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Yeonjun didn’t mind that Soobin left. At least, not as much as the other members.
He did not cry on livestream like Beomgyu did. He did not stare longingly at the game console like Kai did. He did not spend time sitting wordlessly in Soobin’s go-to spots like Taehyun did. He was fine.
Soobin deserved a break, and Yeonjun could not resent him for choosing to go on one when he needed it.
Likewise, he could not crumble in his absence. With the leader gone, especially so suddenly, so unexpectedly, the weight of responsibility now settled upon his shoulders, heavy but familiar. He was the oldest, and that meant something. It always had.
So he buried the emptiness. Not just from the others, but from himself. He played his part well. Nothing had changed. And why would it? He and Soobin had barely been spending time together anyway.
Grief and longing are not a competition, and anyone who treated them as such would be missing the point entirely. But still, Yeonjun abided by an unspoken rule. The priority lies with those who were closest to the missing person. And surely, that belonged to the other members—the ones who had not been too swept up in relentless schedules to sit beside Soobin, to talk, to listen.
The first few days, he had watched the members splinter slowly, the weight of Soobin’s hiatus weighing down on them visibly. That confirmed his thesis, and so he, who was still numb, acted. The second he would see a crack in the other members, he would patch it up almost instantly. Not perfectly. No, that was impossible- but enough to soften the ache.
He found himself sitting with them more often than he had in months. Listening when they needed an ear. Distracting when they needed to forget.
Unlike them, he was okay. Really, he was. The forgotten meals, the restless sleep, the tension humming beneath his skin, the mistakes piling up like discarded scraps—those were simply symptoms of stress. The same thing happened every year when the year-end awards season approached. It was routine. Normal. Obvious.
Surely, the others saw that too.
So when Taehyun pulled him aside to check in on him, he only laughed.
It was during a break between run-throughs. Yeonjun had nearly smacked the choreographer’s hand away when the corrections came too fast, too relentless, piling atop each other like bricks threatening to crush him. It was infuriating. He was reviewing his own work and someone decided it was time to start talking. Of course, that would be frustrating.
It had nothing to do with Soobin.
So, when he was finally free from that excuse of a choreographer, he dropped onto the floor with an exasperated sigh. His coffee, still untouched, sat waiting for him—an indulgence he really shouldn’t have on an empty stomach.
“Hyung, are you okay?”
Yeonjun glanced up from his phone, eyebrows twitching upward before he grinned. “Why, you worried?” he teased, voice light as he leaned his head on his hand.
As he reached for the coffee, he glanced back at Taehyun’s face. He did not understand the lack of–
Taehyun hesitated, lips pressing together. “Yeah.”
Yeonjun’s smile vanished in an instant. He scanned Taehyun’s face for any trace of humor, but found only sincerity staring back at him.
He leaned back upwards, fixing the sluggish excuse of a posture he had fallen into when he slumped down initially.
“No. No, Tae, I’m fine. Genuinely, I am.”
He could tell Taehyun did not believe him. Yeonjun furrowed his eyebrows. He was genuinely confused as to why Taehyun was worried about him of all people.
Beomgyu was a nervous wreck, openly voicing how much he missed Soobin. And Taehyun chose to be concerned over a man irritated that the choreographer was talking too quickly.
“Taehyun-ie, seriously. What could be wrong with me other than the usual end-year stress?”
Taehyun’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yeonjun-hyung. One of the members isn’t here. He hasn’t been here for almost a month.”
Yeonjun pursed his lips, pressing his hand flat against his forehead.
Fine. He did miss Soobin. But he was hiding it well. Yeonjun had never been one to go to the members with his problems or worries. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them with it— no. He adored the members more than anybody else in the world.
However, he could not burden them. As the eldest, everyone would lie on him for support. So, if he were to face a problem he found it logical to keep it to himself. A bad habit, really, but it was what he’d grown accustomed to.
And in a situation like this, where the pain was not his alone, the instinct to bottle it up was even stronger. His members were hurting. That was what mattered. Whether he was too—well, that was irrelevant. He was good at masking it. He doubted it would escalate. Not to the breaking point. “The snap”, as he liked to call it.
So, he was confused as to why Taehyun approached him. Soobin’s absence would obviously bother everyone. But why be worried about Yeonjun? The one member not visibly losing his mind.
“I do miss Soobinnie.” He spoke, slowly but steadily. He gazed up into Taehyun’s eyes, the concerned expression still etched into his face. “But, I’m fine. You know me, I hold up with stress well. If not I really wouldn’t have made it through the year.”
“This isn’t a matter of stress, though. You would see him every day, and now he’s not here. That in itself hurts.”
“I didn’t see him every day.” He replied bluntly. “I hardly saw him, that’s why it isn’t hitting nearly as much for me as it is for the rest of you. I spent most of September alone for GGUM.”
He was not lying. Nor was he making excuses. Frankly, part of him was grateful. It felt like Soobin had prepared him for his absence with the growing distance in their relationship. He had no longer gotten used to getting home and seeing Soobin. He did not expect anything from the younger boy anymore.
But, he was confused as to why there was still a pain growing in his chest, knawing at his ribcage ruthlessly and making it hard to breathe. A pain that was there even when he was not thinking of Soobin. It wasn’t emptiness, he wished it was.
“Still. He’s not just a friend to you.”
Taehyun’s words struck like a hammer to his chest. A sharp pang, deep and unwelcome. Yeonjun swallowed, willing himself to ignore it, to shove it down where all his other buried feelings lay. Because it didn’t matter. Soobin made it clear. It never had.
“That changes a lot.”
Oh.
“Kai and I are just worried about you.”
Yeonjun forced a smile. Taehyun’s gaze softened.
“I’m okay. Really.”
He wasn’t.
Another dance practice came. And though Yeonjun’s love for dancing burned bright, exhaustion dulled its flame. The weight of his solo stage, the intensity of the group performances, and Soobin’s absence—finally gnawing at his edges—had begun to sink in.
“Again.”
He blinked at the dance teacher, disbelief widening his eyes. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his limbs heavy, his body screaming at him to stop.
They had messed up again?
So they went again, and Yeonjun’s dizziness betrayed him. He stumbled. Fell. The near-perfect execution shattered in an instant.
A sigh. The dance teacher looked displeased. The pit in Yeonjun’s stomach grew heavier, deeper, swallowing him whole. How was he messing this up? This—this was all he was good at, and he was failing at that too.
“Let’s finish this off tomorrow. Practice whenever you can.”
The door clicked shut, leaving him on the floor, chest heaving, the other members watching him in silence.
“Yeonjun, are you okay?”
Beomgyu’s voice was cautious, gentle, like he was afraid Yeonjun would shatter if he spoke too loudly. The care in it only deepened his frustration.
Was everyone really waiting for him to break?
“Do I look okay?” His voice was sharp, venomous, eyes flashing as they locked onto Beomgyu’s. “I’ve been dancing all damn day without a break. Now I’m screwing up the one thing I’m good at. Do I look fucking okay to you?”
“Hey, you just made a small mistake. It’s fine. Everyone does that.” Kai stepped forward, his smile reassuring, his tone calm.
Yeonjun let out a short, incredulous laugh. His wide eyes burned with something unfamilar.
“A small mistake? Yeah! Yeah, let’s see how that plays out on stage. If I fall flat on my fucking ass mid-performance, how do you think the public would like it?”
Kai froze.
Yeonjun pushed himself up, his legs shaking beneath him. The bile rose, the dizziness swirled, but he didn’t care.
Who was going to stop him?
Who was going to ground him now?
“I’m failing at everything. Every little damn thing and you’re here telling me it’s just a mistake?” His voice was raw, edged with something desperate. His own words felt foreign on his tongue, yet they poured out, unfiltered, unstoppable. He stepped closer to Kai, who stood frozen, his face unreadable, something unfamiliar lurking beneath his gaze.
No. Not unfamiliar.
He had seen that look before.
And the fact that he could not place it made his blood boil hotter. It only made the frustration coil tighter in his gut, twisting and writhing until it was unbearable.
Taehyun spoke, his voice steady. A tether to reality.
“Yeonjun—”
Well. He tried to.
“No!” The word tore from Yeonjun’s throat, a guttural, ragged thing, too raw, too exposed. He whipped around, his body moving before his mind could catch up.
Something wet slipped down his cheek, and he almost convinced himself it was sweat—almost. But the sting in his eyes told him otherwise.
“This is all I’m good at, Taehyun. All I’m fucking good at!” His voice cracked, splintering under the weight of his own admission.
Taehyun’s expression didn’t waver. “It’s okay. You’re still a good dancer.”
“I fell. I fucked up the dance. I screwed everything up. Don’t tell me it’s okay!” His own voice felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. His body trembled, his fingers twitching with adrenaline, with exhaustion, with something he refused to name. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. This is all my fault. God, this is pathetic, and I still can’t fucking do it.”
Beomgyu stepped forward, slow and hesitant, like he was approaching a wounded animal. His hand landed gently on Yeonjun’s shoulder.
“Don’t.” The word came out hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it carried all the force of a scream. Beomgyu flinched, retreating, his expression tightening with something that looked an awful lot like hurt.
Yeonjun swallowed past the lump in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut for half a second before forcing them open again.
“Hyung. The fact that you fell doesn’t make you less of an idol. It just means you need a break.” Taehyun’s voice was even, measured. He was trying to be rational.
Of course he was. Taehyun was always rational. Too rational. Too logical. And maybe Yeonjun needed logic, needed something steady to hold onto. But right now, when his body felt like it was caving in on itself and his thoughts were a tangled, spiraling mess, logic wasn’t what he wanted.
No. He knew exactly what he wanted. What he needed.
Something he didn’t want to admit.
Something that started with an S and ended with an N.
The one damn thing that could calm him down was Choi Soobin. And he was halfway across the country.
“Taehyun. I’m a failure. I feel lost. Dance is the only thing that helps with those feelings. If I took a break from that, I wouldn’t know who I am anymore.” His voice was quieter now, but no less fractured. It scraped against his throat, worn thin from the screaming. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he tilted his head ever so slightly. “But, here I am. Failing to dance too. Funny, huh?”
Taehyun pressed his lips together, considering his words. Beomgyu and Kai looked at him now too, eyes heavy with something unspoken.
The silence stretched too long. It was suffocating.
Then, finally—
“I don’t think this is just about you tripping.”
Yeonjun’s stomach lurched. His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to hear it. Whatever Taehyun was going to say next—whatever truth he was about to lay bare—he wasn’t ready to face it.
If he could tell it was about a certain someone who had ignored him for the past few months, he would lose his shit.
But Taehyun had always been good at seeing through him.
“This is about Soobin. Isn’t it?”
And Yeonjun shattered.
His sobs were raw, guttural, and Taehyun instantly swooped in and hugged his trembling body before it could collapse.
Soobin first felt the stirrings of worry when Yeonjun had been perfectly fine during their first group call. Too fine. It was a silly reason to be concerned over someone he hadn’t seen in weeks, but he knew Yeonjun. Knew him too well. Cared too much.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it?
The absence of sorrow, the lack of frustration—these weren’t signs of strength. They were warnings, flashing in the dark. When Yeonjun masked his pain, when he turned his suffering into something invisible, it meant one thing: he was burying it. Deep. Too deep.
Then came the offhanded remarks, the small, passing mentions that were so easy to miss if he hadn’t already been listening for them. Skipped meals. Unnatural exhaustion. Inexplicable anger, snapping at the lightest touch.
Soobin had nobody to blame but himself.
The moment he realized, truly realized, what he felt for Yeonjun, he had drawn a line. A harsh, deliberate, unshakable line. It had been necessary.
Beomgyu had scoffed, calling him dramatic, and maybe he was. Maybe it had been selfish. But how was he supposed to sit there, day after day, watching Yeonjun smile at him, tease him, laugh with him—knowing it meant nothing? Knowing Yeonjun could never possibly feel the same way?
A lack of reciprocation would have ruined him. Soobin had been sure of it.
So he had pulled away.
It had been for his own sake. For the sake of their friendship. It was fair. It was right.
Wasn’t it?
And yet, watching Yeonjun crumble in his absence, unraveling at the seams, all Soobin felt was an aching, unshakable guilt.
Soobin thought it would not get worse. The snap, as Yeonjun liked to call it, hardly ever happened. He had been an asshole, putting miles between them that didn’t need to exist, distancing himself beyond reason. Yeonjun couldn’t possibly miss him that much. Not unless it was tangled with resentment, frayed at the edges by bitterness..
Then came the call.
“Mm, Gyu.”
“Yeonjun-hyung just had a whole breakdown. He’s been sobbing into Taehyun’s arms for an hour straight.”
Soobin froze.
He couldn’t respond. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think past the ringing in his ears.
“He misses you. Borderline dry heaving as soon as Tae brought up your name.”
His stomach twisted violently. He had known. Of course, he had known. Yeonjun was good at hiding things, but not from Soobin. Not really.
The signs had been there, scattered like crumbs on a path Soobin had refused to follow. He had been told how Yeonjun was suffering. He had been informed of the way he filled every silence with something, anything, like stillness itself was unbearable. Like he was afraid of what he might hear in it.
And yet, Soobin had done nothing.
“It feels empty without you.” He had tweeted on Soobin’s birthday.
“I love you.” He had tweeted on Soobin’s birthday.
Yet, Soobin had not responded. Because what the fuck could he have possibly said? He still loved Yeonjun.
The words sat at the back of his throat, heavy and suffocating.
“You miss me too.” He said to Beomgyu, but his voice came out hoarse.
He could hear Beomgyu chuckle from the other end of the line.
“I do. But I know you miss me too. I talk to you every day. You’ve made the poor man think you hate him.”
Hate? The word alone made Soobin feel sick. He had done this all to protect himself, to prevent his feelings from ruining something irreparable. But in doing so, his actions turned. Was that really all that was left between them? Distance and unanswered messages and the sinking realization that the person he loved the most now believed he despised him?
But he couldn’t just stay silent. Not when Yeonjun was crumbling, not when his absence had left wounds where there should have only been space.
So he sent a message. Something small. Something safe.
SOOBIN: good luck on ur performance hyung. i’ll be watching n cheering u on from afar!
ggumi jjun hehe ❤️
YEONJUN: thank u bin. means more to me than u know.
Soobin stared at the notification. His heart clenched, his stomach twisted, and a deep, overwhelming nausea washed over him. It should not have upset him that much, but it did.
That was all it took. A handful of words, a sliver of warmth, and it was enough to make Yeonjun feel something again. Enough to make him respond like it mattered.
Had he really distanced himself so much that this was all they had left?
He barely made it to the bathroom before heaving, overwhelmed by the weight of everything he had done to them. He was disgusted. He had reduced their friendship to a few simple words being the best possible outcome.
He did not hear much after that. Or maybe there were signs that Yeonjun had broken further, and his brain simply refused to process them. Too numb, too in denial, too terrified to stare directly at the wreckage of what had once been whole. Of what had once been theirs. The ruins that were once the most important friendship of both their lives.
He would be lying if he said his hands weren’t gripping the car seat too tight on the drive back to the dorm. His knuckles ached, the tension creeping up his arms, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t loosen his grip.
He knew the reason behind his horror.
He knew the other members would be excited to see him. Knew what to expect from each member.
But he did not know what to expect from Yeonjun.
He did not want to see what he had caused.
He wanted to pretend he didn’t care. Wanted to act as though he had not spent all morning ensuring he looked good, making sure his hair was neat, his clothes wrinkle-free, his presence effortless. Like he hadn’t practiced his greetings in the mirror, rehearsed his tone, smoothed out his expression until he could wear it without a second thought.
But his chest twisted with something ugly, because a part of him— God, a sick, selfish part of him— expected Yeonjun to be furious. Wanted Yeonjun to be furious. Wanted him to yell, to spit venom, to call him a coward, a liar, a traitor. Because if he was angry, if he was livid, if he wanted to slam the door in Soobin’s face, then at least he still felt something.
At least he still cared.
And if he didn’t? If he just looked at Soobin like he was another ghost passing through? Like he had already buried whatever had once been there? Soobin wasn’t sure he could handle that.
He arrived, apparently at a bad time, because the dorm was silent.
Shit. Beomgyu was probably at the studio.
Nobody else seemed to be there.
Then he heard the sound of Yeonjun’s customized ringtone. And he froze.
Yeonjun was there. Alone.
And Soobin, standing at the door, heartbeat hammering, breathing unevenly, every fiber of his being screaming for him to turn around before he saw the consequence of his own doing.
Before he saw just how much damage he had left in his wake.
However, all logic flew out the window when he heard a choked sob, raw and broken, echoing through the silence. His heart lurched before his body could catch up, feet carrying him forward in an instinct he couldn’t name, a desperation he couldn’t suppress. He pushed open the door without hesitation.
And there Yeonjun was—collapsed on the floor, curled into himself as if the sheer force of his sorrow was too heavy to bear. His fingers dug into the fabric of his sleeves, his shoulders shuddering violently.
The sobs that wracked his body were not quiet, not hidden, not something he could brush away with a breathless laugh and a halfhearted joke. They were unrestrained, finally letting the bottle shatter upon the members leaving the dorm.
Soobin had seen Yeonjun upset before. He had seen frustration, exhaustion, even irritation simmering beneath the surface. But he had never, in all their time together, seen him like this—so utterly wrecked, so devastatingly vulnerable, so unlike the untouchable Yeonjun the world thought they knew.
The realization sent a sharp pang through his chest.
"Hyung," he called, but it barely left his throat. His voice felt swallowed by the weight of the moment, by the sheer gravity of Yeonjun’s pain. And yet, despite its weakness, the single word was enough.
Yeonjun’s head snapped up at the sound, his red-rimmed eyes wide with disbelief. Tears clung to his lashes, his cheeks slick with them, lips parted as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
For a moment, he looked as though he might not move, like he were frozen in place, caught between reality and the unbearable fear that this was just another dream.
“Soobinnie…?”
His voice cracked on the name, so fragile, so soft, that it shattered something inside Soobin. And then, all at once, Yeonjun broke. He sobbed so desperately that his entire body convulsed with the force of it, and Soobin barely had time to kneel before arms flung around his shoulders, pulling him in with a force that was both frantic and painfully weak.
And Soobin let go, shattering every brick he had put up to pretend he did not care for Yeonjun. He acted like he did years ago, and he could feel Yeonjun sense that slowly.
Soobin didn’t hesitate. He held Yeonjun as tightly as he could, gripping him as if anchoring him to the earth itself. He could feel the rapid, erratic pounding of Yeonjun’s heart, the way his fingers clutched at the back of his shirt, desperate for something to hold onto. It was like he was afraid Soobin would disappear again.
Not disappear in reference to the hiatus alone. No, this was far deeper. This had to do with the fact that to him, Soobin had been gone longer than he had left. To him, it felt like Soobin had disappeared the moment he chose to stop talking to him.
He was gasping between sobs, unable to catch his breath, his body trembling so fiercely that Soobin instinctively tightened his hold, his own eyes stinging with unshed tears.
“I’m sorry,” Yeonjun whimpered against his shoulder, voice broken beyond repair. “I don’t… I didn’t want to- I just…”
“Shh.” Soobin’s voice was barely above a whisper, his fingers threading gently through Yeonjun’s hair. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”
But Yeonjun shook his head furiously, gripping onto him like a lifeline. “I tried,” he gasped. “I really tried, Soobin. I thought… I thought I could do this. I thought I could be fine. But I can’t. I can’t, Soobinnie, I-”
His breath hitched, and Soobin pressed his forehead against his, willing his warmth to seep into the cracks, to hold together the pieces that had begun to fall apart. “You don’t have to be fine,” he murmured. “Not with me.”
A fresh wave of sobs tore through Yeonjun, but this time, Soobin could feel something different—something deeper, something that had long been waiting to be set free.
And for the first time in a long time, Yeonjun let himself collapse completely, trusting that for once, he would not have to pick up the pieces alone.
Yeonjun sobbed into Soobin for what felt like an eternity, his body wracked with tremors that refused to subside. His fingers clutched desperately at the fabric of Soobin’s hoodie, as if letting go would send him spiraling back into the void he had been drowning in for weeks.
Soobin said nothing, only held him closer, his hands moving in slow, soothing circles over Yeonjun’s back. His heart ached with every broken sound that escaped the older’s lips, every labored breath that hitched in his throat. The silence between them was heavy, punctuated only by Yeonjun’s soft, pained sobs and Soobin’s whispered reassurances.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Yeonjun spoke.
“I’m nothing without you, Binnie.” His voice was muffled against Soobin’s shoulder, the words barely above a whisper, yet they carried the weight of every moment he had spent feeling hollow and incomplete.
Soobin’s hand stilled where it had been rubbing comforting patterns against Yeonjun’s back.
“What?” His voice was gentle, but there was an edge of desperation to it. “That’s not true. Don’t say that.”
Yeonjun let out a quiet, broken whine, shaking his head furiously against Soobin’s shoulder. “It’s true. But… you’re okay without me. You were fine when you just abandoned me.”
His words were raw, spilling out before he had a chance to filter them. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, only the truth of his pain laid bare between them.
Soobin felt his heart clench, the air in his lungs escaping in a sharp exhale. The sting of tears threatened his vision because he knew Yeonjun was right. He had abandoned him. He had shut him out, avoided him at every turn. But not because he wanted to. Not because he was better off without him.
He had done it to protect him. He had done it because he loved him too much to bear the weight of unspoken feelings.
But he couldn’t say that. Could he?
“Yeonjun…” Soobin murmured, his voice barely steady.
“Why… Why did you leave?” Yeonjun’s voice cracked, and the pain in it was unbearable. “Not even the hiatus. I get the hiatus, I really do. Why’d you leave me alone? You ignored me at every chance you got. Why did you do that? It hurt so much.”
Soobin swallowed thickly. He wanted to lie. Wanted to come up with some excuse, some half-hearted reason that would make this easier.
But with Yeonjun weeping in his arms, looking so fragile, sounding so lost, Soobin knew there was no easy way out of this. He owed him the truth.
“Yeonjun…” He inhaled shakily, gripping the older’s shoulders. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t stop talking to you because I stopped liking you.”
Yeonjun’s body tensed. A small, wounded noise escaped him before he dissolved into tears again, clutching Soobin with renewed desperation.
“Then why?” he choked out between sobs. “I felt… I felt so lost, and you seemed fine. You didn’t even wanna be in the same room as me. I thought I did something wrong.”
Soobin shook his head vehemently, his own tears spilling freely now. He took in a shuddering breath, tightening his hold on Yeonjun as though it would be enough to piece back together everything he had broken.
“You… You didn’t do anything wrong.” His voice cracked, full of regret, full of things he wished he had said sooner. “Never think that. Please.”
Yeonjun let out another quiet sob, and his grip loosened just slightly, as if the reassurance had managed to ease something deep within him. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
“Then why?” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his eyes red and searching.
A pause. A hesitation that lasted a fraction too long.
“I didn’t want to come to terms with my own feelings.”
The words hung heavy in the air, freezing time itself. Yeonjun stilled in his arms, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, he pulled away, just enough to look Soobin in the eyes.
Soobin could see it. The confusion. The hesitation.
“What…?” Yeonjun breathed, his voice barely audible, as if he was afraid acknowledging the words would make them disappear.
Soobin’s chest tightened painfully, and his lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come out. He had already said too much, had already cracked open the carefully constructed walls he had spent so long fortifying. But there was no turning back now.
“My feelings,” Soobin forced out, voice trembling. “I couldn’t handle them, and I took it out on you. You had to pay the consequences because…”
A breath. A moment of unbearable silence.
“Because I had– well, I have feelings for you.”
Yeonjun’s eyes widened. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. For the first time that night, the tears stopped falling.
Soobin felt his heart pounding against his ribs, threatening to shatter completely. He had said it. He had let it slip through his lips, irretrievable and irreversible.
And Yeonjun was staring at him, completely still, completely silent.
Soobin felt his breath hitch.
Fuck.
He should not have said that.
The room felt too small, the air too thick, the walls too close. He had braced himself for anything. Anger, resentment, exhaustion, but not this. Not the weight of Yeonjun's stare, not the way his voice cracked, not the disbelief clouding his expression like he couldn’t decide whether to be furious or heartbroken.
“What?”
Soobin swallowed hard, trying to steady his heartbeat, but it pounded against his ribs like it wanted out. He didn’t know if it was panic or relief or something far worse.
“I know you don’t like me back—don’t—” he hesitated, shaking his head, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t owe me anything. That’s why. I never hated you. Not once.”
Yeonjun just stared, and in the unbearable stretch of silence, Soobin felt something inside himself begin to fray. Then—
“That’s fucking stupid.”
The words were blunt, almost spat, but they weren’t cruel. Yeonjun’s voice wavered, the remnants of tears still clinging to it.
Soobin exhaled, nodding slowly. “I know.”
Yeonjun scoffed, shaking his head in exasperation. “No, like… really fucking stupid.”
Soobin nodded again, this time with a weak chuckle, because yeah, he knew. He had heard it from Beomgyu enough times. He’d told himself in the quietest moments, when regret gnawed at him like a living thing.
“What the fuck made you think I didn’t like you back?” Yeonjun continued, his voice incredulous.
Soobin was still nodding before the words actually registered. Then he froze, blinking at Yeonjun, eyes wide. “Wait—what?”
“You’re so dumb, Choi Soobin.” Yeonjun let out a shaky breath, like he was holding back another sob. “You’re a coward. You know that, right?”
Soobin was still processing. Still trying to reconcile the words with everything he had convinced himself was true. “You’re telling me… you like me?”
But Yeonjun wasn’t relieved. Not at all. He was still hurt. He was still mad. He shook his head, frustrated. “Yeah. And you… you just assumed I didn’t, and made me deal with the consequences? You made me sit there for days, waiting for you to talk to me, and you just ignored me? All because you couldn’t face your own feelings?”
Soobin shut his eyes tightly, jaw clenched. “I thought… I thought I’d ruin everything. I thought it’d hurt too much if you didn’t feel the same.” His voice was quieter now, fragile. “I was trying to protect both of us.”
Yeonjun let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Soobin. I get it. Really, I do. But you didn’t protect anyone but yourself. This?” He gestured vaguely between them. “This hurt so much worse than just knowing the truth.”
Soobin felt something deep in his chest twist, guilt lodging itself like a blade between his ribs. He reached for Yeonjun’s hand, hesitant, and lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles—a quiet, desperate apology.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “I really, really am. I wasn’t thinking rationally. It was never, ever your fault. But I’m here. I swear I’m here. I love you so much, hyung.”
Yeonjun’s lips trembled, but he nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “You’re dumb as hell, but okay.” His fingers curled around Soobin’s hand, holding onto him like he was afraid he’d disappear again. “Just… never do that again. If something’s wrong, just talk to me. Okay?”
Soobin let out a breathy laugh, blinking away the last of his tears. “I will. But you have to talk to me too. I know you think you need to be strong all the time, but you don’t. Not alone. Just…” he exhaled, voice softer. “Let me be there for you.”
Yeonjun hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh, nodding. “I’ll try.”
Soobin’s smile softened. “That’s enough, hyung. That’s enough.”
Yeonjun beamed at him through watery eyes. Soobin did not judge the fact that he struggled to open up. He understood. And he didn’t push or judge. God, how did he find somebody like him? How did he come to deserve Soobin?
“Thank you, Soobin.” Yeonjun exhaled, eyes still searching his. “But… what now? What’s going to happen between us?”
Soobin tilted his head, smiling lightly, his dimple popping through adorably.
“What do you want to happen?”
Yeonjun giggled; a sound that sent warmth rushing through Soobin’s chest. The kind of giggle he had missed so terribly, the kind that always made his day better, no matter what. His face was still streaked with tears, but he was giggling, and that was all Soobin could see.
“I’d like to be your boyfriend.”
Soobin’s laughter was lighter this time, genuine. He tilted his head to the side lightly.
“You’d like to be my boyfriend?”
Yeonjun nodded, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah.”
Soobin wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer, pressing his forehead against Yeonjun’s. “Then be my boyfriend.” His voice was quieter now, but sure, unwavering. “And I’ll be yours.”
Yeonjun’s smile softened, his fingers tightening around Soobin’s. “Okay.”
The moment was soft, wrapped in a fragile kind of warmth, as if the air around them had finally settled after a long, grueling storm. Soobin didn’t want to move, didn’t want to pull away from Yeonjun’s body, still warm and slightly trembling against him. It felt like if he did, the moment might slip through his fingers like sand, and he wasn’t ready to lose this. Not again.
But the sound of the front door opening, followed by the distinct shuffle of feet, pulled them both from the bubble they had unknowingly built. Yeonjun stiffened slightly, a reflex more than anything, as if bracing himself for whatever was coming next.
Laughter echoed down the hall. Beomgyu’s unmistakable voice rang out first. “Dude, I swear if Yeonjun’s still sulking in his room, I’m gonna…”
The words died in his throat as he stepped into the doorway, eyes flicking between the two on the floor. His expression shifted instantly, the teasing smirk faltering as realization set in. Behind him, Taehyun and Hueningkai peered in, their faces shifting from confusion to quiet surprise.
Soobin felt Yeonjun press against him just a little tighter before hesitantly pulling back, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. It was clear he was trying to compose himself, but the redness of his eyes and the telltale dampness of Soobin’s shirt were impossible to miss.
“Oh,” Beomgyu finally said, blinking. “So that’s where you’ve been.”
Yeonjun exhaled a soft, wobbly laugh. “Yeah.”
A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, Hueningkai, ever the empathetic one, stepped forward, his face a mixture of concern and relief. “Are you okay now, hyung?”
Yeonjun hesitated before nodding. “I think so.”
Beomgyu crossed his arms, tilting his head with that sharp, perceptive gaze of his. “And you,” he said, pointing at Soobin. “I knew you were being weird for a reason.”
Soobin sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Gyu—”
“No, no, let me have this,” Beomgyu interrupted, stepping fully into the room. “You, Choi Soobin, put everyone, including yourself, through hell for how long? Months?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “And all because you were too much of a coward to tell Yeonjun you were in love with him?”
Soobin groaned, burying his face in his hands. Yeonjun let out a small laugh beside him, nudging him lightly. “He has a point.”
“Of course I have a point,” Beomgyu said, exasperated. Then his expression softened just slightly. “But… I’m glad you two finally figured it out. Took you long enough.”
Taehyun, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke up. “So, does this mean we won’t have to deal with either of you being miserable anymore?”
Yeonjun hummed, pretending to think about it. “I dunno. Soobin’s still kind of dumb. I might still be miserable sometimes.”
Soobin scoffed, giving Yeonjun a light shove that only made him grin wider. The others groaned in unison, already sensing the shift in atmosphere.
“Great,” Taehyun muttered. “They’re going to be insufferable.”
Hueningkai beamed, clearly happy to see Yeonjun looking more like himself again. “As long as hyung’s happy.”
Yeonjun turned his gaze back to Soobin, the weight in his chest finally feeling lighter. He reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I am.”
And he meant it.