soft, the tension finally gone. Hyunjin moves carefully, adjusting his arm so Felix can lie more comfortably, sliding the blanket higher up his shoulders.
Across the couch, Chan watches them. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, part fondness, and part ache. Hyunjin catches his gaze and grins, whispering, “Jealous?”
Chan huffs quietly, lips twitching despite himself.
Hyunjin suppresses a laugh. “You’re just mad mine doesn’t drool.”
Chan’s glare softens immediately as his eyes fall back on Felix. There’s that look again, tender and reverent, the kind of love that still doesn’t quite believe it’s real.
By the time the movie ends, the room is quiet except for the sound of the credits’ soft music and steady breathing. The others are scattered around the living room, Jisung half-asleep against Minho’s shoulder, Changbin sprawled on the floor, Seungmin and Jeongin sharing a blanket, both pretending they’re not dozing.
Minho stretches, his back cracking audibly. “Alright, I’m calling it. My house, my rules, my bedtime.”
Jisung groans. “You’re so old.”
“And you’re so loud.”
Laughter stirs again, the kind of easy noise that means they’re trying. The kind that says we’re still here.
Hyunjin tightens his hold on Felix, who stirs faintly, mumbling something incoherent against his chest. He doesn’t wake, though, just curls closer, his fingers clutching at Hyunjin’s shirt.
Hyunjin sighs contentedly. “Aw, I’m losing my favorite pillow.”
Chan smirks, standing and stretching out his arms. “Get your own boyfriend.”
Before Hyunjin can retort, Chan leans down, hands careful as he slips them beneath Felix’s knees and shoulders. Felix murmurs softly in his sleep, blinking once but never really waking. His head falls naturally against Chan’s shoulder.
“Easy,” Chan whispers, his voice low and warm. “Go back to sleep, baby.”
Felix hums something faint, breath steadying again.
Hyunjin looks up at them and grins. “He’s so spoiled.”
Chan’s smile is tired but soft. “Yeah,” he murmurs, shifting Felix gently against him. “And I’m the one who did it.”
He turns toward the door, and suddenly Changbin’s beside Hyunjin, grinning wide enough to show teeth. “You’ve already got a wife, though,” he says cheerfully, clapping Hyunjin’s shoulder.
Hyunjin groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Remind me why I put up with you all.”
“Because you love us,” Changbin says without hesitation.
“Tragic,” Hyunjin mutters, but he’s smiling.
Chan’s still at the doorway, Felix cradled against him, the boy’s soft hair glowing gold under the warm light. He looks back once—just for a heartbeat—meeting Hyunjin’s eyes. There’s gratitude there, quiet and unspoken.
“Goodnight,” Chan says softly.
“Night,” Hyunjin replies.
-
The station’s kitchen is never really quiet, but today even the hum of the vents feels uneasy. It smells of instant noodles and burnt toast, the air heavy with heat and smoke residue that clings to their clothes. The table is cluttered—half-empty mugs, a box of crackers, a tub of kimchi with the lid askew.
Hyunjin sits halfway down the bench, elbow braced against the table, half listening as conversation drifts lazily between bites. It’s the kind of lull that usually comes after a hard morning call, when the adrenaline finally drains and fatigue sets in. But under it, there’s tension. It hums just out of reach, like static in the walls.
Felix is at the end of the table, hair tucked behind his ears, head bent over his coffee. He hasn’t eaten much—just a few forkfuls of rice and vegetables—but he’s smiling, polite and soft, answering the new guys’ questions like he doesn’t notice how sharp they are.
Hoseok leans back in his chair, voice too loud in the quiet room. “So, you’ve been on desk duty since you got back? What’s that like? Just… paperwork all day?”
Felix’s smile doesn’t waver. “Mostly reports. Dispatch coordination. It’s not bad.” His fingers trace the rim of his cup, restless.
“Sounds boring as hell,” Yoongi says with a low laugh, taking a bite of his sandwich. “After being out in the field? I’d go crazy.”
Felix laughs softly, a polite echo of amusement. “It’s quieter,” he says. “That’s not the worst thing.”
Namjoon tips his chair back, watching him with that smooth, unreadable calm that never feels quite friendly. “So what happened? Why’d they bench you?”
“Wait, lemme guess,” Hoseok cuts in, smirking. “Some admin crap? Captain over there looks like the kind of guy who’d write you up for sneezing wrong.”
The joke hits the table like a dropped knife, metal on tile, loud and wrong.
Minho sets his chopsticks down with slow precision. The small clack echoes. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost gentle.
“Watch it.”
Hoseok blinks, grin faltering. “It’s just a joke, man.”
“Then maybe pick a better one.”
The tension thickens. Hyunjin looks at Minho’s face, the steady control, the quiet tremor under his calm, and knows that something in him has snapped clean through.
“You want to know why he’s on desk duty?” Minho says, tone flat but heavy as iron. “You want to really know?”
Namjoon’s smirk fades. Yoongi looks up from his food. Felix shakes his head quickly, voice small. “Hyung, it’s fine—”
But Minho doesn’t stop. He’s looking at them, not at Felix, his voice steady and unflinching.
“Six months ago, he and I were kidnapped by a former member of this house and held captive in a warehouse. He used drugs and electricity to stop and start Felix’s heart for his own enjoyment. I listened to the monitor go flat multiple times. He brought him back to life twice.”
His words slice through the room like broken glass. No one moves. Even the hum of the fridge sounds too loud.
Felix’s hands tighten around his coffee cup. His knuckles are white.
Minho goes on, quieter now, but each word lands like a blow. “He still gets flashbacks. So do I. Every time a call comes in. Every time the siren hits that frequency that sounds like the shock.” He breathes once, sharp through his nose. “And even after all that, when some bastard decided to turn a mall into a hate crime, Felix took a knife meant for a teenage boy and almost bled out on the tile.”
Silence falls hard.
“PTSD isn’t weakness,” Minho says finally, voice rough at the edges. “It’s surviving the kind of things that would break most people. So if you’re going to ask him why he’s behind that desk, at least have the decency to show him some damn respect.”
The quiet that follows feels endless. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead.
Namjoon stares down at the table. Hoseok’s smirk has vanished completely. Yoongi opens his mouth, then shuts it again.
Felix doesn’t look up. His head is bowed, hair falling forward, hiding his face. His voice, when it comes, is barely audible.
“They didn’t know,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”
Hyunjin wants to tell him it isn’t. That it’ll never be okay, not if they keep pretending this is normal. But before he can speak, the station alarm shrieks to life.
“Engine 143, Squad 143 — structure fire, South District warehouse—”
Everything explodes into motion. Chairs scrape, radios crackle, boots hit the floor. The kitchen’s calm vanishes beneath the flood of urgency.
Changbin’s voice cuts through the chaos, commanding and clear. “You three—stay back. Help Felix around the house until we’re back.”
“Yes, sir,” Namjoon answers immediately.
But as the rest of them rush for their gear, Hyunjin catches it, just a flicker, a flash of expression too quick for anyone else to see.
Yoongi smirks. Not wide, just a small, knowing curl of his mouth. Namjoon’s gaze flicks toward him, and Hoseok’s eyes meet his in silent acknowledgment.
It’s over in a second, but the meaning sticks.
Hyunjin’s stomach twists cold. His hands tighten on his gloves until his knuckles ache. He doesn’t know what that look was supposed to mean—mockery, warning, something worse—but every instinct in him screams that it isn’t good.
He turns one last time before heading for the bay.
Felix stands in the doorway of the kitchen, pale in the harsh fluorescent light, watching them go. His expression is small, distant, and unreadable.
Hyunjin’s chest aches. For a moment, he wants to stop, to say something, to stay. But the sirens are already wailing, the trucks already rolling, and there’s no time.
He runs, heart hammering, and as the engine roars to life beneath him, he looks out the window and sees Felix’s silhouette framed in the glass. Behind him, three shadows move—Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok—closer than they should be.
The sound of the siren drowns everything else, but Hyunjin’s gut knows the truth.
The fire they’re driving toward might not be the only one they’ll have to put out today.
-
The next morning felt different the moment Hyunjin walked in.
It was gray outside, the kind of half-light that turns everything dull and damp. The rain hadn’t stopped since dawn, drumming against the roof and pooling under the bay doors. Inside, the air smelled like burnt coffee, wet boots, and disinfectant. Too clean. Too quiet.
Felix was already there, of course. He was always there first now, like he was afraid of being late for something invisible. He sat behind the front desk, hair still a little damp from the rain, uniform perfectly pressed, tapping through dispatch notes on teh computer. His back was straight, his posture careful, the kind of care people use when they’re holding themselves together by habit.
Hyunjin watched him for a moment before heading toward the lockers, that old familiar ache settling deep in his chest. He thought about the way Felix had looked two nights ago when Chan carried him out of Minho’s house—small, sleeping, and safe—and then how he looked now, all spine and composure and polite smiles that never reached his eyes.
He looked like he was surviving again, not living.
The morning dragged by in small, empty rhythms. No calls. No drills. Just restocking gear and waiting for something to happen.
It was nearly lunchtime when Hyunjin headed toward the dorm hallway with a crate of folded blankets. He wasn’t expecting to find anyone there—most of the crew were in the bay or the kitchen—but voices drifted down the corridor, echoing faintly off the tile.
He slowed.
Felix’s voice—soft and polite—and then laughter that didn’t sound like his.
Rounding the corner, Hyunjin stopped dead.
Felix stood near the lockers, holding a stack of paperwork. Namjoon leaned lazily against the wall beside him, one boot pressed to the tile, posture loose and confident. Hoseok was a few feet away, pretending to dig through a locker that Hyunjin knew damn well wasn’t his. Yoongi lingered farther down, leaning against a doorframe, watching everything with that unreadable calm that made Hyunjin’s skin crawl.
“So what’s it like?” Hoseok was saying, grinning. “Just doing paperwork all day while everyone else runs into fires?”
Felix smiled faintly, shifting the papers in his arms. “Someone has to keep you guys organized.”
“Sure,” Namjoon said, voice low, amused. “Still— kind of a waste, isn’t it? Pretty boy like you stuck behind a desk.”
Felix’s laugh was quick and light, a reflex. “It’s fine. I like being here.”
Namjoon tilted his head. “You always this put together?”
“I try to be,” Felix replied softly.
“You should relax more,” Namjoon murmured, stepping a little closer. “You’re too tense.”
His hand lifted—light and casual—brushing the collar of Felix’s shirt. He straightened it like it mattered, his fingers grazing the base of Felix’s throat.
Felix froze. The smile flickered but didn’t disappear. “Thanks,” he whispered, stepping back a half step. “Excuse me— I should log these before lunch.”
He slipped past Namjoon with that same quiet politeness that made Hyunjin’s stomach twist. Yoongi stepped aside just enough to let him through, but his eyes followed Felix as he went, slow and lazy.
Hyunjin didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping the crate until his knuckles ached. He wanted to throw it, to slam it into the wall, to do something, but he forced himself still, jaw clenched until it hurt.
He stayed there until Felix’s footsteps faded, then turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of laughter echoing faintly behind him.
By early afternoon, rain had turned into a fine mist outside. The whole station smelled like damp gear and instant coffee. The kind of day where everything felt heavy, muted, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Chan was in his office, half buried in paperwork, when the radio crackled.
“Station 143, central supply delivery delayed. Send personnel to pick up requisition directly.”
Chan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Perfect.” Then, glancing up at the rest of them: “Alright, someone’s gotta grab it, IV fluids, bandages, saline kits, all that. Take the smaller truck. Shouldn’t take long.”
Minho started to stand, but Chan gestured for him to sit. “You’re still on restock rotation. I’ll send the new guys.”
Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi looked up immediately, eager. Too eager.
Before Hyunjin could even open his mouth, Felix stepped in.
“I can go with them,” he said softly from the desk. “I know where everything is.”
Chan hesitated. “You sure, Lix?”
Felix smiled, that same small, steady smile that never reached his eyes anymore. “It’s fine. It’ll be faster if I go.”
Chan watched him for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright. Be careful. No lifting heavy stuff.”
“Yes, sir.”
Felix stood, straightening his jacket, and grabbed the clipboard from the desk. The rain had flattened the curls at the edge of his hair, and Hyunjin wanted to say something—anything—but his throat wouldn’t cooperate.
As the four of them headed for the door, Jeongin muttered under his breath, “Weird. When did the Chief start caring so much about our house?”
Minho glanced up. “What?”
Jeongin shrugged. “Three transfers, extra supply runs, sudden attention from admin, just feels off. Chief barely remembered our names before last month.”
Hyunjin frowned, unease tightening in his gut again.
Felix paused by the door long enough to look back. “We’ll be quick,” he said softly, as if trying to reassure them all. His voice carried that same quiet warmth that always made them believe him. Then the door shut behind them with a soft click.
They were gone longer than they should’ve been.
The run to central supply usually took twenty minutes, maybe thirty with paperwork. But when the clock hit an hour, Hyunjin started pacing the bay. The rain had picked up again, slicking the windows with silver streaks. The hum of the vending machine filled the silence, steady and grating.
“Relax,” Changbin said from the corner, though his own foot was tapping against the floor. “Traffic’s crap in this weather.”
“Yeah,” Hyunjin muttered. But he didn’t stop pacing.
Every few minutes, he caught himself glancing toward the door, half expecting Felix to walk in, head down, smiling politely, and pretending he hadn’t been gone too long.
But the minutes kept stretching.
Finally, the sound of an engine echoed outside. The smaller truck pulled into the bay, tires hissing against wet pavement. Hyunjin was already moving before it stopped.
The door opened with a gust of cold air and laughter, the wrong kind.
Namjoon climbed out first, wiping his hands on his jacket. Hoseok followed, shaking rain from his hair, grinning too broadly. Yoongi was behind them, carrying a crate of IV bags like it weighed nothing. Felix trailed last, clipboard tucked against his chest, movements too careful.
“Everything go okay?” Chan called from his office doorway.
“Yeah!” Hoseok said cheerfully, voice too bright. “All good. They were out of a few things, but we’ll get them next week.”
Felix’s reply came a second later, quieter. “It went fine.” He smiled automatically. “Traffic was bad.”
Hyunjin’s eyes caught the small details: the damp strands of hair clinging to Felix’s temple, the way he held his arm just a little too close to his body, the nervous flex of his fingers on the clipboard. His uniform collar was crooked again.
He looked like he wanted to disappear.
“Unload and sort what we’ve got,” Chan said, turning back into his office. “Then take a break. You’ve earned it.”
The others started moving, stacking boxes, joking under their breath, easy and careless. But Felix kept his head down, his responses short, automatic.
Hyunjin stepped closer, voice low. “Lix. You okay?”
Felix startled a little, barely noticeable, but Hyunjin caught it. He blinked, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”
Hyunjin’s gaze flicked down. Beneath the open edge of Felix’s jacket, just above his collarbone, a faint red mark bloomed, the shape unclear, but fresh. He didn’t say anything. Not yet.
Felix turned away quickly, carrying the clipboard to the storage room.
“Be careful,” Hyunjin murmured after him. It came out smaller than he meant it to.
He stayed in the bay a long time after that, pretending to help Jeongin with inventory, pretending not to listen to the echo of Hoseok’s laughter from the hall, pretending not to see how Namjoon brushed past Felix in doorways a little too close every time they crossed paths.
By evening, the station had gone quiet again.
But Hyunjin’s chest felt tight, his hands restless. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed, that the line between uncomfortable and wrong had already been crossed.
And when Felix walked past him later, still smiling that tired little smile, Hyunjin realized something awful:
Felix didn’t even know it yet.
He didn’t know he was being hurt all over again, just in a way that didn’t leave blood this time.
-
The end of the day always had a kind of quiet hum to it, the low thud of locker doors, the hiss of water pipes from the showers, boots thumping against the tile as the team wound down from another long shift. But tonight, the sound felt different. Too loud in some places, too quiet in others. Like the air itself was watching.
Hyunjin was putting away his gloves, the faint tremor of exhaustion still clinging to his limbs. They’d had a long day of drills and equipment checks, and all he wanted was to shower, change, and head home. But laughter drifted from the far end of the room, sharp and unfamiliar, cutting through the quiet like a blade dragged against glass.
He froze mid-motion.
That laugh didn’t sound right.
It wasn’t the easy laughter that usually filled the room after a hard shift, the kind that came from Jisung’s bad jokes or Changbin teasing Minho. This was different.
Loud, high, and a little cruel around the edges.
He shut his locker softly and turned toward the sound.
Down the row, by the benches, Felix stood surrounded.
Namjoon was leaning lazily against a locker, arms folded across his chest, the perfect picture of casual control. Yoongi was sitting on the bench backward, one leg swinging, smirk ghosting over his lips. Hoseok was right in front of Felix, phone in hand, holding it just out of reach.
Felix was smiling, that small, polite smile he always used when he didn’t want anyone to worry. But his shoulders were too tight, his posture too stiff.
“Aw, come on,” Hoseok was saying, voice teasing, almost sing-song. “You’re blushing already. What’s on your phone, huh? Who’s making you smile like that?”
Felix laughed weakly, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Just my sister.”
“Brother,” Yoongi repeated, drawling the word like it was funny. “Sure it’s not your boyfriend?”
Felix’s hands fluttered nervously at his sides. “No— I told you, it’s my sister.”
“Man, you’re jumpy,” Namjoon chuckled, pushing off the locker. He stepped closer, just slightly, but enough that Felix had to tilt his head back to look at him. “Relax, we’re just kidding.”
Felix’s smile wavered. “I know. I just— it’s really not that funny.”
“Come on,” Hoseok said, waving the phone in the air, his grin widening. “We’re just trying to get to know you. You’re too quiet, kid. You make it too easy.”
“Please give it back,” Felix said softly, reaching for it.
His voice trembled, barely, but Hyunjin heard it. Felt it.
Hoseok hesitated for a split second, grin faltering. Then he laughed again, that same awful, practiced sound. “Fine, fine. Don’t pout.” He handed the phone over, letting his fingers brush against Felix’s hand as he did.
Felix flinched, barely perceptible—just a twitch, a breath—but Hyunjin saw it.
And something in him snapped.
“Give him some space.” The words came out low, quiet, but they cut clean through the noise.
Three heads turned instantly.
Hyunjin stood a few lockers away, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
The new recruits blinked, surprised, maybe, but not ashamed. Hoseok forced a laugh, straightening up.
“Hey, relax, we were just playing around. No harm done, right?” He turned toward Felix, still smiling. “Right?”
Felix hesitated. His throat bobbed. “It’s fine,” he said finally, his voice small. “They were just joking.”
Namjoon smirked, glancing between them. “See? Even he says it’s fine.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi added, eyes glinting faintly under the lights. “Maybe you should chill, Hyunjin. You look like you’re about to bite someone’s head off.”
Hyunjin took a slow step forward. “Don’t test me on that.”
Silence.
The fluorescent hum filled the gap. The three men exchanged glances, not nervous, but calculated, something unspoken flickering between them. Then Namjooon laughed softly, throwing up his hands.
“Alright, man. No harm, no foul.”
They turned to leave, their footsteps echoing down the tiled hallway, the smell of their cologne lingering unpleasantly behind.
When they were gone, the quiet came crashing back, thick, and suffocating.
Felix sank down onto the bench, the phone still clutched tight in his hands. His shoulders were trembling, though he tried to hide it by leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His hair fell over his face, the golden strands clinging to his temple.
“They didn’t mean it,” he murmured finally, barely above a whisper. “They were just trying to be friendly.”
Hyunjin crouched beside him, resting his forearms on his knees, trying to catch his eyes. “That’s not friendly,” he said softly. “They’re crossing lines, Lix.”
Felix shook his head quickly. “No, they’re not. It’s fine. They just— don’t know me yet.” He smiled weakly, as if that explanation could erase the unease in his voice. “I’m okay, really.”
Hyunjin studied him, the false calm, the way he kept rubbing his thumb against the back of his other hand, like he was trying to ground himself. That’s when he saw it: faint red marks near Felix’s wrist. Not deep, but recent. Scratches, thin and curved, like fingernails.
“Lix,” Hyunjin said quietly, voice soft but firm, “what happened to your wrist?”
Felix blinked, following his gaze. “Oh,” he said quickly, pulling his sleeve down. “That’s nothing. Just— I scraped it unloading boxes earlier. It’s fine.”
He laughed. The sound cracked halfway through.
Hyunjin didn’t call him out, not yet. He just stayed there, crouched beside him, the rain tapping faintly against the far windows. The overhead lights hummed. Somewhere down the hall, a door shut with a hollow clang.
“Hey,” Hyunjin said finally, voice gentler now. “You don’t have to smile all the time, you know.”
Felix stilled, eyes flicking up to meet his. There was something raw in them, not fear exactly, but exhaustion, like he’d been carrying too much for too long. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Instead, he nodded once, slow. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll try.”
Hyunjin gave a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s all I ask.”
Felix nodded again and stood, slipping his phone into his pocket. He adjusted his uniform with shaking hands, straightened his posture, and smiled again, that practiced, gentle expression that always made Hyunjin want to scream. Then he murmured a soft goodnight and walked out, leaving the faint scent of soap and rain behind him.
The locker room door shut behind Felix with a soft click that echoed far too loud in the silence that followed. Hyunjin stayed there for a long moment, staring at the dented metal where his reflection shimmered, distorted and uncertain. His pulse was still pounding, hands trembling with the kind of anger that didn’t have anywhere to go.
He couldn’t shake the sound of Felix’s voice—that soft, shaky “They didn’t mean it”—or the way his smile cracked when no one was looking.
He knew that look. He’d seen it in victims who thought surviving quietly was safer than fighting back.
And he was done pretending he didn’t.
Hyunjin pushed off the bench and strode down the hall, the echo of his boots sharp against the tile. The air in the station was cool, sterile, all fluorescent hum and the faint smell of ozone from the rain outside. He passed Jeongin in the kitchen, who looked up from wiping down the counter.
“Everything okay, hyung?”
Hyunjin didn’t answer. He just kept walking, jaw tight, heart burning.
He reached Chan’s office door and didn’t bother knocking.
Chan was at his desk, sleeves rolled up, paperwork scattered like a storm across the surface. The lamplight cast sharp shadows over his face, making the exhaustion under his eyes look even deeper.
He looked up immediately, brows knitting. “Hyunjin-ah? What’s wrong?”
Hyunjin shut the door behind him, the latch clicking into place. “It’s the new recruits.”
Chan frowned. “What about them?”
“They’re doing something to Felix.” The words came out low, certain, and heavy.
Chan blinked. “What do you mean ‘doing something’?”
“I mean they’re harassing him,” Hyunjin snapped. “They cornered him in the locker room, took his phone, made jokes about his body, about who he’s dating. I saw it. I heard them. He keeps saying it’s fine, but it’s not. It’s not fine.”
For a second, the mask slipped—something hot and dangerous flashing in his eyes—before he exhaled slowly, visibly forcing himself to stay calm.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since they got here,” Hyunjin said. “At least a week. Maybe longer. He’s… he’s letting it happen because he doesn’t want to make trouble. You know how he is.”
Chan closed his eyes briefly, jaw flexing. “Goddamn it.”
“Then do something,” Hyunjin urged, stepping closer. “You’re the Captain. Pull them. Reassign them. Talk to the Chief. Anything.”
Chan looked up sharply, that familiar edge of frustration in his tone. “I can’t. Not unless Felix comes to me directly.”
Hyunjin stared at him, disbelief flashing across his face. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was,” Chan said quietly. “If I go over their heads without a complaint, it’ll look like I’m playing favorites. You know how this department works, they’ll say I’m biased because of me and Felix. The Chief’s already watching everything I do since those three showed up.”
Hyunjin’s stomach twisted. “Since they showed up?”
Chan hesitated, then sighed. “For some reason, the Chief’s obsessed with them. Keeps sending me performance reviews, asking how they’re adjusting, talking about ‘pilot placements’ and ‘leadership potential.’ It’s like he’s grooming them for promotions that haven’t even been announced yet. And if I step out of line, I risk everything, my rank, my license, him.”
His voice cracked on that last word, almost imperceptibly.
Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair, frustration boiling in his chest. “So what, we just do nothing? We watch them get away with it until Felix breaks again?”
Chan’s face darkened, eyes flicking toward the door. “You think I want that?” he hissed. “You think I haven’t noticed? But unless Felix files the report himself, I can’t touch them. It’ll be written off as retaliation.”
The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. Rain tapped against the office window, steady and cruel.
Hyunjin’s voice dropped, softer now but thick with emotion. “He’s not gonna tell you, Chan. You know that. He’s too scared of being a burden. He’d rather take it and smile through it than make waves.”
“I know,” Chan whispered. His fingers rubbed at his temples, his posture sagging with the weight of it. “I know.”
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The hum of the overhead light filled the room, faint and buzzing. Hyunjin could feel the words he wanted to say pressing against his teeth—then I’ll tell him for you, I’ll drag it out of them, I’ll make them stop—but before he could open his mouth, a soft knock interrupted the air.
“Come in,” Chan said, voice rough.
The door creaked open, and Felix peeked inside, his expression lighting up when he saw them. “Hey,” he said gently, smiling at Chan. “You ready to go home yet?”
Chan’s entire demeanor changed in an instant, the tension melted from his shoulders, replaced by something softer, protective. “Yeah,” he said quietly, pushing back from his desk. “Just finishing up.”
Felix stepped inside, hair still damp from his earlier shower, the faint scent of soap trailing with him. His eyes flicked curiously between the two men, a small crease forming in his brow. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Chan said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just work stuff.”
Felix nodded, though something in his gaze lingered, wary, maybe, but too tired to question it. “Okay,” he murmured, then reached out, touching Chan’s arm gently. “Let’s go home.”
Chan smiled at him, soft, adoring, and helpless. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
He turned back to Hyunjin, his expression gentling. “Goodnight, Jinnie.”
Hyunjin wanted to say wait, to say you’re not hearing me, but Felix’s fingers had already laced through Chan’s sleeve, tugging him toward the door. The Captain’s hand came to rest instinctively at Felix’s waist, pulling him close as they stepped into the hall.
“Night,” Hyunjin muttered quietly, but they were already halfway gone.
The door swung shut behind them with a soft click.
Hyunjin stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space they’d left behind. The office smelled faintly of paper and rain and something heavier, helplessness, maybe. He could still see the exhaustion in Chan’s eyes, the worry in Felix’s smile, and the bruise he’d spotted earlier that no one else had noticed.
He leaned against the desk, staring at the lamplight flickering against the wall.
Something was wrong here. Not just with the recruits, with the Chief, with the way this whole thing felt like a setup.
And as the rain picked up outside, Hyunjin made himself a quiet promise:
If Chan couldn’t do something about it, he would.
-
Hyunjin found Minho in the ambulance bay, crouched by the medic rig, methodically restocking the trauma kit. The older man was alone, movements calm and precise, the same way he’d been when they’d come home from bad calls, as if control could keep ghosts at bay.
Hyunjin hesitated by the doorway, the rain humming softly behind him. “You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?”
Minho didn’t look up. He finished organizing a row of IV tubing, his voice level. “Noticed what?”
“The new recruits,” Hyunjin said. His voice felt too loud in the quiet. “The way they are with Felix.”
That made Minho pause. He finally looked up, slow, eyes tired but sharp. “What about them?”
“They’re doing something to him,” Hyunjin said, the words tumbling out faster than he intended. “I don’t know how far it’s gone, but I saw it last night. They were crowding him, taking his phone, making jokes about him, about Chan, about things they had no right to say.” His throat felt tight. “He just laughed. Smiled like it didn’t matter.”
Minho went completely still. The sound of the rain filled the bay, steady and cold. When he finally spoke, his tone was soft, but it carried the kind of weight that made Hyunjin’s chest ache. “He laughed?”
Hyunjin nodded. “He said they were just joking. You know him, he thinks being polite will make it stop.”
Minho’s jaw tensed. He set the medical kit down slowly, carefully, as though if he moved too fast, he’d break something. “And Chan?”
“Chan knows something’s off,” Hyunjin said. “But he won’t do anything unless Felix comes to him. He said it’ll look like favoritism. Said the Chief’s obsessed with those three.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Favoritism, as if that matters more than Felix getting hurt.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The rain drummed harder against the pavement outside. Minho finally exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s bullshit.”
“I know,” Hyunjin said quietly. “And the Chief’s been checking in on them like they’re his personal project. Chan’s trapped. If he makes a move, he’ll be written up for it.”
Minho stood, bracing a hand against the side of the rig, shoulders drawn tight. “If they’re doing what I think they are—”
“They are,” Hyunjin said, cutting him off before he could finish. “They’re pushing him, testing him. And he’s letting it happen because he doesn’t know how to stop it.”
Minho’s gaze softened, and for the first time, he looked almost haunted. “He probably doesn’t even realize what’s happening to him. He just thinks he’s being nice.”
Hyunjin swallowed hard, the words landing like stones. “So what do we do?”
Minho was quiet for a long moment. Then his voice came low and steady. “We watch him. We keep him safe when Chan can’t. I already failed him once in that warehouse, I’m not doing it again.”
The air between them thickened with unspoken memories. Hyunjin nodded, his chest heavy. “Then I’ll watch him too.”
Minho gave a short, humorless laugh. “We’re going to have to. Because if those bastards touch him again, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself.”
Outside, thunder rumbled softly over the city. The two men stood there in the pale morning light, the unspoken truth hanging heavy between them, that whatever was happening wasn’t going to stop on its own.
The day blurred by after that, a haze of routine that felt wrong in its normalcy. The steady rhythm of reports, drills, and gear checks only made the silence louder. Felix was quiet at the desk, tapping through dispatch logs, his head ducked just enough that the shadows under his eyes looked darker. He smiled when someone passed, polite and small, but the spark that used to be there—the way his whole face used to light up when he laughed—was gone.
Hyunjin tried to lose himself in busywork. It didn’t help. Every time he looked up, Felix was there, too still, too careful, and surrounded by people who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him.
He was heading down the hall toward the locker room when he heard it, soft laughter, low voices around the corner. He slowed.
“Seriously,” Hoseok’s voice said, easy and teasing. “You don’t need to be carrying that, kid. You’ll strain your back.”
Felix’s voice answered, quiet, hesitant. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”
“You’re too polite for your own good,” Hoseok chuckled. “And too pretty to be lugging this crap around anyway.”
Hyunjin’s stomach twisted. He edged closer to the corner, just enough to see.
Felix stood with a clipboard and a box of supplies in his arms, his shoulders hunched slightly. Hoseok was in front of him, smiling wide, body language loose, but too close, just like in the hallway before. When Felix tried to shift the box higher in his arms, Hoseok reached out, brushing his fingers against Felix’s wrist as he took it from him.
“See? Easy,” Hoseok said lightly. “Let me help.”
Felix gave a faint laugh, barely a breath of sound. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” Hoseok said. He winked before walking off down the hall.
Felix stood there for a moment, staring after him, expression unreadable, then he sighed softly and walked away, head down.
Hyunjin’s hands were shaking. He pressed them against the wall, trying to breathe. The sight of Felix flinching like that, laughing when he wanted to run, carved something deep into him, something dark and furious.
He didn’t trust himself to speak to anyone after that, not until the anger settled into something heavier, quieter, something like dread.
It was late by the time he finally wandered into the kitchen. Most of the station had gone home. The lights were dim, and the rain had softened into a steady drizzle against the windows. Jeongin was sitting at the table, shoulders hunched, stirring sugar into a cup of coffee that had probably gone cold an hour ago.
“You look like hell,” Jeongin said without looking up.
Hyunjin let out a shaky laugh. “Thanks.”
Jeongin raised an eyebrow at him, finally glancing up. “This about Felix?”
Hyunjin froze midstep. “How did you—”
“You’ve been twitchy all day,” Jeongin said simply. “And he’s been acting weird for weeks. You don’t need to be a genius.”
Hyunjin slumped into the chair across from him, resting his elbows on the table. “It’s the recruits. Namjoon, Hoseok, Yoongi. They’re— they’re doing something to him. Saying things, cornering him. He keeps pretending it’s fine, but it’s not.”
Jeongin’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
Hyunjin blinked. “You know?”
Jeongin nodded slowly. “I’ve seen it too. The way they look at him. The way he goes quiet when they walk into a room. Yesterday, Yoongi touched his shoulder, and he flinched so hard he dropped his pen. He tried to laugh it off, but—” Jeongin exhaled, shaking his head. “He doesn’t even see it anymore, hyung. He just… freezes, then smiles.”
Something cracked in Hyunjin’s chest at the sound of Jeongin’s voice. The youngest was trying to sound calm, but his hands were trembling where they wrapped around the mug.
“He trusts people too easily,” Jeongin said quietly. “He thinks if he’s nice, they won’t hurt him. But they’re not teasing him. They’re testing him.”
Hyunjin’s throat ached. “Chan won’t do anything. Says it’ll look like favoritism.”
Jeongin laughed, sharp and humorless. “Favoritism? Are you kidding me?” He slammed his cup down hard enough that coffee sloshed over the rim. “He’s our family. If we don’t protect him, who will?”
Hyunjin looked up at him, startled.
Jeongin’s eyes were wet, but fierce. “He saved me once, you know? When I froze on that highway call. Everyone else was shouting, and he just— he looked at me and said, ‘You’re okay. Breathe.’ He didn’t even know I couldn’t stop shaking. He just… knew.” His voice cracked. “And now he’s shaking, and no one’s saying anything.”
Hyunjin swallowed hard, vision blurring slightly. “Minho and I talked this morning. We’re going to keep an eye on him. Quietly.”
Jeongin nodded immediately. “Then I’m in too. If they even look at him wrong again—” He stopped, breathing uneven. “I won’t let them. I don’t care if they’re the Chief’s favorites or God himself. I’ll make them stop.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the rain and the faint hum of the vending machine. Hyunjin watched Jeongin’s hands, the way they trembled before tightening into fists.
Finally, Hyunjin reached across the table, setting a hand over his. “We’ll handle it,” he said softly. “Together.”
Jeongin nodded, jaw tight, eyes fierce even through the tears. “He’s not alone anymore.”
He looked out the window, rain streaking the glass, and thought of Felix’s tired smile,the one that looked so much like a shield. He’d keep smiling until he couldn’t anymore. Until something broke.
Hyunjin made himself a promise then, quiet and certain.
That wouldn’t happen again. Not while any of them were still breathing.
-
They moved like a small unit of ghosts, all of them careful in the way people are when something fragile has to be hidden from the world.
Hyunjin rode with Minho in the service truck while Jeongin stayed behind at the station “to check the router,” a lie that made both of them grin crookedly because it was the kind of lie Jeongin always told when he meant to do something useful. The rain had finally given them a reprieve—a cold, clean wind pushed through the bay doors—but the station still felt raw from the last week: too many half-answered questions, too much polite silence.
The camera itself was stupidly small, wrapped in black duct tape so it looked like nothing of consequence. Jeongin had soldered a tiny mount to the back of a retired locker shelf and balanced the lens in a way that would catch the hallway and the edge of Felix’s desk without being obvious. The battery was brand new, the memory card was emptied and labeled with a neat Sharpie date. They promised each other they’d check the footage at midnight, when the building quieted and the recruits thought they owned the place.
Minho set the little camera into its hiding place with the same tenderness he used to treat the defibrillator pads, careful, reverent. He didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. The three of them understood the unspoken rules: take care of the living; document the monsters who thought their power gave them license.
“It’ll be subtle,” Jeongin said, eyes bright with that quiet intensity he'd get when he’d hacked a system for a harmless prank. “The angle’s perfect. Should pick up anyone lingering by Felix’s locker, or anyone who likes to ‘help’ him with supplies.” He slid the mounting case closed. The click felt large in the hush of the supply closet.
Hyunjin’s hands were still cold from the rain. He kissed the plastic lens like a saint might bless an altar—ridiculous and necessary—and then they moved back into the shadows. Minho tightened his jacket and gave Hyunjin a look that said stay calm in the language they’d been using the last few days. Hyunjin swallowed and tried to make his breathing steady.
They left the camera to Jeongin, who grinned and promised not to break anything while they went about the rest of the day with the heavy, human act of pretending everything was normal. The plan itself was simple and terrifying: capture, quietly and indisputably, the little invasions that had become too frequent, the brushes on wrists that weren’t accidental, the jokes that took up too much space, the way hands hovered.
That night, after lights-out, they gathered in the old briefing room. The table was scarred from years of paperwork and coffee rings; the single lamp they trusted cast a small bright island of light in the middle of the dark. Jeongin’s laptop screen glowed like a headlamp. For a second, they didn’t speak. They were a family in the way that families are when someone has to be protected.
Jeongin set the laptop in the middle of them and, with a soft click, opened a folder. “I started looking around earlier,” he said. His voice was small but steady. “While you were doing the camera setup.”
Minho’s brows drew together. “What did you find?”
Jeongin’s fingers moved across the keyboard. The group chat lit up, a cascade of notification bubbles they'd waited for like a tide. The conversation header was flippant, the kind of title meant to normalize cruelty: Late Night Laughs. Hyunjin felt his stomach turn before he saw anything. He knew how cruel people could be when they were anonymous; he hadn’t expected to feel the cold claw at his ribs seeing it in black letters.
The messages were worse than the jokes he’d replayed in his head all week. Short, casual, the language of people who were used to one another’s approval. A photo from the foyer camera, cropped and captioned. A comment about Felix’s “nice collarbone.” A few laughing emojis. A voice note where someone—Namjoon’s voice, smooth and casually amused—said something about how they’d have their pick if they wanted. The messages slid from crude amusement into a slow escalation: jokes about “making him smile,” a plan to “get him alone tonight,” threads about “testing limits.”
Hyunjin’s hands went numb. Minho stared at the screen as if the words might somehow rearrange themselves into something less damaging. Jeongin closed the laptop for a fraction of a second, then opened it again, as if to prove the evidence was real.
“You got this where?” Minho asked hoarsely.
Jeongin’s jaw tightened. “They have a group. I found it when I pried around the station’s guest network logs. Stupid of them to use the same phone numbers. Had to pull IPs and match MAC addresses. It’s ugly.” He searched a file folder and pulled up a screenshot. One message in particular made the room feel like it dropped; it read, “Let’s see how far we can go tonight. Bet he won’t tell.” The date stamped yesterday.
Hyunjin didn’t feel anything for a long second except for a hollowing, like someone had scooped out a piece of his chest and left it raw. The station was suddenly too loud, the pipes, the distant hum of the freezer in the kitchen, the soft thud of something moving in the next room. He thought of Felix laughing at a joke he hadn’t even meant to be funny. He thought of the way Felix’s hand had clenched at the phone in the locker room.
Minho’s voice came from far away. “This is enough.”
Jeongin nodded. “We’ve got two things now: one, the chat proves intent, that this isn’t misinterpreted friendliness. Two, the camera will give us action. Crossing that with messages is the kind of evidence that can’t be hand-waved away by the Chief.”
Hyunjin’s blood seemed to thicken in his veins. “We set a trap?” The words left his mouth raw. They all knew the moral tightrope: you could walk into this and become the accused if you weren’t meticulous, but you could also sit on this and let Felix be eaten by small cruelties.
“We do it where we can control the variables,” Minho said. He spoke quieter than anyone had heard him speak all week; his voice was a blade wrapped in velvet. “Felix will volunteer to stay late and finish inventory. We’ll tell them we’ve got extra training and it’s fine. Jeongin will have the camera rolling in the hall. I’ll be in the bay, Hyunjin you’ll be in the dorm hallway, keep eyes on exits. If anything happens—if a hand goes where it shouldn’t—Hyunjin, you go loud and pull him out, Minho hits emergency protocol. I’ll call Chan in if it escalates.”
Jeongin’s face was pinched with concentration. “And I’ll mirror the chat and save every message to a secure drive. We don’t show the video to anyone but Chan first. No leaks. If the Chief tries to sweep this, we take it to the union, to HR, to anyone who won’t bury it.”
Hyunjin couldn’t breathe around the clench in his chest. “You’re sure about this? If Felix finds out we set it up without him—”
Felix didn’t belong to them in that way—he had autonomy, he had his choices—but Hyunjin also knew the cost of silence on Felix’s face. He imagined Felix crushed under the weight of what he’d smiled through and tasted bile in his mouth.
Minho’s hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder was warm, steady. “We’ll get him to agree to it,” Minho said. “We’ll let him decide to stay. We’ll be careful. But if we wait until something worse happens, it will be our fault.”
They planned the details like surgeons mapping an operation. Times were precise. Exits were noted. Phones would be on, silent, and set to vibrate on Minho’s line. Jeongin would have a second camera on his person, one just in case. If Namjoon, Hoseok, or Suga tried to make a move, they wanted the world to see it as it was: a calculated pattern of harassment, not a misunderstanding.
After they folded the plan into their pockets like something hot and necessary, Minho stood and rubbed the back of his neck. His voice, when he finally smiled—a small, feral thing—was more exhausted than triumphant. “We’re doing this because no one else will. Because it has to stop.”
Jeongin closed the laptop, but not before he ran one last search. Then he handed the printed screenshots to Hyunjin. The paper felt thin and heavy between his fingers. Namjoon’s words sat there in black and white; the messages were terrible and small and human and cowardly.
Hyunjin looked at the names on the printout and tasted something like iron. He thought of Felix curled on the couch last night, hands folded over each other, promising himself he was okay. He imagined the boy’s quiet composure cracking, or the possibility, even worse, that it never cracked and the harm continued unseen.
“Tomorrow night,” Hyunjin said, voice steady now because everything had to be steady for Felix’s sake. “We do it tomorrow night.”
They slept in bursts that day and moved like watchmen after that. Felix volunteered to stay late that afternoon—the same soft voice, the same small smile when Minho offered an extra thermos of coffee—and Hyunjin felt the world tilt. He met Felix’s eyes for a second at the desk and forced his face into something gentle, unremarkable. Felix nodded once, trusting, and Hyunjin nearly broke at the weight of that trust.
When the hour came, they were all in place.
Jeongin had the closet camera rolling, angle wide and unblinking. He sat on his hands despite the tremor in his fingers. Minho stood by the bay, a phone in his palm with a direct line to Chan, breathing like someone counting prayers. Hyunjin folded himself into shadow in the dorm hallway, feeling the building in every fiber, the creak of the radiator, the faint smell of disinfectant, the murmur of the vending machine like a lighthouse.
Felix worked at the desk, a pool of lamplight over his head, methodical, face softened by concentration. He hummed under his breath to some old song, and Hyunjin’s chest unclenched just a hair because the small domesticities were the things they were trying to protect. The three recruits milled about the bay at first, casual, their boots loud. Then, slowly, their feet moved closer to the corridor.
Namjoon passed within the camera’s frame, hands in his pockets, looking like he owned the tile. Hoseok lagged behind, carrying two spare gear bags and smiling that too-bright smile. Suga lingered by the lockers, ostensibly checking inventory.
Hyunjin’s heart beat like a drum. He watched Namjoon’s shoulders, the way Hoseok’s fingers grazed a clipboard. He watched Felix continue to fill out forms, unaware of the way the shadows leaned toward him like vultures.
And then the touch happened.
It was small and precise, Hoseoks hand on the inside of Felix’s wrist when the boy reached for a pen. At first Hyunjin thought it could have been accident; then Hoseok’s fingers tightened, casual and lingering, and Namjoon’s shoulder blocked the line of sight like it had been practiced. Yoongi moved in from the side, voice low and watchful.
Felix’s pen stilled in his hand. You could see the moment the breath left him. He didn’t pull away at first—he was trapped between habit and reflex—but the camera caught every millimeter: the way his eyes darted to the side and then lowered, how his fingers went pale around the pen. There was a tiny hitch in his breath that sent something cold through Hyunjin.
Hyunjin moved before he thought. He ran into the corridor, voice breaking the night like glass. “Hey! Hands off him!”
The three turned like predators startled, and Hoseok’s hand slid away with an expression of mock innocence. Namjoon raised his palms and laughed, the sound brittle. “Relax, man. We were just helping.”
Minho was on the scene before Hyunjin could register relief or fear, chest heaving, and Jeongin stepped out with the laptop, screen still playing the recorded feed. In the flicker from the screen, they could see it again—recorded, and undeniable—the hand that had stayed too long, the look in Felix’s face that they’d all been pretending not to see.
For a moment, no one spoke. The world narrowed to the faint hum of the overhead lights, the smell of ozone and sweat, and the shallow hitch of Felix’s breath. His face was pale, his pupils wide, hands hanging uselessly at his sides.
“Yongbok,” Minho said softly, too softly, like he was speaking to someone half-asleep. “Come with us.”
Felix blinked once. Then twice. His head moved in the faintest nod. Hyunjin reached out, his hand finding Felix’s arm. He could feel the tremor in the younger’s muscles, faint and constant, a body still stuck in the moment of impact, in the instinct to freeze.
They led him toward the lounge, far from the hallway, away from the eyes and the ghosts. The overhead lights here were low, the soft amber glow of an old lamp spilling across the couch. Outside, the rain had started again, gentle this time, steady and endless, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Felix sank into the couch as if pulled there by gravity. His hands pressed between his knees, fingers gripping his own wrist, knuckles white. Hyunjin crouched in front of him, trying to meet his eyes, but Felix’s gaze was somewhere else entirely, far away, behind the last few months of silence he’d built around himself like armor.
Minho set the laptop on the table, next to the pile of printed chat screenshots. The hum of the computer filled the quiet.
“Bok-ah,” Minho began, careful, almost gentle. “We need to show you something. Something you deserve to see.”
Felix looked up, confusion flickering in his expression. “What do you mean?”
Jeongin stepped forward then, swallowing hard. His fingers were still trembling around the edge of the laptop. “We—” His voice caught, and he forced himself to continue. “We set up a camera. We needed proof, Felix. We couldn’t just watch them hurt you anymore.”
Felix stared, unblinking. “You… what?”
“It’s not just that,” Jeongin went on, voice shaking but certain. “I found their group chat. On the station’s network. They were bragging about it. Talking about you. Sharing pictures from the security feed.” His voice broke on the last word. “You should see what they said.”
He turned the laptop around.
The screen flickered to life. The footage played, silent but unbearable, the way Namjoon’s shoulder blocked the view, the way Hoseok’s hand lingered too long, the way Yoongi laughed softly at something that made Felix’s body stiffen. Then the chat messages, lines of text that looked so small, so stupid, jokes about the Captain’s pet, comments about Felix’s scars, his smile, his accent. Cruel words that turned him into a story instead of a person.
Felix’s face crumpled, disbelief warring with something heavier. He pressed a hand to his mouth like he could hold the sound in. “You… you filmed me?” His voice was barely audible, cracked open and small. “Without telling me?”
Hyunjin’s stomach dropped. “Lix—”
“That’s— that’s my space!” Felix’s voice was shaking now, brittle. “You had no right to do that!”
“Felix—” Minho started, but Jeongin’s voice cut through, sharp and trembling.
“They had no right either!”
The words hit the air like lightning.
Jeongin’s hands were shaking where they pressed against the table, his eyes glassy with tears he refused to let fall. “They’ve been violating your space, your body, and your safety since the day they got here! Every single time you’ve flinched and pretended it was fine, they took that as permission to do it again! You keep protecting them when they don’t deserve it!”
Felix stared at him, eyes wide and glistening. “I’m not— I’m not protecting them.” His voice cracked, desperation spilling out. “I just… I can’t. I can’t be the problem again. I can’t make a scene. I’m already on desk duty, I’m already being watched. If I complain, they’ll say I can’t handle being back. That I’m—” His voice broke completely. “That I’m still broken.”
The room went silent. The kind of silence that sinks into bone.
Hyunjin felt something fracture in his chest. “Lix…”
“I have to prove I belong here again,” Felix whispered. “That I can do this, that I’m not weak—”
And then his voice just… stopped. Like someone had cut the sound from the world. His lips parted, a breath shuddered out of him, and all the tension holding him together simply dissolved. His whole body buckled in on itself, collapsing forward before Hyunjin could even move.
Hyunjin caught him mid-fall, arms wrapping around him instinctively. Felix’s fists clutched at his shirt, gripping so tight the fabric stretched under his fingers. And then the sobs came, violent, gasping, and unstoppable. The kind of crying that sounds like the end of something, like the release of months of holding back.
“I’m sorry,” Felix choked, over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Hyunjin pressed a shaking hand to the back of his head, tucking the younger into his chest. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Felix’s body shook harder, the words barely audible through his sobs. “They— they made fun of me. Said I only got my position because of Chan. Said I was too soft, too fragile.” His voice broke completely. “They’d wait until no one else was around and— and say things. About my scars. About my voice. About what I look like.”
Jeongin turned away, his jaw trembling. Minho’s knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of the table.
Felix’s voice kept coming, each word splintering under the weight of memory. “On the supply run,” he whispered, “they pushed me off the truck. Said I should ‘land on my knees.’ They laughed when I hit the ground.” His breath came in hiccuping gasps now. “They’d touch my arm, or my back, or— make comments about my body, and I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted it to stop.”
Hyunjin’s chest felt like it was on fire. He pulled Felix closer, pressing his cheek into Felix’s hair. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that,” he whispered. “Not ever. Not again.”
Felix’s hands fisted in his shirt tighter. “I thought if I just ignored it— if I smiled— it would go away.”
“It won’t,” Hyunjin said, voice trembling. “Not unless we make it stop. Lix, please. Let us take this to Chan. Let us show him. He’ll protect you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Felix shook his head weakly, tears streaking down his cheeks. “He’ll be so disappointed,” he whispered. “He trusted me to be okay.”
“He’ll be furious,” Hyunjin said, his own voice breaking now. “But not at you. Never at you. Please, Lix-ah. Let us help you.”
The rain outside picked up again, heavy against the windows, like the sky itself couldn’t stay quiet anymore.
And then, footsteps in the hall.
“Hyunjin?” Chan’s voice, warm but tired, filled the doorway. “What’s going on?”
The air froze. Minho turned first, face pale. Jeongin’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Chan stepped into the room slowly, his eyes scanning the scene — the open laptop, the screenshots, Jeongin’s tearful expression, Minho’s rigid stance. Then his gaze landed on Felix, crumpled in Hyunjin’s arms, face buried in his chest, trembling.
“Felix?” Chan said softly, his tone cracking in the middle. “Hey, what happened?”
Felix’s whole body tensed, breath catching. His fingers dug into Hyunjin’s shirt. He couldn’t look up; couldn’t even speak.
Hyunjin stroked his hair once, gently. “You ready?” he whispered, barely audible.
Felix didn’t lift his head, just nodded, a tiny, trembling movement against Hyunjin’s chest.
Jeongin swallowed, voice hoarse. “We have something to show you, Captain.”
Chan’s eyes met Hyunjin’s, confusion, fear, and dawning anger. Then he looked back at Felix, still clinging to Hyunjin like he might disappear if he let go.
Chan took one step closer, his voice soft, careful. “Okay,” he said. “Show me.”
Felix didn’t move. He just stayed there, face hidden, body shaking with the last of his tears.
Jeongin wordlessly pushed the laptop toward him. Minho, jaw locked, added the printed pages beside it.
Chan read in silence. The low hum of the old ceiling fan was the only sound as his hand tightened on the edge of the table until his knuckles went white.
Chan didn’t move for a long moment after Jeongin pushed the laptop toward him. The screen’s glow painted his face in cold light, reflecting in the dark of his eyes. Hyunjin could see his jaw clench as he read, the muscle jumping, his breathing getting slower, and heavier.
When the clip ended, he closed the lid with a sharp, deliberate click. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silence.
No one spoke.
Chan’s hands stayed on the table for a second too long, his knuckles white, veins raised under taut skin. Then he stood, slowly, like it physically hurt to hold himself still. The air in the room shifted, too still, too charged.
“They did this here?” he asked, his voice quiet, controlled in the way that was more dangerous than shouting.
Minho nodded once. “Right here in the station.”
Chan’s eyes flicked toward the door, toward where the three recruits had stood not even half an hour ago, and something feral crossed his expression. His shoulders squared, his breathing roughened, a low exhale through his nose like someone fighting the urge to break something.
“I’ll kill them,” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. “I swear to god—”
“Chan—” Minho started, stepping forward.
But Chan didn’t hear him. His fingers flexed, his chest heaved once, twice. Then his gaze landed on Felix.
And all that fury stopped like a door slamming shut.
Felix was still pressed against Hyunjin’s chest, trembling, the aftershocks of tears still shaking through him. His face was streaked, eyes red, skin blotchy and pale under the soft lamp light. He looked up then—just barely—meeting Chan’s eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away again.
The anger bled right out of Chan’s face. His shoulders dropped. He crossed the room in two steps and dropped to his knees in front of them, his movements slow, deliberate and careful, like approaching something breakable.
“Hey,” Chan said softly. “Yongbok. Look at me, sweetheart.”
Felix hesitated before finally lifting his head. His lower lip trembled; tears clung to his lashes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
Chan frowned, gentle confusion threading through his tone. “For what?”
“I just… I keep causing trouble,” Felix said, his voice breaking halfway through. “Every time I think things are fine again, something else happens. And you— you always have to fix it. I should’ve said something. I should’ve stopped them.” His hands fisted in his lap, nails digging into his palms. “I let it happen, and now you’re angry, and I just— I hate that I keep being the problem.”
Hyunjin felt his throat close. He wanted to say something, to tell Felix none of that was true, but Chan was already moving. He reached out, cupping Felix’s face gently in both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears that kept falling no matter how hard Felix tried to stop them.
“Listen to me,” Chan said softly but firmly. “You didn’t let anything happen. You didn’t cause this. The only people who did anything wrong are them.” His voice cracked, the fury still there under the tenderness. “Do you understand me? Them, not you.”
Felix shook his head, fresh tears slipping free. “But I didn’t stop it—”
“You shouldn’t have had to stop it,” Chan said, his voice breaking for the first time. “You should’ve been safe. You’re supposed to be safe here. That’s my job—our job—and we failed you. Not the other way around.”
Felix stared at him, breathing uneven. “But you’re mad,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Chan said quietly. “I’m mad. But not at you.” He gave a watery laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m furious because someone hurt you. Because they made you feel like this.”
Hyunjin could see it in him, the way Chan’s anger was still simmering just below the surface, shaking his hands even as he tried to steady them. His thumb traced along Felix’s cheek again, gentler this time. “You are not a problem, Lix. You’re the reason I even care about this job.”
Felix made a small sound—part sob, part disbelief—and leaned forward until his forehead pressed against Chan’s shoulder. Chan’s arms came up around him immediately, one hand in his hair, the other splayed over his back, holding him close.
“You’re good enough,” Chan murmured, his voice low and rough. “More than good enough. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You’ve been through things that would’ve broken anyone else, and you still walk in here every day and smile. Don’t you ever tell yourself that you’re not enough.”
Felix’s breath hitched again. “I just wanted to make you proud,” he whispered. “I wanted to prove I could still do this, that you didn’t have to worry about me anymore.”
Chan closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his forehead to Felix’s hair. “You don’t have to prove anything,” he said, voice breaking. “You already have. I love you, Yongbok. And nothing you do or don’t do could ever change that.”
Hyunjin felt his chest ache watching them, the way Chan’s fingers trembled as he held Felix, the way Felix clung back like he was terrified of being pushed away.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of the rain, the faint hum of the fridge down the hall, and the quiet rhythm of Chan whispering soothing words that Hyunjin couldn’t quite make out.
Finally, Chan drew in a slow, shaky breath and lifted his head, eyes red but focused. “Can I take this to the Chief?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from Felix’s face. “The footage, the messages, all of it. Let me handle this. You don’t have to go through it again.”
Felix shook his head almost instantly, a small, frightened sound catching in his throat. “It won’t do anything,” he murmured. “They’ll just protect them. They always do. The Chief likes them, he won’t listen.”
Chan’s hand stilled, but he didn’t let go. He exhaled slowly through his nose, the anger flickering back into his eyes, colder now, more deliberate. “Then we’ll make him listen,” he said quietly. “Because this time, it’s not just rumors or words. It’s proof. And I swear to you, Lix, I won’t let them walk away from this.”
Felix’s breath trembled, his eyes closing as he leaned into Chan’s chest again, still crying softly.
Hyunjin stood back a little, watching them, Chan’s hand moving slowly over Felix’s back, his jaw tight with all the rage he wouldn’t let himself unleash right now. The captain of their house, the man who could command a fire scene with a single word, was holding his heart in his arms and whispering instead of roaring, because he knew that right now, anger would do more harm than good.
And that was the thing about Chan, he carried his fury like he carried everything else: quietly, until it could be used to protect.
Hyunjin glanced toward Minho and Jeongin. They both looked wrecked, Jeongin’s cheeks were streaked with tears he hadn’t even noticed, amd Minho’s hands were trembling slightly at his sides. But there was a shared look between them all, something unspoken, a vow.
The next fire they’d fight wouldn’t be from a call. It would be right here, inside their own house.
And this time, they were all going to make damn sure Felix came out unburned.
-
The conference room smelled faintly of coffee and smoke, ghosts of late-night debriefs, laughter, and exhaustion. Hyunjin had sat at this table a hundred times, surrounded by his family in uniform, their voices filling the space with jokes and quiet pride. Now, it felt cold and hollow.
Felix sat beside him, small and still, his hands clasped tight in his lap. His uniform sleeves hung loose around his wrists, he hadn’t rolled them up today, which Hyunjin knew meant he was trying to hide how badly his hands shook.
Chan stood at the far end of the table, his back straight, his jaw locked. He wasn’t the warm, steady captain they all loved right now; he looked like something forged from iron and grief.
When the Chief walked in, the air changed, sharp and heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks. He didn’t even bother sitting right away, just swept a critical look over the room, his expression unreadable.
“Captain Bang,” the Chief said briskly, nodding. “I assume this is about the new transfers? How are they settling in?”
Chan’s voice came out low, rough around the edges. “That’s exactly what we need to talk about.”
The Chief hummed, pulling out a chair and lowering himself into it. “Go ahead.”
Chan took a breath, his shoulders rising and falling once before he spoke. “Sir, those three have broken HR policy and department conduct standards. I want them out of my house. Immediately.”
The Chief blinked slowly, like he hadn’t heard him right. “That’s a big accusation,” he said mildly. “You have any proof? Because those three—” his tone sharpened and condescending— “are some of the top firefighters in this department. I’d hate to lose them over rumors.”
Jeongin was the one who answered, quiet but firm. “We have proof.”
He slid the laptop across the table, plugging in a small drive with trembling fingers. The screen flickered to life, grainy footage from the hidden camera, timestamped and clear. The room filled with the sound of boots scuffing against tile, too-bright laughter, and words that made Hyunjin’s stomach twist. Felix flinched beside him.
The Chief watched the video without blinking, expression carved from stone.
When it ended, Jeongin opened another folder, of screenshots and chat logs. He spoke carefully, voice shaking only once. “They bragged about it, sir. Talked about what they were doing. We caught everything.”
The Chief leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together with exaggerated patience. “And how,” he asked after a long silence, “did you obtain these recordings?”
Hyunjin’s pulse jumped. “We set up a camera in the common area,” he said tightly.
Jeongin’s jaw tightened, but he lifted his chin. “And I accessed their chat through the department’s network.”
The Chief’s brows rose, not in anger, but interest. “So,” he said slowly, “you recorded your colleagues without consent… and hacked private communications on a department server.”
“That’s not the point,” Hyunjin said, heat rising in his chest.
“No,” the Chief said, voice sharpening. “The point is you’ve violated multiple privacy laws and department ethics codes. The firehouse is supposed to be a safe space, and what you’ve done undermines that.”
For a moment, Hyunjin actually forgot to breathe. He stared at the man across the table, disbelief bleeding into nausea.
Felix had gone completely still beside him.
Minho was the first to recover. His voice came out quiet but deadly. “What about Felix?” he asked. “What about what they did? What they said? You saw it.”
The Chief’s face didn’t change. His tone didn’t soften. “I don’t care.”
The words hung in the air like ash.
“You—” Minho’s voice cracked with rage. “You don’t care?”
The Chief’s gaze swept the table, cold and dismissive. “The department will back them before it backs him,” he said simply. “They’re more valuable to this city than one unstable firefighter with a history of trauma. You can take your moral outrage and file it with HR, but it won’t change a thing.”
The silence that followed wasn’t quiet, it was heavy and suffocating. Felix’s breathing hitched, his eyes locked on the floor, and something inside Hyunjin snapped clean in two.
The lights buzzed overhead, harsh and white. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, the taste of metal on his tongue.
“I quit,” he heard himself say.
The sound of his own voice startled him — low, steady, final.
The Chief blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
Hyunjin pushed back from the table, the legs of his chair screeching against the tile. “You heard me. I quit. I’m not staying in a department that ignores assault and calls it teamwork. Not when it’s one of our own being torn apart from the inside.”
“Hyunjin—” Felix’s voice broke, small and terrified.
Before he could say more, Minho’s voice joined his, rough and unwavering. “Me too.”
Jeongin’s followed almost instantly. “I’m done.” His tone was quiet, but there was steel underneath. “If this is what loyalty means to you, I want no part of it.”
Felix’s hand flew to his chest. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Don’t— you can’t—”
He turned to Chan, desperate, eyes wide and pleading. “Please, don’t do this. You’ve worked your whole life—”
But Chan had already unclipped his badge. The sound of it hitting the table was soft, final, and louder than any shout.
“I quit, too,” he said quietly.
The Chief stared at them, dumbfounded. “You’re throwing away your careers over this?” he demanded. “Over one firefighter’s hurt feelings?”
Jeongin stood taller, eyes burning. “No. Over the fact that this department doesn’t protect its own. And if you think this stays in-house, you’re wrong. We’ll go to the press. We’ll show them the footage. We’ll show them how someone who’s saved lives—who nearly died for this city—was treated like garbage by the people who were supposed to have his back.”
The Chief’s mouth opened, but no sound came. He looked smaller now, his authority crumbling under the weight of the words.
Felix was crying silently and violently, his face buried in his hands. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered. “Please. You can’t throw everything away for me.”
Chan turned to him then, his face softening in an instant. He reached out, gently prying Felix’s hands from his face, holding them between his own.
“Lix,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
Felix did, hesitant, his eyes shining with tears.
Chan’s voice trembled, but it was steady enough to carry. “I’m doing this because of you. Because I love you. Because you’re the bravest, strongest person I’ve ever known. You’ve given more to this job than anyone here, and if they can’t see that, they don’t deserve you. None of us should have to.”
Felix’s chin wobbled. “But I—”
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone ever again,” Chan said, voice breaking. “You’re already everything I could ever want in a partner, in life, in work, in everything. You’re the reason I even get out of bed some days.”
Hyunjin felt tears sting his eyes. Jeongin had his face turned away, blinking hard, while Minho’s hands were balled into fists on the table.
Chan gave a shaky laugh, wiping at his own eyes. “God,” he muttered, “I don’t even have the ring.”
Minho’s head snapped up. “Wait.”
He bolted from the room before anyone could ask why. The Chief sat frozen, completely out of his depth, while the others watched the door in stunned silence. A moment later, Minho reappeared, slightly breathless, holding a small black box and tossed it to Chan.
Chan caught it, opened it, and then—
He dropped to one knee. Right there. In full uniform, tears on his cheeks, surrounded by discarded badges and disbelief.
“Lee Felix Yongbok,” he said, voice trembling but clear, “you are the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. You’ve survived the worst life could throw at you and still found it in yourself to love, to heal, to help people. You make this world better just by breathing. Everything I’ve ever done—every fire, every risk—was for you. And I can’t spend another second not being married to you. So please…” he swallowed hard, eyes glistening, “…say you’ll be mine.”
Felix was shaking so hard his whole body trembled. His hand covered his mouth, sobs breaking free even as he smiled through them. He turned toward the Chief, and the defiance that flickered in his teary eyes was brighter than anything Hyunjin had ever seen.
“I quit, too,” Felix whispered.
Then he looked back at Chan and let out a wet laugh that cracked in half. “Yes,” he said, voice trembling but certain. “Of course, yes.”
Chan let out a half-sob, half-laugh and surged to his feet, scooping Felix straight off the ground. Felix clung to him, arms wrapping around his neck as Chan spun him once before kissing him, desperate, relieved, and full of everything they hadn’t said.
Hyunjin felt tears spill down his face before he even realized he was crying. Jeongin was grinning through his own tears, and Minho had a hand pressed hard against his mouth, shoulders shaking.
The Chief didn’t move. He just stared at the scene, at the pile of badges on the table, at the five of them standing together, at the love and loyalty he would never understand.
When Chan finally pulled back, still holding Felix against his chest, his voice came out rough but steady. “We don’t need a department that doesn’t protect its family,” he said quietly. “We’ve built our own.”
They left the conference room together, badges left behind, hearts still pounding, half-laughing and half-crying as they stepped into the main bay. The air smelled like engine grease and rain, and the late afternoon light spilled through the open doors like gold on steel.
Felix was still clinging to Chan’s hand, red-eyed but smiling, while Jeongin kept muttering under his breath about how he couldn’t believe they’d actually done it. Minho had an arm slung around Hyunjin’s shoulders, grinning despite himself.
They were halfway to the door when the rest of the squad—Changbin, Seungmin, and Jisung who’d been hovering in the next room—came rushing over, wide-eyed.
“What the hell just happened?” Changbin asked, looking between them. “Did you all just quit?”
Hyunjin didn’t even slow down. He turned over his shoulder, voice echoing through the bay with more energy than he’d had in weeks.
“Yeah! We all quit! Firehouse’s cursed anyway!”
There was a beat of stunned silence. Then, somewhere in the back, Jisung’s voice rang out from the dorm hallway:
“Wait—should we quit too?”
Hyunjin threw up his hands, already halfway laughing. “Yes! Everyone quits! Whole house’s done!”
It was silent for exactly two seconds before three voices shouted in unison:
“WE QUIT TOO!”
The sound bounced off the concrete walls and metal lockers, followed by chaotic cheering, applause, and someone slamming the emergency bell for dramatic effect.
Changbin whooped, clapping his hands. “Hell yeah! No more night shifts, baby!” Then he pointed at Chan and Felix, who were still holding onto each other like they might float away. “Now, when’s the wedding? I’m ordering the cake!”
Felix blinked, startled, then started laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Chan groaned, hiding his face in his hands.
“Please don’t let him plan the cake,” Chan muttered.
“Too late!” Changbin yelled, already pulling out his phone. “It’s gonna have little fondant helmets on top!”
The laughter that followed was loud enough to shake the walls, messy and unrestrained, the kind that came from people who’d finally let the fire burn out.
And as they walked out into the sunlight—arm in arm, uniform buttons undone, hearts lighter than they’d been in months—Hyunjin couldn’t help but grin.
They might’ve lost a firehouse, but they’d kept what mattered most.
Family.
And maybe, if Changbin really got his way… a seven-tier wedding cake.