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Hyunjin doesn’t remember the exact moment he fell for Chan. Maybe it wasn’t a single moment. Maybe it was a collection of them. Fragments. Barely noticeable things.
The way Chan looks at people when they talk — like they’re the only one in the room.
The way his voice changes when he’s tired, soft, like it’s meant only for you.
The way he carries the weight of eight without complaint, but his eyes — his eyes always give him away.
Maybe that’s when it began. When Hyunjin realized that there was something in Chan that mirrored something in himself — something raw, aching, and beautiful.
They’re not the same. But they understand each other.
That softness buried under fire. That desperate need to be loved so deeply it hurts.
Hyunjin sees it in Chan.
And he wants it.
Wants him.
Maybe that’s selfish. Maybe that’s wrong.
But when the opportunity for Red Light 2 came — when the producer asked if he’d be up for something bold, intimate, even a little dangerous — he said yes without hesitation.
Because this wasn’t just a song.
It was his confession. Dressed in synths and shadow, beats and breath.
At first, Chan hesitated. But eventually, he agreed. Maybe he wanted the challenge. Maybe he trusted Hyunjin too much to say no. Either way, they ended up in the booth together, singing lines that felt too real, too honest.
When Chan recorded his part — “I can’t let you go, ‘cause the world’s ’bout to break
Just follow me, I’ll lead, night and day
In exchange for this pain, can you promise me
To show your love for me every day?” — Hyunjin’s heart stopped.
It didn’t feel like a lyric.
It felt like a vow.
And in that moment, in that breath, Hyunjin let himself believe it was meant for him. That Chan was talking to him — no cameras, no audience, just them.
His answer came out too easy.
“I can’t let you go, ‘cause the world’s ‘bout to break
Just follow me, I’ll lead, night and day
I’ll take all this pain, can you promise me To give me all of you every day?”
Every word,
A promise he meant.
A truth he could never say out loud.
Because how could he? How could he explain to Chan the way his heart claws at his ribs when he sees him laugh with someone else? The way he wants to wrap his arms around him and never let go? The way he dreams not of touches or kisses, but of a life — one where Chan chooses him and no one else?
How do you confess something like that without breaking what you already have?
Hyunjin knows it’s not fair.
Chan belongs to everyone. That’s the kind of love he gives — open, wide, selfless. He can’t be owned, can’t be kept in a cage made of longing.
And yet… Hyunjin wants to.
He wants to be the only one who makes him smile that way. The only one who gets to see the parts of Chan no one else does — the fear, the doubt, the exhaustion, the hope.
He wants everything.
But he hides it.
Buries it beneath teasing grins and casual touches. Behind professionalism and stage lights. Because if Chan ever knew — if he ever saw the truth behind Hyunjin’s eyes — he might pull away.
And losing even this would kill him.
So he smiles when Chan claps him on the back.
He smirks when fans ask about the chemistry in Escape.
He pretends the lyrics are just lyrics, and the fire in his chest is just performance.
But at night, when it’s quiet, and the makeup’s wiped off, and the world has gone still — that’s when it hits him.
That he will never be able to love anyone like this again.
That his love for Chan is a storm he can’t escape — both the flood and the shelter.
And he’ll carry it.
Even if it tears him apart.
Even if Chan never knows.
Just like a secret verse in a song only they will ever truly understand.