Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day Joshua Hong was told he would debut in SEVENTEEN, he cried.

Not tears of sadness, not quite. It was joy, confusion, and disbelief stitched together in one overwhelming wave. He had worked hard, silently, for years in a company where louder voices were often noticed first. But someone had noticed him. Someone had chosen him.

But he didn’t know that someone else had been unchosen.

"You're debuting with SEVENTEEN," the manager said. "We made the final decision today. Prepare to move into the dorm. You'll meet the others tomorrow."

He barely remembered the rest of the conversation. He nodded, smiled, bowed deeply. His heart beat so fast he felt it in his throat.

When he got back to the practice room, it was empty. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His fingers touched the edge of the glass like it could anchor him.

"I'm debuting," he whispered. His voice cracked.

He didn't sleep that night.

The door opened.

Jun was the first to greet him. "Oh... you're the new guy."

Joshua bowed deeply. "I'm Joshua. It's really nice to meet you."

Jun gave a short nod, smiled politely, and stepped aside.

The dorm was loud, chaotic. Laughter from the living room, music from someone's phone. But when Jun announced, "The new member's here," the room fell strangely quiet.

Twelve pairs of eyes turned to him. Their expressions shifted, fast, like flickers of something hidden. Surprise. Resentment. Grief.

Then Jeonghan stood up. "Hi, Joshua. Welcome."

It sounded practiced. Polite.

Seungcheol followed with a handshake. "Looking forward to working with you."

The others followed, one by one. Names, short greetings, forced smiles.

Joshua felt it immediately: the heaviness.

Something was wrong.

That night, he lay on his new bed, staring at the ceiling.

He could hear them talking in the living room. Laughing again. Whispering.

He sat up, just enough to hear a voice say, “I still can’t believe they replaced Minjae.”

Another voice replied, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

And then Jeonghan, quietly: “He’s not Minjae. But it’s not his fault.”

Joshua's chest tightened.

He laid back down and closed his eyes.

But the space between them stayed.

He’d sit beside them at meals and they’d politely nod. He’d bring vitamin drinks to practice, and they’d mutter thanks without looking. He laughed at their jokes. They never laughed at his.

He watched them share inside jokes that didn’t include him. He saw the way they touched each other casually — a hand on a shoulder, a nudge, a shared glance — and realized no one ever touched him that way.

He tried to initiate conversation with Seokmin in the van one night.

"That high note you hit during practice? That was insane. I don't know how you do that."

Seokmin smiled briefly. "Thanks."

Joshua waited for a return question. None came.

The silence stretched awkwardly until he looked out the window.

"Do you need help setting up?" Joshua offered.

Jihoon blinked, surprised. Then shrugged. "Sure."

They worked in silence. When the room was ready, Jihoon handed him a bottle of water.

"You work hard," Jihoon said, almost like it hurt to say it.

Joshua smiled softly. "Thank you. I really want to do well."

Jihoon nodded once. "Just... don’t try too hard."

Joshua tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Jihoon turned back to the laptop. "It’s not about you."

That night, Joshua wrote in his journal:

_"I think there are ghosts here. Not real ones. But the kind that live in people’s hearts. The kind that I can't compete with."

Minjae was.

He didn’t ask questions. He just stared at the photo every time he reached for water.

Joshua stood beside Wonwoo and Jeonghan. They posed like they belonged together. Like they had years of shared memories. Joshua followed the photographer’s cues and smiled.

Later, when the photos came out, Joshua saw how perfectly the others looked together. Like a complete puzzle. He was the mismatched piece, obvious if you looked too long.

He stared at the group shot. Zoomed in on himself. Tried to convince himself he looked like he belonged.

He even asked Jeonghan once, cautiously, while fixing his mic.

"Do I... do I fit in okay?"

Jeonghan blinked. "What?"

"With the group. I know I joined late."

Jeonghan hesitated. "You’re doing fine."

Not great. Not amazing. Just fine.

Seungkwan took it wordlessly.

After a while, he whispered, "Minjae was my best friend."

Joshua nodded. "I’m sorry."

"I know it's not your fault," Seungkwan said. "But it still hurts to see you here."

Joshua didn't reply. He just kept sitting there, shoulder barely touching Seungkwan's.

That was the closest anyone had come to telling him the truth.

It was a clip from the pre-debut days. Joshua wasn't in it.

Minjae was. Laughing, dancing, falling dramatically into Seungcheol’s lap while the others cracked up.

No one noticed Joshua at the door.

He backed away quietly.

That night, he didn’t eat dinner.

Backstage, Joshua stood with the others, heart pounding. The lights, the noise, the cheers. He looked at his members. They looked calm. Focused.

He wanted to hold someone's hand. Say something like, "We did it." But his hand stayed at his side.

When the curtain rose and the music started, Joshua smiled like his heart wasn’t aching. He sang every note with the hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d learn to love him too.

The fans screamed. Cameras flashed.

In that moment, no one saw the cracks.

Only Joshua felt them.

And still, he smiled.

Chapter Text

Joshua learned to smile around the silence.

It became second nature: waking before everyone else to brew extra coffee, folding blankets left tossed over the couch, cleaning up takeout containers even if he hadn't eaten with them. He wasn’t trying to earn points. He just wanted to be part of the rhythm. The daily movement of SEVENTEEN, even if it barely noticed him.

The dorm was a machine with twelve synced gears, and Joshua was the thirteenth — always spinning a little out of time.

--

Jun always made a second bowl of ramen, but only ever handed it to Minghao. Jeonghan liked his toast with honey, and Seungcheol always remembered to make it. DK hummed songs only Seungkwan could finish.

They moved in pairs or threes, bonded through years of knowing each other's moods, preferences, heartbeats. Joshua was kind to everyone, soft and sweet, never overstepping. But kindness didn't create history.

It was late after dance practice one night when Joshua lingered, towel around his neck, watching Mingyu and Wonwoo collapse on the floor laughing. He didn’t know what the joke was. Probably something from before.

Jihoon caught his eye through the mirror. "You're staying late again?"

Joshua nodded. "I wanted to get the new footwork right."

Jihoon said nothing more, just packed his things. As he walked past, he mumbled, "Don't overdo it."

Joshua smiled at the concern, even if it sounded reluctant.

--

There he was again. Minjae.

Laughing, bright, natural. Familiar.

Joshua stood silently behind the couch until Hoshi noticed him and tilted the phone away.

"It's just old stuff," he said.

"Cool," Joshua replied gently. "You all looked close."

No one answered.

--

One morning, he brought fresh bread to the practice room. It was from a little bakery near the station that he liked, and he made sure to remember what everyone seemed to like best.

Chocolate croissant for Vernon. Cream bread for DK. Matcha roll for Minghao.

They thanked him. Smiled a little.

Later, when Joshua went to throw away the trash, he saw three pastries in the bin. Barely touched.

--

Seungkwan started sitting next to him in the van. Sometimes they shared earbuds. They never talked about feelings, but one time Joshua offered his jacket when it started to rain. Seungkwan took it. Said thank you.

Joshua treasured that moment for days.

--

One night, he found himself in front of the company building. The lights were still on inside.

He stood there, watching his own reflection in the glass.

He barely recognized himself anymore. Not because of styling or weight changes, but because his eyes didn’t shine the same. Not like they had the day he found out he was debuting.

He pulled out his phone and opened the photos app. There were barely any group pictures. He had a few selfies with fans, some schedule shots, and a lot of scenery.

But the one picture he kept going back to was a blurry shot of the 13 of them from a fan taken at their debut stage.

He was smiling so wide in it. Jeonghan was standing beside him, their shoulders not quite touching.

He zoomed in. Then out. Then turned off the phone.

--

The answers were full of laughter and inside stories.

"Seungcheol always covers us with blankets when we fall asleep." "Jeonghan pretends to be evil but he's really the softest." "DK once carried me on his back when I sprained my ankle."

When it was Joshua's turn, the room got quiet.

He smiled gently. "I really admire how close everyone is. I hope I can continue to grow closer with them too."

The interviewer moved on quickly.

--

You don't talk much. But I think you hear everything.
—Vernon

Joshua smiled. He didn't cry. But he held the note for a long time.

--

One evening, they held a group meeting to decide room assignments. They were moving into a new dorm soon.

Joshua sat quietly as everyone tossed suggestions.

"Jeonghan and Seungcheol should be together again." "Can we keep the same roommates?" "I want a single this time."

No one mentioned Joshua.

Eventually, Mingyu said, "Oh, right. Where's Joshua going?"

There was a pause.

"Maybe he can take the smaller room near the entrance," Jun suggested. "It’s quieter. He likes quiet, right?"

Joshua nodded. "That sounds perfect."

No one saw the way his smile dimmed.

--

"It still doesn’t feel right without Minjae."

Joshua didn’t stay to hear the rest.

He walked back to his room, closed the door, and sat on the floor.

He thought about the way the others touched each other. The way they leaned in, arms draped over shoulders, laughter spilling without caution. And how he always hovered at the edge.

He whispered to the empty room, "I love you all, you know. Even if you never love me back."

The silence was the only reply.

And still, the next morning, he made coffee for everyone.

He smiled.

Because kindness was the only way he knew how to survive.

Chapter Text

The rain had been falling all day.

Joshua sat by the dorm window, curled into the corner of the couch with a cup of lukewarm tea, watching drops race each other down the glass. The others were gone for the day — schedule changes had left him alone in the dorm, a rare silence he didn’t mind. It was the only time he didn’t have to pretend.

He pulled his knees to his chest, watching the muted cityscape and letting his mind wander.

He imagined what it would be like to be loved by them. Just one of them. Even one would have been enough.

--

It started slowly. He noticed it during breaks, the way they paired off without effort. Mingyu and Wonwoo always walked side-by-side. Seungcheol reached for Jeonghan’s hand without looking. Hoshi and Woozi laughed like they shared a language only they understood.

He started cataloguing it like an outsider observing a private ritual.

They were becoming something else. Something deeper than friends or brothers. Something more than what Joshua could ever be to them.

The realization ached.

--

One night after a concert, he sat at the edge of the hotel rooftop while the others celebrated indoors. He had tried to join the toast but no one noticed when he slipped away.

He stared out over the city lights and took a shaky breath.

"You always disappear."

Joshua turned. Jeonghan.

Jeonghan stood with two glasses of champagne, offering one silently.

Joshua took it with a soft thanks, their fingers brushing briefly.

"You okay?" Jeonghan asked, watching him too closely.

Joshua nodded. "Just wanted some air."

They stood in silence. Jeonghan sipped from his glass.

Then, with a quiet voice, Jeonghan said, "You know, it took me months to stop expecting Minjae to show up around corners. He always loved rooftops."

Joshua said nothing.

Jeonghan glanced sideways. "But you’re different. You don’t try to be him. That helps."

Joshua met his eyes. "I never wanted to replace him."

"I know."

And then Jeonghan smiled, tired and fleeting. "Thanks for sticking around."

Joshua held onto that sentence for weeks.

--

Soon, the 12 began spending more time alone together.

Joshua would walk into the dorm to find movie nights happening without him. Whispered conversations that stopped when he entered the room. Laughter that died too quickly.

He tried not to let it hurt. He really did.

One day, they forgot to tell him about a scheduled interview. He arrived late, breathless and flustered.

The manager frowned. "Didn’t they tell you?"

Joshua forced a smile. "It must've slipped their minds."

--

That night, he found a small note slipped under his door:

Sorry. We should have told you.

No name.

He stared at it for a long time.

--

Weeks passed. The bond between the 12 grew undeniable. Skinship became second nature. Lingering looks. Shared clothing. Soft confessions whispered between bunk beds.

One night, Joshua passed the bathroom and heard Jun murmuring, “I think I’m in love with him.”

He didn’t hear who the name was.

But the words wrapped around his ribs like a vice.

Joshua wanted to feel that, too. To be held like that. Loved like that.

But he never would be.

--

He tried to speak to Seungcheol about it once, when they were alone backstage.

"Hyung... can I ask you something weird?"

Seungcheol looked up. "Sure."

Joshua hesitated. "Do you think it’s possible to love someone quietly? Like... from far away, without them noticing?"

Seungcheol blinked slowly, thinking. "Yeah. But it hurts."

Joshua smiled. "It does."

--

_"You are all the constellations I can't touch. You shine together, and I am the sky that stays dark. I keep waiting for you to look up." _

One evening, he found them all in the living room, arms tangled together, soft music playing. They looked so natural like that. Like they belonged to each other.

Joshua stood at the hallway entrance and watched.

No one looked up.

He turned away.

--

His love had nowhere to go. So he poured it into small things: handing someone a water bottle, covering them with a blanket, running to buy extra hairpins when Woozi forgot his. No one asked him to. He just did it.

And still, he remained an orbit.

Around them.

Never part of the center.

--

When their anniversary came around, he stayed up all night baking small cupcakes, personalizing each with tiny fondant letters of their initials.

He left them on the kitchen table before they woke up and went out for a walk.

When he returned hours later, half were still there.

Someone had eaten Seungkwan’s. Jeonghan’s had a single bite missing. The rest were untouched.

He tossed them out without saying a word.

--

He whispered, "I love all of you. I don’t think you’ll ever love me back."

And for the first time, he let himself cry.

Only for a minute.

Then he wiped his face.

And went back to smiling.

Chapter Text

Joshua quietly confessed it to himself one evening, staring at his reflection in the dorm’s fogged-up bathroom mirror. The words came softly, like a prayer.

“I love all of them,” he whispered. “I always have.”

It wasn’t a revelation. It wasn’t dramatic. It was simply the truth — the kind that had lived in his chest for years now, quiet and patient. The kind that went unnoticed, like a star you only saw when the sky was clear and you weren’t looking.

--

He began to pull away.

Not physically. He still showed up to schedules, still helped with meals, still folded everyone’s laundry without being asked. But something had shifted. His smiles didn’t reach as far. His jokes were gentler, thinner. He laughed with them, but it no longer sounded like music.

Still, no one said anything.

Except Jun.

One night after practice, Jun leaned on the doorframe while Joshua wiped sweat from his neck.

“You okay?”

Joshua looked up with that soft, tired smile. “Never better.”

Jun didn’t press.

He should have.

--

Joshua started walking home alone after schedules.

It wasn’t a big deal. He liked the quiet. The fresh air. The gentle sound of his shoes against the sidewalk. It gave him time to think, to breathe.

Once, Jeonghan offered to walk with him.

But then Seungcheol called out, “Jeonghan, come on!” and without another word, Jeonghan turned back.

Joshua watched them disappear ahead of him.

He walked alone.

He always walked alone.

--

The days blurred together.

Joshua brought them energy drinks after a long recording. No one noticed who set them out.

He ordered their favorite lunch on a rainy day. The group thanked the manager for it.

He sewed a loose button on Hoshi’s jacket. Hoshi never asked who fixed it.

He remembered birthdays. Sent encouraging messages after tough days. Waited for them after rehearsals, just to walk home with them.

He was always there — gently, silently — like background music they’d stopped hearing.

--

Some nights, he would stand outside their room doors, listening to the low murmurs of laughter and conversation — inside jokes he didn’t understand, warmth he couldn’t access.

He didn’t knock.

He knew his presence would change the atmosphere. They would quiet. Shift. Smile politely, instead of laughing freely.

So he let them be.

He always let them be.

--

One afternoon, he returned to the dorm early and overheard them planning something in the kitchen.

“A weekend trip?” Seungkwan asked.

“Just us. No managers, no schedule,” Mingyu said, excited.

“We could rent a place by the beach,” Hoshi added.

Joshua stepped closer.

Jeonghan’s voice was the clearest. “Yeah. Just the twelve of us.”

Joshua stood frozen in the hallway.

They saw him — he knew they did.

But no one said a word to include him.

He walked to his room and shut the door.

Later, they’d say they didn’t notice. That it wasn’t on purpose.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

--

“Hyung,” Dino once said, sitting beside Joshua on the rooftop, “why do you always smile even when you look sad?”

Joshua leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the stars.

“Because sometimes, that’s the only thing I can still give.”

Dino frowned. “You can give more than that. You always do.”

Joshua turned to him, smiling faintly. “But you all give each other love. I just give presence.”

Dino didn’t understand then. He just nodded, unsure of what to say.

--

On their anniversary, Joshua baked cupcakes. Simple ones, each decorated with the member’s initials and a small charm that reminded him of them. He arranged them on the table with care, placing a note beside it: Happy Anniversary. Thank you for being my family.

He stayed out that night, wandering the city with headphones in, letting music fill the space his heart used to occupy.

When he came back, most of the cupcakes were untouched.

Only one — Seungkwan’s — had a bite taken out.

No one mentioned them.

He quietly threw them away.

--

He overheard Minghao laughing one night. “Remember when Minjae did that skit? God, we were crying from laughter.”

“Yeah,” said Woozi, smiling fondly. “He had this way of making everyone feel like they belonged.”

Joshua sat on the other side of the wall.

He breathed in slowly.

And let the breath go.

He wanted to scream, just once. Ask, What about me?

But he didn’t.

--

There was a moment — brief and sharp — when he almost said it. They were gathered in the practice room, laughing over some joke Joshua didn’t hear. He stood up slowly, walked toward them, heart thudding.

He opened his mouth.

But no one looked up.

So he sat back down.

And stayed silent.

--

One night, he came back late to find the dorm quiet, lights dimmed. In the living room, the twelve were curled together on the couch, watching an old movie.

He stepped in, holding a bag of drinks from the convenience store — their favorites. His fingers ached from carrying them. His chest ached more.

They didn’t see him.

Didn’t look up.

Didn’t hear the door open.

Didn’t hear it close.

Joshua set the drinks on the counter. Each one carefully labeled.

He stood for a moment in the hallway, watching the group laugh at something on screen. Their voices overlapping, their bodies tangled in familiar affection.

He smiled.

That soft, worn-out smile.

Then turned and walked back out.

--

He walked for an hour. Through quiet streets. Past shuttered shops and blinking neon lights.

It was cold. He didn’t notice.

He thought about love. How it had filled him like a song. How he had poured it into every small gesture, every held breath, every morning coffee.

He thought about how none of them had ever said it back.

He thought about how they didn’t have to — because they had each other.

And he had only himself.

He walked past the Han River, where they used to go as trainees. He remembered one night when Minjae had cried there. The others held him close, promised they’d never leave anyone behind.

That promise had died the day Joshua arrived.

--

That night, he didn’t cry.

He just sat on the edge of his bed, flipping through an old journal.

The final page read:

“I love all of them. I always have. But I don’t think they’ll ever see me the way I see them. And I think I’m done hoping they will.”

He closed the book.

Turned off the light.

And in the silence, he smiled one last time.

Because love, even unreturned, was still love.

And Joshua had always been full of it.

But soon, he would be empty.

And they wouldn’t notice.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

The world hadn’t changed — not outwardly.

Schedules still came and went. Music still played through practice room speakers. Lights still glared into their faces during photoshoots, and their fans still screamed with unwavering love. To the world, SEVENTEEN was the same.

But for Joshua, something inside had hollowed.

There were no screams inside him. No melodies. Just the quiet ache of knowing he would never be the one they chose.

He had loved them — every last one of them — with a kind of quiet devotion that most people reserve for religion. But you can only kneel for so long before your knees start to bleed.

--

It began, not with silence, but with laughter.

He heard it from the hallway first — boisterous and familiar, echoing off the dorm walls. He was just returning from a vocal lesson, humming a few lines under his breath, a convenience store bag swinging from one hand.

He paused at the doorway to the living room.

"Okay, so this weekend," Mingyu said, his voice full of excitement. "We rent the villa. No staff. No fans. Just us."

"Can we do fireworks this time?" Seungkwan asked.

Seungcheol laughed. "As long as Jeonghan doesn’t light them indoors again."

"Hey!" Jeonghan protested with a grin. "That was one time, and it was controlled chaos."

Joshua lingered.

They were seated around the coffee table — snacks and cans of beer spread out. Warm bodies tangled together, shoulders bumping, eyes glinting with shared memories.

Woozi lifted his can. "To us — the twelve."

The word hit Joshua’s chest like a punch.

Twelve.

He was twenty steps away. But emotionally, galaxies apart.

"Should we call Joshua?" someone mumbled. It was soft, unsure.

There was a pause. Then Hoshi’s voice: "He’s probably tired. Let’s not bother him."

Another laugh. "He wouldn’t really vibe with this anyway."

That was the end of it.

Joshua turned around and walked silently to his room.

He sat at the edge of his bed, gripping the plastic handles of the convenience store bag until they snapped. He stared at the drinks he had bought — their favorites. Each one carefully chosen.

He set them on the kitchen counter later, quietly, labeled with their names in neat handwriting. No one ever asked who brought them.

--

The next morning, the apartment buzzed with excitement. Luggage lined the hallway. Someone had bought matching shirts. Minghao was humming while curling his hair.

Joshua stood by the sink, drying a mug.

They walked past him like he was invisible.

No one said goodbye.

He didn’t say anything either.

Dino brushed past him with a grin. “Hyung, can you believe we’re finally going? It’s been years!”

Joshua smiled faintly. “Have fun, Dino.”

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Dino asked, turning back.

Joshua hesitated. “I wasn’t invited.”

“Oh…” Dino’s smile faltered. “I thought... I mean… maybe they just forgot.”

Joshua only nodded. “It’s okay. Enjoy it for me.”

--

He found himself in the laundry room that afternoon, clutching a pair of Mingyu’s socks and sobbing quietly into them. The scent of fabric softener was too much — domestic, intimate, familiar.

It was the kind of grief that didn’t need sound.

The kind of grief that swallowed everything else alive.

Later, he sat alone on the floor, folding clothes that weren’t his. Pressing creases into shirts he never wore. Pouring his love into tasks that would never be noticed.

--

Two days later, they returned.

Loud. Happy. Sun-kissed.

He listened to their stories from the safety of his room.

“You should’ve seen Jeonghan fall into the ocean—”

“And Vernon trying to build a bonfire—”

“Did anyone bring the polaroids?”

Joshua heard their laughter through the wall. It was genuine. Free.

He smiled to himself. But it was a tired thing, thin at the edges.

Because he wasn’t angry anymore.

Just... done.

--

That night, Seungkwan walked past him in the hallway and said, “Hey, we missed you this weekend.”

Joshua blinked. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan replied, but his voice lacked certainty.

Joshua just smiled. “Thanks.”

He walked away before Seungkwan could say more.

Later, Seungkwan stood outside his room for a moment, fists clenched, lips pressed tight. But he didn’t knock.

--

He went to the rooftop again that night. Alone this time.

The wind was cool against his skin. The city lights twinkled below.

He brought a journal with him. Pages filled with notes, lyrics, reminders to love gently.

On one page, he wrote:

“They will never say it. I have to stop hoping they will.”

Then he closed the book.

He stayed up there until sunrise, watching the world slowly bathe in gold. And for a moment, he felt peace.

--

He started packing on a Monday.

Not everything — just what mattered.

A few books. His passport. The journal. A sweater that Jun once gave him on a winter day he was sick. A pair of earphones. A small box of trinkets: a ring Vernon had bought him on a whim, a polaroid Hoshi had taken during debut days, a dried flower from Seungcheol tucked into a note that read, “You’re part of us now.”

He had believed it back then.

He folded the clothes slowly. Ran his hands over the fabric like he was memorizing the feeling. Like it was the last time.

--

The night before he left, he cooked dinner. Nothing fancy — just japchae and a warm pot of miso soup.

They came home, tired, hungry, and found it waiting on the table.

“Did the manager order this?” Mingyu asked.

“No,” Jeonghan said, noticing the handwritten note at the edge of the tray.

It read: "For all the memories you didn’t know you gave me. Thank you. —J"

They ate without speaking much.

No one asked where he was.

No one checked his room.

--

Joshua sat in his empty room, staring at his packed bag.

His phone buzzed.

A message from Seungkwan:
hyung thanks for the food
youre too good to us fr

He didn’t reply.

He turned off the phone and left it on the nightstand.

He turned off the lights and sat in the dark, breathing slowly.

--

He left the note by the front door.

It wasn’t long. Just a few sentences written in gentle ink:

"Thank you for letting me stay. I hope you find peace, like I will try to. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you to notice. But I loved you anyway. All of you."

"Please take care of each other. Always."

—Joshua

--

It was still dark when he left.

His suitcase wheels whispered across the wooden floors.

The door clicked shut behind him.

No one stirred.

The building slept.

The world didn’t stop.

But for Joshua, it was the end of a love story no one else knew was being written.

And for SEVENTEEN, it was the beginning of a silence they would never be able to fill.

Chapter Text

It began like any other day.

The sun rose over Seoul, gentle and golden, slipping through the blinds and pooling across the dorm floor. The morning light brushed against unmade beds, danced across half-drawn curtains, and kissed the stillness that had settled into every corner of the space.

No one noticed the absence at first.

They were too used to him being in the background — soft-footed and quiet, a presence so gentle it almost felt like air. You didn't realize it was missing until you were gasping for breath.

--

Jeonghan blinked awake first, groggy and disoriented, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He shuffled toward the kitchen in search of water, yawning as he passed the hallway. The living room was still dark. The smell of miso soup — faint, lingering — clung to the air.

He stepped into the kitchen and spotted something on the counter.

A note.

He squinted at the familiar handwriting.

"Thank you for letting me stay. I hope you find peace, like I will try to. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you to notice. But I loved you anyway. All of you."

The glass slipped from Jeonghan’s hand and shattered in the sink.

“Shua?” he called instinctively, even though he already knew.

He ran.

--

His footsteps echoed through the dorm as he flung open Joshua’s bedroom door.

Nothing.

The bed was stripped, the room too clean, too silent. The suitcase was gone. The closet — empty. Only a faint scent of cologne lingered in the air, like the last trace of a memory.

“Seungcheol!” Jeonghan yelled, voice cracking.

Doors opened.

“What’s going on?” Hoshi mumbled, still half-asleep.

“He’s gone,” Jeonghan said. “Joshua. He’s not here.”

The others filed into the room, confusion growing on their faces. Dino pulled open the closet again. Woozi checked under the bed. Minghao stared numbly at the empty shelf where Joshua kept his books.

Then Seungcheol entered, eyes sweeping the room.

His face paled. “Where’s his phone?”

Mingyu found it on the nightstand, the screen dark.

“He left it.”

Silence.

“He wouldn’t just leave,” Seungkwan said, though it sounded more like a plea than a statement.

Jeonghan held up the note. “He did.”

--

They all read it. Passed it between trembling fingers. No one said a word for a long time.

Jeonghan sat on the bed, fingers in his hair. “I saw him yesterday. He made tea. He was—”

“He made japchae,” Vernon added quietly. “And left soup.”

“He said he was going to clean the laundry room,” Jun said. “I thought he just… wanted space.”

“We didn’t even notice he was packing,” Woozi whispered.

Because he hadn’t made a sound.

--

That day passed in fragments.

Minghao wandered through the dorm, opening drawers, cabinets, closets, as if Joshua might still be hiding in one of them.

Seungcheol stood in the living room, rereading the note again and again.

Mingyu opened the fridge and found the drinks, neatly labeled. His name in Joshua’s handwriting.

“Hyung…” he whispered. “You still thought of me.”

Jun sat alone in the laundry room, clutching a hoodie that Joshua had folded. He buried his face in it, breathing in the faint scent of him.

Hoshi stood in the shower for an hour. Crying. Water running cold.

--

They gathered in the kitchen at noon, wordless.

The air was heavy. It pressed down on them like grief wrapped in cotton.

Dino sat with his hands in his lap. “I told him he could come with us,” he said softly. “To the trip. He said he wasn’t invited.”

“Did we even say his name that day?” Seungkwan asked. “Did any of us… did we even think about him?”

No one answered.

Jeonghan stood. He walked to the trash bin.

Pulled out the box of cupcakes.

They were slightly dried out. One had a small bite taken from it.

Each cupcake had their initials. Little charms, handpicked. The ones he used to smile at. The ones that Joshua noticed.

There was a note at the bottom of the box.

“Happy Anniversary. Thank you for being my family.”

Jeonghan clutched the box to his chest.

“I didn’t even say thank you,” he whispered.

Seungcheol walked out of the room.

--

That night, the dorm was dead silent.

They didn’t laugh.

They didn’t touch.

They simply sat in the living room, the empty seat between Vernon and Hoshi screaming louder than any words.

Jun spoke first. “He made all our birthdays special. Every year.”

“I didn’t even remember his this year,” Vernon murmured.

Woozi finally lifted his eyes. “He recorded a harmony for me last week. It’s still in my project files.”

Dino closed his eyes. “He said he always smiled because it was all he had left to give.”

Seungkwan wiped his eyes. “He gave us everything.”

--

The following week, the manager asked them if they’d heard from Joshua.

Seungcheol only said, “He left.”

The manager paused. “Will he be back?”

Silence.

“No,” Jeonghan said. “He’s not coming back.”

--

Three weeks passed.

Their schedules continued. Photoshoots. Interviews. Rehearsals. But something was different.

They weren’t whole.

The fans noticed it. The light in their eyes was dimmer. Their smiles didn’t last. Even their harmonies felt strained.

An interviewer asked Seungkwan what family meant to him.

He paused.

“Family means seeing someone while they’re still with you,” he said, voice quiet. “Not after they’ve left.”

--

In the dorm, they started to linger in the hallways. Hover at the kitchen. Peer down the hallway Joshua used to walk through.

Sometimes someone would laugh, then stop. As if remembering he wasn’t there to hear it.

Once, Jeonghan made tea.

He placed a cup on the table.

Twelve seconds passed before he realized he had made thirteen.

He sat down and cried.

--

At night, Woozi replayed Joshua’s recorded voice in the studio. That soft, clear note threading through the song like light through shadow.

“Let’s try this harmony,” Joshua had said.

It was perfect.

It was final.

--

One by one, they began to whisper their regrets aloud.

“I never said thank you,” Vernon admitted.

“I teased him too much,” Hoshi added.

“I should’ve invited him,” Mingyu said.

“I should’ve fought for him,” Seungcheol muttered.

“I loved him,” Jeonghan whispered. “I just… didn’t realize how much until now.”

They had all loved him, in their own quiet ways.

But love unspoken doesn’t reach the person who needs it most.

And now, he was gone.

And the morning without him had become their every day.

--

Jeonghan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered into the darkness. “Even if it takes the rest of my life.”

The silence replied.

Joshua wasn’t there to hear it.

But it was a promise nonetheless.

And that was where healing, or madness, would begin.

Chapter Text

It began quietly.

A memory here. A pause there. Like puzzle pieces that had always existed but were only now being fit together.

Mingyu was the first to break the silence.

“I think I loved him first,” he said, staring at a framed photo on the wall. They were gathered in the living room, late at night. The television played quietly in the background, ignored. The dorm was dim, shadows cast long against the floor by the soft glow of a single lamp.

Jeonghan looked up, startled. “What?”

Mingyu nodded slowly. “Before we even debuted. He helped me memorize my rap lines when no one else had time. I didn’t even ask. He just… noticed I was struggling.”

“He always noticed,” Woozi murmured.

Jun was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, head leaning back against the couch. “He once stayed up all night to help me rehearse my solo dance for an evaluation. I told him he didn’t have to. But he just smiled and said, ‘I want to.’”

Seungkwan’s eyes welled with tears. “He gave me cough drops during trainee winter. I didn’t know where they came from. Just found them in my coat pocket with a sticky note that said ‘Take care of yourself.’ I thought it was from a staff member. But now I know it was him.”

One by one, they began to remember.

Vernon leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He helped me with my Korean pronunciation late at night, when I was too embarrassed to ask anyone else. He made it feel easy.”

Dino’s voice trembled. “He let me cry on his shoulder after my first failed evaluation. And he never told anyone. He just held me and said, ‘You’re going to shine one day.’”

Hoshi looked away, jaw tight. “He caught me having a panic attack in the stairwell. I thought I could hide it. But he just sat beside me and said, ‘We can breathe together.’ That’s all. Just sat there until I could stand again.”

Wonwoo, silent until now, finally spoke. “He used to leave books by my bed. Ones he thought I’d like. Never said a word. I’d open them and there’d be small notes in the margins. Like he wanted to share a secret with me.”

DK wiped his eyes roughly. “He’d bring me vitamin drinks before vocal lessons. Said I’d need the energy. I used to tease him for acting like a mom. I didn’t realize that was his love language.”

The room grew heavier, denser with grief that was no longer abstract — but personal.

“I hated him at first,” Seungcheol admitted suddenly, voice low. “Not because he did anything wrong. But because he wasn’t Minjae.”

Silence.

“I convinced myself he didn’t belong. That if I ignored him long enough, he’d go away. But he never did. He stayed. And I—”

He swallowed hard. “I grew to rely on him without realizing it.”

Jeonghan’s voice broke next. “I liked him too much. That’s why I was cold. I was afraid of what it meant to love someone who replaced the person we thought we’d never lose.”

Minghao finally spoke. “I told myself I would never let him in. And yet, somehow, he got in anyway. I caught myself looking for him when he wasn’t in the room. Listening for his voice.”

Woozi rubbed his palms together. “He recorded a guide vocal for me once. I listened to it more than I needed to. I said it was for practice, but really... I just liked hearing his voice.”

Dino nodded slowly. “I once faked being sick because I wanted him to take care of me. I was sixteen. I just wanted to be seen by him.”

Vernon whispered, “He always saw us.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan said, blinking fast. “But none of us saw him.”

Jun pulled his knees to his chest. “We all loved him first, didn’t we?”

They did.

Before the group. Before the grief. Before the poly relationship bloomed from shared sorrow. It had been him. Always him.

Their love for Joshua was the first thread.

They competed for his attention at first — small things. Sitting next to him during meals. Offering him snacks. Laughing harder at his jokes. Sharing headphones during practice breaks

They noticed each other’s affection for him. And slowly, they fell for each other too — because they shared that love. That common, unspoken thread.

They bonded through him. Through the warmth he gave so freely. Through the kindness he didn’t reserve. He was the bridge between them.

And when they became twelve, it was only because they didn’t realize he had already been their glue.

“He made us a family,” Seungkwan whispered.

“And we made him a ghost,” Jeonghan replied.

No one corrected him.

---

They sat there for hours, the weight of their confessions pressing down like gravity.

Minghao stood and walked to the bookshelf. He pulled out a photo album Joshua had put together years ago. They hadn’t looked at it in ages. He opened it to a random page.

“Look,” he said quietly.

It was a photo of the thirteen of them on their debut day. Joshua was in the middle, arms around Mingyu and Woozi. His smile reached his eyes.

“I remember that,” Woozi whispered. “He waited outside the bathroom for an hour because I had a breakdown. He didn’t say a word when I came out. Just hugged me.”

“I made fun of his Korean pronunciation that day,” Vernon said quietly. “He laughed with me. But I saw his face after. I never apologized.”

Jun turned the page. Another photo. This time of Joshua sitting alone on the dorm rooftop, watching the stars. Minghao’s handwriting was on the back: ‘We didn’t notice he was always out there alone.’

Seungcheol pressed a hand to his mouth.

Jeonghan stood up suddenly and walked to the bedroom hallway.

“I’ll find him,” he said. “Even if he doesn’t want to be found.”

“You think he’ll forgive us?” Dino asked.

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan whispered. “But I have to try.”

Mingyu followed. “Then we’ll all try. Together.”

“We loved him first,” Seungkwan said. “But we showed it last.”

---

Later that night, Woozi went into the studio and pulled up an old audio file labeled "JS Final Harmony."

He hit play.

Joshua’s voice filled the room — soft, pure, steady. Singing the last chorus of a song they never released. It hadn’t made the album. Too emotional, the company had said.

But Woozi remembered.

As the voice echoed through the speakers, tears streamed down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

---

The pain was almost unbearable now.

A new silence followed. One that held mourning, guilt, clarity — and obsession.

Jeonghan stared at his phone, knuckles white.

“I need to find him,” he said.

And no one stopped him.

Chapter Text

It started with silence — not the kind that fills a room, but the kind that follows you like a shadow, clinging to your back, whispering in your ear: he’s gone.

They had lived with his silence. They had ignored it, misunderstood it, and now they were consumed by it.

Jeonghan was the first to move.

“He’s out there,” he said, pacing the dorm hallway like a man possessed. “He didn’t disappear into thin air.”

Seungcheol leaned against the wall, arms crossed tightly. “We have no contact. No address. No social media.”

Woozi looked up from his laptop. “But he’s not trying to hide. Not really.”

“What do you mean?” Minghao asked.

Woozi turned the screen to face them. It was a blurry photo from a fan’s Twitter account. A picture taken in a cafe in Busan. In it, Joshua sat by the window, laughing — really laughing — with two people they didn’t recognize.

“He’s smiling,” DK whispered. “He looks... happy.”

No one spoke for a while.

--

The search began slowly.

Jeonghan took a bus to Busan that same night.

He stood outside the cafe from the photo, watched the light spill onto the sidewalk, felt the distance like a wall. He didn’t go in. Didn’t have the courage.

Instead, he left a note with the barista.

If Joshua ever comes back, tell him we’re sorry. Tell him I’m sorry.

--

The others scattered.

Mingyu went to Daegu. He spent days wandering music shops and small venues. He asked locals if they’d seen someone with a kind smile and an American accent. Most just shook their heads. Some said yes, but no details.

DK and Seungkwan visited old trainees, people who might’ve kept in touch with Joshua after he left. They came back empty-handed but with one message repeated again and again:

“He looked free.”

--

Wonwoo tracked down an indie producer who had posted a song tagged with Joshua’s name. He played it over and over.

“His voice is in this,” he said, clutching his phone. “It’s layered under the chorus. Subtle. But it’s him.”

Dino listened too, and his eyes watered. “He still sings like he's trying to comfort the world.”

“Or maybe just himself,” Minghao murmured.

--

Woozi found more photos — Instagram posts from musicians and dancers. Joshua in studios. Joshua in cafes. Joshua at open mic nights, holding a guitar and laughing into the mic.

“He’s doing music again,” Woozi said, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“It should’ve been with us,” Vernon said.

“He’s better off,” Minghao replied, but there was no conviction in his voice.

--

One day, a fan approached Hoshi after rehearsal.

“Is Joshua coming back?” she asked, tears brimming. “I miss him so much.”

Hoshi swallowed hard and whispered, “So do we.”

--

Then came the turning point.

Mingyu found a flyer in a small bookstore in Jeonju.

“Live Music Night – Featuring: J. Hong.”

He texted the group chat. Within minutes, twelve read receipts appeared.

Jeonghan responded first: I’m going.

Seungcheol: All of us are.

--

They arrived early.

The venue was small, intimate. Fairy lights strung across the ceiling. Mismatched chairs and old couches. It smelled like tea and nostalgia.

They took the back row.

When Joshua stepped on stage, the air shifted.

He was thinner. Tanned. His hair longer, swept back casually. He wore a loose sweater and jeans, guitar slung over his shoulder.

He didn’t see them.

He sat on the stool and adjusted the mic. “This is a new one,” he said softly. “It’s about healing.”

Then he sang.

His voice was raw, unfiltered. Every word a quiet storm. The lyrics spoke of loneliness, of aching, of finding peace in leaving. Of being surrounded but unseen. Of love that never spoke.

Every syllable struck them like thunder.

Jun wiped his eyes. Seungkwan shook with silent sobs. Seungcheol gripped the armrest so hard his knuckles turned white.

Vernon kept whispering, “That’s him. That’s really him.”

Hoshi bit his lip until it bled.

DK covered his face with his hands and leaned into Wonwoo’s shoulder.

Dino looked like a child again — heartbroken and small.

When the song ended, the room clapped. Loudly. Enthusiastically.

Joshua smiled. Bowed.

And finally, looked up.

His eyes landed on the twelve of them.

Time froze.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he blinked — slowly. Gave the smallest, most unreadable smile.

And walked offstage.

--

They followed.

Backstage was cramped, dim. He was drinking water when they caught up to him.

“Joshua—” Jeonghan breathed.

He looked at them. Calm. Composed. But his eyes… they were wary.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“We… we wanted to see you,” Seungcheol said. “To explain. To apologize.”

Joshua tilted his head. “Explain what? That you loved someone who wasn’t me? That I was just a stand-in until your real hearts healed?”

“No,” Woozi said quickly. “That we were wrong. That we were grieving and blind and selfish.”

Joshua stared at him for a long moment.

Then he said, “I used to think if I stayed long enough, you’d see me.”

Jeonghan stepped forward. “We see you now.”

Joshua’s lips quirked. “But I’m not sure I want to be seen by you anymore.”

Minghao spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve changed.”

Joshua nodded. “So have I.”

Silence stretched between them like a tightrope.

Then Joshua said, “I’m happy now.”

Dino took a shaky breath. “Without us?”

Joshua looked at him. His gaze softened. “Yes. Without you.”

That truth shattered something in all of them.

But before they could respond, he stepped back.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I hope you heal, too.”

Then he disappeared behind the curtain.

--

Back in the dorm, no one spoke for hours.

Then Vernon whispered, “We found him. But he’s not ours anymore.”

“I thought seeing him would make it better,” DK said. “But it hurts more now.”

“Because we saw what he could be,” Woozi replied. “And we weren’t part of it.”

Jeonghan stared at the floor. “He looked at us like we were strangers.”

“We are,” Hoshi said. “Strangers who once called him family.”

Mingyu punched the wall. “I still love him.”

“So do I,” Seungkwan added, voice cracking.

They all did.

And the pain of that love — now lost, now unreachable — settled deep into their bones.

Joshua was alive.

But he was gone.

And maybe that was worse.

Chapter Text

The night after the performance haunted them.

Joshua’s voice echoed in every hallway of the dorm, every empty room. His smile — quiet, tired, distant — replayed behind closed eyes. The look in his eyes when he saw them: not anger, not sorrow — but peace. Like he had let go.

And that peace tore them apart.

--

“Did he mean it?” Vernon asked into the silence. “When he said he was happy without us?”

They were in the living room. No one answered.

“He meant it,” Woozi muttered eventually. “That’s what hurts the most.”

--

Obsession begins softly.

It was Seungkwan who searched first.

He made fake fan accounts, digging into hashtags and geotags, tracking down old fansites that posted photos of Joshua at street performances. Some were recent — Joshua at a beach café. Joshua outside a studio in Tokyo.

“We can find him again,” he said one night. “If we follow the trail.”

“Why?” Jeonghan asked, hollow. “Just to watch him walk away again?”

“Because he’s ours,” Seungkwan said. “Isn’t he?”

Jun looked up slowly. “Was he ever?”

--

They started showing up to places they knew he’d been.

Mingyu flew to Japan without telling the others. Waited outside a building for hours, only to find out the photo was weeks old.

DK visited the Busan café daily for a week. The barista said Joshua hadn’t returned.

Hoshi reached out to a backup dancer from a performance they saw online. When she didn’t answer, he called three times. Then ten.

Vernon spent whole nights scrolling through blurry videos on YouTube, replaying Joshua’s voice over and over.

--

One day, a new video surfaced.

Joshua on a rooftop stage, singing under string lights. A crowd cheered. He bowed, soft and serene.

But what broke them was the ending — a man stepped up beside him, tall, unfamiliar, smiling. He placed a hand on Joshua’s back. Whispered something into his ear. Joshua laughed.

Laughed.

And leaned into the touch.

--

Jeonghan threw the remote at the TV. It cracked. Glass scattered.

“Who is he?” he growled. “Who the fuck is he?”

“Maybe a producer?” Minghao offered carefully.

Seungcheol looked like he’d been punched. “A lover.”

Silence.

No one argued.

--

That night, Jeonghan dreamed of Joshua — standing just out of reach, wind tugging at his shirt.

“I waited,” Jeonghan said.

Joshua smiled. “I stopped.”

--

They tried calling his old number. It was deactivated.

They messaged every mutual contact. Most replies were vague. Polite. Empty.

“Sorry, I haven’t heard from him recently.”

“I think he’s keeping things quiet.”

“I’m not sure he wants to be found.”

--

One afternoon, Mingyu came back to the dorm, face pale.

“I saw him.”

Everyone froze.

“Where?”

“In Daehakro. He was walking. With that man. They were holding hands.”

The silence was immediate, suffocating.

“What did you do?” Seungkwan asked, barely above a whisper.

“I froze,” Mingyu confessed. “He looked… he looked like he belonged there. Like he was in love.”

DK shook his head. “No. He still loves us.”

“Then why does he smile like that with someone else?” Minghao asked, voice sharp.

--

They argued that night.

Screaming. Accusations.

“You never told him how you felt!”

“Neither did you!”

“He would’ve stayed if we—”

“Don’t put that on me!”

“We all failed him!”

Seungcheol punched the wall. Blood bloomed.

No one helped him.

--

Afterward, they sat in silence.

“Do you think he hates us?” Dino whispered.

“No,” Woozi replied, eyes wet. “I think he finally learned to love himself more.”

--

The hallucinations began with Jeonghan.

He woke up one morning and saw Joshua in the hallway.

He blinked.

Joshua was gone.

He didn’t tell anyone.

--

Hoshi stood on the roof one night, arms wrapped around himself.

“I hear his voice when it’s quiet.”

DK joined him. “I see him. Sometimes in crowds. Sometimes in my dreams.”

“I think I’m going crazy.”

“Then we all are.”

--

They saw another post weeks later — Joshua performing again, this time in Paris.

He wore a white button-up, sleeves rolled, light dancing off his cheekbones.

A fan posted: He looks like he’s alive.

--

“I’m going,” Jeonghan said.

“To Paris?” Vernon asked.

“Yes.”

Seungcheol didn’t argue.

Instead, he asked, “Take me with you.”

--

They flew out that weekend. Seven of them — the others stayed behind, watching livestreams from fans who attended.

He sang a new song. This one softer, gentler.

“You can’t love someone into staying. You can only love them enough to let them go.”

Mingyu broke down in the hotel room.

Jeonghan didn’t sleep.

--

When they returned, nothing was the same.

Joshua was no longer an absence.

He was a ghost.

They spoke of him like a myth. A legend. Something holy and lost.

And slowly, their grief turned into something twisted.

--

“He’s happy,” Vernon said one night. “But he shouldn’t be. Not without us.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Woozi snapped.

“But I want to,” Vernon said. “I want him to come back. Even if he hates me. Even if he never forgives me.”

Hoshi nodded. “I’d take the hatred. As long as he looks at me again.”

--

One by one, they began imagining alternate realities.

Seungkwan wrote lyrics he never showed anyone — poems about a boy who never left.

Dino started leaving a place for Joshua at dinner.

Minghao painted him in watercolor — always faceless.

Jeonghan kept a journal of memories he wished they had.

--

One day, Seungcheol stood in the middle of the practice room.

He looked at the mirror. At the empty spot where Joshua used to stand.

And whispered, “Come home.”

--

But he wouldn’t.

Because he wasn’t theirs anymore.

Because they broke something too sacred.

And now, all they had left was the memory of what they never truly held.

Chapter Text

The day they finally saw him again was ordinary.

No flashing lights. No dramatic music. No tears in the rain.

Just a small art gallery in Itaewon.

Minghao had found the flyer by accident. A friend had sent a story post, a quiet showcase titled "Moments in Stillness." He'd scrolled past it until he saw the name in tiny cursive at the bottom corner:

Photography by Joshua Hong.

--

"It can't be him," Seungkwan said, gripping the flyer too tightly. "Right? It can't."

Woozi grabbed it from his hands, eyes scanning the print. Jeonghan stood by the window, unmoving.

Seungcheol's voice was quiet. "It is."

That night, they didn’t sleep. They booked out a van at 3AM, sat in silence as the city darkened around them. The streets passed like memories. Jeonghan pressed his forehead to the cold window, lips moving soundlessly.

No one dared to speak of what they might find.

--

The gallery was white and minimal, the kind of space that felt too clean for the rawness of what they carried.

Joshua stood at the far end of the room, in front of one of his pieces. He wore a black turtleneck and beige coat, sleeves rolled just slightly, as though still half at home in the skin he lived in now.

He looked peaceful.

His hair had grown out. A little longer, wavier. His face was thinner, sharper around the edges.

He smiled at a guest. Bowed politely. Accepted compliments with grace.

And then his eyes met theirs.

The twelve of them.

Standing still like ghosts in a place too full of life.

Joshua blinked once. The smile faltered.

Then, gently, it returned.

"Hyung," Dino breathed.

Joshua approached slowly, each step carefully measured. There was no surprise on his face. No anger. Just something quieter.

"You came," he said.

Seungcheol stepped forward, hands shaking. "We—we saw the flyer. We didn't know... we didn't know where you were."

Joshua tilted his head. "But now you do."

Mingyu was crying. Hoshi couldn't look at him. Woozi looked like he was about to scream.

"You disappeared," Jeonghan said, voice breaking. "You left. You never even gave us a chance to fix it."

Joshua looked at him for a long time. "A chance?"

His voice wasn't angry. It wasn't sharp.

It was soft.

Worn.

"I waited for years. I watched you love each other while I begged silently to be seen. You never noticed."

Jun stepped forward. "We're sorry. We are. If we could go back—"

"But you can't," Joshua said.

Silence fell.

"I loved all of you. With everything I had. But you loved someone else more than you ever tried to love me."

"We didn't mean to," DK whispered.

"I know."

Joshua smiled. And it was heartbreaking.

"But that didn't stop it from hurting."

They stood there, surrounded by Joshua's photographs. Empty streets. Cracked teacups. Raindrops on windows. All of them framed in stillness.

All of them filled with longing.

"Are you happy?" Seungkwan asked, barely audible.

Joshua nodded slowly. "I'm healing."

Minghao's voice cracked. "Without us?"

Joshua looked around at each of them.

"I had to choose between loving you or surviving you."

He stepped back.

"And I chose me."

--

When they left the gallery, they didn’t speak.

Back in the dorm, everything felt foreign. Their rooms. Their routines. Their shared silence.

Something inside had shifted.

They weren’t mourning anymore.

They were unraveling.

--

Jeonghan sat in Joshua's old room that night, staring at the empty closet. "He looked like a stranger."

Seungcheol sat beside him. "He looked like himself. For the first time."

"He's still ours," Hoshi said suddenly.

Everyone turned.

"He is," Hoshi insisted. "He has to be. We loved him too. We still do."

"But did we ever show it when it mattered?" Woozi said bitterly.

No one answered.

--

A few days later, Mingyu dreamed of Joshua.

They were in the practice room. Joshua laughed at something, looking back at him.

"Don’t leave," Mingyu said.

Joshua smiled. "I already did."

Mingyu woke up in tears.

--

They began hallucinating him more often.

A soft laugh in the hallway.

A cup placed on the counter.

A harmony added to a demo track.

They didn’t speak of it.

But each of them saw him.

And each of them broke a little more.

--

One night, Vernon stood in the middle of the street, staring at the stars.

"You’re still ours," he whispered.

And he almost believed it.

Chapter Text

It started with Seungcheol. He sat at the kitchen table at 2AM, lit only by the fridge light. A single sheet of paper. No drafts. Just:

Shua,

I should've said it sooner. I loved you. I still do. Every version of you, even the one that left. If you ever read this, I hope you smile knowing we never stopped missing you.

- Seungcheol.

He folded it neatly, placed it in the drawer where Joshua used to keep his teas.

The next morning, Jeonghan added his own.

I'm sorry I loved you quietly. Sorry I only realized after you were gone. I think you were always the one I loved first. I just didn't know how to say it. Come back. Or don't. But please know I never stopped carrying you.

By the end of the week, there were twelve letters in the drawer.

Some written with trembling hands. Some with tear-stained ink. Each one a confession of love, of guilt, of longing.

--

Minghao suggested recording something. Not for the public. Just for him.

A demo track. A song of regret.

Woozi composed it in one night. The others stayed with him in the studio, silently layering harmonies.

No choreography. No promotions.

Just voices, and grief.

They named it “One More Chance.”

They never released it.

But they sent it to the email they hoped Joshua still checked.

No reply.

--

DK said he wanted to send something "more real."

He showed up at Joshua’s gallery two weeks later, flowers in one hand, a trembling note in the other.

He never made it inside.

He saw Joshua through the glass window, laughing with someone.

That man again. The one from Paris.

DK froze.

He stood there for thirty minutes, then turned and walked away.

He left the flowers on the doorstep.

--

"We’re healing," Vernon said one day. “Aren’t we?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer.

Healing wasn’t supposed to feel like bleeding slower.

--

Then came the video.

Seungkwan uploaded it at midnight. A private YouTube link. No tags. No title.

Just twelve voices speaking into the void.

Each took a turn.

Seungcheol: “You were never invisible to me. I just never looked closely enough.”

Minghao: “I thought if I stayed quiet, the pain would pass. I didn’t know silence could kill love.”

Jun: “I missed your jokes. Your songs. The way you always knew when I needed a hug.”

Woozi: “You were the harmony in every song. I just didn’t realize you were the melody too.”

Jeonghan, softly: “I still wait for you. Every night. Even when I know you’re not coming.”

The video ended with a single phrase:

Come home. If you want to. If it doesn’t hurt too much.

They sent the link.

No reply.

--

It was Jeonghan who saw him first.

A small bookstore, hidden in a quiet alley. Joshua was in a cream sweater, glasses perched on his nose, flipping through a poetry book.

Jeonghan stood frozen for five whole minutes.

Then he whispered, "Please. Just one more chance."

Joshua looked up.

Their eyes met.

Joshua smiled. "You look tired, Jeonghan."

"I am. Without you."

--

They met again. Once. Then twice. Then slowly, again and again.

Always in quiet places. No crowds. No chaos.

Joshua kept a gentle distance. But his smiles were warmer.

He didn’t promise anything.

Didn’t say he was coming back.

But he listened.

They poured their hearts out in pieces.

Vernon told him, "You were the reason I stayed in SEVENTEEN. Even when I hated everything else."

Dino said, "I copied the way you tied your shoes for a whole year. I wanted to be like you."

Mingyu cried for three whole minutes before he could speak.

Joshua touched his arm gently.

"I missed you," Mingyu sobbed.

Joshua didn’t say he missed them back.

But he didn’t leave.

And that was enough.

--

He attended one dinner. A small meal at the dorm. Jeonghan cooked. DK brought his favorite drinks.

Joshua laughed. Quietly. But he laughed.

When he stood to leave, Seungcheol asked, “Will we see you again?”

Joshua paused.

"Maybe."

They clung to that word like salvation.

--

Weeks passed.

Joshua visited one by one. Never the group.

He went to the studio with Woozi. Helped DK with vocals. Sat with Hoshi during choreography.

He held Jeonghan’s hand one evening.

“Do you still love me?” Jeonghan asked.

Joshua didn’t answer.

But he didn’t let go.

--

Then one night, Joshua stood on the rooftop with Seungcheol.

The city lights flickered below.

“Why now?” Seungcheol asked. “Why come back?”

Joshua looked up at the stars.

“I wanted to see if I could forgive you.”

“Did you?”

Joshua turned to him, eyes glassy. “Almost.”

--

The next morning, there was tea on the counter.

A cup for each of them.

Just like before.

Woozi wept when he saw his.

Jeonghan clutched his mug like a lifeline.

--

They didn’t know what it meant.

But it meant something.

Because for the first time in years, it felt like Joshua might stay.

Just one more chance.

And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't waste it.

Chapter Text

It began like a ripple.

One visit turned into two. Then three.

Joshua’s footsteps, once absent from the dorm, returned in whispers. Never loud. Never permanent. But felt.

He’d knock softly on the door, and someone would scramble to open it — as though afraid he might vanish again if they took too long.

The first time he came back after dinner, Jeonghan stood frozen in the doorway.

"You're here," he whispered.

Joshua offered a soft smile. "Just for tea."

It was a start.

--

That week, Joshua visited Woozi's studio twice.

They barely spoke.

But Woozi played him a demo. Joshua closed his eyes and listened.

Then he hummed a harmony.

Woozi pressed record.

They didn’t need to say much. Their music did the speaking.

When Joshua stood to leave, Woozi reached out.

“Stay longer next time.”

Joshua nodded. “Maybe.”

--

Dino was next.

Joshua showed up during dance practice.

He stood by the mirror, arms crossed, smiling faintly.

“I missed watching you,” Joshua said when the music stopped.

Dino wiped his sweat. “I missed performing for you.”

Joshua brought cold drinks.

They drank together in silence, sitting against the wall like old times.

--

The dorm changed.

Laughter returned — not as loud, not as reckless, but real.

They began cooking more, just in case Joshua dropped by.

Someone always brewed tea.

Jeonghan placed a blanket by the couch one night, just in case Joshua stayed.

He didn’t.

But the blanket remained.

--

One evening, Seungkwan caught Joshua humming in the kitchen.

He didn’t say anything — just watched.

Joshua turned. “You always stared when I cooked.”

Seungkwan smiled shyly. “You always made it look like art.”

Joshua laughed.

They cooked dinner together that night.

The others joined without being asked.

It felt like a dream.

No one dared to call it that aloud.

--

Later, in the living room, they watched an old movie.

Joshua sat between Jeonghan and Mingyu. DK curled at his feet.

For the first time, it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t forced.

Joshua leaned his head on Jeonghan’s shoulder.

Jeonghan didn’t move.

He just reached for Joshua’s hand.

And held it.

--

Woozi pulled Joshua aside the next day.

“I wrote something,” he said.

He handed Joshua a sheet of lyrics:

You came home in silence, like the moon finds the sea.

We forgot how to hold you.

But never how to need you.

Joshua read it twice.

Then hugged Woozi.

No words. Just arms wrapped tight.

--

One by one, the memories returned.

Minghao found an old polaroid. Joshua, blurry, smiling in the background.

“Even when we didn’t see him,” he said, “he was there.”

DK placed it on the fridge.

“Where he belongs.”

--

Wonwoo was the quietest.

He didn’t speak much when Joshua visited.

He watched.

Observed.

Noticed how Joshua held his teacup, how he tucked his hair behind his ear when nervous.

One night, Joshua found a book on his bed — an old poetry collection he had once mentioned in passing.

Inside, a sticky note:

Page 57 reminded me of you.

Joshua flipped to it.

And if ever I was forgotten, I hope the silence held my name gently.

He clutched the book to his chest.

The next day, he sat beside Wonwoo on the balcony.

They didn’t speak.

But they shared a blanket.

It was enough.

--

Joshua came to the dorm more frequently.

Sometimes just for five minutes.

Sometimes long enough to fall asleep on the couch.

He always left quietly.

But the air he left behind was lighter.

--

Jeonghan caught him crying once.

A quiet night. Rain tapping at the window. Joshua in the hallway, shoulders trembling.

“Why are you crying?” Jeonghan asked, stepping closer.

“I’m scared,” Joshua whispered. “Of loving you again.”

Jeonghan took his hand.

“Then let me be the brave one this time.”

--

They started rehearsing with thirteen again.

No formal announcement. No decision.

Joshua just… stood in line one day.

They didn’t question it.

They just made room.

--

The fans noticed first.

A hand on stage that hadn’t been there before.

A laugh in the background. A voice in the harmony.

#JoshuaIsBack trended in six countries.

He didn’t post anything.

But the company confirmed it quietly.

“Joshua Hong will resume selective activities with SEVENTEEN.”

The dorm exploded that night.

Seungcheol uncorked champagne.

Mingyu cried again.

Hoshi danced until dawn.

Joshua smiled and watched.

He didn’t need to be the center.

He just needed to be there.

And now, he was.

--

They took a new group photo.

Thirteen again.

But this time, Joshua stood in the middle.

Jeonghan’s arm over his shoulder.

Dino’s head against his back.

He held a cupcake.

The charm on top?

A small silver “J.”

--

That night, Jeonghan curled next to him on the couch.

“Are you happy now?”

Joshua paused.

“I’m healing.”

Jeonghan kissed his temple.

“Let us help this time.”

Joshua closed his eyes.

And for the first time in years,

he slept without dreaming of leaving.

He was home.

Chapter Text

The dorm felt different.

It wasn’t just that Joshua was back — it was the way the air shifted around him. Lighter. Warmer. Like every breath they took finally meant something again.

He didn’t sleep there every night. Not yet. But his toothbrush returned to its old place. His hoodie hung from the same hook. His name, once a silent absence, now filled the halls again with soft laughter, footsteps, quiet hums.

Mingyu walked in on Joshua folding laundry one morning. Their eyes met. Neither spoke. Mingyu just crossed the room and pulled him into a hug.

“I missed this,” he said.

Joshua’s hands trembled. “I missed you.”

They stood that way for minutes.

--

One night, Joshua wandered the dorm hallways.

It was late. Most were asleep. A soft piano melody drifted from Woozi’s room. Someone coughed from the bathroom. A kettle clicked off in the kitchen.

Joshua paused in the hallway. Just stood there.

Minghao passed by with a face mask on. He smiled and handed Joshua a glass of warm water without a word. Joshua took it, eyes soft with gratitude.

From behind him, DK called out, "Hyung, you're up? Come lie down with us."

Joshua followed him into the living room.

There, a cozy chaos: blankets everywhere, movies paused, snacks half-eaten. Hoshi was asleep on Vernon’s shoulder. DK looked up and patted the seat next to him.

Without thinking, Joshua curled between DK and Jeonghan.

It felt… right.

Jeonghan gently adjusted a pillow behind Joshua’s back. “You okay?”

Joshua leaned his head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“We’ll be here when you wake up,” DK mumbled sleepily.

And for the first time, Joshua believed it.

--

Wonwoo started reading aloud again.

It had been his quiet ritual with Joshua before — late nights, book in hand, calm voice echoing through the dim dorm.

One evening, as rain pattered against the window, Joshua sat on the floor by his bed. Wonwoo read from a dog-eared novel.

“…and in the quiet, he learned that being loved was not always loud.”

Joshua exhaled.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Wonwoo didn’t stop reading.

--

Jeonghan made tea the next morning — jasmine and lemon, the way Joshua liked it. He left it by Joshua’s door, along with a sticky note.

You make this place a home.

Joshua smiled when he saw it.

He drank the tea, warm and fragrant.

Then knocked on Jeonghan’s door.

When Jeonghan opened it, Joshua didn’t say anything.

He just wrapped his arms around him and held on tight.

--

Vernon brought out old photos one night.

He laid them on the living room table — candid shots, blurry smiles, practice room selfies.

They laughed, cringed, pointed.

Then Vernon pulled out a picture.

It was Joshua.

Alone. Sitting in a sunbeam. Eyes closed.

“I took this years ago,” he said. “Didn’t know why at the time.”

Joshua took the photo, running his thumb over the edges.

“It’s beautiful,” he said softly.

“So are you,” Seungkwan said from behind him.

Joshua turned.

Tears welled in Seungkwan’s eyes.

“You were always there. Even when we didn’t see you.”

Joshua pulled him close.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I see you now.”

--

They scheduled a group photoshoot — nothing official. Just for them.

The photographer was nervous. “All thirteen?”

Seungcheol nodded. “Yes. Thirteen.”

Joshua stood in the center.

Their hands touched.

Their shoulders pressed.

Their hearts, once scattered, found rhythm again.

Click.

Laughter.

Another click.

Then one of silence — a photo with eyes closed, heads bowed, a quiet prayer in frame.

A moment to keep.

--

Afterward, Joshua stayed late at the studio with Woozi and Minghao.

They wrote a song together.

The chorus was simple:

I left the light on, hoping you'd find your way. Now that you're home, I won't look away.

Joshua sang the guide vocal.

His voice cracked on the last note.

He didn’t retake it.

They kept the imperfection.

--

At night, the hallway glowed with warmth.

Footsteps. Laughter. Doors left ajar.

Joshua walked from room to room — offering hugs, checking in, sharing whispers.

He ended at his own room.

Seungcheol was waiting by the door.

“You’re staying tonight?”

Joshua nodded. “Yeah. I think I will.”

Seungcheol placed a hand on his shoulder.

“We love you, Shua.”

Joshua smiled.

“I know.”

--

Later that night, Joshua stood alone in the hallway, bathed in dim light.

He looked around — the rooms, the photos on the walls, the slippers lined by the door.

He exhaled.

“This… this is heaven.”

He wasn’t sure who he was talking to.

Maybe the hallway.

Maybe himself.

Maybe Minjae, wherever he was.

But it was true.

He walked back to the living room, where Mingyu was half-asleep.

“Make room,” Joshua said.

Mingyu scooted over.

Joshua lay beside him.

And slept like he used to — unafraid, surrounded by the ones he loved.

Because for the first time in forever…

he didn’t have to leave to feel seen.

He didn’t have to hurt to be held.

He didn’t have to be alone.

He was home.

Chapter Text

It started with a schedule.

Nothing out of the ordinary — just a variety show taping. Energy was high, fans watched excitedly, staff bustled around with clipboards and cameras. The members of SEVENTEEN moved as usual: smiles, laughter, inside jokes.

Only twelve of them.

To the audience — to the fans watching live or through screens — only twelve members appeared.

But to the members?

They remembered thirteen.

--

Backstage, Jeonghan leaned into the mirror, fixing his hair. “Shua, hand me that brush?” he asked casually.

DK turned, saw him reaching toward the counter — toward nothing.

He blinked.

Jeonghan smiled, took the brush, and continued styling, unaware.

Moments later, Hoshi burst in. “Joshua said he’s heading to the van already. Let’s move!”

But when they reached the van, only twelve seats were filled.

No one questioned it.

--

When the variety show aired, fans filled comment sections:

“Why is there a gap between DK and Seungcheol?”

“Are they leaving space for someone?”

“Did they forget Joshua again?”

But when SEVENTEEN watched the show together, they were silent.

They remembered Joshua laughing beside DK, nodding along with the answers, chuckling when Hoshi made his usual puns.

“Why does it look so… empty?” Vernon asked.

Jun paused the video. “He’s not in the shot.”

Minghao leaned forward. “But I talked to him during that segment. I remember. He was right there.”

DK looked uneasy. “I passed him the mic.”

They rewound the footage.

There was a moment — DK turning, holding out the mic.

To empty air.

--

“It doesn’t make sense,” Woozi muttered, scrubbing through the clip. “We all saw him. We heard him.”

“But the camera didn’t,” Seungkwan whispered.

More footage. More confusion.

In the behind-the-scenes clips, fans noticed strange things.

“Why did Hoshi hold out a snack to no one?”

“Why does Vernon say ‘Shua, you want this?’ to an empty spot?”

“Why does Woozi nod at the mirror — like someone’s behind him?”

“Why is there a gap in the group photo?”

--

Jeonghan sat on the dorm couch that evening, scrolling through fan comments.

“They’re saying we’re talking to a ghost,” he said, voice light, joking.

No one laughed.

“They think we’re imagining him.”

Jun glanced at the hallway. “Aren’t we?”

Silence.

“I felt him,” Mingyu whispered. “He was sitting next to me.”

Dino looked up, expression haunted. “What if we’re wrong?”

Seungcheol stood. “We’re not. He’s real. We all saw him.”

“Then why is there no proof?” Woozi asked.

No one had an answer.

--

That night, they gathered in the living room again. The thirteenth seat was unclaimed — but only to the camera.

Jeonghan turned to it anyway. “Pass the popcorn, Shua.”

Fans watching the live broadcast noticed instantly:

“Who’s Jeonghan talking to?”

“They’re acting like Joshua’s there. But he’s not.”

“I’m getting chills. Is this a concept?”

Woozi froze mid-bite. “Did we say his name on camera?”

“We always do,” Seungkwan said.

But the footage never shows him. His name is never picked up by the mic. His voice never captured.

Just twelve members.

And a lingering presence only they could feel.

--

That week, during a fan call event, Minghao paused as he wrote a message.

He glanced at the empty side of the table. “You want to sign too, Shua?”

The fan on the screen blinked. “Who?”

Minghao’s pen stilled.

“Joshua,” he said.

The fan tilted her head. “But… Joshua isn’t in SEVENTEEN anymore.”

He looked up. “What?”

She showed her photocard.

Only twelve members.

--

At home, Woozi dug into his computer, opening an old folder.

He had recorded something with Joshua last week — a harmony track.

He searched. Clicked.

The file was there.

But when he hit play —

Only his voice came through.

No harmony.

No trace.

Just silence.

--

In the dim kitchen that night, Mingyu stared at a cup of tea.

He didn’t remember making it.

But it was jasmine — Joshua’s favorite.

He drank it anyway.

It tasted like goodbye.

--

By morning, Jeonghan stood in the dorm hallway, breathing shallow.

“He was beside me,” he murmured.

Jun stepped closer. “I touched his shoulder. I swear it.”

“Then why does the world think he’s gone?” Dino whispered.

--

“Guys,” Wonwoo finally said that evening, voice low and rough. He was seated cross-legged near the window, staring out at the city lights. “I checked my messages.”

Everyone turned to him.

“There’s… nothing.”

Seungcheol frowned. “What do you mean nothing?”

“No texts from him. No replies. Just… blank. Like I was talking to myself.”

Jeonghan whispered, “I called him last week. We talked for an hour.”

“Then where’s the call log?” Wonwoo asked.

Jeonghan pulled out his phone. Scrolled. Slowed. Stopped.

Nothing.

--

In the rehearsal studio, Hoshi turned on the sound system.

He selected the demo Joshua had sent — a song he said he wrote for them.

It played.

Soft piano.

No voice.

He tried another. And another.

All blank.

Seungkwan began to cry.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why do I remember him brushing my hair off my face two nights ago?”

Vernon nodded, tears in his eyes. “I remember him telling me my rap sounded good.”

“I remember him laughing,” DK whispered. “I felt it. I felt him.”

--

Then Woozi found the newspaper clipping.

Joshua Hong. Memorial held one year ago.

He read the headline five times.

“No,” he said. “No, no, no—”

Seungcheol took it from him. Read it.

His knees buckled.

Jeonghan read it next.

His voice cracked. “How long?”

“One year” Woozi whispered.

“But we’ve seen him. We talked to him. We—”

Dino dropped to the floor. “No. No. Please no.”

Minghao collapsed to the couch, clutching his chest. “I hugged him last night. I hugged him.”

Jun put his head in his hands.

DK screamed.

Chapter Text

Flashback — a year ago

It was never supposed to be like this.

The dorm was too quiet that morning — as if even the air knew something had gone horribly, irreversibly wrong. A silence thick enough to suffocate, draping over each room, clinging to the furniture, pressing down on their lungs like guilt.

But guilt hadn’t reached them yet. Not in full. Not until the note.

Not until the accident.

—

Jeonghan was the one who found it. Joshua’s handwriting — familiar, delicate, the same that had scribbled birthday cards, encouragement notes, small thank-you post-its on packed lunches. Now, it was a farewell.

"Thank you for letting me stay. I hope you find peace, like I will try to. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you to notice. But I loved you anyway. All of you."

Jeonghan’s scream rattled the dorm. The note fluttered to the floor like a fallen leaf.

The others came running — bleary-eyed, confused.

“What’s going on?” Hoshi asked.

“Where’s Shua?” Seungcheol demanded.

“Is he okay?” Dino’s voice cracked.

“Hyung, answer us!”

Jeonghan could only point. The note lay still. But the silence it carried screamed.

Then the phone buzzed.

A notification.

Breaking News.

“Young man identified as Joshua Hong, member of idol group SEVENTEEN, confirmed dead in a traffic accident early this morning. Witnesses report he appeared confused, possibly distressed. Investigations ongoing. The body was identified by personal things found at the scene.”

Time didn’t slow — it stopped.

Vernon dropped his phone. Minghao stared at the phone as if it had grown fangs. DK backed against the wall and slid to the floor.

“No,” Seungkwan whispered. “No, no, no—”

“He was just here,” Mingyu gasped. “He was here last night. He made dinner. He—he folded my laundry.”

Jun sat down hard. Woozi didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“Liar,” Hoshi muttered. “He’s upstairs. He’s just sleeping—”

He ran to Joshua’s room. The door was open. The bed was stripped. The closet empty. All that remained was the scent of his cologne, faint and mocking.

Then came the crying.

And then…

The breaking.

—

Seungcheol was the first to stop accepting reality. He paced the hallway, whispering Joshua’s name under his breath like a prayer, knocking on walls as if one might open up into the past.

“He’s just gone for a walk,” he said. “He always liked walking at night.”

“Hyung,” Woozi said softly, “you saw the news.”

“I saw a mistake,” Seungcheol snapped. “News gets things wrong. He’ll come back.”

Jeonghan started making tea for thirteen people every morning.

“Shua doesn’t like chamomile,” he’d mutter, swapping bags. “He needs something stronger. Peppermint. Clears his throat.”

Dino stopped sleeping in his own bed. He curled up in Joshua’s — even after it had been stripped bare.

“I miss his humming,” he whispered one night to no one.

—

Reality twisted slowly, until none of them could tell dream from truth.

They began seeing him.

Standing in doorways.

Smiling.

Laughing.

Cooking.

Hugging them.

Joshua in the kitchen. Joshua at rehearsals. Joshua humming in the hallway.

One day, Jun burst into tears during vocal practice.

“He said my harmony was off,” Jun sobbed. “He said it with that smile. The one he always—always—”

But when they reviewed the rehearsal footage, there was no one beside Jun. Just a man crying into his own delusion.

—

More Madness. More Cracks.

Minghao began setting places for Joshua at dinner. He demanded everyone fill their water cups.

“He gets thirsty. He just doesn’t say it.”

Hoshi started wearing Joshua’s old stage outfits. “He said it looked better on me,” he told the stylist, laughing to himself. “We shared clothes. He was mine.”

DK tried to write a musical. Every character was Joshua. He reenacted scenes with empty chairs, sobbing in rehearsals when the audience (that didn’t exist) didn’t clap loud enough.

Vernon locked himself in the bathroom, singing the last ballad Joshua ever recorded with him. When staff broke down the door, he kept whispering, “Just five more minutes… He’ll be here. He’s warming up his voice.”

Mingyu started baking — but only Joshua’s favorite cookies. He stacked them on the kitchen counter. When someone threw them away, he screamed for three hours.

“HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO EAT THEM!”

—

Wonwoo's Descent.

Wonwoo stood before mirrors, painting Joshua’s face over his own.

“I want to look like him. Then they won’t forget him,” he said.

He began keeping all the old Polaroids in his pillowcase. Every night, he whispered goodnight to each photo, kissing Joshua’s face.

When a staff member suggested he see a therapist, he clawed the photos to his chest and screamed, “If I talk about him, they’ll erase him.”

—

Hospitalization.

Eventually, managers intervened.

The company couldn’t hide it. SEVENTEEN was collapsing.

One by one, they were committed.

Sedated.

Separated.

And still, they saw Joshua.

Woozi built a small altar in his room. Lit candles for him every night. Prayed to him.

“Give me one more chorus, hyung,” he whispered. “Just one more.”

Dino stared at the ceiling, eyes wide. “He’s up there. Laughing at us.”

Hoshi ripped all the bedsheets in the asylum into ribbons, tying them into thirteen-count braids.

“We’re still one. Thirteen. Thirteen. THIRTEEN!”

—

Final Fragment.

Jeonghan sat in Room 13, holding a cracked teacup.

He stared across the table at nothing.

“I saved you the bigger half. I know you hate crumbs.”

A nurse entered.

“Jeonghan-ssi…”

He didn’t move.

“He promised. He said he’d come back.”

The nurse placed a blanket over his shoulders.

“He’s been gone a long time.”

“No,” Jeonghan said, shaking his head slowly. “We’re just waiting for his entrance. Curtain hasn’t fallen yet.”

She turned away.

He poured another cup.

“Cheers, Shua.”

The silence was louder than grief.

And SEVENTEEN — or what remained of them — was frozen in it forever.