Chapter Text

“I still miss you

There's no goin' home

There's no goin' home

With a name like mine

I still dream of you

But everyone knows

Yeah everyone knows

If you can, let it go”

Ghost Towns

As a child, Tim sat curled up in his bed, legs drawn to his chest, the faint glow of the Gotham skyline seeping through the window. The world outside was restless, but inside the Drake household, it was quiet—too quiet. The silence stretched between the walls like something alive, pressing down on him.

He turned an old book over in his hands, fingers tracing the worn cover. It was one of his mother’s—filled with stories, myths, and folklore. A world far richer than the one he lived in. His mother used to read to him, before things started to become complicated. One night, before she had withdrawn entirely, she had told him a story about hungry ghosts.

“They are spirits with insatiable hunger,” she murmured in korean, their secret language from father, voice tinged with something between sorrow and understanding. “No matter how much they eat, they can never be full. They are bound by their yearning, unable to rest.”

Tim had listened, wide-eyed, absorbing every word.

“What do they want?” he had asked, his small hands gripping the edge of her sleeve.

“Everything,” she had sighed. “Desire, revenge, love, warmth, connection . But they can never hold it for long, their hunger can never be sated.”

He had been too young to understand the weight in her voice, the way her eyes had turned distant. But now, curled in his bed, he thought about those ghosts. Hollow. Hungry. Forever reaching for something just out of grasp.

Maybe he was one, too.

Tim didn’t remember a time when he wasn’t hungry. Not for food, but for something else . For warmth, for laughter that didn’t echo back in an empty house. For someone to look at him and see him. Not as an afterthought. Not as a quiet shadow in the background.

His mother had loved him, in her own way. He knew that. There had been moments of softness, touches of warmth in between the cold. But it was fleeting, slipping through his fingers like sand. His father? His father was a different kind of ghost—there, but never present. His words were sharp-edged and distant, his expectations a weight Tim was never sure how to carry.

And then there was the city. The way it breathed beneath his feet. The way it whispered to him. Tim had wandered Gotham’s streets as a child, slipping through shadows, offering small kindnesses where he could. A stolen meal left beside a sleeping kid in Crime Alley. A whispered warning to an old man before a gang fight broke out. The city had whispered back, and in time, people had begun to murmur about the little ghost that roamed the alleyways.

A child who appeared and disappeared. A spirit with sad eyes, offering quiet salvation in the night.

Tim had never corrected them.

It was easier, maybe, to be something not quite real. A ghost didn’t have to explain why he was wandering alone at midnight. 

A ghost didn’t have to justify why no one came looking for him.

_______________________________________________________________

Tim remembered the first time he spoke to Bruce Wayne. He was only four, standing outside a gala, watching as Gotham’s elite waltzed inside. He hadn’t meant to be seen, but Bruce had turned, eyes locking onto him with an intensity that stole his breath. It was not common for someone to see him.

(Maybe, right there, was the moment that he started yearning for Bruce’s love as his father.).

“What are you doing out here alone, little one?” Bruce had asked gently.

Tim had hesitated before answering. “Waiting.”

“For what?”

Tim hadn’t known then, but looking back, he thought maybe he had been waiting for his parents to notice that they had forgotten him there. Or maybe it was for a place where he belonged. But belonging was never simple.

_______________________________________________________________

Years later, when he found the Bats, when he finally stepped into the light, he thought he had escaped hunger. Maybe he had found a place where he could belong. But even then, he had been an observer first, standing just outside the warmth of the fire, waiting. Always waiting.

And yet, despite it all, he loved them. He loved them fiercely, desperately. So he stayed, even when it hurt. He did what he always did—he waited. For them to notice. For them to love him back. 

He waited. 

Until he couldn’t wait anymore.

_______________________________________________________________

Tim was sixteen when he realized Gotham would kill him—not in battle, not as Red Robin, but as Tim Drake-Wayne. It would let him wither away, ignored, forgotten.

For months, his family barely spoke to him outside of the mask. Bruce was angry and had started to ignore him completely, as  he often has done to show his displeasure. Dick and he had fought, and the rift between them only deepened. Damian didn’t know how to mend their relationship, and Tim was too exhausted to try. Jason had abandoned him when he needed him the most, Stephanie… they had chosen separate paths, and Cass had been gone for a long time.

Tim was alone. More than he had ever been, because now he knew what he had lost. 

Then Ra’s took him.

It wasn’t the first time Tim had been kidnapped. For almost a month, he was trapped, enduring Ra’s’s mind games, subtle threats, and attempts to mold him into something else. He endured. He tried to not show how scared he was, while he waited for someone to come to his rescue. 

No one noticed. No one searched. No one came. 

Talia was the one who helped him escape before Ra’s killed him to dump him in lazarus water. She never explained why. Weak, injured, and barely hanging on, Tim made his way back to Gotham, back to the cave.

And nobody was worried.

They weren’t relieved to see him. They weren’t shocked at his state. Bruce barely acknowledged him. He was just there , like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t been missing for weeks . The only person who had been searching for him was Cass.

Cass didn’t say anything when she found him, still dirty and hurt, staring at the wall in his room in silent devastation, the realization sinking in that he truly had no place here. That Gotham, the city he loved, the city he bled for, would be his grave.

She hugged him from behind, watching sadly as he started to tremble in her arms. “Little brother, come with me?”

Cass was always there for him when she could. Without her, he would be gone.  

Tim didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

Before leaving, Tim tied up his loose ends. He formally resigned from Wayne Enterprises, leaving Lucius Fox as the sole authority over his shares. He visited Barbara, Ives, and Bernard, keeping his goodbyes brief but meaningful. He walked through Koreatown to see Granny, making sure she would be cared for. In Crime Alley, he spoke to the kids he used to help, ensuring Jason would pick up where he left off.

His cases, he sent to Jason and Stephanie. His patrol routes, he reassigned to Barbara, knowing she’d distribute them between Steph, Damian, and Jason. He stood outside Damian’s art exhibition, watching from the shadows, unaware that Damian had seen him leave.

And finally, he went to his parents’ grave. There, Alfred was waiting.

“You are leaving.” It wasn’t a question.

Tim swallowed. “Yeah.”

Alfred sighed, sadness in his eyes. “You will call?”

Tim’s voice was small. “Yeah.”

Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry, my boy. But… I am proud of you. For knowing when to walk away.”

Tim nodded, blinking back tears. Alfred let him go, watching him disappear into the night. He didn’t say a word when Bruce finally realized Tim was gone.

Young Justice helped him pack. Bart and Kon cracked jokes to make the silence easier, but their hands were tense as they folded his clothes. They were out the world when Tim was at Ra’s hands again. They should not have to feel guilty about it, but they did.

Cass stood watch, silent but steady. Tim didn’t say goodbye to the Waynes. He didn’t owe them that.

The Batfamily didn’t notice he was gone until Damian asked about him weeks later.

_______________________________________________________________

Settling with Cass was strange at first. Tim had spent so long being independent, fighting alone, that he didn’t know how to let someone take care of him. But Cass never forced it. She simply existed beside him, making space for him to heal at his own pace.

For the first time in a long while, Tim wasn’t Red Robin or a Wayne. Maybe neither Timothy Drake. He was just Tae-min. As his mother once wanted. 

“I think I want another family name.” He confesses one night, as they lay together on the rooftop os their temporary home. Cass is a steady presence, as always. Nowadays they look even more like twins, despite their age difference. “Maybe… I could have yours?”

She took a long time to answer, making him nervous. Her hand took his to make him know that she was not angry with the request, but trying to find her words. 

“Little brother. My family.” She reassured. “But… Cain is pain. For me it is a medal. I survived it. You…” She looked at him with love in her eyes, and some sadness. “Deserved something just yours. For once. New and yours.”

He understood what she was trying to say. She was making sure he knew that it was not a rejection. 

All his life he lived as a legacy from others. He was a Drake for Jack and his expectations, with the price to not becoming Tae-min. Later he was Robin and Red Robin, two legacies of pain for him. And Wayne, even if he was not one now. Maybe he never was.

“I would like that.” He whispered. 

He was Tae-min, for his mother. Her precious and strong jade . He was his mother's treasure at the same time that she let him know that he needed to endure, because maybe she knew he would suffer in this world. It was something for the past, something to mourn the love they had for each other, even if it only hurt them. “But… I want you to choose one for me.”

Tae-min was the love he could not have. 

“Of course, little brother.” Cass smiled sweetly. 

Weeks later, as they were ready to travel, Cass took his hand and gave him a card. 

Shinryong (신룡, 新龍) 

A new dragon. A dragon of rebirth and transformation. His new beginning for something that once hurt. 

“ Tae-min Shinryong.” He whispered, his eyes shining with tears. "A great and steadfast new dragon." 

Cass smiled. “Something just yours.” 

His surname was the love he knew he would have forever. 

_______________________________________________________________

They traveled through Asia, taking time to breathe. Cass brought him to Taiwan, where she had once found solace, and Tae-min learned to enjoy the quiet moments—mornings spent drinking tea, walks through markets, and evenings watching the city lights. He wasn’t healed, not yet, but he was learning.

On their way through China, they encountered Shiva.

Tae-min tensed at first, unsure of her intentions. But Shiva merely observed him, her gaze softer than he had ever seen it. She followed them for sometime until he reached out, because he knew Cass wouldn’t. She made him know that she knew about his time with Ra’s, and she was glad that he got away. They had a difficult relationship. Not as complicated as she had with Cass. 

He once was her precious student. Their time together was a memory that Tae-min was fond of. Now he could say that it was something that made him think of what he could have had with his mother. 

“I received your presents.” He confesses. “I have it all with me.”

She did not respond, both of them could see the dagger on her waist. Something that Tae-min had sent to her years before. 

“You remind me of Cassandra,” she finally said. “And I find myself caring for you the same.”

Tae-min didn’t know how to respond to that, but something in his chest ached at the words.

Cass and her mother didn’t talk as they parted ways.

Maybe they didn’t need words.

_______________________________________________________________

Eventually, the call of vigilantism returned. He couldn’t stop—not completely. He began crafting a new identity, one that belonged to him and not the Bat. Something freer. Eventually he settle for Gwidam (귀담, 鬼談), the Ghost Whisper.  Something to match Orphan as an underground vigilante, at the same time something for his roots, Korean and Gothamite. 

He once was a ghost in Gotham. As a kid and as a vigilante, he was known for hearing Gotham's suffering and acting on it. This name reflects his role as someone who listens to the city's lost voices and fights for them. Afterwall, he knew what it felt like not to be heard. 

Eventually, his journey led him to Korea.

Tae-min’s mother had rarely spoken of her past, but he knew enough to find his way to her hometown. He visited his grandparents' graves, their names etched in stone, and introduced himself with the Korean name his mother had chosen for him and the surname that was a gift from his sister. 

People who had known his mother as a child shared stories, memories of a girl who had once laughed despite the hardships. He mourned her, not just for her death but for the suffering they had both endured at the hands of his father.

Standing at her parents grave that she could never visit, he whispered, "You didn’t deserved it. Neither did I."

After so long, he let himself believe it.

Chapter Text

Eventually they settled in Korea. When after months, nobody came to get him, Tae-min stopped looking back from his shoulder. He was sad, but also relieved. It was easier this way. He didn’t need to break a bond that didn’t exist in the first place.

Life goes on. As a vigilante he could work with Cass and Young Justice on underground missions and met a lot of Asian based vigilantes he didn’t even know existed before.

As a civilian, he finally could return to his studies, even though it was an online university course. Tae-min Shinryong was as ordinary as he could be. 

Then, everything went to hell because of one mission. 

___________________________________________________________________

Tae-min had done a lot of ridiculous things in his career as a vigilante. He had fought metahumans, played baseball to save the universe, hacked into top-secret government files, exploded Ra’s Al Ghul bases and faked an engagement. But as he stared at the mirror, dressed in ripped jeans and a trendy oversized sweater, he couldn’t help but think this might be the most absurd mission yet.

“Infiltrating a K-pop training camp,” he muttered, adjusting the fluffy microphone pack. “Really?”

Cassandra Cain, seated across from him, simply tilted her head in that infuriatingly serene way of hers. “Case needs solving.”

She wasn’t wrong. Over the last few months, young trainees from Seoul’s top entertainment agencies had gone missing under strange circumstances. Some turned up weeks later, shaken and unwilling to talk. Others remained missing. Cass had suspected human trafficking, but Tae-min had found inconsistencies—something more was happening. And so, they had sent themselves undercover: Cass as a quiet dance coach, and Tae-min… as a trainee.

He decided to go as himself. Not Tim Drake, of course, because he was not him anymore, but as Tae-min. He was not in disguise. Cass didn’t question him. Maybe she knew what he was thinking. That maybe they would see him and realize–

I’m quite pathetic, Am I? 

“Do you think people from Gotham will notice?” He whispered. Before Cass could respond, he snorted. “Of course not, is not something that they watch, is it? Nobody will know. And we can cement my new identity even better.” 

Cass didn’t respond. For someone so intelligent, her little brother could be quite stupid. 

___________________________________________________________________

Tae-min had figured he’d be in and out within a week. Solve the case, fail his way out of the program, and go back to his life. 

That was before he realized how hard it was to actually get eliminated.

He had tried everything. Bombing evaluations, acting completely uncharismatic, even adding the most unhinged imaginable lines. Yet, somehow, his strategy backfired spectacularly. His ridiculous comments became memes, his deadpan expressions contrasted too well with the over-the-top energy of the other trainees, and his ‘accidental’ stumbles made him look endearing rather than incompetent.

Even Cass had the audacity to laugh when one of the instructors praised his ‘natural comedic timing.’

“Not funny,” he muttered.

“Very funny,” she countered.

The worst part? Eventually the trainers started to like him. 

He had expected the other trainees to be cutthroat, but his roommates and eventually the trainers that he would perform with were nothing like that. They were loud, chaotic, and strangely protective of him despite him being the most useless idol trainee imaginable.

Min-jae was as intense as any Gotham vigilante, always making sure they trained properly. Seojin, the main rapper, had an oddly Robin-esque sense of humor, prone to teasing Tae-min relentlessly. Jiho, the main vocalist, seemed like a cinnamon roll but had a terrifyingly good aim when throwing things. And Kwan, the group’s eldest, was a mother hen who made sure Tae-min actually ate properly—a habit Tae-min found strangely difficult to get used to.

“You’re the maknae,” Kwan had told him firmly. “That means you get taken care of.”

Tae-min had stared at him in mild horror. “I’m used to just… surviving?”

Min-jae snorted. “Not anymore.”

Tae-min had no idea how to handle this. 

And suddenly everything changed.

___________________________________________________________________

At first, Tae-min was just… strange .

The other trainees weren’t sure what to make of him. He had come into the program unexpectedly, seemingly out of nowhere, and it was obvious that he wasn’t taking it seriously. He didn’t struggle with training the way most did, but he also didn’t stand out in the way someone aiming for a debut usually would. It was like he was holding back, deliberately making himself average.

“He’s only here to mess with his family,” someone whispered after the first evaluation. “You can tell. He doesn’t want to be here.”

And at first, they were right.

Tae-min never talked about his past, but there was always an edge to him that suggested something deeper was going on. He skipped breaks to train alone, stayed quiet during interviews, and never really wanted to stand out. His performances were passable, but his dance lines were too clean, his voice too steady—it was like he was purposefully aiming for mediocrity.

But then they noticed something else.

Tae-min was always there. Helping. Supporting. If someone was struggling with choreography, he would go over it with them after hours. If someone was sick, he brought them water and made sure they rested. He was always adjusting people’s mics before performances, fixing loose laces, making sure everyone was where they needed to be.

He didn’t care about debuting. But he cared about them .

And that’s when people started to see him.

Somewhere along the way, his half-hearted efforts changed. Even if he didn’t want to debut, Tae-min was a perfectionist . He trained harder than most, improved faster than anyone. His performances became more polished. His voice steadier. His presence sharper. And when he performed, really performed , there was no ignoring it. He wasn’t just good. He was brilliant .

But even as he excelled, there was something hesitant in him. A reluctance that never fully faded. It wasn’t until the final stages of the competition that he finally admitted why.

“I feel bad,” he confessed to them after a long night of practice. “Because at first, I didn’t want to be here. I only joined because… I didn’t know what else to do. But now…” He hesitated, looking at the people who had become his family. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to be away from you.”

Later, in an interview, he said it more simply. “I want to try because everyone is working really hard. I don't want to let my team down. ”

The internet exploded .

Clips surfaced of his earlier, hilariously obvious attempts to be bad at things he was secretly amazing at. Someone dug up an old video of him as a child, playing violin at a gala. Another of him, tiny and serious, practicing ballet with impeccable form. Social media had a field day.

But one of the most talked-about moments was a conversation with one of his mentors and company manager, Mrs Lee. 

“What do you want to do, Tae-min?” She had asked.

Tae-min had hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “This is the first time someone has asked me that. And meant it.”

The mentor had watched him carefully. “Well, you have a choice now. What do you want?”

For a long moment, Tae-min didn’t answer. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “I think… I want to find a home again.”

Eventually, he and Cass cracked the case—trainees were being lured into a black-market scheme selling performance enhancers with severe side effects. Once exposed, arrests were made, and their mission should have been over.

Except.

Tae-min, against all odds, had actually debuted.

“Congratulations,” Cass told him smugly, watching as confetti rained down on stage.

Tae-min signed. 

“Tae-ah!!” 

And as he looked at his group, all smiling and celebrating like they actually belonged together, Tae-min found himself thinking… maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

___________________________________________________________________

Gotham, of course, noticed.

@WE_Apprentice: He really thought we wouldn’t notice?

@Taemin_is_ours: Tae-min spent months nerfing himself, only to accidentally become too good anyway.

@Bernard_Down: This man deadass tried to speedrun failure and ended up debuting instead.

_____________________________________________________________

Mrs. Lee had met many young men in her life and the company manager, but none quite like the ones standing before her now.

The first one to step forward was Min-jae. He had a presence about him, steady and composed, like a young man who had long learned to carry the weight of others. His dark hair was neatly styled, framing a sharp but kind face. His broad shoulders and upright posture made him seem older than he was, but there was warmth in his eyes. He reminded her of a pillar—something reliable, something that wouldn’t crumble under pressure.

Then there was Kwan. He was tall, slender, and elegant in the way that some people just naturally were. His hair was dyed a deep chestnut brown, falling effortlessly over his forehead. His features were refined, striking, but there was something calculating in the way he held himself, an awareness that suggested he was always observing. Yet, when he met her eyes, he smiled—a small, polite thing, but real nonetheless. He carried himself with an air of quiet confidence, the kind that came from knowing exactly who he was.

Seojin, on the other hand, was all energy. He had dyed blond hair that had clearly been styled with care, though his natural dark roots peeked through slightly. His smile was wide and effortless, his eyes bright with mischief. He leaned slightly toward Tae-min, nudging him playfully, even in this formal first meeting. There was something about him that reminded her of a firecracker—bright, unpredictable, but full of life.

Jiho stood slightly apart from the others, though not out of discomfort. His dark eyes held a quiet curiosity, studying her with an almost cautious respect. His mixed heritage was evident in the structure of his face, a striking blend of soft and sharp features. He was lean but well-built, and the way he shifted his weight told her that he was someone who carried himself lightly, always ready to move. His presence was less overt than the others, but no less strong.

And then there was Tae-min. 

Mrs. Lee had known him for a while now,  but looking at him among his group members, she saw the contrast more clearly than ever. He was smaller than most of them, more delicate in appearance but no less striking. His black hair had grown slightly longer, the fringe brushing just above his dark blue eyes—eyes that had seen too much but still held quiet determination. His frame, though lean, has muscles and he carried tension in his shoulders, as if he was always waiting for something. Yet, despite that, there was a subtle ease when he stood with them. 

He looked a lot happier than the last time she saw him. Not so lost.

She nodded approvingly, letting her gaze sweep over them once more. Different as they all were, they fit together like puzzle pieces. And more importantly—she could see it in the way they glanced at each other, the way Tae-min relaxed in their presence—these boys, in their own way, could become each other's home.

Chapter Text

 One night, long after their grueling rehearsals for their debut show, the group sat together in their dorm, sharing stories from their pasts and families, while they made dinner in the big kitchen that Kwan seemed to love so much.

Jiho was from a mixed family, his mother was Indian, his father from Korea.

“My parent’s families don’t like each other very much.” He said, “It’s a bit of a struggle, but my grandparents love me and my little sister, at last. We try to visit both their  places as equally as possible. Sometimes their cultures clash.” 

The others laughed at this and Tae-min asked himself how it would be to live like this. All the culture and love, even with the struggle. It seemed almost unreal. 

Not everyone seemed to get well with their families. Min-jae got really quiet about this, just admitting that nowadays it was just him and his little brothers, who now live with their grandparents. They haven't seen each other a lot since he became a trainee. Kwan has two big sisters and Seojin is an only child.

Tae-min never talked about Gotham. About the life he left behind. They usually didn’t press too. But somehow, here, with these people who had no expectations of him, it just slipped out.

“Now it’s just me and Cass.” he said finally, voice quiet in korean. “My big sister, you knew her at the camp.”

They nodded. Cass was a good dance instructor, the trainees loved her.

“But,” He continued. “I used to live with more people. I had brothers. I thought maybe–No, we were family, I think. For a while.” He struggled to explain, until he just signed. 

Min-jae frowned. “What do you mean?”

Tae-min hesitated. He could make something up. But he was tired and Cass told him that he should… try. 

I miss her. I hope we can see each other soon. 

He was taking a break from vigilante work, until he found his pace and how to get away without anyone noticing. He didn’t know it would be this hard. It was a new experience to be noticed and missed every time. 

“Tae-ah?”

He looked up, noticing that he was spacing out again. His ears went red when he saw that his friends were looking at him with fond amusement and a little bit worried.

“Sorry, hyung. I… had someone, when my parents died. He took me in, but I– It felt like I overstayed my welcome. They didn’t want me around,” he admitted. “ If I wasn’t useful, or didn’t do what they wanted, I was not seen. I was just… there.”

Silence settled around them, the usual teasing absent. Kwan nudged him with a gentle shoulder bump. “That’s not how a family's supposed to be.”

“Yeah, well.” Tae-min exhaled. “That’s how it was for me. Always. My parents too…Anyway. I think they didn’t even notice I was gone for a while. Maybe I was the problem.”

Jiho threw a pillow at his face. “That’s stupid.”

Tae-min blinked. “Hh?”

“You’re Tae-min,” Seojin said, arms crossed. “Our Tae-min. You’re annoying and stubborn and a menace to society, and we’d notice if you were gone. So clearly, your old family just didn’t know what they had.”

Tae-min swallowed hard. “You guys are way too sentimental.”

“Shut up and let us care about you,” Kwan said, dragging him into a hug.

Tae-min had no idea how to handle this.

______________________________________________________________

Min-jae had always prided himself on understanding people. It was part of being a leader—reading the room, knowing when to push and when to hold back.

Tae-min, however, was a puzzle he still hadn’t quite solved.

At first, Min-jae had thought Tae-min was just a quiet, awkward foreigner with too much sarcasm and not enough idol training. But then he noticed the other things—the way Tae-min barely slept, how he flinched at loud arguments, the way his eyes always scanned the exits of every room they entered. And, most telling of all, how he never called home.

Then they debuted together and he got to know him better. And everything that was observed made him even more worried.

One night, Tae-min had let something slip. About not being seen. About not being wanted.

Min-jae didn’t know everything, but he knew enough. And when Tae-min woke up from a nightmare that night, breath hitching, eyes unfocused, Min-jae didn’t say anything.

He just sat next to him, offering quiet presence instead of empty words.

And in the morning, when Tae-min found an extra bowl of rice on the table, he didn’t say anything either.

But he ate it.

And Min-jae figured that was enough for now.

______________________________________________________________

Bruce didn’t realize Tim was gone until Damian asked about him.

It was a simple question, posed over breakfast. “Where is Drake?” 

Silence.

Bruce lowered his coffee cup. “What do you mean?”

Damian talked casually. Too casually, as he was testing him. “I haven’t seen him. He’s not on patrol, he’s not in the cave, and his room is untouched, as is his nest. Has he been on a mission?”

Bruce’s grip tightened around the ceramic. 

“When did you realize it?”

Damian looked at him sharply. 

“For a while.”

“Why didn’t you–”

“I didn’t think you would care, father. You didn’t seem to care for him for a long time now.” For someone who used to say that he didn’t like his brother, Damian looked upset. “If you did care, you would have noticed that he hasn't even lived here since last year.”

Bruce looked stunned as Damian got up from the table. Before leaving, he had one last thing to say.

“Would you even notice if I was gone too?”

He turned to the Batcomputer immediately after, pulling up Tim’s tracking data—only to find it inactive. Bank records, phone activity, case logs… nothing recent.

Tim wasn’t just missing. Tim was gone.

And he hadn’t even noticed.

He started looking, but there was no trail to follow. Barbara stonewalled him. Stephanie refused to talk. Jason scoffed and muttered something about Tim finally getting the hell away. It took an old camera feed from Young Justice’s last visit to show what he had missed—Bart zipping through Tim’s nest, carrying a duffel bag, Kon standing by a car, Tim slipping into the passenger seat while Cass stood watch. A quiet, deliberate departure.

Bruce had lost him. And Tim had let himself be lost.

Then, weeks later, he saw him again—on a television screen.

The news was buzzing about the latest season of Idol Ground, a survival show featuring trainees from different companies. Bruce wouldn’t have paid attention if he hadn’t caught a familiar face on screen.

Tim. Standing among the other trainees, dressed in casual performance gear, his black hair slightly longer, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, Bruce thought he was hallucinating. Then the footage played—Tim training, singing, dancing, performing in front of judges. He had a new name, a new identity. A new life, but he wasn’t exactly riding himself. 

He had left Gotham behind.

Bruce didn’t call him. He didn’t know how to.

Instead, he found himself in a dimly lit dojo in a quiet part of Taiwan, standing in front of Cassandra Cain. She barely glanced at him before returning to her stretches.

“You knew,” he said.

Cass shrugged. “He’s my brother.”

“You helped him leave.”

This time, she turned to face him fully, her dark eyes sharp. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Bruce had no answer to that.

He hesitated before asking, “What happened with Ra’s?”

Cass’ jaw tensed. “You should ask Tim.”

“He won’t talk to me.”

“Then you should ask yourself why.”

Her words landed like a punch to the gut. Bruce closed his eyes briefly. He had been so angry with Tim after everything with Boomerang, so frustrated with his choices, that he had pushed him away without realizing how far he had gone. He had let his son slip through his fingers.

“He was missing for almost a month,” Bruce murmured. “And I didn’t even—”

“You didn’t notice,” Cass finished, her voice devoid of judgment, just stating a fact. “I did.”

Bruce looked down, feeling something bitter settle in his throat. “Is he safe?”

Cass tilted her head, considering. “He’s learning to be.”

She picked up a towel and turned away. “You should let him be.”

Bruce watched her go, the weight of his failures pressing down on him. He had spent years trying to prepare his children for the darkness of the world. 

He never considered that he could be part of what they needed to escape.

_________________________________________________________

Dick hadn’t meant to watch the videos.

He had avoided them for as long as he could, dreading the confirmation of what he already knew: that Timmy was gone. That they had driven him away.

But the Batcomputer’s algorithm had a way of showing him what he didn’t want to see. A trending clip from Eclipse’s latest variety show. A five-second TikTok of Tim…Tae-min laughing—actually laughing—as one of his members pulled him into a hug. A fan edit that compiled moments of Tae-min being cared for: food being placed in front of him, hands ruffling his hair, arms thrown around his shoulders like he belonged.

Dick had spent years calling Tim his little brother, but he hadn't seen him so at ease like this since he was Robin.  

And that hurt.

Because they were supposed to be his family. But they had let him slip away, let him believe he was only ever an afterthought.

Tim had never been good at asking for help. And they had been too self-absorbed, too distracted, to notice he had needed them. By the Time they did, it had been too late.

And now he had found people who did see him. Who chose him.

Dick clicked on another video, watching as Tim’s group crowded around him, shielding him from an overbearing MC. One of them—Min-jae, maybe—kept a firm hand on his shoulder, grounding. Protective.

That should have been them .

Dick exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face.

Bruce had been the first to fail Tim, but the rest of them hadn’t been much better. They didn’t even notice that he had been taken by Ra’s Al Ghul until Talia reached out to Damian. They didn’t notice him gone, until Damian asked for him. Damian was the one to notice first, but he spent weeks without saying anything, because he thought they wouldn’t care. And could Dick blame him?

And Bruce at the moment was just as constipated as always about reaching out to Tim. Maybe it was the guilt he was feeling about not noticing one of his kids were gone and just finding where he went when he saw him on TV.

He shut the laptop. Stared at the dark screen, his own reflection barely visible.

They had lost him.

And the worst part was, Tim… Tae-min had finally found people who deserved him.

Maybe, Dick thought bitterly, they had never deserved him at all.

Chapter Text

Mrs. Lee, the group manager, knew Tae-min wasn’t okay the second he staggered into the practice room, feverish and exhausted, when he should have been sleeping. 

Usually she would get a sassy remark or he would take her ear off about something or other to try to soften her when he did something wrong. 

This time he didn’t even look her way, going to a water bottle in staggered steps.

She sighed. “You need rest.”

She had taken care of many trainees, watched young idols break themselves trying to be perfect. But Tae-min was different. He didn’t just push himself too hard—he acted like stopping wasn’t an option at all, like they would leave him behind if he wasn't perfect.

Tae-min shook his head. “I’ve had worse.”

That, more than anything, made her pause.

Sometimes he was so closed off about how he felt, then he would say something like that as it was nothing. Min-Jae were alike on this. She thinks that’s why she worries about them the most.

She approached him carefully. Not always her touch was welcome. Or really anyone's touch aside from his sister. And Kwan and Jiho. Those two had a way with their youngest to make him feel comfortable. 

“You feel a little warm, we should–”

She paused when he closed his eyes, leaning on her hand on his forehead. Lee was not an affectionate woman, but the act made her feel strangely motherly. 

Or maybe it was a Tae-min thing. 

“Today is mother’s death anniversary.”

“Tae-min,” she said softly, surprised.

His breath hitched and she guided him to sit down on the sofa. He exhaled shakily, his defenses crumbling.

“She loved me, you know,” he rasped. “She just… didn’t know how to be a mother.”

Mrs. Lee listened, because he was not often as open as now. It seemed a solemn moment. Precious. 

Or maybe it is the fever. 

“She wasn’t home much. But– she tried. She brought me things, small things, like it was her way of saying she cared. Like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. I clung to those moments.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I thought if I was good enough, she’d stay. But then she was gone forever.”

Mrs. Lee felt her heart ache. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Tae-min let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “No. But I still felt like it was. If I was a better kid, maybe she would have– She was always so sad . ”

She wanted to hug him so badly, but she didn't know if she would be welcome right now. 

A long silence stretched between them before he spoke again, voice quieter. “Jack made her sad. He wasn’t… great. He made us feel so small. He’d talk circles around me until I wasn’t sure what was real anymore. ”

Mrs. Lee’s grip on her clipboard tightened. This wasn’t something she could fix now. But she could listen.

“He didn’t like that mother was Korean, didn’t like that I was like her so much. He made sure I never learned her language, never knew her family. Mother tried to show me. But then…” Tae-min’s breath shuddered. “He would make us feel guilty. Like we were betraying him. And they would leave me there. Alone.”

Mrs. Lee felt a deep, simmering anger in her gut. She’d met parents like that before—people who tried to erase parts of their children out of resentment, out of selfishness.

“And Wayne?” she asked carefully. She should feel guilty to use the situation for more information, but she had to try.

Tae-min swallowed hard. “Bruce…was grieving. He had lost a son. He didn’t want to deal with me at first, but I imposed my presence. I made myself his crutch for so long that now he only cares as long as I’m useful.” He let out a breath, exhausted and bitter. “He tried, you know? He would speak Korean with me, take me to eat my mothers hometown food. He would listen even when I spoke too much and moved too much and… he made myself feel seen .” His breath hitched again and he stopped for a while.

“I love him so much.” He whispered. “But he would show me his love and then take it back when I didn’t do what he wanted. If I mess up, if I step out of line, if I’m not what he needs me to be… I stop existing to him. It’s painful to love him.”

Mrs. Lee reached out, resting a hand on his arm. “That’s not love, Tae-min.”

Tae-min looked at her, something like desperation flickering in his fevered gaze. “Then what is it?”

She squeezed gently. “Love isn’t something you earn. It’s something given, freely.”

Tae-min didn’t respond. 

She could not resist anymore and hugged him. 

He didn’t pull away.

_______________________________________________________________

It had started with a misunderstanding.

Tae-min’s group had noticed his scars before. They had noticed the way he flinched at sudden movements, how he always seemed to be waiting for something bad to happen. Then he let slip that he had escaped his family, they connected the dots in the worst way possible.

They thought Tae-min had been abused.

And Tae-min… he couldn’t exactly correct them. Because wasn’t neglect just another kind of wound? Wasn’t being unseen just another way of being hurt?

So they protected him. Even from his own past.

Which is why, during their post-show event in New York, when Bruce Wayne appeared in the VIP section, Min-jae moved before Tae-min could even react.

Their manager stepped in first, her expression cold. “You need to leave.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “I just want to talk to him.”

Min-jae crossed his arms, Seojin and Kwan flanking him. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Tae-min felt the air leave his lungs. The room seemed smaller, closing in. Bruce’s face was unreadable, but his presence alone made Tae-min’s pulse spike. It was the first time that he saw him in so long.

Bruce looked wrecked. And angry. 

It was never good when Bruce was angry like this.

“I know we made mistakes,” Bruce said. “But he’s still my—”

“He is our member,” Min-jae cut in, voice sharp, making himself look bigger. “And you don’t get to waltz in after abandoning him and pretend everything’s fine.”

Tae-min wanted to ask Min-jae to move back. Bruce could be dangerous when he got angry. Jason, Dick and himself could attest that, everytime they crossed an invisible line to Batman, he would get violent. 

He hurt Jason and Dick, now he is gonna hurt another brother, stop–

Bruce opened his mouth, but Tae-min was already shaking. His hands clenched, breath shallow—

Then Kwan was beside him, warm and steady. “Breathe, kid.” he murmured. “We got you.”

Bruce took a step forward, but their manager stepped between them. Her presence was big from someone so small. “If you care about him at all, you’ll leave.”

For a moment, Bruce looked like he might argue. But then his eyes met Tae-min’s—wide, unfocused, terrified—and something in his face broke .

Without another word, Bruce turned and left.

His breath came too fast, his vision blurred—

But then there were arms around him. Steady voices, grounding hands.

“You’re safe,” Min-jae murmured. “We’ve got you.”

______________________________________________________________

Mrs. Lee was on the phone, her voice sharp with frustration. Whoever was responsible for managing the VIP cards that night was getting an earful.

Tae-min sat in silence. In the confined space of the car, he was close to Min-jae—something that didn’t usually happen. He always gravitated toward Kwan or Jiho, the ones he was closest to.

Seojin, ever the peacemaker, tried to fill the silence with small talk. Kwan humored him, but it was clear no one else was listening. Eventually, he gave up.

Min-jae sat stiffly, fists clenched around his things, staring out the window. Jiho kept his eyes on Tae-min, who, in turn, was staring at his lap, his gaze unfocused. Tae-min always got that look when he was lost in his own head. He never cried—not even when he was having a panic attack. In all the time Seojin had known him, he had never seen him shed a single tear.

But if there was ever a moment for it, it was now.

His expression when Wayne turned his back on him had been nothing short of wrecked. He had looked afraid—like he wanted the man to go, but a part of him desperately wanted him to stay.

The car was quiet as they neared the hotel, the weight of the moment settling over them like a thick fog. Then, at last, Tae-min moved.

He reached out and took one of Min-jae’s clenched fists in his own. Seojin watched as Min-jae tensed for a split second—then, slowly, his posture softened, like a statue coming to life. He looked down at Tae-min, his expression unreadable.

Tae-min carefully pried Min-jae’s fingers open and laced their hands together. The size difference was almost comical, their fingers intertwined in a way that was both unexpected and familiar all at once.

Something in Min-jae’s face shifted. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

The air in the car changed. The tension dissolved. Beside Seojin, Kwan let out a quiet sigh.

The rest of the ride was peaceful.

Chapter Text

Tae-min was no stranger to social media. He had been born on the elite and later became a Wayne—a name that was royalty in Gotham.

As a child, his father had loved to parade him around at galas and high-profile events, boasting about his son's musical talent. Tae-min had tried to please him, believing—hoping—that if he played well enough, if he was impressive enough, then maybe his father would finally love him.

For a while, it worked. He loved the violin, and he loved the way his father’s praise made him feel seen. But eventually, he realized the truth—he wasn’t a son to be cherished; he was a party trick to be displayed. The joy of performing soured into obligation. The stiff suits, the deafening chatter, the artificial praise—it all became suffocating.

“He looks like his mother. What a pity.”

“Of course he’s intelligent. His kind always are.”

Their words stuck to him like oil, impossible to wash away.

The media had always loved those events. His mother had done her best to shield him from the worst of it when she was around. But then, she wasn’t anymore.

And Tae-min had been left alone—with the internet and too much time on his hands.

It didn’t take long to learn not to search his own name unless he wanted to be hurt. It was easier, instead, to spend time on forums, to lose himself in Reddit threads, asking about things no child should have to figure out alone.

For a while, before everything went wrong, there had been happiness. Ives, Darla, and Bernard—running through Gotham, making parkour videos, playing violin on the streets for extra cash (and trying not to get mugged in the process). They recorded stupid tricks at the skatepark, laughing until their stomachs hurt.

Even as Robin, there had been light. Young Justice doing livestreams (to Bruce’s eternal horror), Stephanie and Cass recording cryptid-style videos of themselves doing ridiculous stunts on Gotham’s rooftops. Whenever Bruce scolded them, Dick would laugh and defend them.

He had been happy then.

And then everything had gone to hell.

Death. Heartbreak. Change.

Too much, too fast.

Tim Wayne had no joy in social media—only scrutiny, invasive questions, endless speculation about his place in the Wayne family. It was exhausting, a constant battle of putting out fires before they burned too hot.

So, yes. He had a complicated history with the internet.

And now, as an idol—as a runaway Wayne ward—he knew they would have a field day with him. His mother would have told him to let them talk, to focus on the things that mattered. But Tae-min had always been weaker than her. He had spent too much of his life chasing love, seeking approval. Things like that were hard to unlearn.

So, at first, he didn’t look.

Even when he debuted—even when he knew that people had voted for him, had chosen him—he still didn’t look.

“Do I have to?” he asked, staring warily at the tablet someone had handed him.

Kwan patted his head. “Usually, someone helps us manage our accounts, but yeah, we still need to have them.”

Tae-min sighed. “Somehow, I doubt this will end well.”

The others exchanged glances.

“No, really, you don’t have to worry,” Seojin assured him, grinning. “If anyone tried to be shitty about you, I don’t think they survived the Gotham uproar when they started their internet war over you.”

Tae-min blinked. “The what?”

______________________________________________________________

Gotham’s madness: How an Entire City Went to War for a K-Pop Trainee

    By: GothamCultureWatch 

For most aspiring idols, debuting is a battle against ruthless competition, company politics, and the ever-unpredictable public opinion. For one particular trainee, however, that battle was fought by an entire city.

Tae-min, formerly known as Tim Wayne, was once a name whispered in Gotham’s high society circles and splashed across tabloids. But when he appeared as a trainee on an idol survival show,  Gothamites, infamous for their resilience, treated his debut campaign like it was a city-wide election.

To truly understand it, we took to the streets of Gotham to interview locals about Tae-min’s rise to stardom.

Marcus T., 27, Bartender in Crime Alley:
"Listen, I don’t know much about K-pop, but that kid’s been through enough. If voting for him meant giving Gotham a win for once, then yeah, I voted. Every damn day."

Lena W., 34, Librarian:
"I made all my nieces and nephews vote. He used to play violin outside the library as a kid. Sweetest boy. How could we not support him?"

 Anonymous GCPD Officer:
"No comment. But off the record? Half the precinct was voting. Even my captain’s wife was in on it."

Mysterious Hooded Figure:
"Tae-min once helped my grandma carry groceries. He was Gotham’s little prince before he was an idol. Mess with him and see what happens."

___________________________________________________________________

“What the fuck?”

Seojin grinned “Wait, there is more. Look.”

There are videos. The moment Tae-min’s name was announced as an official member of Eclipse , Gotham erupted.

In Gotham Square, the towering digital billboards flickered before bursting to life—his face, mid-performance, eyes sharp with focus, lips parted as if caught mid-note. His name scrolled in bold letters beneath him, the city’s skyline glowing behind the screens.

Cheers broke out across the city.

In bars, people raised their glasses, toasting to their “Little Prince”. Some placed bets on how long it would take for Eclipse to reach number one. Others shouted over each other, proudly declaring that they had supported him since the beginning .

Even the GCPD got involved—an official account posted a cryptic yet unmistakable tweet:

“Gotham takes care of its own. Congratulations, Tae-min.”

Wayne Enterprises joined in next. Their social media manager, likely under very specific orders from Lucius, tweeted:

“We always knew he was a star. ⭐”

The post gained traction instantly, with Gothamites replying in droves:

  “Gotham raised this man. He’s ours. Sorry, Korea.”

As Tae-min scrolled through the endless flood of messages, his chest felt full.

Well, that certainly explained why, despite his best efforts to get eliminated, he kept ranking higher instead.

Scrolling through the comments, Tae-min couldn’t help but laugh. People from other cities sounded downright terrified of Gotham’s dedication.

    “ Gotham fans aren’t normal. Someone tried to criticize Tae-min’s dancing, and within an hour, their entire embarrassing tweet history was exposed.”
      “Did they just organize a full-scale social media campaign overnight???”

His chest ached with something bittersweet.

Gotham was a mess—a city of shadows and violence, of heartbreak and loss. It chewed people up and spat them back out, bruised and bleeding. And yet, it was his . The place that raised him, that saw him wandering its streets as a ghost-child and chose to make him theirs .

No matter where he went, no matter how far he ran, Gotham had never let go of him.

And, apparently, it never would.

They still had his back.

_______________________________________________________________

It was supposed to be a simple interview—a fun little segment where Eclipse talked about their experiences as a rookie group. But of course, nothing was ever simple when it involved Tae-min.

“So,” the host grinned, looking over the boys, “what are some funny quirks about each member?”

Kwan immediately pointed at Tae-min. “This one can sleep anywhere.”

The entire group erupted into laughter.

“No, really,” Min-jae added, shaking his head in disbelief. “One time, we were practicing, and during the five-minute break, he sat against the wall and just—” He clapped his hands together. “Out. Dead to the world.”

“I have photographic evidence,” Seojin said, waving his phone. “His favorite spot is over our fridge.”

Tae-min groaned. “That’s called being tired, Hyung.”

Kwan patted his head. “It’s called concerning .”

The interview clip went viral almost immediately. And Gotham? Gotham had a lot to say.

@GothamGazette: “Former Wayne ward Tae-min, now K-pop star, is revealed to have the sleep habits of a battle-worn soldier. Gotham citizens everywhere are both amused and deeply concerned.”

@WayneMemes: “Tae-min. Tae-min. YOU GREW UP IN A CITY WHERE SLEEPING MEANS YOU DIE. YOU CANNOT JUST PASS OUT IN RANDOM PLACES.”

@WE_Apprentice: “I cannot handle the fact that Tae-min went from CEO prodigy to accidental K-pop star. How did this happen? How did we get here.”

Back at the Eclipse dorm, Tae-min stared at his phone. “My city betrayed me.”

_______________________________________________________________

Tae-min might be in Seoul, but he was still, at heart, a Gothamite.

This became painfully obvious during a variety show segment where the members of Eclipse had to answer rapid-fire questions.

“What’s your idea of a perfect Saturday?” the host asked.

Min-jae smiled. “Sleeping in, getting brunch with the guys, maybe gaming.”

Jiho nodded. “Spending time with friends and family!”

Tae-min? Tae-min just shrugged. “Not getting held hostage is good enough for me.”

The studio went silent for a beat before Seojin burst out laughing. “ Oh my god, Tae-min. ”

Kwan groaned. “You have to stop saying that.”

Tae-min blinked. “What? It’s a legitimate concern.”

The clip immediately went viral. Gothamites were in shambles .

@RogueCityNews: “Tae-min really just said ‘Not getting held hostage’ like it’s a normal Saturday concern. Peak Gothamite energy.”

@BatFamFanClub: “No, because this man walked out of Gotham, got famous, and still reps the city like a war veteran. We love to see it.”

@Tae-minDrakeUpdates: “People are shocked but Gothamites are just nodding along like ‘yep, sounds right.’”

@WayneFamilyDrama: “Gotham citizens seeing their ‘lost prince’ thriving: 🥲🥲🥲”

On top of that, a new issue arose: shipping wars .

Tae-min, much to his horror, was being shipped with idols from other groups. Every time he so much as looked at someone during a collab stage, social media went wild.

His group? Absolutely thrived on teasing him for it.

“Oh?” Seojin grinned, scrolling through his phone. “Tae-min, did you see this? People think you and the kid from Stray Kids have chemistry.”

Tae-min groaned. “Kill me.”

Min-jae patted his back. “Sorry, maknae. Is better than being shipped with one of us, your big brothers”

Tae-min glared. “I hate all of you.”

But as he watched the comments flood in—Gothamites defending him, and his group looking out for him—his heart felt full. 

_______________________________________________________________

Of course, things are not so simple when you were an idol and baby bisexual around a lot of attractive men. Even if his group members were out of his crush range - they’re handsome, buy ewn. - the collaborative works were a nightmare. 

It started with a casual collab stage between Eclipse and another rising group, Nebula . Tae-min had barely interacted with their main dancer, Hyunwoo, aside from some brief eye contact during the performance. He was a handsome man, in a ballet dancer away. His hair was long and shining, his smile sweet and his voice had a french accent. He was brilliant as a dancer too. 

Tae-min didn’t think he was too obvious.

Apparently, that was enough.

Social media exploded .

@EclipseNebulaNation: "Tae-min getting all shy and looking away whenever Hyunwoo is near him is sending me into ORBIT."

@WayneFamilyDrama: "Bruce Wayne watching his runaway son go viral for heart eyes: 🤡."

His group? Absolutely ate it up .

Seojin smirked at him over dinner. “Sooo, Hyunwoo?”

Tae-min choked on his rice. “No.”

Min-jae grinned. “Oh? So you don’t think he’s cute? Is he cuter than your Hyungs?”

Tae-min refused to answer. The teasing lasted weeks .

_______________________________________________________________

Hyunwoo knew about the internet uproar about his interaction with Tae-min. His group members would tease him endlessly about it. 

He knew nothing would come - could come - from this. Not in the industry that they were, but… The thing is, he had always thought Tae-min was beautiful.

Not in the traditional, polished idol way, but in a way that made it impossible to look away. There was something sharp yet delicate about him—expressive dark blue eyes, lips that curled in either amusement or exhaustion, and a posture that spoke of constant vigilance, as if he was always ready to move.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed. Other idols from different groups had whispered about it in passing. There was something striking about Tae-min, something magnetic.

But for Hyunwoo, it was more than just looks.

It was the quiet, thoughtful way Tae-min spoke. The way he could switch from a teasing smirk to a sharp, calculating focus in an instant. The way he looked almost surprised when people took care of him.

Sitting together in a quiet studio after practice, Hyunwoo stretched out beside Tae-min, watching him sip at an energy drink. “Do you have a Korean surname?”

Tae-min hesitated, then set his can down. “Yeah… My sister gave me one. Shinryong. She thought it suited me. It was my rebirth of sorts.”

Hyunwoo smiled. “It does.”

Tae-min’s ears went red and looked away, his hands moving like they seemed to always do when he was nervous. A  little quirk. 

Hyunwoo could not look away. He was really mesmerizing. Even if they could never go for something more, he wanted to be his friend. 

Tae-min looked back at him and tilted his head, his wet hair on his eyes. “Do you ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?”

Hyunwoo’s smile turned bittersweet. “All the time.. I’m French, but also Korean. Too foreign for one place, not enough for the other.”

Tae-min nodded slowly. “Yeah. Same.”

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence.

Then Hyunwoo grinned. “But, you know… I think Eclipse would riot if anyone tried to say you didn’t belong here.”

Tae-min blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. They would.”

Hyunwoo leaned in just a bit closer, voice warm. “So, Shinryong-ah, maybe it’s time you started believing it too.”

Tae-min's serious expression didn't change, but his ears went red. 

Hyunwoo grinned. 

I’m gonna tease this guy so much.

_______________________________________________________________

This rooftop wasn’t exactly a legal place to be, but that never stopped them before. The Seoul skyline stretched in all directions, neon signs flickering against the night sky, the hum of the city never truly fading. Tae-min sat on the ledge, the cool metal railing pressing against his back, while Cass crouched beside him, watching him like she was waiting for him to slip up.

Soon they would have to end the night, but Tae-min wanted to wait a little more. He could not go out to Gwindam as often as he wanted last week. He missed this. The wind on his face as he flies with Cass at his side.

She nudged his arm. “So.”

He sighed. “So?”

Cass tilted her head, grinning like a cat with a secret. “Shinryong-ah.”

Tim choked. His bo-staff nearly slipped from his hands.

Cass beamed .

Oh no.

She settled next to him, her feet dangling over the edge. “Hyunwoo, huh?”

Tim groaned, pressing his hands against his face. “Do you even have social media?”

Cass shrugged. “Spoiler tells me things.”

Of course Stephanie did.

Cass leaned closer, her voice full of mischief. “He called you mesmerizing in his last post.”

Tim let out a strangled noise. “We are not talking about this.”

Cass gently pried his hands away, her eyes dancing with laughter. “You like him.”

Tim scowled. “I barely know him.”

Cass hummed, unimpressed. “Doesn’t matter. I see things. You get all…” She gestured vaguely. “Weird.”

“I do not get weird.”

Cass gave him that look.

Tim groaned, rubbing his temples. “Even if I did like him, which I don’t, it’s not like anything can happen. You know how the industry is.”

Cass considered this, then hummed. “You deserve to be loved.”

Tim didn’t know what to say to that. Cass knew him too well

She smiled, bumping her shoulder against his. “Just saying. When you get scared, you run. Maybe friends? If he is smart, he’ll wait.”

Tim hesitated, then glanced at her. “And if I’m smart?”

Cass smiled, soft and knowing. “You’ll let yourself be happy.”

Tim didn’t answer.

But later that night, when he checked his phone, he didn’t scroll past Hyunwoo’s messages like he usually did.

Maybe, just maybe, Cass had a point.

One more friend won’t hurt. 

Chapter Text

Jason didn’t notice Tim was gone. Not at first.

He had been away from Gotham for months, dealing with his own problems, drowning himself in Outlaws missions, trying to outrun the ghosts that followed him. Tim had been the last thing on his mind.

Until he returned and realized that Tim was missing.

Not patrolling. Not answering calls. Not there .

The first thing he did was ask the street kids in Crime Alley. He had barely pulled his helmet off before a group of them approached, watching him warily.

“Red Hood,” one of them—Devon—said hesitantly. “Red Robin left.”

Jason’s stomach twisted. “Left?”

“Yeah. A while ago.” The kid kicked at the ground. “He said he was leaving patrol to you.”

Jason didn’t know what was worse—the fact that Tim had vanished or the fact that he had left a message for Jason, but no one else.

Then Barbara sent him the report when she knew he was looking. The report was in the batcomputer. Tim didn’t even try to ride it, but it looks like that none of the fuckers – Bruce, Dickhead – had even read it. 

His next stop was Talia. He should have known she’d find him first.

“He’s gone,” she said simply when he stormed into one of her safe houses. “And you didn’t even notice, did you?”

Jason clenched his fists. “Where is he?”

Talia smirked, but there was no real amusement in it. “Far from Gotham. And better for it.”

Jason’s heart pounded. “What did Ra’s do to him?”

Talia tilted her head, eyes sharp. “Do you really want to know, son of mine?”

His blood ran cold. He had seen Tim bruised and battered before, had seen him stitched up and hiding injuries, but this— 

Jason forced himself to breathe. “You helped him escape.”

Talia nodded. “Because no one else did.” She let that sink in before continuing. “ No one noticed except Cassandra, until I chose to act.”

Jason swallowed, throat tight. “Where is he?”

Talia only smiled. “If he wanted you to find him, you would have by now.”

Jason started tracking Tim after that. He dug into everything he could, hacked old case files, searched for any sign of his little brother. He tracked about a new cape that was seen with Orphan in Asia, but nobody seems to have much about them. 

Then he saw him on TV.

An idol survival program. A boy with dark hair, sharp eyes, a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach them. The name on the screen wasn’t Tim Drake, but Jason would recognize him anywhere. 

Tim wasn’t just gone —he had left .

Jason followed him from afar. He kept tabs on every performance, every interview. He watched the fans fawn over him, watched the way the other trainees gravitated to him. He wasn’t even trying to hide, everybody on the internet knew he used to be Tim Drake, now Tae-min.

Then came the debut. The packed concert hall. The screaming fans. And in the middle of it all, Tim – Tae-min –, smiling, glowing under the stage lights.

Jason had been there. Hidden in the crowd. Watching. Wondering.

Cass found him before he could slip away after the show.

“You’re being stupid,” she told him flatly, arms crossed. “Stop stalking and talk to him.”

Jason exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You think he wants that?”

Cass stared at him, gaze unreadable. Then she stepped forward and flicked his forehead. Hard.

Jason hissed, scowling. “What the hell?”

“You left him,” she said simply. “You abandoned him, just like the rest. And now you’re watching him like a ghost instead of being his brother.”

Jason clenched his fists. “I don’t know if he wants me to be.”

Cass sighed, looking suddenly tired . “He does.”

Jason swallowed, throat dry. He thought of Tim, all sharp edges and exhaustion, a kid who had been ignored, dismissed, pushed aside too many times.

The Outlaws pushed him too, not-so-gently.

“You should talk to him,” Artemis had said. “You regret it. Fix it.”

Even Bizarro had tilted his head and told him, “You miss the little singing bird.”

And yeah. Yeah, he did.

Maybe it was time to do something about it.

___________________________________________________________________

Tae-min wasn’t expecting Jason to show up in Japan.

Not that Jason had ever been predictable, but seeing him in the audience at Eclipse’s concert had nearly thrown Tae-min off his choreography. Jason Todd—the Red Hood, the walking disaster, the brother Tae-min had spent years trying to live up to and then trying to escape from—was watching him , of all people, perform on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans.

Tae-min wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Later, after the show, Jason was waiting outside the hotel.

“You gonna keep avoiding me?” he asked, arms crossed as he leaned against his bike.

Tae-min sighed. “Wasn’t sure you wanted to talk.”

Jason exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I deserve that.”

They ended up in Tae-min’s hotel room, sitting across from each other while the sounds of Eclipse’s members laughing in the next room filtered through the walls. It was a stark contrast—warmth and camaraderie on one side, painful history on the other.

Tae-min knew they were wary about Jason. He hadn’t formally introduced him to the group, but he’d made it clear that Jason was someone from his past—someone he was okay with talking to.

Even so, Kwan lingered near the door. Far enough to give them space, but close enough to step in if needed. Such a mother hen.

Jason was the first to break the silence. His voice was rough, almost hesitant. “I should’ve been there for you.”

Tae-min blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Jason clenched his fists, jaw tightening. “ I was so caught up in my own anger, my own pain. I never stopped to think about what it was like for you. I knew Bruce was a mess after I died. I knew he wasn’t… at his best. But I didn’t know—not really—what that meant for you.”

Tae-min swallowed hard, looking away. “It wasn’t great,” he admitted, voice quieter than before. “It was really messed up, Jason. And now I can see how shit it was. It fucked me up.”

Jason flinched. “Shit.”

Tae-min let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. I don’t even think he remembers half of what he did back then. He acts like he doesn’t.”

Jason’s expression darkened. “Why?”

Tae-min hesitated, then shrugged. “He was too drunk sometimes. Other times, he wasn’t Bruce. I think it hurt too much for him to be Bruce. And I—I tried to be okay with it. I really did. But I started to want things. And Bruce—he took me in, yeah, but I had to be useful. Had to prove myself over and over again. But it was never enough. I wasn’t you.”

Jason’s voice came out raw, almost like a confession. “I’m sorry.”

Tae-min frowned at him. “Why? It’s not your fault.”

Jason shook his head. “Even so, I’m sorry. For not being there. For not seeing it.”

Tae-min looked down, suddenly feeling drained. His fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeves. “…I asked myself what I did wrong to chase you away. I—I thought we were getting closer.”

Jason exhaled sharply. “Tae-min—”

“You and Cass were the only ones who had my back. Who came when I needed, who made me feel like I was wanted around.” Tae-min’s voice wavered, but he pushed through. “And then—one day you weren’t there. You didn’t answer my calls. You didn’t tell me where you were going. You just… left me.”

Jason looked pained. “I needed to, because staying was killing me. And I thought a clean break would be easier for you. I was never good for you, Tae-min. I always hurt you, and you always forgave me. That’s not an excuse, but you need to know—you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re the best of us.”

“Oh.”

The tension in the room didn’t disappear, but it shifted. The weight of years of misunderstandings, pain, and missed chances settled into something a little less suffocating. Maybe—just maybe—they could start again.

Jason cleared his throat. “But—” he hesitated. “If you let me, this time I swear I’ll be at your side, kid. It’s your choice. If you want me to fuck off, I’ll stay away. But I’ll only be a call away.”

Tae-min thought about it. It was strange how it felt easier to forgive Jason. Maybe because their history was less complicated.

He had more he wanted to say, but exhaustion was already pulling at him, the weight of the concert and the conversation dragging him down. He barely registered when his body gave in, his eyes slipping shut.

Jason let out a small breath, watching over him.

That was how Cass found them—Tae-min curled up on the couch, asleep mid-conversation, Jason sitting beside him, his expression unreadable.

She met Jason’s gaze, voice quiet but firm. “No next chance.”

His throat tightened. He understood what she meant. If he hurt Tae-min again, there wouldn’t be another opportunity to fix things.

He nodded. “I won’t screw this up.”

Cass studied him for a long moment, then nodded. She moved to Tae-min’s side, gently adjusting him so he was more comfortable. Tae-min barely stirred, murmuring something unintelligible before relaxing into her touch.

From the next room, Eclipse’s members were still awake, still talking. Jason could hear them teasing each other, their easy camaraderie so different from the way he and Tae-min had grown up.

He was glad Tae-min had found them.

Jason exhaled and leaned back. “So… he really sleeps anywhere, huh?”

Cass smiled slightly. “Yes.”

Jason huffed a laugh, then sobered. He looked at Tae-min, then back at Cass. “I meant it. I won’t screw this up again.”

Cass didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to.

The warning had been given.

Now it was up to Jason to keep his word.

________________________________________________________________

Patrolling Seoul was different from Gotham. The skyline was sleek, polished, and sprawling—neon lights cut through the night, and the streets were alive even at late hours. Yet crime still festered in the dark corners, and tonight was no exception.

Soon Red Hood would go back, Go home. but for now, he would have some fun with his little siblings. He was on probation (according to Cass), so he needed to prove himself to her.

Jason crouched on the edge of a rooftop, watching as Cass –Orphan– disappeared into the night, her form nothing but a flicker of shadow. Tae-min— Gwidam —stood beside him, motionless, wrapped in his eerie full-face mask and layered dark armor.

Jason had seen Tae-min evolve as a vigilante over the years, but now, watching him in Seoul, he realized something. Tae-min wasn’t just faster now. He wasn’t just better . He had become something else entirely.

Cass had always been the ghost between them, the shadow in the wind. But now? Now there were two of them.

Their uniforms were even starting to match—both black, form-fitting yet layered for movement, minimalist yet tactical. But while Cass moved with the grace of a dancer, Tae-min was war . His style wasn’t a shadow’s glide; it was precision, unyielding and sharp. His armor had a distinct Korean war aesthetic , reinforced plating over his chest and shoulders, reminiscent of an old warrior stepping through time.

Even the way he held himself now was different. More confident. Colder.

Jason smirked. The kid’s come a long way.

“Warehouse ahead,” Tae-min’s voice came through the comms, clipped and even. “Traffickers.”

Cass’s voice crackled in response. “Four inside. Armed.”

Jason rolled his shoulders, grinning. “Alright. Let’s say hi.”

They descended in near silence.

Tae-min went first, slipping in through a high window, his dark figure moving like mist. Jason followed with less grace, but with just as much efficiency. Cass was already inside before either of them landed.

It was over in minutes.

Tae-min was brutal in his efficiency—no wasted movement, no hesitation. The moment one man reached for his gun, Tae-min had already moved, striking pressure points, twisting joints at brutal angles. The screams barely had time to leave the man’s lips before he crumpled.

Jason took down his own target with a well-aimed knee to the gut. Across the room, Cass danced through two men at once, disarming and incapacitating with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

They worked like clockwork.

Then, out of nowhere—

A blur. A strike.

Tae-min twisted just in time to block a sudden attack, his forearm meeting the force of a sharp palm strike. The impact was loud . Tae-min staggered back a step, tension flooding his frame as he recognized the familiar presence.

Jason knew exactly who it was the second he saw the glint in her eye.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

Lady Shiva smiled, easy and unbothered, like she hadn’t just ambushed Tae-min in the middle of a takedown. “You’re getting slow, little dragon.”

Tae-min didn’t even sigh—he just went straight for a counterattack.

Jason and Cass didn’t interfere. This wasn’t an attack. It was fun —at least, by Shiva’s definition.

The fight was fast. Tae-min was sharp, relentless, his movements honed into something lethal. But Shiva was Shiva—fluid, unreadable, her strikes flowing like water. She dodged, redirected, struck back with precision so perfect it was almost graceful.

Jason watched, shaking his head. “You guys are so weird.”

Cass tilted her head, watching intently. “It 's fun.”

Jason snorted. 

Eventually, Shiva stepped back, satisfied. She studied Tae-min for a moment before smirking. “You’ve improved. Perhaps next time, I won’t hold back.”

Tae-min straightened, rolling his shoulders like he hadn’t just been thrown across the warehouse floor. His voice came out steady. “Next time, I won’t.”

Shiva’s grin widened before she vanished into the shadows.

Jason sighed. “I hate that she just does that.”

Tae-min huffed, adjusting his mask. “It’s her thing.”

Cass gave a look. “You called her mom last time.”

Tae-min stiffened. “How do you know that?”

Jason barked out a laugh. “Oh, man , I wish I had seen that.”

Cass smirked. “She liked it.”

Tae-min groaned. “We are not talking about this.”

Jason wiped at his eyes, still grinning. “Nah, we are. For the rest of your life.”

Tae-min muttered something under his breath and turned back to the unconscious traffickers. “Let’s wrap this up.”

Cass smiled slightly. “You did well, Gwidam.”

Tae-min didn’t respond, but Jason caught the way his posture shifted—relaxed, just a little.

Yeah. The kid’s come a long way.

And, weirdness and all, Jason was damn proud.

Chapter Text

Tae-min stared at his reflection in the dressing room mirror, the faint hum of the venue beyond the door a constant reminder of the world waiting for him. His makeup was flawless, every strand of hair in place, his outfit tailored to perfection. He looked exactly how he was supposed to—polished, untouchable, an idol. Or a doll.

The industry was complicated. It asked for perfection but was the first to point out your flaws. It demanded effort but discarded you the moment you showed strain. The standards were impossibly high—singing, dancing, visuals, personality. Always available, always performing, even when the stage lights were off.

And the comments… Tae-min knew better than to hear, but they always found him. Praise and admiration, yes, but also the kind of cruelty that could chip away at a person’s soul. The situation back home was a hot topic nowadays, but not the only one. 

“He doesn’t have many facial expressions, does he?”

“He is weird. His hands are always moving and he keeps spacing out in interviews.”

“A control freak, this one.”

“His looks aren’t even that great. What are those scars?This is what surgery is for!”

“Too much muscle, he isn’t skinny enough.”

“Well, he had problems with his parents and with the Waynes, so maybe the problem is him, don’t you think?”

His group tried to shield him from a lot of it, even if they too suffered a lot. Jiho has mixed looks, Min-jae has a past with his parents and anger issues, Kwan was too soft, they say he should be more masculine.  Seojin was too loud, Min-jae wasn't loud enough– Tae-min hates this.

Then there were the ones who didn’t see them as people at all—just a fantasy to be owned, a doll to project onto. The creeps who thought money or status gave them rights over his body, his time. The pressure to be desirable but never too accessible. It was a balancing act, and one wrong step could send him plummeting.

His fingers curled into fists on his lap.

He loved performing. He loved music. He loved his group much more. But sometimes, it felt like he was standing at the edge of a knife, balancing between his dreams and the weight of everything that came with them.

A knock on the door broke his thoughts.

“Five minutes,” Kwan called.

Tae-min took a breath, pushing everything down, burying it deep where it wouldn’t show. Then, with practiced ease, he smiled at his reflection.

Time to go.

____________________________________________________________________

He was used to being watched. It came with the territory of being a public figure—and before that, of being Robin. Eyes on him, whispers behind his back, people trying to get too close. He knew how to handle it.

But this was different.

It started with lingering glances, too-intense smiles, hands that hovered too close when they didn’t need to. The manager of another group—an older man with too much influence and not enough scruples—seemed fixated on Tae-min in a way that set him on edge. It made him think of the creeps on the galas when he was a kid, and how his mother and later Bruce or Dick would steer him away from them. It made him think of Ra’s and his dark green eyes and ligering hands while he called him detective .

But Tae-min ignored it. Brushed it off. He’d dealt with worse and he didn’t want to make a fuss. He was a vigilante, he knew how to take care of himself. 

His group noticed first. They always did. And the other groups who would cross paths with them noticed too, especially the members who already knew Tae-min well. Others have heard about the man's creepy tendencies and warned him to stay away. It made him feel his blood boil, because if they were warning him, it meant that someone else could have been a prey at some point. Someone who could not fight back like him.

Hyunwoo’s gaze would sharpen when the man was around. Min-jae started subtly blocking Tae-min whenever the manager tried to get near him. Even Jiho, usually the most easygoing, had taken to frowning whenever the man entered the same room.

Mrs. Lee noticed next.

“That man makes my skin crawl,” she muttered one day after the manager had brushed Tae-min’s arm on the way out of a recording studio. “If he so much as breathes wrong in your direction, tell me.”

“Has he done something like this before?” He whispered back, trying to look more apprehensive than angry. 

She hesitated, which was enough for him. “Just tell me if he makes you feel uncomfortable. Come to me or your group. You need to protect each other.”

Tae-min nodded, but he didn’t tell. 

If the man had his attention on him, others would be safe. He had no problems with it. He could handle himself.

Until he couldn’t.

___________________________________________________________________

The afterparty was crowded, the air thick with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Eclipse had attended as expected, mingling just enough to be polite. Tae-min kept to himself, as he usually did at these things, sipping from a sealed bottle of water and turning down every offered drink. He never drank in public. Not after everything he had learned growing up.

But still, the dizziness hit him. Subtle at first—his vision softened at the edges, his limbs heavy, slow. His heartbeat felt off-rhythm. It didn’t take a genius to realize what had happened.

That bastard drugged me somehow.

The manager was already at his side, a firm grip on his arm, murmuring something about finding a quieter place to rest. His tone was gentle, caring. His touch was too tight.

Tae-min kept his expression slack, pretending to sway.

It wasn’t a strong drug. He’d handled worse. Hell, he’d grown up in Gotham—Scarecrow used to lace the city’s water supply on a weekly basis. This? This was nothing. He could fight it. But not yet.

How did he do it? Tae-min thought through the haze, pretending to lean into the man’s hold. Contact-based? Something on the glass he’d held? He needed more information.

Tim Wayne would have been helpless. But Tae-min? Cass had made sure everyone at the trainee camp knew he could fight. He needed five minutes alone with this creep.

Just five.

Before the man could pull him toward an empty room, another hand clamped onto his arm. Firm. Protective.

Hyunwoo.

His usually warm gaze was ice-cold, sharp with fury. “Let him go.”

The manager stiffened. “I’m just helping him—”

“He doesn’t need your help.”

Movement. Jiho appeared beside him, gripping Tae-min’s waist to steady him. Min-jae stepped forward, every inch of his stance radiating aggression. They were making a scene.

Fuck. Change of plans.

Tae-min blinked sluggishly, his head lolling, making himself look even more vulnerable. His lips trembled, and his eyes glossed over with tears. “Please… I don’t feel good,” he whispered, voice soft and frail.

The murmur around them grew louder.

The manager let go like Tae-min had burned him.

It was over.

Or, at least, for him, it was. For the bastard? Tae-min was about to destroy his whole career.

By the time security arrived and dragged the manager away, Tae-min let his body relax, exhaling a slow breath. He leaned into Jiho for balance, letting the last traces of the drug wear off. “It’s fine,” he murmured. “Not the first time someone’s tried something like that. I could’ve handled him.”

Wrong thing to say.

The group exchanged glances—horror, fury, protectiveness all woven together. Hyunwoo muttered a sharp curse under his breath. Jiho tightened his grip. Seojin looked like he wanted to punch something.

Mrs. Lee, when informed, looked like she was about to commit murder.

And then there was Jason and Cass.

Mrs. Lee had allowed them a visit—it wasn’t the first time she let them slip through the company’s rules when war needed to be waged in Tae-min’s favor. By then, though, it was already too late for the man.

Jason’s voice was dangerously calm. “He drugged you?”

Tae-min sighed, rubbing his temples. “Adhesive-based. I didn’t notice in time. I handled it. Everything’s fine.”

Jason’s expression didn’t change.

“Did he touch you?”

Tae-min hesitated, not knowing what to say.

Jason was already on his feet. “Cass?”

Cass met his gaze, and an entire conversation passed between them in silence. Then, she nodded.

Tae-min groaned. “You two are so dramatic.”

Jason smirked. “And you’re about to find out just how dramatic I can be.”

Cass cracked her knuckles.

Tae-min sighed again but didn’t stop them as they walked out. He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what was going to happen next.

Honestly?

The bastard deserved it. He would never try it again. Not with Tae-min. Not with anyone. And he would have done worse to the creepy  if his friends didn’t have such a timing.

Tae-min slumped back against the couch, exhaling slowly. 

His lips quirked up as he mumbled, “Okay. Have fun.”

_____________________________________________________________________

The incident at the afterparty might have gone unnoticed—except someone had been recording.

A short video surfaced online hours later, showing the moment the manager tried to lead Tae-min away. The footage was blurry, but the tension in the air was obvious. The way Hyunwoo grabbed Tae-min’s arm, the way Eclipse’s members closed in. The internet exploded.

#ProtectTae-min started trending worldwide.

Hyunwoo’s name was brought up repeatedly—his sharp glare, his protective stance, the way he had stepped in without hesitation. People speculated about his relationship with Tae-min. Fans dissected every interaction between them, creating countless edits and analysis threads.

But more than that, people were angry .

@EclipseNation: Who let this creep near him??”

@EclipseForeverTae: Why is this so common in the industry? Someone needs to do something.

@TaeminNation: He looked so scared, guys.”

Then, Gotham entered the chat.

Reports surfaced that later that night, Red Hood and Black Bat had been spotted in the same district where the man’s hotel was located after he was released. Shortly after, a hospital report leaked—someone had been admitted with multiple fractures and a concussion. The next morning someone leaked all the man’s crimes on the internet.

The Gothamites were thrilled .

@Bernard_Down: LMAO Tae-min didn’t even have to call. They just knew.

@Taemin_is_ours: If you mess with a Gothamite, you answer to all of Gotham. We have a reputation to maintain.

@GothamKnight: This man had a death wish . 

@GothamVigilantesNews: Black Bat and Red Hood jumped him in an alley. This is the best Gotham outcome possible.

@HiIamIves: Oracle doing God's work.

Meanwhile, in Wayne Manor, Bruce was watching the chaos unfold with growing anxiety.

Tim had always been at risk at galas, at high-profile events. Bruce could recall far too many Times when he had to pull him away from dangerous people, smooth over situations before they escalated. And now, halfway across the world, it has happened again.

He reached for his phone.

The line rang. Once. Twice.

Someone picked up.

“Hey, B. You should not have this number.”

Bruce’s grip tightened. “…Jason.”

There was a pause. Then, a smirk in Jason’s voice. “You were expecting someone else?”

“Put Tim on.”

“Tae-min. And yeah, see, that’s not happening.”

Bruce’s breath caught. “Is he alright?”

Jason exhaled, irritation laced in his voice. “Physically? Yeah. But he doesn’t need you right now, B. He’s got people looking out for him. ”

Bruce closed his eyes. “Jason—”

“No. You don’t get to pull the worried father act now. Where was this concern when he needed it?”

Bruce was silent.

Jason scoffed. “That’s what I thought. Look, Tae-min’s sleeping. He’s safe. That’s all you need to know.”

Then the call disconnected.

Bruce let the phone fall onto his desk, staring at it blankly.

Chapter Text

The soft hum of the violin filled the dorm, a gentle melody that wrapped around the room like a warm embrace. Tae-min stood in the center, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings, bow moving in a practiced, graceful motion. His group members sat around him, some on the couch, others sprawled on the floor, their gazes fixed on him with quiet admiration.

Jiho had his eyes closed, swaying slightly to the rhythm, while Seojin sat cross-legged, watching with an easy smile. Kwan leaned against Min-jae, who had his arms crossed, expression unreadable but softened by the music. The world outside the dorm didn’t exist for those few minutes—just the music, just the warmth between them.

When the final note lingered in the air, Tae-min let out a soft breath.

“That was beautiful,” Min-jae finally said, voice hushed, as if afraid to disturb the moment.

“I think I’ve been blessed,” Seojin teased, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

Tae-min huffed a quiet laugh, but something in his chest ached—not in a bad way, just… a familiar way.

He used to play like this before. For his mother, when she had time to listen. She would hum along sometimes, a faraway look in her eyes, as if the music took her somewhere he couldn’t follow.

Then, when she wasn’t there anymore, he played alone. The house had been too quiet, the silence pressing in on him, swallowing him whole. The violin had been the only thing that made it feel less empty. He had played for no one but himself, notes filling the hollow spaces inside him.

Tae-min blinked, shaking away the thoughts. When he looked up, Jiho was watching him with knowing eyes.

“You good?” Jiho asked softly.

Tae-min nodded. “Yeah. Just remembering.”

Jiho didn’t press, just gave him a small smile. “Wanna play another?”

Tae-min hesitated for a second before bringing the violin back up to his chin. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I do.”

And as he played again, the music didn’t feel lonely anymore.

Unknown to them, Mrs Lee had arrived and decided to do a livestream. 

____________________________________________________________

 Trending Topic: "Tae-min"

 @Eclipse_Fanatic: "Mrs. Lee really said 'let me bless the world today' and live streamed Tae-min playing the violin. I AM IN TEARS 😭😭"

 @MusicLover99: "Tae-min’s violin playing feels like a warm hug. I swear, his music just heals you."

 @WayneWatcher: "Tim used to play violin in some galas as a child. Its good to see it again. I think he stopped after his mother died."

 @ClassicalKpop: "Tae-min’s music tells a story. You can feel his emotions in every note. No wonder everyone went silent to listen."

 @MinJaeSupremacy: "Min-jae acting all tough with his arms crossed but we saw the way his expression softened. You’re not fooling anyone, sir."

________________________________________________________________

Tae-min's ears were red as Seojin read the comments out loud. 

“Don’t tease him too much, Seojin.” Kwan warned, but he was trying not to laugh at the younger boy's glare (pout). 

“See if I play for you anymore, hyung.”

“Awn, don’t be like that, Tae-ah.”

“Maybe it’s better if we don't livestream him playing anymore.” Jiho said jokingly. “Or he will be stolen from us.”

________________________________________________________________

It started as a joke.

Tae-min wasn’t the youngest in the industry, but he was young—and looked even younger. Even if he didn’t feel like it, others saw it the moment their eyes landed on him. He wasn’t short, but his naturally delicate build, the sharp yet soft features, and the quiet seriousness he carried made people want to tease him, to dote on him, to claim him as their own.

At first, it was just Eclipse. His members would ruffle his hair, buy him snacks, and treat him like their beloved little brother. Then, the trend spread.

Older idols from rival groups started calling him “our Tae-min.” Veteran idols, variety show hosts, even staff members took it upon themselves to make sure he was cared for. He had so many unofficial parents now, from industry seniors to MCs who had been in the game for decades.

The internet found it hilarious, and Eclipse only encouraged it.

“Our goal,” Jiho once said during a livestream, “is to make Tae-min giggle.”

“It’s so hard,” Seojin groaned dramatically.

And so, the giggle-hunting missions began. Fans kept score. Whenever someone succeeded, it became an event. The entire industry got involved.

Slowly, Tae-min started letting himself be younger around his group. And when he did, they got to see the whole chaotic mess that was his personality.

It was a funny contrast.

Because as much as Tae-min was the baby of the industry, he was also terrifying.

The thing about Tae-min—something people in the industry quickly realized—was that he was impossible to step on.

At first, they assumed he was like any other maknae—the kind trained to smile through discomfort, bow to authority, and accept mistreatment disguised as industry norms. And sure, he was polite, composed, professional. But the moment someone tried to push him, they learned the hard way that Tae-min wasn’t like the others.

Tae-min was from Gotham.

He was always ready to throw hands. Or eviscerate someone verbally. Or ruin them so thoroughly they’d have to change careers.

And the worst part? He never did it for himself. When it came to his own mistreatment, he let it slide too easily. But if it was about one of his members? That was when things got ugly.

It started small.

A reporter asked Kwan an uncomfortable question about masculinity during an interview, pushing the usual toxic standards. Tae-min tilted his head, smiled like he was amused , and proceeded to dismantle the man’s career in three sentences. The clip went viral in hours.

Later, a host got too touchy with Jiho during a broadcast. Tae-min didn’t raise his voice, didn’t even look angry, but his words were soft, his smile sharp, and somehow, the man never attempted it again. People swore they saw him trembling.

Then there was The Incident .

An awards show. A senior artist making an inappropriate comment about Min-jae’s past.

Tae-min, in full idol mode, laughed . And then he took the microphone.

Without a single curse word, without raising his voice, he systematically dismantled the man—fan by fan, statement by statement, until the only thing left was the sound of dead silence and a shattered reputation.

His company tried to control him at first, but the public loved it. The response was overwhelmingly positive.

Social media had a field day.

@EclipseForeverTae: “Tae-min is the most protected and the most dangerous. No in-between.”
@KPopTeaSpill: “Industry insiders say certain people avoid Eclipse events if Tae-min is present because he ‘makes them nervous.’ GOOD.”
@Tae-minIsFerocious: “So what we’re saying is Tae-min is the youngest, the most beloved, and the one who will throw someone into the sun for his group. Gotham behavior.”

And Gotham?

Gotham already knew .

@GothamKnight: “You’re all acting like this is new. That boy’s been like this since he could talk.”
@IvesFromGotham: “Reminder that in middle school, Tae-min made an entire classroom cry because they were bullying me. Teacher included. I still have the apology letters he made them write.”
@Bernard_Down: “One time, some dude shoved me at a skate park. Tae-min told him his home address, the make and model of his dad’s car, and his mom’s work schedule. Guy never came back.”

But nothing compared to The Clip .

An old gala recording from Gotham.

A charity event, polished and elegant, the Wayne family in full force. The footage showed a well-dressed man speaking to Damian Wayne—his tone condescending, his words laced with something ugly . Xenophobia. Entitlement. Disdain.

Damian looked ready to respond , but he never got the chance.

Because Tae-min was there.

Young Tae-min. Still Tim Wayne. But with the same sharp eyes and steady voice.

He stepped in front of Damian, cutting the man off mid-sentence. His expression was unreadable, his words perfectly measured, but underneath, there was steel . A Gotham kind of menace. The kind that made grown men pale.

The clip ended with Bruce Wayne arriving at their side, expression carefully neutral as he greeted the man. But the damage was already done.

The internet exploded .

@WayneWatch: “So you’re telling me Tae-min has ALWAYS been like this???”
@GothamitesUnited: “You all don’t get it. In Gotham, we don’t call this being protective. This is just being normal.”
@OracleWasHere: “Tae-min is a Gothamite. Gothamites take care of their own. Violently, if necessary.”

Within hours, news outlets picked up the story. Some tried to spin it negatively— "Is Tae-min Too Aggressive?" —but those takes were quickly buried under the sheer volume of support.

Because in Gotham, the sentiment was simple.

They had always known. Tae-min had been defending his own since the moment he knew how .

And he always would.

The problem was, he had never learned how to protect himself .

_________________________________________________________________________

After this incident, people started to dig for more videos about Tae-min’s life in Gotham.

An old video surfaced.

It was from a gala in Gotham, years ago. The footage showed a young Tae-min —maybe six or seven—dressed in an expensive little suit, slumped over a table, fast asleep. There was a sleepy pout on his face, his tiny hands curled near his face. The internet cooed over how adorable he looked.

Then someone added context.

@GothamKnight: “Funny until you realize his dad used to forget him at these events.”

The mood shifted. People started digging into Tae-min’s past. Into the years of neglect, the weight of expectations. It didn’t take much to see the patterns. The way he always seemed too independent, too capable for a child. The way he had learned to navigate high society alone .

Then another photo surfaced.

This one was different. It showed Tae-min, even younger—maybe four—curled up in Bruce Wayne’s lap, fast asleep. It was a gala where he lost his parents and Bruce found him.  Bruce was holding him carefully, one arm wrapped around him protectively, looking down at him with an expression no one had ever quite captured before. Something soft . Something aching .

The internet broke.

People compared the two images—the child sleeping alone at a table versus the one cradled in Bruce’s arms. Gothamites debated in threads about how Bruce had tried, how he had failed.

Tae-min saw the photo late at night.

He had been scrolling, mindlessly, when it appeared on his feed. He froze. Stared.

Something in his chest ached .

Bruce had held him like that once. Before everything. Before Jason. Before he had learned to be useful, to be efficient, to survive.

How would it feel to be loved by this Bruce? 

A tear slid down his cheek before he could stop it.

He swiped the photo away and turned off his phone, curling into his blankets.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night.

_____________________________________________________________________

The members of Eclipse loved doing casual livestreams, sharing snippets of their daily lives with fans. And Tae-min, despite his initial protests, was often their favorite subject.

One particular live started with Jiho holding his phone camera up, walking into the training room. In the background, music was blasting, and there was Tae-min—dancing. He moved with fluidity, precision, and power . The chat went wild, but before they could recover, the camera shifted, revealing Cassandra Wayne standing nearby. She was their dancer instructor sometimes, but everyone knew that she was there because of her little brother. 

Tae-min barely had time to take a breath before Cass lunged.

The next few minutes were chaos—Tae-min dodging, countering, flipping effortlessly as Cass grinned, pressing the attack. The members of Eclipse stood to the side, watching in horror .

Jiho whispered, “Guys….”

Kwan was almost hyperventilating with worry while Seojin was laughing his ass off. 

The chat erupted:

 “Why is he flipping like a full action movie protagonist??”  “Cass is terrifying and he’s keeping up what do you mean.”  “Eclipse: ‘We must protect Tae-min’ Tae-min: can kill a man with his bare hands”  “Tiny but DEADLY.”

Later, another live performance featured something equally as chaotic—Tae-min, sound asleep, on top of the fridge .

The camera shook as Seojin stared up at him, visibly concerned. “How did he even get up there?”

Jiho, off-camera: “We’ve learned not to ask.”

The comments were merciless.

 “Tae-min. GET DOWN.”  “Is this what Gothamites are like??”  “He sleeps everywhere. This is a skill.”

Another live took place at a skatepark. The camera panned to show Tae-min, Kon, Bart, and Cassie, all laughing as they attempted tricks. Tae-min looked genuinely happy, his usual guarded demeanor gone as he grinned at Kon, playfully bumping into Bart and jokingly fist fighting with Cassie. Fans cooed over the rare sight.

Then came the final livestream—the one that truly sent the internet into a frenzy.

It was Hyunwoo from Nebula who posted it. The video showed Tae-min sitting at a café, deep in conversation in flawless French, entirely unaware he was being filmed. He was wrapped in an oversized hoodie with the Nebula symbol on it, looking warm and comfortable. His expression was soft, his usual guarded sharpness replaced by something quieter, more at ease.

Hyunwoo, sitting across from him, glanced at the camera with a small, knowing smile before mouthing a single word: Precious.

And then, as if to set the internet ablaze, Hyunwoo leaned in slightly, voice gentle:

“Shinryong-ah.”

Tae-min blinked at him in surprise, the tips of his ears turning faintly pink before he huffed and swiped at Hyunwoo’s phone in exasperation.

The internet broke.

“HYUNWOO SAYING IT SO SOFTLY HELP—”
“Tae-min being all cozy in a Nebula hoodie, I can’t take this.”
“Not the ear blush. Not the little huff. I AM ASCENDING.”

But in the midst of the chaos, something unexpected happened.

A new comment appeared in the chat, standing out among the flood of messages.

DickGrayson: Talk to me, Timmy.

Tae-min froze.

The mood in the chat shifted immediately. People noticed. People talked.

   “Oh.”
  “Oh no.”
  “That hurt more than it should have.”
  “Tae-min’s entire face changed, oh god.”
  “Not Dick trying to reach out like this. This is pain.”

Tae-min forced a smile—thin, practiced, distant. Then, without another word, he ended the live.

Hyunwoo stared at him like a kicked golden retriever.

“Je suis désolé, Tae.”

Tae-min exhaled, too measured, too light. "It’s all right. I’m all right, Hyung.”

They both knew it was a lie.

_________________________________________________________________

Tae-min had loved Dick Grayson since the first time he had hugged him at the circus.

That boy, with a big smile and warm words, had made him feel seen.

Dick had a way of making you believe you were important, that you mattered. That being loved by him was a privilege. Tae-min had soaked in his light, his warmth—everything that made Dick Dick .

And that’s what made it so hard to forget the hurt that came after.

Somewhere along the way, everything changed. The visits, the calls, the effortless affection. Slowly, the warmth faded. Dick would look in his direction and see right through him. He would let Tae-min hang, waiting for the moment he’d remember him again.

To have Dick Grayson’s love and then to lose it felt like having the sun in your grasp only to be thrown into endless night. It made Tae-min wish he had never known him. Because if he had never known what it was like to be seen by Dick, he would never have to endure the pain of being invisible to him now.

Now, there was a wound where once there had been warmth.

And Tae-min still loved him.

Maybe that was why the wound wouldn't stop bleeding.

“Are you okay?”

Kwan’s voice broke through the silence. Tae-min barely acknowledged him as he lay sprawled on the floor of the practice studio, staring at nothing.

“Did you stay the night here?”

“Maybe.”

He felt Kwan settle beside him, a hand carding gently through his hair.

“Talk to me, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

Kwan chuckled. “I’m twenty-four. You’re a kid to me.”

When had he stopped being a kid to Dick? Was it when Damian came to the manor? When Dick started telling him he needed to grow up, to be stronger? Such a contradiction—telling him he wasn't a kid anymore, but treating him like one when it was convenient.

Tae-min swallowed the lump in his throat. “I can’t be a kid.”

“Why?”

“Because it would hurt more if I was.”

Kwan didn’t press him for more. He just wrapped an arm around Tae-min and held him.

It was different from Dick.

Dick had made him feel loved , important —but also terrified . Because every hug felt like it could be the last. Like one wrong move, and Dick would be gone.

And eventually, that fear had come true.

Kwan, though—Kwan made him feel safe .

And Tae-min realized, with a sinking feeling, that he hadn't felt safe in a very long time.

Chapter Text

They had a two-week break before the grueling training for the Asia Tour began. Normally, Tae-min would have spent it traveling with Cass, stirring up just enough trouble to keep things interesting. But it had been a long time since she’d gone home, and no matter how much she loved their life in the shadows, Gotham still held pieces of her heart.

Tae-min wasn’t ready to go back. Not yet. But he could give Cass that much. Even if it meant staying behind. Even if it meant knowing she’d see Bruce – he knew Cass, the confrontation was inevitable. 

“I heard there’s a new kid.  Go show him a friendly face. He’ll need it.” He smirked. “And Barbara and Stephanie miss you.”

Cass had scoffed, calling him ridiculous, but when he promised he’d finally accept his groupmates’ invitations to visit their families, she let it go. They had been ecstatic, but fitting everyone’s plans together had been a logistical nightmare. In the end, they settled on an itinerary: Jiho would take him and Kwan to Delhi first, then they’d meet Seojin’s family in Malaysia, and finally, they would head to Japan to visit Kwan’s relatives before returning to Korea, where Min-jae’s grandparents would host them for a few days.

It wasn’t home. But it was something like it.

Tae-min tried not to dwell on how easily he slipped into other people’s families. How easily he fit when he never had before.

For the most part, the trip had been incredible. Meeting the people who had shaped his friends, tasting their favorite foods, hearing childhood stories—it was more than he ever thought he’d have. The only downside was the forced break from his vigilante work. He had enough contacts in each city to ensure that Gwidam’s presence wouldn’t be surprising, but Cass had made it clear: Two weeks. No masks. No rooftops. No bleeding out in an alley.

So he did his best to just be Tae-min.

And it worked.

Until Japan. Until Dick found him.

It was late evening when Tae-min spotted him. The café was small, tucked away on a quiet street. He had come alone, wanting a moment of peace before meeting back up with Min-jae and Kwan.

Then he heard it.

“Timmy.”

His body locked up. Slowly, he turned, his expression immediately going blank. “What are you doing here?”

Dick stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, looking unsure—like he didn’t know whether to smile or brace for impact. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Tae-min.” Dick’s voice softened, careful. “Please.”

Tae-min clenched his jaw, gripping his bag like he might bolt. But Dick moved forward, blocking his path.

“I gave you space—”

“That’s the problem,” Tae-min snapped, frustration cracking through his composure. “I didn’t need space. I needed my big brother!”

Dick flinched. “That’s not fair—”

“Oh, really? Because I think it’s pretty damn fair that I’m hurt that my family—you, Bruce, everyone—didn’t notice I was gone!”

Dick looked at him, something pained in his expression. Then he got angry. And when Dick got angry, it was always ugly.

“You’re the one who left .”

Tae-min inhaled sharply. “You left me first!” His voice rose, raw and furious. “You left me, Dick. A long time ago. And I was done waiting for you to come back.”

The words hit like a gut punch. Dick’s expression darkened. “Well. You moved on pretty fast.”

He couldn’t believe it. Was Dick jealous ? After everything—

“Don’t you dare, Richard Grayson.” Tae-min’s voice shook with fury. “Don’t you dare criticize me for finding people who actually give a shit about me when you left me behind.”

They stopped, both breathing hard, anger simmering between them. Then, suddenly, Dick deflated.

“I’m here now,” he said, voice quieter. “I’m listening now. Please.”

Tae-min opened his mouth, but for once, he didn’t have a sharp retort. Instead, he let out a slow breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

“I’m done waiting for you to see me.”

Dick’s stomach twisted. There were no words that could make up for the weight behind those six words.

Tim had always been quiet about his pain. He carried it alone, never demanding, never asking for more. And maybe that had been the problem. Because while Dick had been caught up in his own world, assuming Tim was fine, Tim had been slipping further and further away.

“Please,” Dick tried again. “Tell me how to fix it.”

Tae-min shook his head. “I can’t, Dick. I can’t live like this anymore.”

He turned to leave, but Dick wasn’t ready to let him walk away again. “Tim—”

Their voices had risen, drawing attention from the café’s patrons. Some slowed, glancing curiously. A few had their phones out.

Tae-min’s breath hitched. Then, suddenly, tears welled in his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. Not for Dick. Not again.

“Tae-ah?”

A familiar voice cut through the tension. Min-jae, followed closely by Kwan, hurried over.

“What’s going on?” Min-jae asked, stepping between them protectively.

Tae-min shook his head, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes. “I—I just—”

His breath was shaky, his chest too tight.

Kwan didn’t hesitate—he pulled Tae-min into a grounding hug. “It’s okay, kiddo.”

Dick stepped forward, guilt weighing heavy in his chest. “Babybird—”

Kwan’s expression was cold. “I think you should leave.”

Min-jae glanced at Dick, unreadable. Then he nodded. “Yeah. You’ve done enough.”

Dick swallowed hard, watching as Tae-min was gently led away, still trembling.

The argument hit social media almost immediately. Clips of their fight circulated—of Tae-min trembling, of Dick’s frustration. Fans were torn between sympathy and anger.

That night, Dick sat alone in his hotel room, scrolling through the posts, reading Tae-min’s words over and over again.

You left me first.

And he had.

He buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

The fallout was messy. People had a lot to say about the situation.

Idols weren’t strangers to complicated family dynamics, but the Waynes were no ordinary family. The public had long been fascinated by the fact that one of Gotham’s most prominent sons had cut ties so abruptly, despite his former family’s attempts to reach out.

Tae-min’s past was dragged into the spotlight. His high school dropout status—despite later earning his GED—was scrutinized. His controversial stint as a sixteen-year-old CEO resurfaced. The sudden emancipation. The old rumors of unexplained injuries, bad excuses for accidents. People started asking why no one had done anything about a child alone in one of the most violent cities in the world.

The company had initially tried grounding Tae-min from public appearances, but backlash was swift. Old articles resurfaced—ones detailing the Gotham disaster years ago.

Unlike many wealthy families who fled during the crisis, Tae-min had stayed. A viral thread shared grainy photos of him—exhausted and too thin from starvation, but determined—distributing supplies, patching up wounds, protecting people.

Then, an elderly woman shared a story that changed everything.

She claimed to have been Tae-min’s babysitter as a child. He had been a sweet boy—polite, painfully quiet, carrying sadness in his bones. His mother, Janet, had taken him to Gotham’s Koreatown when she could, sneaking moments of heritage between the shadows of Jack Drake’s disapproval.

But when Jack found out, both he and Janet disappeared for months.

Speculation exploded. How much of Tae-min’s childhood had been shaped by isolation? By instability?

The company retracted their restrictions within the week.

Later, during a livestream, a fan asked, “Tae-min, if your dad was against your Korean heritage, how did you get so good at the language?”

Tae-min hesitated. Then, softly—

“My babysitter helped me a lot.” A faint smile. “And… my mom tried when she could.”

He paused.

“Bruce used to speak to me in Korean.” His voice was quieter. “Before—”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

And somewhere, far from the internet’s gaze, Bruce Wayne watched the clip in silence, grief settling heavy in his chest.

Chapter Text

After the backlash, things got quiet.

They dove into the grueling training for their upcoming tour, and life settled into its usual rhythm—except Tae-min got quieter. There was something lingering in his gaze, a sadness they thought he had already left behind.

Sometimes, they would catch him watching from a distance while they laughed and talked, claiming he was just tired. He lingered on the edges of their world, never quite stepping in—until someone pulled him back. Seojin would rope him into a prank. Kwan would wordlessly pass him a drink during a quiet moment. Min-jae would challenge him to a game of chess. Jiho would start a Star Wars marathon, knowing Tae-min wouldn’t be able to resist.

It wasn’t a chore to do this for him. But it was painful to see him try— and fail —to withdraw from them, as if he believed distance could keep them from loving him.

There were things they never said out loud.

Like how, some nights, they would knock on his door and find his room empty, only for him to reappear at breakfast, exhausted but pretending nothing was wrong. Or how he and his sister would vanish on certain weekends, their phones suddenly unreachable. Or how easy it was for him to disappear—so easy that sometimes, they feared he might never come back.

They all noticed. They just never talked about it.

Until one night.

Kwan and Min-jae were both awake, waiting. It had become routine—listening for the front door, hoping to hear his footsteps. Eventually, Kwan broke the silence.

“Do you think we should tell someone?” he whispered. “The manager, anyone.”

Min-jae hesitated. His gut twisted at the thought. “I feel like… if we do, we’ll lose him forever.”

Kwan’s voice was quiet. “I’m scared we’ll lose him no matter what.”

They fell silent again.

After a long pause, Kwan murmured, “It’s strange, but I have this feeling… Whatever he’s doing, it’s not bad. I just wish he’d tell us.”

“He will,” Min-jae said softly. “When he’s ready.”

He had to believe that.

One night, Min-jae got up for water and heard the TV on.

He made his way down the hall, but before he stepped into the room, a voice stopped him.

“You’re not even trying to hide it anymore,” Jiho said. “You want us to know. You just can’t say it.”

A rustle of movement. A quiet, familiar huff from their youngest.

“We’re here when you’re ready,” Jiho continued.

“I know,” Tae-min said.

“Maybe. But you don’t believe it.” There was no accusation in Jiho’s voice, only quiet understanding. “You think we’re going to leave you, so you’re trying to push us away first.” He let the words settle. “But it doesn’t matter. Sooner or later, you’ll realize—there’s no us without you.”

Tae-min exhaled, something caught between a chuckle and a sob. “Could be a long wait.”

“For you?” Jiho’s voice was warm, steady. “We’d wait forever.”

Min-jae didn’t step in.

Didn’t say a word.

He just smiled to himself and turned back toward his room.

Somehow, he knew they were going to be okay.

Tae-min had never thought he would stay, much less belong. Yet, somewhere along the way, the lines blurred and they started to become family. Not in a grand, dramatic way, but in the quiet moments of understanding, in the laughter, in the way they held space for each other.

Min-jae was steady, patient. He had been the first to notice the way Tae-min struggled with sensory overload during long rehearsals, how the overwhelming sounds and lights made him retreat into himself. Subtly, Min-jae adjusted their schedules, never making a big deal of it, just quietly ensuring Tae-min had breaks when needed. In return, Tae-min made sure their leader ate properly, slipping extra food onto his plate when he thought no one was looking. Min-jae noticed, of course. He always noticed. But he never said anything, just ruffled Tae-min’s hair with a quiet, knowing smile.

Seojin was relentless in his teasing, the playful older brother who lived to provoke a reaction. He was the one who dragged Tae-min into his antics, whether it was ridiculous dance battles in their dorm or sneaking out for late-night snacks. And though Tae-min grumbled and rolled his eyes, he never truly minded. Because Seojin was also the first to defend him, the first to stand in front of him when criticism came too harshly, the first to clap him on the back after a performance and say, "See? You killed it." Tae-min, in turn, had a way of knowing when Seojin wasn’t okay. On those days, he would quietly stay close, throwing a sarcastic remark here and there, making sure Seojin knew he wasn’t alone.

Kwan was different. He was quiet support, the solid presence Tae-min found himself leaning on without realizing it. When Tae-min lost himself in training, pushing his body past its limits, Kwan was the one who would cross his arms and say, "Bed. Now." And when Tae-min inevitably protested, Kwan would drag him there if necessary. In return, Tae-min helped him with his songwriting, sitting beside him for hours, giving careful critiques, encouragement disguised as nonchalance.

Then there was Jiho. Their connection was unspoken, a silent understanding forged over late-night conversations about belonging and identity. Both caught between worlds, both searching for something they weren’t sure existed. Jiho listened when Tae-min spoke of his mother, of Gotham, of a childhood spent in shadows. Tae-min listened when Jiho spoke of his own struggles, his own complicated roots. They didn’t always have answers for each other, but sometimes, just being heard was enough.

The others had their own roles, their own ways of weaving themselves into the fabric of Tae-min’s life. Some days, he wondered how he had gotten so lucky.

He had spent so long searching for a place to belong. He had spent so long convincing himself he was meant to be alone. But here, in the warmth of their banter, in the steady hands that caught him when he stumbled, in the spaces they made for him without question—here, he felt safe.

“Everyone in your group seems to have strong bonds,” the interviewer said. “How would you describe your family roles?”

Min-jae laughed. “I’m the responsible but tired dad.”

Seojin grinned. “I’m the fun uncle who gets the kids into trouble. Kwan is the mother, of course.”

Kwan smirked. “Jiho is the kindest of us. And I think we all know Tae-min’s the youngest, but also the scariest.”

The group laughed as Tae-min rolled his eyes. “I’m not scary.”

“You are,” Jiho said, amused. “You’re a menace to society, a chaos gremlin.”

Tae-min huffed but didn’t argue. He looked down for a moment before adding quietly, “I, um, I guess I should say… those guys, they really look after me a lot.”

The room quieted for a second, not in a bad way, just in the way people took in unexpected but meaningful information. It was not common for Tae-min to open up.

“I have my way to interact with things, and sometimes it is difficult to–” Tae-min stopped, looking overwhelmed.

“Tae–” Jiho took his hand, voice gently. Someone cooed on the audience. “You don’t need to say it, we know.”

He shook his head in denial. “I need to. You should know, it is important.” He took Jiho hand to his lap, not looking at anyone, playing with his fingers. “I hyperfocus on training, I need certain routines to feel comfortable and a lot of things make me feel overwhelmed. I know those things make an idol's life difficult. When I was a kid I had to deal with it almost always alone, but these guys help me all the time. They have been really understanding about it.”

Jiho nodded. “Of course. It’s just part of who you are, and we love you for it.”

Tae-min smiled, small but genuine.

“Our fans too.” He smiles more. “I receive a lot of love nowadays. It’s overwhelming sometimes, but in a good way.”

“You deserve it.” Kwan said softly. Tae-min looked up from Jiho’s hand and saw that everyone was looking at him with a soft expression, even the interviewer. His ears got red and the audience cooed again. 

Trending Topic: "Tae-min’s Interview"

@idolluvr99: "Tae-min opening up like that… I’m not crying, you are 😭😭😭"

@chaosgremlinstan: "Jiho just taking Tae-min’s hand and telling him he didn’t have to say it, and Tae-min insisting that he WANTED to… my heart can’t take this" 💔

@minjaeappreciation: "The way the whole group immediately reassured him, no jokes, no awkwardness, just pure love and support… THIS is family."

     @kwanisTHEmom: "Kwan saying ‘you deserve it’ and Tae-min’s ears turning red?? PROTECT HIM AT ALL COSTS"

 @soft4taemin: "‘I receive a lot of love nowadays. It’s overwhelming sometimes, but in a good way.’ — I am WEEPING. THIS BABY DESERVES ALL THE LOVE." 😭💖

 @Detective_Robin: "Tae, I swear to god, did you just soft-launch the fact that you’re neurodivergent on a live interview? And in the cutest way possible?!" 😭

 @kon_elsupremacy: "Does anyone know where I can legally adopt Tae-min? Asking for a friend (me).”

A few days later, back in his dorm, Tae-min perched on the fridge while the group made dinner. Kwan started a livestream, and the others immediately teased Tae-min for his cat-like behavior.

“Does he always do this?” a fan asked.

“Yes,” Kwan laughed. “He’s a menace.”

Tae-min continued lounging, casually reaching for food as it passed by. The chat flooded with laughing emojis.

Later, as everyone was sleeping, he got up from his bed, blanket in hand and went to Jiho’s room. His Hyung didn’t even blink as he made his bed as his, snuggling to the older boy sleepily. It was a little habit of his as later, and everyone was a little endeared. They would tease him about it, if Tae-min wasn’t so unapologetic about it. 

When they realized that it was something that he used to do with his sister, they knew that their Tae-min finally was getting comfortable with them.

For the next tour announcement, it was decided that the group would  participate in a variety show featuring other K-pop groups. Tae-min, having consumed too much energy drinks, became a chaotic menace. He convinced some maknae to do the Naruto run with him. He attempted to lift one kid from ENHYPEN, dramatically failed, and then tried flirting with another while Kwan facepalmed in the background.

Bang Chan from Stray kids and Min-jae had a heart-to-heart about the struggles of being the “dads” of their groups, watching in despair as their members caused chaos. “Who had the brilliant idea to give that kid an energy drink?” Chan muttered, having flashback war about the time one of his own kids did that.

Kwan gave him a deadpan look. “You think that’s bad? Tae-min once hacked our practice room speakers to blast Never Gonna Give You Up for an hour straight.”

During a game about strange facts, Tae-min casually admitted, “I used to rely on Reddit to raise myself. No one was around much, so, yeah. Reddit-raised.”

One of the idols snorted. “That explains so much.”

Tae-min added, “Also, when I was a kid, I walked around Gotham alone a lot. Apparently, people thought I was a ghost and made me a shrine. Some British guy tried to exorcise me and then we became friends. Sort of.”

A pause. Then Seojin frowned. “Wait. I saw a Reddit post about that. The Ghost of Crime Alley? That was you?!”

“Yeah. He warned me that if people kept praying for me I could become something. The belief makes it true or something like this. But I’m almost sure he was joking.”

Kwan facepalmed again.

Tae-min’s energy finally crashed, and he ended up curled in Seojin’s lap, completely out cold. Seojin didn’t move, resigned to his fate. Someone joked, “He’s the chosen one now. The cat rules apply—no moving until he decides to wake up.”

 Trending Topic: "Tae-min is Gotham’s Ghost???"

 @kpopchaos: "TAE-MIN IS A MENACE. THE NARUTO RUN. FLIRTING WITH SUNOO. FAILING TO LIFT NI-KI. THIS IS PEAK VARIETY SHOW CONTENT." 😭😂

@straykidsunite: "Bang Chan and Min-jae bonding over their chaotic kids while Tae-min is causing havoc in the background… dads in distress." 🤣

@Enhypen4ever: "Sunoo’s face when Tae-min flirted with him. He was NOT ready for that." 👀

@kwan_is_exhausted: "‘This kid is UNHINGED."

@sleepysubunit: "Tae-min crashing and using Seojin as a bed is just the most cat-like behavior ever. THE RULES APPLY." 😭😻

@StaysAssemble: "I swear, Bang Chan and Kwan were having war flashbacks. The moment of silence after ‘Who gave him an energy drink?’ sent me." 😂

@GothamConspiracy: "WAIT. HOLD ON. TAE-MIN SAID PEOPLE THOUGHT HE WAS A GHOST IN GOTHAM. AND THAT THEY MADE A SHRINE. CRIME ALLEY GHOST. ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT URBAN LEGEND WAS REAL???" 🤯👻

@IdolTeaSpill: "Seojin’s face when he realized he read a Reddit thread about his own bandmate being an actual Gotham cryptid. I CAN’T BREATHE."

Later that night, Tae-min’s phone buzzed with a message from Jason.

Jason: Was that you??

The night air in Seoul was thick with the hum of neon lights and the distant chatter of the city’s nightlife. Perched on the edge of a rooftop, Gwidam adjusted his mask, eyes scanning the alley below. A familiar shadow landed beside him, silent as a whisper.

Cass.

She tilted her head, watching him as if she could see straight through the mask, through the persona, through everything.

“You’re back.” He signed. Sometimes it was easier between them.

It was something they had in common.

“Got wrapped up in a case.” She signed back. “Tried to be here sooner.”

He hesitated before responding. “Missed you.”

“Me too.” She reached out, fingers brushing his hand in quiet reassurance.

They moved through the city like ghosts, weaving between shadows until they reached a safe rooftop. Cass was the first to break the silence.

“Agent A misses you. Says to call more.”

Tae-min exhaled slowly. “I will.”

“Oracle says hi. Sent a puzzle.”

His lips twitched. “I’ll check it out.”

Cass’s expression shifted, something amused flickering in her eyes. “Spoiler is reading fanfiction about you.”

He blinked. “What?”

She nodded. “TaeWoo ship. Showed me fanart. Cute.”

Tae-min groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Of course.”

She grinned before her expression softened. “Met Duke.”

That made him pause. “The new kid?”

Cass nodded. “He’s a fan.”

Tae-min tilted his head, confused. “Of what?”

“Red Robin.”

He stilled, caught off guard. “Really?”

“Yeah. Asked a lot of questions. Sunshine. Meta.”

He chuckled. “Sounds great.”

“Was in a gang war. Wanted to help.”

Tae-min sighed, shaking his head. “That’s too familiar.” Then, after a beat, he added, “We should invite him to Seoul next time.”

Cass nodded, a quiet promise in her eyes.

A comfortable silence stretched between them before she finally signed, “Japan?”

His smile faded. He exhaled through his nose, staring at the city lights. “It was… rough.”

Cass didn’t push. She never did.

“It hurts,” he admitted, this time speaking aloud. “The others—they’re helping. They’re so good.” His words rushed out, like he was afraid they’d vanish before he could say them. “So good that it scares me. Good things don’t last for me.”

“I’m a good thing.” She signed, firm. “I’m here.”

He hesitated, then let out a breath, a small smile breaking through. “Yeah. You are, aren’t you? You’re the best.” His smile dimmed again. “If it weren’t for you… I don’t know what would’ve happened. Thank you.”

Cass’s expression softened. “Don’t need thanks. Love you.”

“I love you too. So much.”

She studied him for a moment before signing, “They love you too. I can see it. They’re good for you. Won’t let you stay in your head too long.”

He chuckled at that. “Yeah.”

Cass paused, then looked at him carefully. “You gonna tell them?”

He knew what she was asking. About the vigilante life.

Tae-min hesitated. “I don’t know.” He wasn’t hiding too hard anymore, but the fear was still there.

They let the silence settle again until he signed, “How’s D?”

Her fingers stalled before she answered. “Confused. Sad. Misses you. Doesn’t know how to say it.”

She smiled faintly. “Watches your livestreams. Jon told me.”

Tae-min huffed a laugh. “Superman’s kid?”

“Yeah. Good influence.”

That made him grin. He missed that little gremlin.

“Maybe I should reach out to him.” His voice was softer now, contemplative. “It’s… easier. Like Jason.”

“Less history. Less weight.” Cass let him sit with that thought before adding, “Doesn’t have to be now.”

“I know.”

She nudged his shoulder, and this time, he let himself lean into it.

“Thanks,” he signed again.

Cass blinked. “For what?”

“For always staying.”

She didn’t reply with words. Instead, she let him have the silence, the space to process. In her own way, that was the loudest answer she could give.

He didn’t have the courage to ask her about Bruce.

The package arrived at the manor with no return address.

Damian found it waiting on his desk, wrapped in plain brown paper, the only marking a neatly penned note tucked inside.

“For you.”

No name. No explanation.

Curious, he unwrapped it, revealing an old, well-worn sketchbook. The leather was smooth from use, the pages thick beneath his fingers. He flipped through it, finding pages of intricate drawings—some landscapes, some studies of people, some moments frozen in time.

At the very end, a message was scrawled in careful handwriting.

“Call when you’re ready.”

Beneath it, a number.

Damian stared at it for a long time.

The manor was quiet tonight, too quiet. Even the ghosts seemed restless, caught between the past and the present. It had been like this for months now—too still, too empty. He had wandered Gotham’s streets at night, looking for something, for traces of a brother he had never truly known. But Gotham gave only silence.

His fingers tightened around the edges of the sketchbook. He didn’t have to wonder who sent it. He already knew.

It took him days to decide.

But eventually, he sent a message. No words, just a picture.

The drawing was new, done in careful, deliberate strokes. It depicted a shrine, lanterns flickering in the night. In the shadows stood a child, almost invisible in the dark.

A quiet presence. Unnoticed, but there.

Tae-min received the text while sitting on a rooftop, the glow of the screen illuminating his face. He stared at the image for a long time, then exhaled slowly.

He understood the message.

“I see you.”

It wasn’t much. But it was a start.

Chapter Text

Things had settled—or at least, they seemed to—after his conversation with Cass. Tae-min had stopped his tentative withdrawal, though the fear of what came next still lingered at the edges of his thoughts.

After all, his life was still dangerous. He still carried secrets he couldn't share with his friends—because some belonged to others as well. But they didn’t ask for much. They only wanted him to stay. To reach out if he needed help.

They knew he was involved in something he couldn't talk about, but when he told them it wasn’t anything bad, they believed him. He tried not to think of them as naive for that. It was a novelty, to be trusted so easily.

It became easier when they saw that Cass was with him, whatever it was.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Kwan said one evening, the group gathered in their practice room for an impromptu emergency meeting. “We trust you with a lot, but not with your own safety. You don’t worry about yourself enough, Tae-ah.”

“But we trust your sister with you,” Min-jae added. “You told us she left everything behind to get you out of a place that was hurting you. I know a good sibling when I see one. She’d burn everything down for you.”

A warmth settled in his chest at that. He couldn’t disagree.

“We know a lot of these secrets lead back to Gotham,” Kwan continued. “We won’t pry. We won’t expose you. But we need safety measures. That’s non-negotiable.”

It was more than he had expected, but somehow, less than he had feared. So, he agreed—even if trusting people outside of Cass and Young Justice still felt like unsteady ground.

For a while, things started looking up. As Tae-min, the idol. As Gwidam, the shadow.

He let himself relax. Just a little.

Until his past came for him one night.

Tae-min had always been careful when leaving the studio late at night. His group members and Mrs. Lee made sure he was never alone, but tonight was an exception.

He was waiting for the driver, his bodyguard just outside near the car, when it happened.

Ra’s al Ghul emerged like a shadow, silent and sudden.

Tae-min barely had a second to react before his bodyguard hit the ground, unconscious. The car door was wrenched open. And suddenly, he wasn’t alone anymore.

“Detective,” Ra’s murmured, his voice a silken threat in the dim interior of the vehicle. His eyes glowed in the low light, sharp and knowing. “It has been too long.”

Tae-min’s blood turned to ice, but he kept his expression neutral. “Not long enough. You tortured me last time.”

Ra’s chuckled, amused. “I’ve kept an eye on you, Timothy. You have strayed far from your master’s shadow and are flourishing, Ghost.” The last word rolled off his tongue with glee, a deliberate taunt. A warning—he already knew. “You are already taking steps toward your true potential in the underground. But tell me, do you not tire of pretending? This normal life does not suit you. You were meant for more.”

His pulse spiked, but he didn’t let his fear show. “I don’t belong to Batman.” Tae-min clenched his fists at his sides. “And I have no interest in whatever you’re offering.”

Ra’s ignored the rejection. His voice dipped into something colder, something worse. “You’ve cut your ties. You have no master now. Why not step into the future with me?”

Tae-min swallowed his revulsion and discreetly activated his silent distress signal to Cass while keeping his tone steady. “I said no.”

“You waste your talents on trivial affairs,” Ra’s mused, dismissive. Then, slower, deliberate, “You and I both know you were meant for more. We had our fun back then, did we not?”

Tae-min’s stomach twisted violently. He forced himself to breathe, to not let the nausea show. He couldn’t lose control. Cass was coming. His big sister was coming.

He clenched his fists. “I already said I’m not joining you.”

Ra’s never listened. He always pushed and pushed until—

“Do you truly think you can refuse me?” His voice was cold. “Have you learned nothing, Beloved?”

The car felt suffocating. Tae-min stiffened as Ra’s leaned in, his fingers reaching toward his face. His voice, his eyes—it was all wrong. It made Tae-min’s skin crawl, the memories clawing at the edges of his mind.

Enough.

Tae-min struck first.

He twisted sharply, drawing the hidden blade from his sleeve and slashing for Ra’s throat. Ra’s barely dodged in time, the blade cutting a deep gash along his cheek instead. Blood beaded in the dim light, and Ra’s… smiled.

Then he moved.

Tae-min barely kept up. The confined space of the car was a disadvantage, but he fought like his life depended on it—because it did. His strikes were ruthless, aimed to end things permanently. He didn’t care if he killed Ra’s this time.

But Ra’s had centuries of experience. His counters were effortless, his movements sharp and precise. He flowed through Tae-min’s attacks, deflecting, redirecting, forcing him back.

“You’re spirited tonight,” Ra’s mused, catching Tae-min’s wrist in an iron grip. “But you are still mine.”

Tae-min wrenched free just enough to kick him, the hidden blade in his shoe slicing toward Ra’s throat. He missed. The blade embedded in Ra’s arm instead.

Ra’s snarled, his amusement finally cracking into fury.

Pain exploded across Tae-min’s ribs as Ra’s struck. He barely had time to register the hit before a second blow slammed into his side, knocking the breath from his lungs. His vision blurred as Ra’s overpowered him, his grip brutal, unyielding.

Tae-min struggled. He fought. But he wasn’t good enough.

Ra’s forced him down against the seat, one hand wrapping around his throat.

No no no no. I won’t be taken again.

Tae-min forced himself to think. To act. He took one desperate breath—

And screamed.

“KON! KON-EL!”

The car doors were wrenched open from both sides. Metal groaned. One of the doors was ripped clean off its hinges, and then—Tae-min was no longer in the car.

Kon had him in his arms before he could blink.

Cass moved like death itself. She was on Ra’s in an instant, striking with a fury Tae-min had never seen before. Ra’s barely had time to react before she forced him back, her blows brutal, relentless.

A red glow illuminated the night. Kon’s heat vision seared the ground near Ra’s feet, a warning shot—but barely.

Tae-min gasped for air, his ribs screaming in protest. His vision swam, his pulse thundered. He could feel Kon’s arms tightening around him, grounding him. He knew—knew—his friend would kill for him.

Ra’s knew it too. He assessed the situation, then stepped back into the shadows, vanishing into the night. But his parting words curled through the air like smoke.

“We are not finished, Beloved.”

Tae-min’s breath hitched. He was safe.

His sister came.

His friend came.

Someone came this time.

“Tae?” Kon’s voice sounded far away. “Tae-min!”

There was shouting. Footsteps. The sound of Mrs. Lee’s sharp, clipped tone cutting through the night. She had seen the struggle. Seen the unconscious bodyguard. Seen Cass and Superboy holding Tae-min between them.

Her expression darkened instantly. “What happened? Who was that?”

Neither of them answered. Tae-min was trembling, his breaths too shallow, too fast. His body wasn’t moving the way it should.

Mrs. Lee scanned the situation with a calculating gaze. A man. A closed car. Tae-min looking like he was about to shatter.

Her hands curled into fists.

Tae-min barely registered her next words. His mind was slipping, dragged under by the weight of fear, of memories.

Cass knelt beside him, taking him from Kon’s arms, gripping his hands tightly. “Little brother. Here.” She tapped his chest lightly, grounding him. “Breathe.”

He barely heard her. The memories of Ra’s, of the times before, clawed at him. He had been ready to kill tonight, and still—it hadn’t been enough.

Cass turned to Mrs. Lee and the other approaching staff, her voice firm. “That man is dangerous. Family problem.”

Mrs. Lee’s expression turned lethal. “I want his name.”

Cass didn’t give it. Instead, she pulled out her phone and made a call.

For a while, Tae-min drifted.

His body was in pain—not the worst kind, but enough to remind him he was alive. His mind had tried to protect him, pulling him away from the memories, the fear, the exhaustion. But eventually, the fog lifted, and he became aware of the world again.

There was a steady beeping somewhere. Quiet voices speaking.

And warmth.

Someone was holding his hand, grounding him. A small, firm squeeze let him know they knew he was awake.

Cass.

She always knew.

Tae-min forced his heavy eyelids open and found himself in the dim glow of the hospital room.

Kon was sitting near the door, arms crossed, posture tense—his ever-watchful sentinel.

The third person shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did.

Kwan sat at his bedside, head slumped on the mattress, asleep.

Tae-min looked at him in the low light. His hair was in disarray—unusual for him. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his skin was too pale. Tired.

A lump rose in Tae-min’s throat.

Of the group, Kwan had been the first to reach out to him when he was a trainee—Jiho was the second. The others, Tae-min saw as brothers, but Kwan?

Kwan had always been something else.

More than a brother.

Something safer.

Something he didn’t let himself think about, because it made him remember things that hurt.

The last time Ra’s had him, he had nothing. He was alone. But that also meant Ra’s had no one to use against him.

But now?

“Tae-ah?”

The voice was raw with exhaustion, but Tae-min knew it instantly.

Kwan’s eyes were open, his expression blurry with sleep but still filled with concern. He blinked rapidly, like he was fighting tears.

Tae-min had been a vigilante for almost six years. Before that, he had been a child surviving Gotham’s worst. He had fought bigger, stronger enemies and made it out alive.

He was tough.

Even his father had said so.

He was tough.

But Kwan—

“Oh, Tae—”

I'm so scared.

There, right in this room, with these people who would do anything to make him feel safe, Tae-min didn’t need to be tough.

Later that night, he felt it before he saw it—the shift in the air, the near-silent disturbance of movement. The hospital had police stationed outside his room, but that didn’t matter.

Shiva never used doors when windows were an option.

Cass, seated at the foot of his bed, barely reacted. Kon tensed where he stood by the door, arms crossed, eyes flickering red. His whole body was coiled, ready to move. But then Cass gave a small shake of her head—stand down—and Kon exhaled slowly, relaxing by inches.

Shiva stood by the window, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You are in trouble. That man is haunting you.” 

Tae-min exhaled shakily. “Yeah.”

She stepped closer, eyes sharp. “I have never seen you afraid before. What did he do?”

Tae-min swallowed, but didn’t look away. 

“What he didn’t do.” His voice was quiet but steady. 

Her expression darkened.

Tae-min forced himself to continue. “Two times he had me under his thumb. This time he failed but–” His throat felt tight. “If he threatened them, I would have gone with him. ”

Cass’s hand tightened on his.

Kon swore under his breath, fury burning in his eyes. “No. No, that’s not happening. I’ll kill him first.”

Shiva turned to Kon, her head tilting slightly as if seeing him for the first time. Then, to Tae-min’s surprise, she actually looked… pleased.

“It seems you have better company now, my son.” Her smirk deepened. “Good.”

Kon blinked. Tae-min almost laughed. Trust her to approve of people being a little murdery.

“But it’s unnecessary.” Shiva’s tone shifted back to cold certainty. She looked at Tae-min. “I will handle it. Ra’s crossed a line, coming after one of my children again. And it’s not the only bad decision he’s made recently.”

Tae-min stared at her. “What?”

She nodded. “He sent people after his grandson, too.”

Cass stiffened beside him.

Damian. Is he all right?

Shiva’s smirk sharpened. “And now, Talia is very angry.”

Before Tae-min could react, a noise came from the bathroom. He turned his head—Kwan had been there.

Tae-min’s breath hitched. He hadn’t noticed. Kwan must have woken up, overheard, and stepped out at the worst possible moment.

He stood frozen in place, looking between them all. His eyes were wide, but his expression was set. Determined.

Shiva tilted her head. “You’re still here.”

Kwan met her gaze without hesitation. “Yes.”

“You should be afraid.”

“I am.” Kwan’s voice didn’t waver. “But Tae needs me.”

Shiva studied him for a long moment, then let out a soft hum of amusement.

Tae-min stiffened.

She stepped closer to Kwan, leaning in slightly. Testing. Measuring.

Kwan didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His eyes went cold.

Shiva smirked. “Interesting. You really are making better friends.”

Tae-min really didn’t like that tone.

She turned back to him, stepping closer, pressing a hand to his head—not rough, not lingering, just there.

“Rest,” she ordered. “Heal. Everything will be taken care of.”

And then, as suddenly as she had come, she was gone.

Tae-min let out a breath, slumping back against the pillows.

Kon looked at Cass. “Okay, so, am I crazy, or was that actually kind of terrifying?”

“You called her, didn’t you, Cass?”

Cass just smiled.

Kwan finally turned to Tae-min, his expression unreadable.

“I won't ask who that was or why she was talking about murder,” Kwan said slowly. “Because I feel like I’d murder the guy too if he’s the one that did this to you.”

Tae-min tried for a joke. “You impressed her.”

Kwan exhaled through his nose. “Should I be worried?”

“Yes.”

Kwan shook his head, his lips quirking slightly. But he still took Tae-mi's hand and didn’t let go.

For now, at least, he was safe.

Headlines:

Superboy Saves Eclipse’s Tae-min Shinryong from a Brutal Attack in Seoul!

Superhero Intervention: Superboy Rescues K-pop Idol Tae-min Shinryong from Kidnapping Attempt

From the Stage to Danger: Eclipse’s Tae-min Targeted in a Shocking Nighttime Attack

Tae-min Shinryong’s Attacker Still Unknown—Was It More Than Just a Random Crime?

Seoul Hospital Sightings: Eclipse’s Tae-min Visited by Friends, Including Fellow Idol Hyunwoo

Superboy, Tae-min, and… Damian Wayne? Fans Theorize on the Connection Between Two Attacks

Tae-min Shinryong Speaks Out: “I’m Safe now”

 @KpopInsider:
"SUPERBOY saved Tae-min?? This is not a drill. A K-pop idol was literally rescued by a superhero." 

 @SuperheroWatch:
"Superboy was in Seoul and fought off an attempted kidnapping?? How is this not bigger news???" 😳

 @SeoulGossip:
"Wait, Tae-min was attacked the same night Damian Wayne almost got kidnapped?  This is not a coincidence." 

 @FanCamFreak:
"Tae-min was saved by Superboy. I repeat: Superboy swooped in and saved our baby. I need a moment." 😭 🔥

 @KpopTea:
"The way Kwan  did not leave Tae-min’s side at the hospital… this man is basically his parent at this point." 🥺

 @ShippersUnite:
"Hyunwoo was seen visiting Tae-min at the hospital. " 💕

 @TheRealQuestion:
"Who was behind the attack on Tae-min? And why do I feel like this goes deeper than just an obsessed fan?" 

Chapter Text

Staying at the hospital felt strange. Tae-min had suffered worse injuries in his early days as Robin, even during training with Bruce.

But he didn’t push too hard to be discharged. One reason was that they let Kon—Superboy, technically—stay with him. Tae-min wasn’t sure how they managed that, something about a hero protecting the civilian he saved while the situation was being resolved. He suspected it had more to do with Mrs. Lee’s magic and Oracle’s meddling than any official reasoning.

Kon was terrible at pretending they were strangers. The way he wrapped himself around Tae-min at night, curling up in his bed without a care, made that impossible. Young Justice had always been uncomfortably codependent by hero community standards—constantly in each other's space, no real concept of personal boundaries. But he and Kon? They were the worst of them. Maybe that was why he lost it so badly when Kon died.

They were the first ones—the ‘parents’ of their group. The running joke that they were basically a married couple hadn’t helped much either.

Soon enough, both his friends and the hospital staff learned not to ask questions when they found them tangled together or seemed to know things about each other that didn’t match their supposed first meeting. Kon, of course, delighted in spinning the most ridiculous lies about it.

The press, naturally, was having a field day. The “star-crossed lovers” narrative had caught fire.

Hyunwoo’s visits only made things worse. Kon, with zero shame, acted like a jealous rival, much to Hyunwoo’s amusement. The two of them made a game out of seeing who could fluster Tae-min more, flirting shamelessly—sometimes with each other, sometimes directly at him. It had become the hospital staff’s favorite form of entertainment. Cass and his group, too.

But the real reason Tae-min was still here, playing the part of the wounded, was Ra’s. The Demon’s Head kept sending League agents to try and take him, and if he were home, everyone around him would become collateral damage. Cass was already stationed beneath the company in her instructor role, keeping watch. But for now, the primary target was Tae-min.

That was Ra’s mistake. He couldn’t comprehend that Tae-min cared more about others than himself, even with what happened with Tam last time. He didn’t know him at all. If he did… they’d be in real trouble.

Tae-min tried not to dwell too much on the fact that he was leaving this mess for others to handle. It was new, relying on people this much. But Cass and Kon made it easier—they didn’t hide things from him. They kept him in the loop.

Talia and Shiva had reached out. The Outlaws, with Jason at the helm, were already moving. Cassie and Bart were in Seoul, protecting both the city and the hospital, hunting down the Shadows. Damian had been sent to the Kent farm with Duke, because even Ra’s wasn’t reckless enough to attack Superman’s parents’ house.

Bruce was on a warpath. He’d crossed paths with Talia and Shiva, but no one knew if they were cooperating.

It was a complete clusterfuck.

The rest of the Bats and the Birds of Prey were protecting Gotham.

And Nightwing? No one knew where he was.

One night, he stirred awake to the sound of movement. Kon was already tense beside him, his body coiled like a spring, ready to attack.

“Who—” Kon started, voice sharp.

His gaze landed on the shadowed figure sitting by the window, bathed in the dim city lights.

The mystery of Dick’s disappearance—and why there hadn’t been more League agents trying to reach him—was answered then, with the hero at his window. 

“It’s okay,” Tae-min murmured before Kon could launch himself across the room. 

“What the fuck you–”

“It’s okay, Kon. We need to talk.”

Kon hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Kon didn’t relax entirely, but at Tae-min’s reassurance, he huffed and pulled away, casting one last glance at him before stepping out of the room. Even then, Tae-min knew he wouldn’t go far. Tae-min knew he’d be just outside, listening, ready to step in if needed.

As the door clicked shut, Tae-min let out a slow breath, turning back to the window. 

“I should be surprised you’re here and not in Gotham,” he muttered, voice rough from sleep. “They need you there.”

Dick startled slightly, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, well,” he said, his tone laced with quiet regret. “I think I owe you that much, as I didn’t protect you before..”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

“And—” Dick exhaled, his voice tight. “If I didn’t come here, I would’ve tracked Ra’s down and done something I couldn’t take back.”

Tae-min stilled. The words hit a nerve. His mind flickered back to that time—Joker’s laughter, the blood, the way Dick had beaten him to death because he lied about killing Tae-min and bragged about Jason.

People liked to forget, but  Dick had been the angry Robin, not Jason.

“I think you’d have to get in line for that,” Tae-min said, his voice soft but steady. “And my bet’s on Shiva or Talia getting to him first.”

Dick let out a surprised chuckle, the sound almost foreign in the heavy air between them. Then, silence again.

“I—” Dick hesitated, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know when this rift started. But I know I was the one who let it happen.” He swallowed hard. “At first, I didn’t even realize. I was too caught up in the mess after B—yeah.” His voice faltered, but he pushed through. “You’re always so good at making people believe you’re okay that I relied on it. Lied to myself that I didn’t need to worry, because you always seemed like you could handle anything.”

Tae-min didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

“But you weren’t okay,” Dick continued, his voice raw. “You were never okay. You didn’t have a choice.” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “You were just a kid—still are. And we put so much on you. We saw you as the one who could do no wrong, the one who helped everyone. And when you did something we didn’t expect… we punished you for it, like your parents did.” His voice cracked, but he kept going. “As if it wasn’t our fault. As if we hadn’t set you up to fail.”

Tae-min clenched his fists.

“We let you fend for yourself because it was easier to believe your lies than face the truth,” Dick whispered. “Easier to tell ourselves you just needed space, that you were fine. But you were right. We didn’t see you.”

“I—” Tae-min’s voice wavered.

“I left you first.” Dick’s voice was barely audible now. “You’re right. I left you. And I—” His breath hitched. “I don’t know how to fix that.”

The silence stretched between them as Tae-min tried to gather his thoughts. Nightwing murmured something into his comm—probably to Oracle, making sure no cameras were watching. A moment later, he removed his mask, revealing blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. It was a quiet, deliberate gesture—proof that this wasn’t Nightwing speaking, but Dick. Even though, out of all of them, he was always the one most at ease with his mask.

“I was so angry,” Tae-min finally said, voice quiet but unwavering. “At you. At them. At myself. I felt like I didn’t matter anymore, if I ever did. Like I could disappear, and no one would care.”

Dick flinched but didn’t look away. “That’s not true.”

“But that’s how it felt,” Tae-min said simply. “And then Ra’s happened. And I waited for anyone to help, but– no one came.”

Dick swallowed thickly. “I—I don’t know how to make up for that.”

Tae-min let out a slow, tired sigh. “I don’t know if I can forgive you. But I’m tired of being angry.”

Dick nodded slowly, his expression raw. “Maybe we can just… be here. For each other. I will prove to you that I can earn your love back.”

Tae-min studied him for a long moment. Then, he remembered something Mrs. Lee had once told him.

“That’s not how love works, Dick,” he said softly. “Love is given freely.”

Dick looked at him, lost. And in that moment, Tae-min was struck by how young he still was—how young they all were. Sometimes, they forgot that Dick had once been just another kid raising kids, an angry and sad child trying to hold everything together. They put him on such a pedestal, expected so much, and never allowed him the space to fall apart.

Maybe it was time they stopped doing that.

Tae-min offered a small, weary smile. “You don’t need to earn my love. I love you a lot, Dick. That’s why it hurts so much. Our family… Sometimes it feels like all we know how to do is hurt each other again and again.”

Dick lowered his head, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I want—” Tae-min’s voice wavered, but he forced himself to continue. “I want to try, someday, to reach out to each other. But I’m scared. Sometimes I think I can’t survive another heartbreak. I can’t be abandoned again.”

“I—I’m sorry. I should have—”

“It’s not all on you.” Tae-min cut him off gently. “Our family’s happiness shouldn’t rest on your shoulders alone. You’re not our parent. Bruce needs to get his shit together.”

Dick let out a wet chuckle. “He’s in therapy now.”

Tae-min blinked, surprised. “Is he now? Well… good for Damian, then. He deserves a better dad than we had. If Bruce screws up with him, he can come live with me.” He hesitated before mumbling, “You should go to therapy too.”

Dick’s gaze softened.

Tae-min didn’t know what else to say.

“You’re right. For now then, I will look out for your ‘someday’. I’ll wait.”

“Could be a long wait.”

“Could be forever, and I would still wait for you.”

It was almost funny how it echoed Jiho’s words so well. Bittersweet.

Dick exhaled, standing up. “I should go now, little ghost .” Tae-min tensed at this and Dick winked. So he knew about Gwidam, of course, he probably spent more time in Asia than he thought.

Tae-min rolled his eyes at the new sappy nickname.

Dick smiled. “You look exhausted, and superboy will probably kick me out soon. Or your other friends, they are very protective.These two the other day were ready to throw hands at me. They love you a lot.”

“They do, don’t they?” Tae-min murmured. A quiet realization settled over him. “And… I love them too. I really do.”

Dick’s smile turned sad. He stepped forward, pressing a kiss to Tae-min’s head. The simple gesture made something in Tae-min’s chest ache.

A part of him wanted to reach out, to grab Dick’s wrist and not let him go. He didn’t want to lose his big brother again.

But he knew this was for the best.

They needed to heal first.

At the door, Dick glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m still here for you, if you need me. Always. As family or as a friend, little ghost.”

And then he was gone.

Tae-min sat there in the silence, staring at the empty space Dick had left behind. His fingers curled into the sheets as he processed everything.

The door creaked open again, but this time, it was Kon.

The other boy didn’t say anything—just climbed back onto the bed like he belonged there, warm and steady. Tae-min let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as Kon wrapped an arm around him, grounding him.

“I heard everything,” Kon admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

Tae-min hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.” He let himself lean into the touch, resting his head against Kon’s shoulder. “I think… I’m ready to heal.”

Kon didn’t say anything, just squeezed him a little tighter.

The news came through a call.

Kon was teasing him with Kwan’s help, both trying to bully him into making a video call with the others, when Jason’s name flashed on the screen. Tae-min picked up without thinking.

“It’s done.”

Two words. That was all it took to make his world tilt.

His breath caught in his throat, fingers tightening around the phone. His heart pounded so loud he barely heard Kon’s concerned voice before the other boy moved to his side, wrapping him in a firm embrace. Alarmed. Protective.

“How?” Tae-min’s voice came out hoarse. Kwan took his free hand, squeezing gently. Grounding him.

Jason’s tone held something almost like amusement. “Your mom.” A small chuckle. “Ran him through with a sword. Talia beheaded him right after.” There was something like admiration in his voice.

Tae-min let out a breath, something between disbelief and something heavier—something he wasn’t sure how to name.

Jason hesitated before continuing, softer this time. “B was there. He didn’t stop them.”

Tae-min closed his eyes. His throat tightened as he fought back the sudden sting of tears.

“Is there any chance that—”

Jason cut him off before he could finish the thought. “That he could come back? Hell no.” His voice turned fierce. “Me and my buddies made sure of it. You’re safe, baby ghost. He won’t touch you again. Do you hear me? Never again.”

Tae-min let out a breathless laugh, shaky and wet. “You and Dick and your ridiculous nicknames.”

Jason snorted. “Only for you, tiny tot.”

Tae-min didn’t know how to feel. He had spent so long looking over his shoulder, waiting for the next move, the next attack, that the sudden silence almost felt unnatural.

And yet—he felt it. The weight. The crushing, suffocating weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying.

Lifting.

“Talia has taken command of the League,” Jason added.

He was gone. Truly gone.

Tae-min exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands over his face before letting them fall. “So that’s it,” he murmured, still in disbelieve.

Jason hummed softly. “That’s it.”

Days later, he was finally discharged. The press ran wild with reports about the culprit of the attack being "found" in Gotham. Tae-min was sure the Bats had fun fabricating graves to sell the lie.

Back at the dorm, he was still under strict orders to rest, leaving him alone with his thoughts more often than he liked. Things were… different.

It wasn’t something loud or obvious, not at first.

But he noticed it in the way Kwan stuck closer to him, the way Min-jae kept sending him searching glances when he thought he wasn’t looking.The way Seojin usual teasing never quite went too far anymore, as if he was holding back.

They hadn’t said anything. Not yet. But Tae-min knew it was coming.

Eventually, they would talk about it. About what happened. About what it meant.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready.

Then, one night, a message from an unexpected sender.

I will ensure the League does not become what he was.

Talia, There was something softer beneath her usual formality. A pause. Another message.

Damian send his regards

So, he was visiting his mom. Good for him.

Tae-min stared at the screen for a long moment before his fingers moved.

He’s grown a lot. You should be proud.

Minutes later, her response came.

I am. Take care of yourself.

Tae-min hesitated, then replied.

You too.

He was about to put his phone down when another message appeared.

I am sorry for what Ra’s did to you.

His breath hitched. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

But he didn’t respond.

A week after, Kon visited him at Cass’s apartment on his day off. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

Kon had a way of making himself at home, sprawling across her couch like he belonged there. Tae-min found himself grateful for the familiar presence.

For a long while, they just sat together in comfortable silence. Then, finally, Kon spoke.

“You okay?” His voice was gentle, but his eyes were sharp, scanning Tae-min like he was trying to see through him.

Tae-min huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

Kon nodded, like he had expected that. “I’m glad he’s gone.”

Tae-min glanced away. “Me too.”

A pause. Then, after a moment, Tae-min looked back at him. “Thank you. For… for everything. For protecting me.”

Kon’s brows furrowed. “Tae-min, you don’t have to thank me for that. I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”

Tae-min didn’t answer immediately. He just watched Kon carefully, searching for something he didn’t even have the words for.

Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Kon gave him a lopsided grin before pulling him into a warm hug. “Good. No matter what happens, I’ll stand by you. Got it?”

Tae-min nodded, burying his face in Kon’s shoulder. For a long while, they just sat together in comfortable silence. Then, finally, Kon broke it with a dramatic sigh.

“I can’t believe this,” he said, shaking his head.

Tae-min blinked at him, confused. “What?”

Kon gave him a mock-wounded look. “I’ve been fired.”

Tae-min frowned. “Fired?”

“Yes! From my most important job—being your personal superhero bodyguard. You know how much I liked hanging around and making sure you didn’t get yourself killed? It was the perfect excuse to stay close to you.” He huffed. “Now that you’re ‘safe,’ I don’t get to camp out with you anymore”

Tae-min snorted. “So you’re telling me that out of everything—Ra’s dying, the League changing, the nightmare finally ending—you’re sad that you don’t get to be my overprotective knight anymore?”

Kon smirked. “Not just that. I also miss the wild stories the press made up about our tragic love story. You were the tortured prince, and I was your devoted white knight. It was great. Even Ma started reading those ridiculous articles.”

Tae-min groaned, covering his face. “I swear to god, those reporters need better things to do.”

Kon grinned. “C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it at least a little.”

Tae-min peeked at him from between his fingers. “If you miss it so much, you can always visit me as Superboy. Then the headlines will be all about how my gallant knight refuses to leave my side, even in peacetime.”

Kon gasped, clutching his chest. “You would let me have that? Truly?”

Tae-min smacked his arm. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Back in Gotham, Bruce read the reports in silence.

Ra’s was dead. The League had shifted.

And his family—his sons—were safe from that monster.

He had seen the body. He had seen the blade. He had seen the blood.

Still, he hadn’t allowed himself to feel relief. Not then. Not until later, when he stood alone in the cave, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He let out a slow, shuddering breath, closing his eyes against the images that wouldn’t leave him.

Tae-min was safe. Damian was safe.

That was all that mattered.

And yet, Shiva’s words echoed in his mind, sharp as a knife against his ribs.

"You should thank me."

"For what?"

"For doing what you never could."

"I never—"

"I’m not talking about al Ghul."

The words had stopped him cold. He had been prepared for accusations, for condemnation. But she hadn’t meant about killing Ra’s.

"Tae-min is not your shadow, he never was. But he carries your sins all the same. The ones you refuse to acknowledge. The ones you refuse to bear."

His jaw had tightened. He had swallowed down the instinct to deny it. Because he knew.

"How is he?"

Shiva’s smirk had been knowing, but her voice had softened, just barely.

"Alive. But broken things do not heal so easily, do they?"

Now, in the cave’s cold silence, Bruce pressed a hand to his temple.

For once, he didn’t push the words away.

Chapter Text

In the following days, Tae-min tried to process everything—Ra’s, Dick, the realization that, despite his best efforts, he had started to love his bandmates. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. When he left Gotham, he told himself that Cass and Young Justice were enough. They were the only family he needed, the only home he would ever have.

But that was a lie.

Gotham would always be a part of him, woven into his heart and soul. He had escaped a bad situation, a painful one, but the city itself wasn’t the enemy. It was still his. And realizing that felt like both a relief and a promise.

But he would never be the same. Gotham, in some ways, was gone—because he was gone. Tim Drake-Wayne would never return. That version of himself had died the day he ran. Tae-min had built something new in his place, something that didn’t belong to Gotham, to the Bats, to the past.

Still, he had been foolish to think running would leave his problems behind. Some things weren’t tied to Gotham—they were tied to him . His baggage followed him wherever he went. He had left to survive, but he couldn’t live his life constantly running away. He needed closure. There were still conversations to be had, wounds that needed to be addressed before they could heal.

He was done running away, it was time to run toward something.

Somehow, without his permission, without his control, his bandmates had become the reason he wanted to stay. He had let them in, bit by bit, until one day he realized he loved them. Not in the way he had loved his brothers or his team, not in the way he had loved the city that whispered to him in its grief. This was different. Softer. Scarier.

He didn’t know how to deal with it.

Tae-min was a liar, a mess, and, on occasion, an asshole. He had done terrible things, walked dark paths, and technically speaking, had a criminal record long before he hit adulthood. His friends only knew the sanitized version of his life, the one with the rough edges smoothed out. Some truths could never be shared, not without putting others at risk.

And yet, even with the secrets, even with the walls he kept between them—his life had already dragged them into danger.

He trusted them with his life, but not with the truth.

How could that ever work? Wouldn’t it be safer to leave before things got worse?

But I don’t want to go.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? He had already decided he wouldn’t run anymore. But that meant facing the terrifying fact that he had no idea how to move forward. Tae-min always needed a plan, control, a way to manage everything before it spiraled beyond his reach.

And while he was in the middle of a full-scale internal crisis—hyper-focusing on how to compartmentalize the sudden, overwhelming realization that he loved his fucking friends—those same friends were clearly planning an intervention.

Because of course they were.

Probably to ask what the hell had just happened, why a man tried to kidnap him, and why the hell Superboy was casually his friend. Oh, and all the family drama that led to this mess in the first place.

Yeah. That was going to be fun.

Tae-min tried to find a moment for himself before the inevitable conversation with his group. He knew it was coming—knew they wouldn’t let things slide this time—but for now, he needed silence. Space.

It wasn’t hard to get. Everyone was busy training, pushing themselves to make up for lost time. Their tour was just around the corner, and there was an unspoken tension about whether Tae-min would be able to join them or not.

Maybe it was all the stress, but a week after he was cleared to train again, he got sick. And he wouldn’t get better. Worse, he wouldn’t admit how bad it was. Cass—who could have seen through his act in an instant—was on a mission with the Birds of Prey and wouldn’t be back until the end of the week.

By the time Jiho burst into Kwan’s room late one night, looking shaken, it was already too late.

“His fever is too high,” Jiho said, breathless. “I can’t wake him up.”

Kwan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his phone, called for an ambulance.

One convulsion later, Tae-min was back in the hospital.

That was when they found out he didn’t have a spleen.

The hospital room was too quiet. Too still.

Kwan sat in one of the stiff, uncomfortable chairs beside the bed, hands clasped together. His eyes never left Tae-min’s face, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. He looked so small like this—pale and fragile against the white sheets. It didn’t suit him.

No one spoke at first. The weight of the past few days pressed down on them, thick and suffocating. Jiho paced the room, unable to sit still, his jaw tight with frustration barely masking the fear in his eyes. Seojin, usually the loudest among them, hadn’t said a word since they arrived.

“This kind of thing,” Jiho finally murmured, voice rough, “keeps happening to him.”

No one disagreed.

They had all seen it—the way trouble followed Tae-min like a shadow, the way he brushed off injuries and exhaustion like they were nothing. The way he carried burdens too heavy for one person alone.

And yet, he still smiled. He still pushed forward, as if none of it had ever touched him.

Kwan exhaled, rubbing his face. “I knew he was hiding things. I just… I didn’t think it was this bad.”

“I thought giving him space was the right thing,” Jiho muttered. “But I should’ve known better.”

Seojin let out a bitter laugh. “It wouldn’t have mattered. He’s too good at pretending.”

Min-jae had been silent all this time, his eyes fixed on Tae-min. His quiet was unsettling—Min-jae was rarely this quiet unless he was furious.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, steady.

“This won’t happen again.”

The others turned to him.

“We take care of each other,” Min-jae continued. “Even from ourselves.”

They nodded.

“We’ll be better than his old family. He needs to know that he can rely on us.” Then, softer, “You all need to know that too. If you ever need me, come to me. Don’t keep it to yourself.”

Kwan smiled at that. Min-jae had always been the quiet backbone of their group, but hearing him say it aloud meant something.

“Yes, our fearless leader,” came a raspy, teasing voice.

Their heads snapped toward the bed.

Tae-min was awake. Smiling at them.

Later that night, after the others had been forced back to the dorm to rest, Tae-min and Min-jae sat alone in the hospital room. The soft hum of the machines filled the silence between them.

“You know,” Tae-min murmured, breaking the quiet. “I already rely on you a lot. You know that, right?”

“Not as much as you should,” Min-jae answered, his voice careful. “Not when it comes to how much you’re hurting.”

Tae-min hesitated. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Vulnerable.

“I learned a long time ago that I had to solve my problems alone. Because no one was ever there to help. Why would I cry out for someone when no one would come?”

Min-jae swallowed hard but didn’t speak. He let Tae-min continue.

“I guess… some habits die hard, you know?”

“Yeah,” Min-jae said, voice tight. “I get it. But you don’t have to feel that way forever. I’ll prove it to you. Until you realize we’re here for you.”

Tae-min smiled, soft and tired. “I think… I’ve known that for a while now.”

He fell silent again, lost in thought, before reaching out and taking Min-jae’s hand.

Min-jae froze. Tae-min never initiated touch. His hand was small, callused, his fingers marked with scars—yet his nails were painted in bright colors, a gift from his sister. The contrast made Min-jae’s chest ache.

“A lot of people have hurt me,” Tae-min murmured. “My parents. My family. Others. And I didn’t deserve any of it. I think… I was always scared of being hurt again.” His fingers tightened slightly around Min-jae’s. “But I’m tired, Hyung. I want to live my life without constantly waiting for people to get tired of me and leave.

“I spent so long just surviving,” he whispered. “Always waiting. Waiting for my parents to come home. Waiting for my family to love me. Waiting for someone to notice I was there.”

Min-jae didn’t rush him. He waited, his grip steady.

“And now?” he asked gently.

Tae-min’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile.

“Now… I think I’m finally living.” He exhaled, like a weight had lifted. “I’m not waiting anymore.”

Min-jae smiled back, squeezing his hand.

“Then let’s live this life together, okay?”

Tae-min was discharged a few days later. He was still weak, still healing, but he was home. And that was enough for now.

His friends took turns looking after him, making sure he ate, making sure he rested. It was strange—seeing him allow himself to be taken care of. He didn’t argue when they hovered, didn’t brush them off when they fussed.

He was finally letting himself fully lean on them.

One evening, as the sun set in a wash of orange and pink, when he was drinking tea with Cass and the others in her apartment, Kwan put out a paper and handed it to him. It was a poem, Journey, from Mary Oliver.

He read it, Cass with her head on his shoulder. At the end, both their eyes were shining with unshed tears. 

“But little by little as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own,

that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world,

determined to do the only thing you could do—

determined to save the only life you could save.”

Tae-min pulled out his violin. It was a familiar sight—something he had done often around them—but tonight, something was different.

There was no tension in his shoulders. No heaviness in his eyes. Just quiet contentment as he played, the soft melody filling the room like a lullaby, the words of the poem in his mind.

Min-jae listened from the doorway, his gaze warm. Kwan exchanged glances with the others, feeling something settle in his chest.

Tae-min looked at peace. 

He wasn’t running from something. He saved himself.

He wasn’t just surviving.

He was truly living.

When Eclipse’s Asia tour kicked off, Tae-min was noticeably absent from the first few concerts.

Fans worried. The press speculated.

The official statement was simple—he was healing. And it was true. But it wasn’t just his body that needed time.

Then, in Indonesia, he stepped back onto the stage.

The lights hit him, the roar of the crowd wrapped around him, and he smiled. 

“Good night, Indonesia!”

@StarryEclipse99: HE’S BACK. TAEMIN IS BACK. I CAN BREATHE AGAIN 😭💜 #EclipseAsiaTour #TaeminReturns

@MidnightDancer: The way he smiled on stage tonight??? That wasn’t just a performance, that was a homecoming . 😭✨ #WelcomeBackTaemin

@JaeLuvr: Not to be dramatic, but seeing Tae step onto that stage just cured my seasonal depression.

@CelestialJ: THE ENERGY. THE STAGE PRESENCE. THE LOOKS. MY MAN DIDN’T JUST COME BACK, HE ASCENDED. #TaeminSupremacy

@EclipseUpdates: Tae-min spotted in Indonesia before the concert! Fans say he looked healthy and happy. We’re so glad to see him shining again! 🌟 #EclipseAsiaTour

@MoonlitMelody: His voice. His moves. HIS SMILE. I’M IN TEARS. #TaeminReturns

@JinJinBeats: The way the entire crowd SCREAMED when he walked on stage… Eclipse fandom is a family and we’ve been waiting for this moment 😭💜

@NeoStageQueen: The press doubted. The haters whispered. But Tae-min just proved why he’s THE performer of this generation. 🔥 #EclipseAsiaTour

Chapter Text

Tae-min hadn’t set foot in Gotham for over a year.

He wasn’t sure what brought him back. Maybe it was exhaustion, the kind that seeped into his bones after months of relentless schedules, flashing cameras, and carefully rehearsed smiles. Maybe it was instinct—the pull of a city that had raised him, broken him, and, in its own twisted way, made him who he was.

The Asia tour had finally ended, and with a week-long break, most of the members scattered—some to their families, others to far-off beaches or quiet hideaways. Tae-min, despite everything, found himself on a red-eye flight to Gotham.

He kept a low profile. Hood pulled low over his face, mask covering his features. No one looked twice. The city was like that. It didn’t care who you were unless you made it care.

His feet moved on their own, carrying him through streets he knew too well. His first stop was Koreatown.

Granny nearly cried when she saw him. The moment he stepped through the small restaurant’s door, she let out a sharp gasp, wiping her hands on her apron as she hurried to him.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she clucked, pulling him into a fierce embrace. “Look at you—too thin. You work too hard.”

Before he could even respond, she was already ushering him to his usual corner, placing a steaming bowl of seolleongtang in front of him. The rich aroma curled around him, the warmth sinking into his chilled skin.

Her children and grandchildren bustled around the restaurant, laughing, bickering, living. Tae-min found himself sinking into it, letting the familiar sounds and the gentle hum of conversation soothe him. Here, he wasn’t an idol. He wasn’t the lost child of Gotham.

He was just Tae-min.

After lunch, he made his way to Crime Alley.

Jason had promised to look after the kids, to make sure the provisions Tae-min set up were still working. Tae-min needed to see for himself.

The alley was the same—dark, damp, filled with the quiet sounds of life trying to hold on. Some of the older kids recognized him immediately, greeting him with grins or cautious nods. There were new faces too—wide-eyed and wary, their small bodies tensed as they watched him.

He crouched down, speaking to them in the same soft, steady voice he had once wished someone had used with him. He asked about their days, their struggles, made sure they knew where to go if they needed food, warmth, safety.

To them, he wasn’t an idol or a hero. Just a ghost of the alley.

He stayed for a while. Longer than he probably should have. But eventually, he moved on.

His next stop was the cemetery.

The air was cold, carrying the scent of damp earth and autumn leaves. He stood in front of the headstones—his mother’s, his father’s—his hands buried in his pockets.

The silence stretched.

“I’m doing okay now,” he murmured at last. The words felt strange on his tongue. He wasn’t sure if they were true. Maybe he just wanted them to be.

He stayed there for a long time, until the chill finally crept into his bones, until the ghosts in his head grew quieter.

Then, he made his way to his last stop.

Alfred was already waiting for him at the café, a small, quiet place tucked away from the city’s noise. The older man smiled that knowing smile of his, the kind that made Tae-min feel both comforted and exposed all at once.

Without a word, Alfred slid a cup of tea across the table. Perfectly brewed, just the way Tae-min liked it.

They didn’t talk about heavy things.

No mentions of the League. No whispers of Gotham’s shadows. No weight pressing on their shoulders.

Just small, simple moments.

Tae-min let himself sink into the warmth of the tea, the presence of the only grandfather he had ever truly known, and, for a little while, he let himself just be.

The Nest was clean. Too clean.

Tae-min paused in the doorway, fingers tightening on the edge of his sleeve as he took in the space he hadn’t set foot in for months. No dust. Fresh sheets. Stocked supplies. Someone had been here— recently.

His lips pressed together as his eyes flickered over the small, telltale signs of presence: a neatly folded blanket on the couch, a half-finished cup of tea still warm on the desk, a book left open, spine facing up.

Not just maintained. Lived in.

His throat tightened. Jason had a habit of looking after things from the shadows, Barbara was meticulous when it came to the people she cared about, and Dick, for all his dramatics, was sentimental. It could’ve been any of them.

But it wasn’t.

The careful precision, the deliberate placement— this was Damian.

Tae-min let out a slow breath, his fingers twitching. He should’ve expected it. Of all his siblings, Damian was the one who never said what he meant, who hovered just close enough to be felt but never seen. Tae-min had left Gotham, left this life, but Damian had still come here, still stayed. Maybe trying to find pieces of the brother that left.

A small part of him wanted to sit down and wait. To see what Damian would say.

But he knew better. Damian would pretend it meant nothing. Tae-min wouldn’t push.

Not yet.

He sighed, rubbing his face. Maybe later. Maybe next time.

Then, a shift of fabric. The barely-there scrape of a boot against the floor.

Tae-min stiffened. His shoulders tensed as his gaze snapped toward the shadows.

"Really?"

A shape detached from the darkness.

Batman.

Bruce stepped forward, the dim light of the Nest casting deep shadows across his cowl. His presence filled the space, familiar and heavy.

"You’re back."

Tae-min huffed out a laugh, short and sharp. "I wouldn’t say that."

Bruce didn’t move closer, but he didn’t step back either.

Tae-min sighed, rolling his shoulders. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather talk to Bruce. Not Batman."

Silence.

Then, slowly, deliberately, Bruce reached up and pulled back the cowl. The sharp edges of Batman softened into the weary lines of Bruce Wayne. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet in a way Tae-min hadn’t heard in years.

"I don’t expect you to forgive me."

Tae-min let out a slow breath. "I don’t know if I can."

His gaze swept over the Nest—the place that had once been his refuge, his battlefield, his home. He had bled here, cried here, become something else here.

"Now that I’m out of it, I realize I deserved better."

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Tae-min studied him, searching for something—regret, understanding, guilt. "Do you even remember?"

Bruce’s expression darkened. "I don’t remember much from that time." He hesitated. "But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And if it did, I’m—"

"Don’t." Tae-min cut him off. His voice was steady, but his hands curled into fists at his sides. "Don’t say you’re sorry if you don’t even know what you’re sorry for."

Bruce’s mouth snapped shut.

Tae-min exhaled slowly, then moved toward the couch, lowering himself onto it. He traced the stitching absentmindedly before speaking again.

"The gala, when I was four. Do you remember it?"

Bruce nodded.

"So do I." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You held me the whole night. Listened while I babbled about small things. You smiled at me. You made me feel like I wasn’t an inconvenience."

"You never were."

Tae-min ignored him, lost in the memory.

"I’ve never felt so loved as I did that night," he murmured. "I was seen. I wasn’t a ghost, I was a boy."

He swallowed.

"And later, even when you pushed me too hard, when you played your mind games, when you made me earn everything—I still clung to that. Even when it hurt, I could endure it because at least I knew I was helping Gotham and you were seeing me. So I stayed. And I endured."

Bruce’s hands clenched at his sides. "Tae-min—"

"I gave you everything, B," Tae-min said, his voice hoarse. "My time. My pride. My health. My pain. I would’ve given you my life eventually. And for what?"

He let out a bitter laugh.

"I was just a shadow to you. You stopped seeing me. I was just another hungry ghost waiting for scraps."

Bruce’s face was unreadable, but his hands trembled.

"Until I couldn’t wait anymore."

Bruce inhaled sharply. "I—understand." His voice was barely above a whisper. "But no matter what, you will always be my son. I love you—"

"Your love hurts !"

The words tore out of Tae-min before he could stop them, raw and searing.

"Loving you hurts , B! And I get it—I do. The world hurt you first. But I can’t wait anymore for it to stop hurting."

Bruce’s breath shuddered out of him. "I know," he said quietly. "I know."

Tae-min pressed his lips together. The ache in his chest felt impossibly vast.

Bruce’s voice was softer now, hesitant in a way Tae-min wasn’t used to. "I’m glad you’re happier now, even if it’s because you’re away from me."

Tae-min swallowed hard. The words hit something deep, something unspoken and fragile.

Bruce continued, his tone careful. "I won’t interfere. But I need you to know—I’m still here. And if, one day, you decide I deserve your forgiveness…"

He met Tae-min’s gaze, steady and open. "I’ll be the one waiting this time."

Tae-min didn’t know what to say to that. So he just nodded.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Tae-min exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he stood. "You need to get better," he said, glancing at Bruce. "For Damian, too. He deserves the version of you from that gala—the one who stayed all night with a little kid."

Bruce’s expression flickered. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I will."

Tae-min stretched his arms over his head. "I should go."

Bruce didn’t stop him.

But as Tae-min reached the door, Bruce’s voice reached him one last time.

"I'm glad you found a path that makes you happy."

Tae-min hesitated.

His fingers rested on the handle.

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips.

 And then he was gone.

Back on social media, Gothamites went wild over his visit. People posted sightings—Tae-min in Crime Alley eating chili dogs with Red Hood, Tae-min at a flower shop, Tae-min leaving Koreatown. Someone found an old video of him as a child, trailing after Bruce at a gala, and compared it to his now-global fame. "Our little Gothamite made it big," someone commented. "But he still comes home."

Back in Korea, Tae-min stepped into the dorm and was immediately tackled by his members. They fussed over him, pulled him into a group hug, and teased him about all the rumors flying around.

“Finally you’re home!” Seojin smiled, then teased him. “We’re worried you would stay in Gotham. Kwan was almost taking a flight to rescue you.”

Home . Tae-min felt something warm settle in his chest. This is home.

The hunger was gone. For warmth, for love. For connection. The hungry ghost was seen. His hunger was sated.

The hungry ghost was no more.

His breath hitched. His members panicked as he suddenly burst into tears.

"I'm home." he choked out. 

They hugged him tighter.

Chapter Text

The stage was bathed in soft blue light, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. Fans held their breath as the opening notes filled the venue. The camera panned to the center, where Tae-min stood, violin in hand, poised in serene confidence. His fingers moved deftly across the strings, weaving a melody that sent shivers down spines. His members moved behind him, their synchronized steps precise, voices blending in perfect harmony as the performance unfolded.

It was Eclipse comeback. Journey.

Back in Gotham, the Batfamily watched.

Bruce sat in the Manor’s study, the large television screen illuminating the darkened room. He had initially put it on out of curiosity—out of a need to see Tae-min, to assure himself that his son was alive and well. What he hadn’t expected was to see Tae-min glowing on stage, a peace he had never possessed in Gotham now radiating from him. 

Alfred stood just outside the study, watching Bruce from the doorway. He had served this family long enough to recognize grief when he saw it. Bruce Wayne did not often allow himself to feel, but watching his son— the boy he let slip away —flourish in a life outside of Gotham, the pain was evident.

Alfred had always believed that love, when given freely, could mend even the deepest of wounds. But Bruce had never learned how to give it without condition, without expectation. And now, he was left with nothing but echoes of a past he could not change.

With a quiet sigh, Alfred turned away, his heart heavy.

Dick had gathered in Blüdhaven with Barbara, Duke and Stephanie, all of them glued to the screen. Dick felt a knot in his chest loosen. Tae-min looked happy . In peace.

Jason, for once, wasn’t hiding his emotions. He watched from the back room of a bar, arms crossed as he leaned forward, lips pressed into a smile. He had spent so long watching over Tae-min, waiting for a moment where he seemed safe. And here it was—proof that Tae-min had carved a place for himself, a place where he wasn’t just surviving. He was living .

Damian had been reluctant, but after much insistence from Jon, he found himself watching with him. His brother had walked away from Gotham, from them , but looking at him now—perhaps it had been the right decision.

His friends were watching, too. Kon sat with Bart and Cassie, live streaming their reactions to the performance. Bernard and Ives were watching from his apartment, pride evident in their every post online.

Social media was alight with commentary.

@stargazerlove: “Tae-min’s playing is breathtaking.”

@eclipseforever: “This group’s performance is insane. The emotion, the choreography, the vocals—it’s perfection.”

In Koreatown, families gathered around their televisions. Granny wiped away a tear, smiling as she saw the sweet boy she had taken in shine before the world. In Crime Alley, children placed fresh flowers at the shrine they had built for their little ghost—not because he was lost, but because he had found his peace.

Backstage, Cass stood near the monitors, arms crossed but eyes soft. She had always known Tae-min was strong, but seeing him like this— thriving —filled her with a pride she couldn’t put into words. He had fought for this happiness, and he had won .

Among the crowd, Shiva watched with an unreadable expression. Tae-min was no longer just a shadow, no longer a child molded by suffering. He had shattered and rebuilt himself, each crack filled with resilience, each scar a testament to survival. Like Kintsugi, he had not hidden his fractures but embraced them, forging something stronger, more beautiful—a masterpiece crafted from the pieces of his own past.

Standing in the middle of a packed concert stadium, surrounded by thousands of screaming fans, John Constantine watched a kid he once mistook for a ghost on the stage. His hands moved across the violin with an ease that was almost supernatural, the sound strong, clear, weaving through the air like a spell. The sheer energy of the crowd, the way they called his name, reached for him with hands raised in devotion—it was intoxicating, even for someone as jaded as Constantine.

He took a drag from his cigarette, shaking his head as he exhaled.

“Well, kid,” he muttered under his breath, “you really went and did it, didn’t ya?”

People prayed for him back then, whispered his name in the dark corners of Gotham, hoping for his safety, his survival. And Constantine—ever the messenger of bad news—had warned him.

“You keep letting people pray for you like that, kid, and you’re gonna turn into something you won’t recognize.”

Tae-min had just tilted his head, thoughtful. “Then I’ll just have to be someone worth praying for.”

And now? Now the whole bloody world was praying for him.

Constantine huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he looked around at the thousands of fans, their hands clasped together, eyes alight with something akin to reverence. They weren’t just fans—they were believers.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, amused, flicking his cigarette to the ground and snuffing it out with the toe of his boot. “You really never listen, do you?” He sighed, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “Well, guess I’ll just have to keep an eye on you, then.”

As the final notes resonated, Tae-min lifted his head. The crowd erupted into cheers, voices calling his name, chanting for him and his group. He looked out at the sea of lights, at the people who supported him, he felt whole . He felt seen.

The show ended, but its impact lingered.

💬 @timdrakefanpage: "“Gotham’s little ghost has found his home. He’s not haunted anymore.” 😭💖

Bruce let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

 “You stopped seeing me."

He was seeing him now . Truly seeing. But it was too late.

In his mind, he saw a little boy in a perfectly pressed suit, standing alone in a grand salon. His eyes were too old for his small frame—tired, solemn, carrying a weight no child should bear.

People walked past him, not stopping, as if they couldn’t see him. Or maybe they felt his pain and chose to look away. But Bruce saw him. And for a moment, he had held him—like something precious, something fragile—while they waited for the parents who would never truly see what they had.

Years later, when he held Dick—angry, grieving, lost—he thought of that boy again. When Jason spoke about the little things, about the world in the way only he could, Bruce was reminded of the quiet observations that boy had once made.

It was cruel, how his mind would return to him when he was absent, yet forget him when he was near.

He should have held him tighter that night. He should have never let go.

But he had.

And then he was gone. Just like so many of his children.

Now, the life they could have had was no more. The manor—once filled with voices, laughter, and warmth—stood hollow, a relic of what once was. 

A ghost town.

He had lost his son. But in the process, Tae-min had found himself. Away from his shadow and the hurt. And that, maybe, was enough. 

“But i miss you

There's no comin' home

There's no comin' home

With a name like mine

I still think of you

But everyone knows

Yeah everyone knows

If you care, let it go .”