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The beat thumps, bass heavy enough to shake the floor. Lights flicker in wild bursts as they tear across the stage.
They are halfway through the set, and Minho is running on adrenaline and stubborn pride — hot and breathless, sweat sticking his clothes to his skin.
Topline echos through the air, loud and alive.
Jisung had just launched into his part, voice sharp and fast, when he pauses. Just barely. A blink. A hiccup in the rhythm.
And then it happens.
A bug — a real one, wings glinting under the stadium lights — swoops down like it has a VIP pass and a score to settle.
Minho flinches automatically, dodging in case it makes him it’s victim.
But no.
No, of course not.
Instead, it chooses Jisung, landing on his finger.
And instead of the shriek Minho fully expects — the flailing arms, the panicked eyes, and the chaotic scrambling that usually follows any insect encounter — Jisung just… stares at it. Soft and unmoving.
Minho’s brain short-circuits.
Jisung’s afraid of bugs, he thinks to himself.
Not mildly grossed out, he’s terrified. The kind of fear that makes him climb furniture and demand exile for anything with wings or too many legs.
Minho doesn’t move. He finds he can’t. His body is stuck somewhere between performance mode and a full on mental breakdown.
Jisung, now cradling his hand like it holds spun glass, lifts it slowly to show the camera.
“It’s a bug,” he announces, beaming. “Guys, it’s a bug.”
The crowd screams like he’d just revealed the setlist for the next comeback.
Minho blinks. Once. Then twice.
Of course it’s a bug. They are seriously losing their minds over a fucking bug?
Jisung doesn't stop after the announcement. Doesn’t shake the bug off to refocus on the show.
That would be too normal.
Instead, he gently turns as the song ends and walks across the stage like a man on a mission, hand still lifted in front of him like it holds a flame that might go out if he’s not careful.
And the bug?
The bug just sits there. Smug, probably.
Minho decides he hates it.
He watches Jisung make a beeline for Jeongin first, who’s adjusting his in-ears near the front corner. He practically bounces up to the other, all wide eyes and wonder, like he can’t wait a second longer to share the so-called ‘miracle’ in his hand.
Jeongin leans in, clearly curious.
Then blinks. And blinks again. The same reaction as Minho.
Except, then he smiles.
Not a fake stage smile either. A real one. Soft and amused, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges as he nods like, yeah… okay, hyung… you’re kind of insane, but I love you anyway.
Minho watches it happen in slow motion, heart cracking. His son. His own flesh and blood — not really, but basically — betraying him without hesitation, without even looking back.
Minho’s eye twitches in frustration.
Jisung beams at Jeongin’s reaction like he’s just received another coveted cheek kiss. Then, still cradling the bug, he makes his way over to Hyunjin. The man clocks what’s happening immediately and takes three large steps back.
Jisung follows.
Hyunjin’s hands fly up, dramatically waving in the air.
He’s shouting something, probably along the lines of ‘Get it away from me,’ based on the pure panic in his expression, but Jisung just laughs — that bright, boyish sound that always makes Minho’s chest do something inconvenient — before leaning in anyway, offering the bug like a peace treaty.
And Hyunjin surprisingly relents. Sure, he peers at it from a full arm’s length away, nose wrinkled in disgust, but he still gives the most reluctant thumbs-up Minho has ever seen.
The crowd loses it again, Jisung glowing at the cheers echoing through the stadium.
Minho can’t understand for the life of him.
Jisung hates bugs. Hyunjin hates bugs. They all hate bugs.
And yet here they are, smiling and bonding over one like it’s some magical forest sprite instead of a glorified housefly.
Is this what losing your mind feels like?
Or worse, is this what being left out feels like?
Because Minho isn’t smiling.
Jisung hasn’t shown him the bug. Jisung still hasn’t shown him the damn bug.
Minho should’ve known better. He should’ve walked away, waved at the fans, literally anything else.
But no.
He stays right where he is, rooted near the back of the stage, frown plastered on his face and arms crossed tight over his chest, watching as Bug Jesus makes his rounds.
After Hyunjin, comes Changbin.
Jisung approaches him with that same giddy bounce, holding out his hand like it’s full of treasure.
Changbin does a double take, laughing when Jisung shows him the bug — that maniac, high pitched giggle that always makes everyone instinctively brace for whatever craziness is in store.
At first, Minho hopes he’ll dismiss it, wave it off, maybe even swat at it like a normal person. But instead, Changbin leans in, tilting his head to get a closer look, before giving it a thumbs up. As if it’s something to respect. As if the bug has somehow earned its spot among the other members.
Minho rolls his eyes as Changbin’s knowing gaze flicks over, landing right on him.
And that’s it. Minho doesn’t even need to say a word. The look on his face says everything he’s thinking for him and more.
Changbin’s grin twists into something smug, lips quirking like he’s just figured out a delicious secret. He raises an eyebrow, turning back to Jisung with exaggerated awe before sending Minho a wink — just to twist the knife stabbing into his back.
He narrows his eyes, mouthing a silent traitor across the stage.
Changbin only laughs harder.
Felix is next, bounding over like a golden retriever the moment Jisung waves him down. And of course, he gasps like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen, hands cupped to his mouth like he’s having to physically restrain his joy.
Minho stares in silent betrayal as Felix coos over the bug like it’s the ninth member of their group. His Felix. His fourth kitty. The one who clings to him backstage and calls him ‘Minho-hyung’ with stars in his eyes. That Felix has chosen a bug. A bug, over him.
He can hardly believe it. He watches, scandalized, as Felix’s eyes widen, sparkling like he’s meeting a celebrity.
And then he takes out his phone.
His phone.
Minho’s mouth falls open.
Is he—is Felix taking pictures of the bug?
Felix is actually taking photos.
Minho’s jaw drops in shock. How can he do this? How can his sweet, loyal Felix just switch teams without warning?
Minho looks away, scowling. The betrayal isn’t merely professional anymore. It’s personal.
Chan gets to see the bug next.
Minho should’ve known the second Jisung veers toward center stage, still cradling the bug like a holy artifact.
Chan sees him coming and blinks — like a parent bracing themselves for whatever chaos their kid is about to unleash. But instead of brushing him off, he listens with the same patient fondness he always reserves for the younger members whenever they get particularly unhinged.
And then he nods.
Seriously. Solemnly. Like Jisung has just shared something profound and not, you know, a fucking insect.
Minho nearly snaps right there.
But what truly shatters him is Seungmin.
Sarcastic Seungmin. Savage Seungmin. The one person Minho was quietly counting on to restore some sort of dignity to the group. He stands, hands in his pockets, pretending not to care as Jisung approaches with wide eyes, whispering, “Look.”
Minho crosses his arms, waiting for a dry ‘that’s disgusting’ or a dismissive scoff. Or maybe even for the other to try batting the bug away.
But it doesn’t come.
Seungmin leans a little closer and smiles. Just like the rest.
It’s not big. Not dramatic. Just a tiny tug at the corners of his mouth, his eyes softening just enough to register as genuine interest. Like he actually sees it. Like he gets it.
Minho feels it in his chest. That’s it.
The final betrayal.
Because if even Seungmin is on the bug’s side, then Minho is truly alone.
He stares at Jisung laughing, still cradling the bug like it’s something delicate and rare, a raw and bitter feeling screaming inside him.
They’ve always shared things first. Songs. Stupid inside jokes. The first taste of whatever snack they were trying. Even silence — the good kind, the kind that only existed between people who didn’t need to fill it. They shared that too.
Minho has never once had to ask for a space in Jisung’s world before, he’s always just been automatically included. They come as a set, a two-for-one package deal.
But now, seeing Jisung light up over some tiny, winged thing and show everyone else before even glancing his way, Minho feels something cold settle painfully behind his ribs.
It isn’t just about the bug. It’s the shift — the quiet, invisible space between him and Jisung that’s never been there before.
For the first time in a long time, Minho feels forgotten.
And just when he thinks things can’t get any worse, Jisung looks out at the crowd, holding the bug aloft with a huge smile.
“I think,” he shouts, with all the confidence of a man delirious from the heat, “we must be soulmates.”
The crowd erupts into excited cheers. Felix claps like a proud parent. Hyunjin shrieks from a safe distance.
Minho feels his soul physically leave his body.
Soulmates? With a bug?
He had trained and performed beside Jisung for years. Held him through panic attacks. Shared hotel beds and half-written lyrics. Given every part of himself he’d kept safely hidden away.
And now some fucking insect with probably a two-hour lifespan gets the title of soulmate?
His title?
Minho stares at Jisung’s hand in silence, rage bubbling up inside him at a slow simmer. That bug has no idea how close it is to being vaporized by sheer pettiness alone.
He senses the other coming before he even turns to look.
Jisung, still filled with pride, is finally heading his way, finger outstretched like he’s presenting him with a gift. Minho decides it’s the complete opposite.
The others have gone back to their spots, laughing, adjusting mics, and interacting with fans. But Jisung? He’s zeroed in on Minho.
He clenches his jaw.
He can feel his pout deepening, arms crossed tighter than ever. Maybe if he looks bothered enough, Jisung will get the hint and walk away.
He doesn’t.
“Hyung,” Jisung says, breathless and delighted, “you have to meet him.”
Minho glances at the bug, still happily perched on Jisung’s finger like it owns it. Then he looks back at Jisung’s wide-eyed smile, full of innocence and way too much affection for something with six legs.
And he finally snaps.
Without a word, he leans forward just enough to purse his lips and give a quick, passive-aggressive blow in the bug’s direction. Just shy of rude, but definitely not friendly.
Before the stupid thing can even wobble, a hand smacks his arm.
“Hyung!” Felix gasps dramatically, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. “You wouldn’t!”
Minho shoots him a look. He’s sure if he had cat ears, they’d be laying flag against his head in displeasure. “I would.”
Felix latches onto his arm like he’s holding back a criminal. “Don’t commit murder on stage, there’s cameras!”
Minho rolls his eyes. “It’s not murder, it’s… pest control.”
Jisung bursts out laughing at that.
“You’re such a liar,” he huffs between giggles. “I know you’re pretending. You love him.”
Minho’s mouth drops open. “Love—?”
Jisung holds the bug a little closer, eyes sparkling. “Come on, just say hi. He hasn’t bitten anyone… yet.”
Minho stares. At the bug. At Jisung. At Felix, who’s still clinging to his arm.
This is what I’ve been reduced to.
He snorts and looks away, jaw latched tight.
But Jisung just grins wider, mistaking his silence for surrender.
“See? I knew you’d warm up to him.”
And Minho stands there, mic in hand, heart thudding hard in his chest, trying not to let his emotions show as he decides there actually is something even worse than being jealous of a bug.
Jisung not even noticing how he feels.
He thinks it’s a bit. Stage banter, fan service, another joke to laugh about later.
Jisung has no idea that it’s real for Minho.
That watching him smile like that — like the bug was chosen, like the whole thing had meant something — felt like Minho was being replaced.
He closes his eyes as the sounds of the crowd wash over him, distant, like static.
He doesn’t hate the bug.
Not really.
He’s just jealous of a bug capturing Jisung’s attention without even trying.
Of a bug stealing something Minho hadn’t even realized until now that he wants reserved for him and him alone.
Minho forces a smile — the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes — and tries to let the moment pass.
The rest of their set goes by in a blur, none of it reaching him.
Not really.
Because all he can think about is that look. That smile.
And the fact that this time, it hadn’t been for him.
**********
Back at the hotel, the others scatter quickly. Some go to shower, some to order room service, some probably already laughing about the whole thing in the group chat Minho hasn’t opened yet.
But Minho just sits on the edge of his bed, towel around his neck, hair damp, staring blankly down at his phone.
He hasn’t opened any messages. Hasn’t checked Instagram or Threads for the dozens of photos or videos fans have already posted from the show.
He doesn’t have the energy to scroll through Jisung’s face lit up onstage, and he definitely doesn’t want to see the moment that has somehow broken both his brain and the internet, on repeat.
The moment with the bug.
God. It’s so stupid.
But he can’t stop thinking about it.
Not even about the bug itself, really — it was small, ordinary, now probably stuck in an air vent or long gone through some backstage corridor.
But the moment itself.
The look on Jisung’s face when it landed. The way he’d smiled like it was fate. Like something other than Minho had truly resonated with him.
He’d seen that expression before.
The soft curve of his mouth, the light in his eyes, the kind of infectious joy that splits Jisung open from the inside out.
And none of it — not even a single piece of it — had been for Minho. Not this time.
It’s stupid. He knows that, objectively speaking. It’s a bug. A silly joke blown way out of proportion.
But Minho can’t bring himself to laugh about it.
Because that look — the one Jisung gives when something feels real and rare, when something matters to him — that look had always belonged to Minho.
Or at least, Minho thinks it has. He’s spent so long catching glimpses of it when no one else was watching. In stolen glances on stage or during interviews, enjoying the way Jisung seems to instinctively soften around him.
It’s his.
It’s always been his.
And now it’s burned into a concert screen forever — Jisung offering it up to something with no soul, like it didn’t mean anything.
Minho lays back, staring at the ceiling — his phone long tossed aside.
He doesn’t want to be dramatic. He doesn’t want to feel so strongly over something so insignificant.
But some small, bruised part of him can’t stop whispering how that’s supposed to be only his.
And for the first time in a long time, Minho doesn’t feel like he’s on the same wavelength as Jisung. Doesn’t know if the other even realizes he’s taken something away from Minho that means everything to him.
There’s a knock.
Minho doesn’t move at first — just lifts his head slightly from where it rests against the headboard, eyes dragging to the door like it’s personally offending him.
Another knock, gentler this time. Hesitant.
A signal Jisung already realizes that something is up.
Minho stays still for a second longer, hoping maybe the silence might send him away. But it never does. It never has.
So he stands up with a tired sigh, padding across the carpet, and opening the door.
Jisung stands there, hoodie draped over slightly curled hair, face still pink from the heat of the shower. He holds a bottle of water in one hand, an awkward half-smile gracing his features.
“Hey,” he says, a little too casual.
Minho leans against the doorframe. “What?”
“Can I come in?”
Minho doesn’t answer, just stepping aside.
Jisung slips in without comment, setting the water on the nightstand like it’s a peace offering. The silence hangs heavy between them, thick with everything unsaid.
“You disappeared pretty fast,” Jisung starts eventually, not looking at him. He sits on the edge of Minho’s bed, hands resting between his knees. “Didn’t say anything after the show.”
“I was tired.”
“Everyone was tired,” Jisung responds quietly. “But you looked… upset.”
Minho crosses his arms, jaw tight. “I wasn’t upset.”
“Then what were you?”
Minho doesn’t answer.
Jisung waits. Always too patient when it comes to anything Minho.
Minho looks at him — really looks — and hates how his first instinct is to lie. To brush it off. To tell him it’s nothing and go back to pretending the jealousy isn’t sinking its teeth in, rooting itself in his chest.
But the pain from Jisung giving the bug his look still lingers in his mind.
So Minho asks, voice low. “Did you even realize you gave it the look?”
Jisung blinks at his words, confusion painted on his features. “Um… Gave who what look?”
Minho’s throat is dry as he forces himself to continue. “The one you get when something matters to you.”
A pause.
Jisung’s brows furrow slightly. “You mean... the bug... when I smiled at it?”
“You beamed at it,” Minho corrects him, a little too fast. “You gave it your attention, saying that it chose you. That it mattered. That you were soulmates.”
Jisung blinks again, slower this time. “It—it was just a joke, hyung. It was supposed to be funny.”
Minho’s voice drops. “Yeah. I know.”
But it doesn’t feel funny.
Not when Minho had spent so long trying to earn that same look, his heart so sure that it belonged to only him.
Not when his look had been handed so easily to something that didn’t even understand or appreciate it. That didn’t deserve to be called Jisung’s soulmate, even as a joke.
And now, in the quiet, Jisung finally looks at him — really looks — and something in his face shifts.
Like he understands. Like he sees Minho.
Jisung, still sitting on the edge of the bed, tilts his head slightly.
“So…” he says slowly, “you were jealous of a bug?”
Minho groans, dragging a hand down his face, feeling the ridiculousness of the situation. “Don’t.”
“No, no—wait—this is kind of huge,” Jisung grins, standing now. “Lee Minho, brought to his knees by a bug?”
“It wasn’t because of the bug,” Minho mutters, though it’s half-hearted at best.
“Sure,” Jisung teases, eyes glittering with amusement. “You just happened to glare at it like it committed a crime against you, personally.”
Minho scowls, but it doesn’t land — not really — because Jisung is closer now.
He sits beside him, knee bumping his own, eyes dancing. “You should’ve just told me, you know.”
“Told you what?” Minho asks, stubbornly.
“That you wanted my fingers all to yourself.”
Minho chokes on air. “Jisung— ”
Jisung laughs, warm and bright, and Minho feels his heart speed up too quick for his own good.
Before he can storm out of his own room or throw a pillow at the other, Jisung’s voice softens, the teasing edge giving way to something gentler.
“You know, about the look…”
Jisung holds Minho’s gaze, eyes filled with fondness and love.
“I don’t smile like that for just anything,” he continues, quieter now. Sincere. “I only ever smile like that when it’s you. The bug… it just made me think of you. It chose me to keep it safe, just like you did, Hyung.”
Minho sucks in a sharp breath, surprised at how fast his heart reacts. Surprised that Jisung always knows just what to say to land beneath his guard.
But before he can respond, before he has a chance to stumble over his own tongue, Jisung reaches out and gently catches his wrist. His fingers are warm. Steady.
Minho meets his eyes, and something in him unravels at Jisung’s words. The weight of them, the truth of them, and all the feelings currently welling up inside Minho, threatening to spill over like a dam.
He kisses him.
Not to prove a point. Not to claim anything. Just… because he needs to.
Jisung smiles into it — slow, sure, and so him — like he knew it’d been coming and was just waiting for Minho to catch up all along.
The kiss lingers, gentle and unhurried, something both of them have already lived through a thousand times before.
When they finally pull apart, Minho’s eyes are still half-closed, and Jisung is smiling like the world has tipped back into place.
“See?” Jisung whispers, thumb brushing lightly against Minho’s wrist. “Told you I’ll always pick you.”
Minho blinks at him, throat tight — stunned silent, not by the words, but by how easy Jisung makes them sound. Like it has never been a question. Like the answer has always been him.
Jisung giggles softly, breaking Minho from his thoughts. “You really thought a bug was gonna beat you? Come on, Hyung.”
Minho’s ears go red at Jisung’s words, but he’s already smiling, helpless and crooked — bunny teeth on full display.
“You’re never living this down,” Jisung adds, leaning his head lightly against Minho’s shoulder.
Minho exhales, finally letting himself relax, the weight in his chest lifting just enough to let the warmth in.
And maybe he won’t live it down.
But right then, with Jisung beside him, still smiling like he means every word, looking at him like he’s the only thing that matters — Minho can’t find it in himself to care.
Because at this moment, he doesn’t have to guess. Doesn’t need to wonder.
It’s just Jisung and Minho, and everything that has always been quietly and unmistakably theirs.
Minho lets out a slow breath, feeling steady.
Feeling home.
**********
It starts as a joke.
Felix is the one who kicks it off, throwing himself dramatically across the couch and declaring, “We can’t just move on. He was a member of this group. No matter how short-lived.”
Jisung gasps, nodding in agreement. “You’re right, Lixie. He deserves a send off.”
Within minutes, they’ve cleared a corner of the green room and transformed it into a makeshift shrine. A black t-shirt is draped over a folding chair like ceremonial cloth. A lightstick box sits on top like a coffin.
And inside, Hyunjin places a carefully folded sketch of the bug — complete with a crown, wings, and little heart-shaped sunglasses.
Jisung stands front and center, hands folded like he’s preparing to deliver an awards speech.
“We are gathered here today to honor our beloved friend and fellow performer,” he begins solemnly. “He lived fast, he flew hard, and he landed with purpose.”
Felix clutches a tissue. Hyunjin lights a stick of incense. Jeongin drops a rose petal into the box. Changbin cues soft piano music on his phone. Chan stands off to the side, silently nodding like a funeral director. And Seungmin… just waves down at the doodle.
It’s dumb. So, so dumb.
“You gonna cry next?” Changbin smirks, knowingly nudging Minho’s arm.
Jeongin clasps his hands together. “Do you want us to give you a moment with the body?”
Minho rolls his eyes. “You’re all insane.”
“Come on,” Felix nudges him forwards. “Say goodbye. Closure is healthy.”
Minho doesn’t move.
He tries to keep his expression unreadable — but apparently it’s not unreadable enough.
Because when Jisung kneels dramatically beside the "coffin" and whispers, “He was my true love, my soulmate” Minho can’t keep his jaw from clenching.
It’s subtle.
But it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Chan sees it first. Then Seungmin. Then Hyunjin, who nearly drops the incense stick he’d been holding.
“Oh my god, ” Chan whispers. “You were jealous of the bug.”
“I was not—”
Minho’s protest comes out too quickly. Too forcefully. Too guilty.
“You were!” Hyunjin gasps, looking delighted. “You were jealous of a bug!”
“I wasn’t jealous,” Minho snaps, not helping his case in the slightest. “I was... annoyed. There’s a difference.”
Seungmin blinks, silent judgement coming off him in waves. “Annoyed that Jisung gave a bug more attention than you?”
Minho’s silence is louder than anything else he could’ve said.
And that’s it — the room explodes.
Felix lets out a gasp so dramatic it might’ve been rehearsed. Hyunjin drops to his knees beside the shoebox like he’s reenacting a K-drama betrayal. Changbin looks personally offended that no one else picked up on it sooner.
“You glared at him during Topline!” Felix giggles, the realization finally hitting him. “I thought you were mad at the lighting!”
“I told you he was giving jealous soulmate energy,” Changbin grins, giving Minho a wink.
He just groans in response, dragging a hand over his face. “I hate all of you.”
And Jisung… Jisung stays quiet.
Not from surprise — not really — just watching with that same soft gaze. The one that always makes Minho feel like his walls had never existed to begin with.
He steps closer without saying anything, just close enough to brush against Minho’s side. No teasing. No gloating.
Just... there.
And maybe that’s what makes Minho finally give in.
He sighs, stepping forward and staring down at the stupid shoebox with an attempted glare.
“He was annoying,” Minho finally mutters. “Intrusive. Had no boundaries. Zero respect for the choreography.”
The room is still. Waiting.
“But,” he adds, slower now, “he was kind of fearless. Bold. Picked his moment and went for it. You have to admire that.”
The words hang in the air longer than he means for them to.
Minho looks down at the ridiculous little shrine — the shoebox coffin, the paper crown, the doodled wings — and feels something in his chest uncoil, just slightly.
And the ridiculousness hits him, all at once.
A bug.
He’d actually been jealous of a bug.
The thought makes his face heat, but for once, it doesn’t come with a scowl. Just a slow, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
It’s insane. Absolutely unhinged.
Only he could be petty enough to hate a bug.
He glances sideways.
Jisung catches him looking and tilts his head, all fond eyes and teasing smile. Like he knows what he’s thinking.
Minho looks away, lips twitching.
Only Jisung could’ve made him jealous of a bug.
He’d never live it down.
But he didn’t mind.
As long as that look belonged to him.
**********