Archive of Our Own ^beta

The city was warm with the buzz of the late afternoon sun and lazy weekend energy. Jisung had one hand tucked in the pocket of his hoodie and the other curled around the shoulder strap of his bag as he walked beside Felix. They were off shift, fucking finally, and Felix had been practically glowing the entire way downtown—teasing Jisung about how slow he walked, how predictable he was, and how he always forgot where Minho’s favorite bakery was. Jisung let him have it. The sound of Felix laughing again like this? It made every burned-out nerve in his body settle.

It had been months since they got Felix back, almost a year since the darkest days of all their lives. Jisung still had to take a breath every time Felix left his line of sight. But they never said that out loud—not to Felix, anyway. Instead, there was a group chat. Just him, Minho, and Chan. Their shared refuge for quiet worry.

Chan: how’s he doing?

Han: he’s already dragged me into 2 cafes and a flower shop. He’s glowing.

Minho: you’re not allowed home without a gift

Jisung snorted softly and glanced at Felix, who was admiring a window display of pressed flower bookmarks. “Minho says you’ve weaponized charm and I’m under strict order to return home with tribute.”

Felix turned with a crooked grin and tilted his head. “Tribute? That sounds about right. Ask him if the gift rule applies to me.”

Han: does the gift rule apply to him too

Minho: yongbok can do whatever he wants

Jisung laughed out loud this time, the sound surprising even himself with how light it felt. “He says you win. Again.”

Felix puffed out his chest in playful pride and stuck out his tongue like a victorious kid. “Tell him I expect dinner on the table when I get home. Candlelit.”

Jisung rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. Felix reached out and grabbed his wrist, tugging him forward. “Come on, let’s go to that one trinket shop you and Minho like before you tattle.”

They barely made it a few steps when Felix came to a sudden halt, grabbing Jisung’s hoodie sleeve with a gasp so dramatic it had passerbys turning.

“Jisungie,” he said with hushed urgency, his eyes wide and glittering. “A gacha machine.”

Jisung followed his gaze to the capsule toy machine wedged between a snack stand and a bench. Rows of tiny plastic domes lined the inside, promising everything from miniature sushi keychains to sparkly costume jewelry. Felix was already fishing out coins from his pocket.

Jisung groaned good-naturedly. “Lix-ah, these things are literally rigged.”

“That’s quitter talk,” Felix shot back, slapping two coins into Jisung’s hand and dragging him closer. “Pick a capsule, your destiny awaits.”

Jisung sighed, but when Felix was looking at him like that—expectant and glowing, cheeks flushed from the heat of the mall and the thrill of impulse—how could he say no?

They both twisted the knobs at the same time. Twin clunks echoed from the machine as their capsules dropped into the tray. Felix scooped his up, popping it open immediately, while Jisung cracked his open with the same mild suspicion he used when checking mystery leftovers in the firehouse fridge.

Felix blinked. Jisung stared.

Inside each of their capsules was a plastic ring—silver-toned and molded into a tiny heart on a glittery pink bank, absolutely identical to each other.

Felix gasped, loud and theatrical. “We got matching ones!”

Jisung stared at him. “This is the gayest thing we’ve ever done.”

“Correction,” Felix said, already slipping the ring onto his pinky. “This is the cutest thing we’ve ever done. Look!”

He held out his hand proudly, wiggling his fingers so the cheap plastic caught the light. “It fits perfectly. That means it’s fate.”

Han rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Guess we’re married now.”

Felix beamed. “I accept your proposal.”

“Wait, I never—”

Too late. Felix was already grabbing Jisung’s hand and ceremoniously sliding the second ring onto his pinky. It was a tight fit, but it held.

“There,” Felix said, stepping back and folding his hands in mock solemnity. “You may now call me your husband.”

“I’m pretty sure I should be the husband,” Jisung muttered. “I’m taller.”

He looked at their hands, matching rings glinting side by side and felt a warmth settle somewhere deep in his chest.

“Let’s never tell Minho about this,” he said eventually, his voice light.

Felix just grinned and tugged him forward. “Too late. I’m texting him now.”

They had barely taken ten steps from the gacha machine when Felix suddenly veered them to the left with a delighted squeak.

“Hannie, look at this!”

Jisung looked up to find Felix already halfway into a boutique accessory store, his hand disappearing into a pyramid-shaped mountain of bucket hats stacked on a low display. Most were simple: beige, black, maybe a pastel blue. But the one Felix tugged out was a monstrosity of color, neon green with a frog face stitched on the front and floppy limbs hanging from the sides.

“Oh my god,” Jisung said, horrified. “That’s a hate crime.”

Felix didn’t even blink. He was too busy jamming the thing onto his head with both hands, his blonde hair sticking out from underneath at odd angles Jisung didn’t fully understand. The hat promptly swallowed his entire forehead and drooped low over his eyes, nearly covering half his face.

“I think it’s a statement,” Felix said seriously, his voice muffled beneath the fabric. He tried to tip his chin up but the brim flopped forward like a curtain. “A fashion statement.”

Jisung cackled, stumbling a step back to get a full view. “You look like a toddler who raided their older brother’s closet.”

Felix beamed proudly from beneath the rim. “And yet, I’m still pulling it off.”

He tilted his head, the frog limbs swinging comically. “Right?”

Jisung bit his lip, trying to hold back more laughter. (he failed) “You look like you’re about to start croaking for attention.”

“Croaking for your attention,” Felix corrected with an over exaggerated wink, reaching out blindly to poke at Jisung’s chest. “And it worked.”

Jisung groaned, but he was smiling again, smiling so hard it hurt a little. “Please take that off before mall security asks us to leave.”

“Only if you try it on after me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re scared you won’t look as good as me, I get it.”

“I’m scared I’ll catch whatever brain worm made you think that hat was wearable.”

Felix just laughed, tipping the hat up enough to finally see Jisung’s face. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining with mischief and that familiar sparkle that made Jisung’s chest tighten with something too big to name.

Eventually, Felix did relinquish the frog hat (after Jisung made him swear on their wedding rings that he wouldn’t buy it) and they wandered out of the store, still laughing. Felix’s hair was slightly mussed from the hat and his cheeks were pink from laughter, and Jisung found himself sneaking glances, committing the image to memory.

They strolled aimlessly for a bit, passing shops and kiosks, until the unmistakable sound of clinking coins and digital fanfare drifted toward them. Felix perked up like a dog hearing a squeaky toy.

“Han!” He grabbed his sleeve. “Is that an arcade?”

Jisung didn’t even have time to answer before Felix was already dragging him in the direction of the blinking neon sign. “Oh no,” Jisung muttered, only half pretending to resist. “You’re going to get cocky again like last time.”

Felix looked over his shoulder, smirking. “Because I won last time.”

“You cheated.”

“It’s not cheating just because I’m more talented.”

They stepped into the arcade, the lights low and flickering, and the machines surrounding them humming with energy and childhood memories. The smell of popcorn and old tokens hit them instantly, and Felix’s eyes went wide as he took it all in.

“Pick your game,” Jisung said, already reaching for his wallet. “Winner gets bragging rights. Loser has to tell Minho what they bought.”

Felix’s grin widened. “Dance battle?”

Jisung blinked. “You’re serious?”

“You scared?”

Jisung narrowed his eyes, and handed over his card to get tokens. “You’re on.”

The screen lit up with pulsing colors as the song selection counted down. Felix was already stretching, rolling his shoulders and bouncing in place like he was preparing for a professional competition. Jisung eyed him with growing suspicion.

“You’ve been practicing, haven't you?”

Felix smirked without looking at him, selecting a difficulty that made Jisung audibly gulp. “I may or may not play on my days off. What’s it to you?”

“Nerd,” Jisung muttered, cracking his knuckles as the countdown started.

The beat dropped, and suddenly the machine was alive with arrows and color. Felix moved like he was made of rhythm—light on his feet, sharp and smooth at once, utterly focused and grinning all the while. The arcade lights danced over his skin as he jumped and turned and hit every step with prevision.

Jisung tried his best to keep up. He wasn’t bad, by any means— but halfway through the second chorus, he realized he was gasping for breath while Felix still looked like he was having fun. Jisung stumbled on a left arrow, caught up again, then cursed under his breath when Felix threw in a little spin just to show off.

“You’re not even trying to win with dignity!”

Felix just giggled and winked. “Who needs dignity when you’ve got style?”

By the time the final pose hit, Jisug was hunched over, hands on his knees, while Felix stood tall with his arms up like a victorious gladiator. The screen flashed:

PLAYER 1 - WINNER

PLAYER 2 - nice try 😬

Felix doubled over laughing at the emoji, and Jisung flipped him off.

“You’re not human,” he wheezed.

“I’m just built different,” Felix beamed, tossing his hair dramatically. “And now, as your dance battle champion, I demand my prize.”

“Bragging rights weren’t enough?” Jisung asked, still catching his breath.

“Nope,” Felix said, hooking his arm through Han’s. “You owe me ice cream. Loser pays.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

Felix leaned his head dramatically on Jisung’s shoulder as they walked toward the exit. “Please, Hannie~ It’s hot, and I just burned, like, a thousand calories embarrassing you.”

Jisung rolled his eyes but smiled. “Fine. But I get a bite of whatever you order.”

“Deal. As long as it’s not mint chocolate. I don’t negotiate with toothpaste lovers.”

Jisung gasped in mock offense. “You take that back.”

The ice cream parlor was tucked into the corner of the mall, its pink-and-blue awning casting soft pastel hues over the countertop. Felix leaned forward against the glass, eyes flicking over every flavor like they were national treasures. Jisung stood beside him with a small smirk, already knowing exactly which one Felix would land on.

“Let me guess,” Jisung drawled. “Brownie batter with extra cookie dough.”

Felix gasped and dramatically placed a hand on his chest. “You do know me!”

Jisung shook his head, watching fondly as Felix beamed up at the server and ordered his usual, chatting with them like he hadn’t just destroyed his best friend in dance battle minutes earlier. His lightness felt so real again lately—like the shadows that used to cling to him had learned to loosen their grip.

As Felix took his cone, Jisung's phone buzzed. He frowned slightly.

“Hey, I’ve gotta step out for a second. Minho texted—something about his car keys,” Jisung said, already pulling his phone up to call.

Felix waved him off with a grin. “Go save your husband. I’ll be here with my chocolate heaven.”
Jisung walked a few paces away, distracted by the call.

Felix barely had a second to take a blissful bite before two guys wandered over, mid-twenties and clearly trying way too hard to look casual.

“Hey,” the taller one said, smiling a little too confidently. “Did it hurt?”

Felix blinked. “When I tripped over your awful pickup line?”

The shorter one laughed. “Nah, I think he meant when you fell from heaven.”

Felix grimaced, half-laughing despite himself. “Wow. Original.”

“Aw, come on,” Tall Guy said. “Let us buy you another cone. Or dinner. Or both.”

Felix stepped back slightly, tongue frozen mid-lick. “I’m good, really—”

That’s when a warm arm suddenly wrapped around his shoulders.

“There you are, baby,” Jisung’s voice said, syrup-sweet but steel underneath. “I go one minute and you're already collecting admirers?”

The guys stiffened, eyes darting between them.

“Boyfriend?” one asked hesitantly.

“Very,” Jisung confirmed, tightening his arm protectively. “So maybe back off.”

The guys muttered something under their breath and shuffled away, and Felix immediately snorted into his ice cream.

“That was incredible,” he whispered. “My big strong twin-hyung rescuing me like a knight in a bomber jacket.”

Jisung puffed his chest up, not bothering to hide how proud he was. “Well, someone’s gotta keep the groupies in line.”

Felix giggled, reaching up to squeeze Jisung’s bicep. “God, you’re so buff. So protective. So dreamy. Chris’s gonna be furious when he hears you stepped into his role.”

At the mention of Chan’s name, Jisung visibly paused, throat working around a swallow. The mood dropped just a little, not because Felix had done anything wrong, but because they both knew the truth behind that name.

Chan had been on edge ever since everything with Felix had gone down. Possessive, scared, and sharp around the edges. Jokes didn’t land like they used to, and worry clung to him like a second skin, and the idea of Jisung pretending—even just for a moment—to be something else in Felix’s life…

“Maybe don’t… say anything to Chan-hyung,” Jisung mumbled quickly.

Felix blinked, then softened. “’Course not,” he said, nudging him. “Your secret’s safe with me, babe.”

They both laughed again, the tension melting into the vanilla-sugar air between them. Felix licked at his cone, grinning as he leaned into Jisung’s side.

Then, the air shattered.

Screams erupted from deeper in the mall, sharp and sudden. A crashing sound followed, then more yelling, louder this time—panicked, desperate.

Jisung froze.

Felix’s ice cream hit the ground.

They turned toward the noise in unison, the mood vanishing like steam off pavement.

Something was wrong.

-

Smoke rolled low and heavy like fog beneath the mall's glass ceiling, curling above the food court tables in thickening tendrils. It hit their noses first, sharp, and unmistakable. Felix blinked, and turned his head just as screams rang out across the tiled floor.

"Shit," Jisung breathed, already stepping forward. "Felix—"

"I'm with you," Felix said instantly, taking off in the direction of the smoke.

They didn’t need to talk about it, instinct kicked in, muscle memory formed by drills and too many emergencies to count. They ran toward the chaos, weaving between frozen onlookers and shoppers sprinting in the opposite direction.

"We're firefighters!" Jisung shouted, projecting with authority. "Everyone needs to move away from the smoke. The food court exits are to your left! Follow the exit signs—go now!"

"Move quickly but don’t push!" Felix added, already helping an older woman up from the floor where she’d fallen, her handbag spilled open like a burst jar. "This way, ma’am—come on, you’re okay."

Flames licked up from behind the boba stand counter, not huge, but enough to cast shadows on the walls and pump out a terrifying amount of smoke. A few people were coughing already while some panicked and scrambled blindly for exits.

Felix tossed a glance over his shoulder at the fire. “It’s catching the wiring—if this hits the ceiling panels—”

“Too much smoke already,” Jisung muttered. “We need to move faster.”

Suddenly, a familiar face appeared in the haze. One of the obnoxious boys who had been flirting with Felix earlier stood frozen, staring at the flames as if unsure whether to run or fight them. His friend was on the ground beside him, clutching a bleeding arm.

Jisung didn’t hesitate. He ran to them.

“Hey—hey, you remember me?” he said loudly, trying to center the boy’s wide eyes. “You need to help me carry him. We’ll get out of here, okay? Just breathe.”

The kid blinked, nodding like he was in a daze. Jisung hauled the bleeding one up by the other side, and they started moving.

Across the court, Felix was directing people away from a blocked hallway, waving toward a clearer path, when a woman stumbled past him crying, “He’s got a knife! He’s hurting people!”

Felix froze for half a second. His heart clenched. “What?” he asked.

The woman didn’t respond, just sobbed and ran on.

"Han!" Felix called, already looking for him. "Something's wrong—"

But more screams broke out then, sharp and terrified. People began shoving each other to get away. A man down the hall was swinging something, yelling incoherently, and a new wave of panic surged through the crowd.

Jisung’s arms were already aching from supporting the injured guy, but he glanced over his shoulder and saw the dark figure pacing erratically, something glinting in his hand. He shouted to Felix, “We need to split this crowd—get them away from that hall!”

Felix’s heart was hammering, but he nodded, determined, pushing toward a family cowering behind a photo booth.

“Move with me, it’s okay,” he said gently, gesturing them along. “There’s an exit around the corner, don’t look behind you, just go.”

More people followed. Smoke curled tighter, pressing in, and sprinklers were starting to go off, misting over the crowd. The fire alarm screeched overhead. Everything was too loud.

Felix caught eyes with Jisung again as he helped another woman with a sprained ankle hobble toward safety.

They were surrounded by chaos, adrenaline pulsing beneath their skin, but they were working together. Two boys in hoodies turned emergency responders. Felix swallowed hard, not letting the fear show on his face.

“We’ve got this,” Jisung mouthed to him.

For the moment, Felix believed him.

Jisung’s hands were shaking from adrenaline and strain as he guided another family of three toward the nearest exit. The smoke was thicker now—clinging to his lungs, crawling into his throat. He could hear someone yelling in the distance, more alarms blaring, another crash of something shattering—but he kept moving. Focused. Alert. Until—

“Han!”

His head snapped up.

Felix’s voice cut through the chaos like a wire pulled taut. Jisung turned instinctively, eyes scanning through the misty fog of smoke and shadow. Then he saw him—Felix crouched on the floor a dozen feet away, the red strobe of the fire alarms casting harsh flashes across his face.

He was holding someone.

Jisung didn’t hesitate. He sprinted toward them, boots slipping slightly on the damp tile. He dropped down beside Felix, immediately hit with the sight of a teenager—maybe sixteen, seventeen—trembling in Felix’s arms. She was clutching her side, where something dark and wet spread across her shirt like ink spilled on paper.

“Shit,” Jisung muttered, eyes going wide. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Felix said, voice too tight, too calm in that way it only got when he was pushing his panic down. “She stumbled out from near the boba place and collapsed. I didn’t see anything until I caught her and she cried out—”

He gestured with his chin. His hoodie was balled up, already soaked with blood, pressed hard against the girl's ribs. Felix’s hand was pressing into it, holding firm.

“She’s bleeding fast,” Felix added quietly. “But it’s not from a fall. It’s—” he stopped, biting his lip, watching her face.

The girl’s lips moved, her words coming out soft and slurred.

Jisung leaned in, straining to hear.

“I think she said something,” Felix whispered. And then, through the roar of flame and wailing alarm, Jisung swore he heard it too.

“Knife,” the girl rasped, barely audible. “He… he had… a knife…”

Jisung's heart dropped like a stone.

He looked at Felix—at the sweat on his brow, at the fierce determination in his eyes, at the blood staining his hands—and Jisung realized then that the mission had changed. This wasn’t just about getting people out anymore. Not about staying calm and managing the panic.

This was about survival.

“Okay,” he said softly, forcing his voice to steady. “We’re getting her out. Right now.”

He reached for the girl, glancing back over his shoulder as the fire crept closer—hotter, louder, consuming. But it was nothing compared to the cold blooming in his chest.

Because someone in this mall wasn’t running from the fire.

They were hiding in it. And they had a knife.

-

The late afternoon sun streamed in through the wide garage windows of the firehouse, casting long golden streaks across the floor. Somewhere down the hall, Jeongin was playing the same three seconds of a song over and over, claiming he had to perfect the riff. The smell of fabric softener mixed with fresh coffee lingered in the air as Minho sat on the bench, folding a stack of clean station towels while Hyunjin flipped through birthday party idea tabs on his phone.

"I'm just saying," Hyunjin announced with full dramatic flair, “we have to do a triple party this year. Jisung-ah gets karaoke and neon lights, Felix-ah gets a bubble tea tower, and Seungmin-ah gets… well, an aggressively sarcastic cake and a room full of dogs.”

Minho scoffed. “You think Seungmin’s gonna want a party with that many people?”

“He’ll hate every second,” Hyunjin said with a grin. “That’s how he’ll know we love him.”

Minho was mid-eye roll when Chan’s footsteps came up from behind. He turned just as their captain stepped into the room and something in his expression made Minho’s body sit straighter. Chan’s hands were tucked into his jacket pockets, but there was a kind of restless energy in his shoulders, a flicker of nerves he rarely let show.

“Minho,” he said, voice low. “Can I… talk to you? In my office?”

Hyunjin’s head popped up like a meerkat. Minho met his gaze, and Hyunjin arched a single brow. Whatever this was, it wasn’t about roster changes.

Minho nodded and stood, rubbing his palms on his sweatpants. “Yeah. Of course.”

The walk down the corridor felt weirdly quiet. The hum of the firehouse carried on, distant chatter, a clatter of pans in the kitchen, and someone’s laugh echoing from upstairs; but it all faded as they stepped into Chan’s small office and the door clicked shut behind them.

Chan didn’t speak right away. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small velvet box. He turned it over in his hand like it might bite him before finally flicking it open.

Minho blinked and stared.

Inside, nestled in a satin cushion, was a ring. A thin platinum band, brushed to a soft, smooth finish. Etched around it were the faintest constellations of tiny stars, with a delicate shimmer that caught the light.

Minho's breath hitched before he could stop it.

Chan’s voice was soft, almost fragile. “I want to propose to Felix.”

Minho looked up slowly.

“I talked to his parents already,” Chan continued. “They gave me their blessing. But… I need yours too.”

Minho blinked again.

Chan exhaled, and there was a tremble in it now. “You’re his person, Min. You always have been. You’ve held him through the darkest nights, sat beside him on hospital beds, made him laugh when he couldn’t even breathe. You know his soul. And I know how much you love him.”

The words hit harder than Minho expected.

“I love him too,” Chan whispered. “And I want to spend the rest of my life making sure he never has to be afraid again. But I won’t move forward if you don’t think I’m enough.”

Minho stared at him—at this man who had fought fires with him, cried with him, nearly broken apart with the weight of leadership and love.

His throat tightened.

He thought of Felix’s sleepy smiles in the morning, his gentle fingers tending to his plants, the way he still flinched when the door slammed too hard but tried to hide it under a laugh. He thought of that boy—his brother—standing strong through hell, and still finding space in his heart to love.

Minho stepped forward and wrapped Chan into a hug, sudden and tight and honest.

Chan froze for half a second, then melted into it, clutching back just as fiercely.

“I love him too,” Minho whispered, voice cracking. “So much it hurts. But there’s no one else I’d trust with him like I trust you.”

Chan let out a wet, relieved laugh into Minho’s shoulder. “So… is that a yes?”

Minho pulled back, eyes glassy but smiling. “Yeah. You’ve got my blessing. Just know if you hurt him at all I’m leaving you in the next burning building.”

Chan laughed again, breathless, eyes crinkling. “Deal.”

They both stood there, soft smiles blooming in the quiet, two men bound by love for the same person—not rivals (never rivals), but protectors. A captain and a lieutenant. A hyung and a brother.

And soon, a fiancé.

The first rays of evening lit up the ring box still open on the desk—its stars catching the sun.
Minho was still blinking through the tears in his eyes as Chan closed the ring box, slipping it carefully back into his desk drawer. The weight of what that little velvet box meant—for Felix, for all of them—still lingered like something sacred between them.

“Thank you,” Chan said, voice thick, wiping quickly at the corners of his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I know you’ve already done more than enough for him. I just—needed you to know.”

“You didn’t even have to ask,” Minho murmured, and the two shared a long look, wordless, and heavy with everything they’d fought through to still be here. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Chan chuckled quietly, but it faded as he glanced toward the office window. “Let’s hope I don’t screw it up before I get the chance.”

They both smiled and then Minho opened the door, stepping out into the bustle of the firehouse with Chan right behind him.

Hyunjin was down near the lounge arguing with Jeongin about birthday plans, tossing around half-serious suggestions involving matching outfits and blindfolded karaoke. Seungmin sat perched on the edge of a table, phone in hand, absently scrolling through news alerts.

Minho made it halfway across the bay when the station radio crackled harshly, cutting over everything.

“Attention: All units in the metro area, be advised. Suspected coordinated threat in progress at downtown commercial center. Civilian injuries confirmed. Media and communication blackout initiated. Further instructions pending.”

Minho stopped cold.

Hyunjin straightened up immediately. Jeongin looked toward the mounted alert screen. Changbin appeared in the stairwell, eyes wide.

“Communication blackout?” Jeongin asked, confusion flickering into alarm.

Chan stepped forward, his voice clipped as he held his department-supplied phone. “They’re trying to control public panic. If it’s what I think it is—this is serious.”

“What area?” Seungmin asked, standing now too.

“Downtown,” Chan said. “In the shopping district.”

Then Jeongin made that sound—a sharp, choked noise that yanked Minho’s stomach straight to the floor.

“Wait,” Jeongin said, his voice rising, eyes darting toward the others. “What mall did Jisung-hyung and Felix-hyung go to today?”

No one answered, and the silence fell like glass shattering.

Minho’s hands were already scrambling for his phone. He opened the tracking app he shared with Han and Felix, but the screen was blank.

“Location services are down,” he said, voice cracking. “I can’t see them.”

“No, no, no—” Chan muttered, bolting for the stairs again. “I’m going to get us reassigned. We’re taking that call.”

Minho stood there frozen, the cold sweat starting to slide down the back of his neck. The noise of the firehouse disappeared, replaced only by the frantic pounding of his heart in his chest.

The ring. The proposal. The peace they'd all started to believe in again.

Not again, Minho thought, throat tightening as panic clawed its way up from his gut.

-

Smoke still curled off the edges of the wreckage behind them, acrid and stubborn as sirens wailed in the distance, but Jisung kept his focus laser-tight on the girl they’d just carried out. Her face was too pale, streaked with soot and blood, but her chest moved. Alive. She’s alive.

He knelt beside her where EMTs were rushing in with a stretcher and only stood when a police officer pulled him aside. “Sir, are you one of the responders who helped her?”

Jisung nodded, eyes already searching for the small figure he knew had to be nearby. “Yeah. Firefighter Han Jisung, Station 143. The paramedic with me—Lee Felix. We came in together, he’s the one who found her. He’s—he’s my—” He swallowed down the rest of the sentence. “He’s my partner. We work as a team.”

The officer gave him a tight nod. “We’ve got information for you and the others inside. Be advised, communication channels are down. Cell service is unreliable, and media’s under a blackout. We were told to warn all first responders that this is suspected to be a coordinated act—potentially tied to a domestic hate group. Multiple suspects may still be inside.”

Jisung’s blood turned to ice. “Wait—what?”

“I’m telling you to be cautious. This is being treated as an act of terror.”

Terror. That word echoed like a gunshot in his chest. His gaze whipped back toward the smoke-slicked entrance, heart already racing. Where was Felix? Where—

Then he heard it: a woman screaming. “My daughter’s still in there! Please—”

Jisung’s eyes snapped toward the source just as civilians rushed out dragging a woman between them. She was shrieking, shaking, trying to claw her way back toward the inferno.

No, no, no—

Jisung’s head jerked back toward the entrance. And there. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Felix. The younger was already moving, ducking under hazard tape, barreling toward the building again like instinct alone carried him.

“Felix!” Jisung’s voice cracked, but the boy didn’t even flinch—just kept going, his small frame slicing into the smoke.

Jisung surged forward after him.

“Sir—hey! You can’t go in there!” A cop caught his arm, but Jisung twisted free, shoving the man aside with a burst of raw panic.

“If Felix goes in, so do I!” he snapped, and without another word, sprinted forward.

The heat hit him first, then the burn of the smoke in his lungs, making him severely miss the gear he would normally be running in with. He raced in after Felix, his heart punching against his ribs like a war drum.

Felix was somewhere in the growing chaos of collapsing ceilings, terrified children, and a hidden monster with a blade. Jisung was going to find him, even if it killed him.

Jisung’s boots thudded against tile slick with soot and water as he pushed deeper into the haze. The mall's interior was a warzone of echoing cries, groaning metal, and the dull roar of fire creeping somewhere overhead.

“Felix!” he shouted again, but his voice barely carried above the chaos.“Felix, where are you?”

The smoke was thicker here—tangy with burning plastic and something acrid that made his lungs seize. He coughed into his arm, squinting through the haze. The emergency lights cast everything in a sickly red glow, stretching shadows into monsters and mannequins into people. Every flicker made Jisung flinch, his heart hammering.

He turned a corner and nearly collided with a collapsed shelving unit. He stumbled, bracing a hand against the hot metal and coughing again. “Felix!” he shouted hoarsely, more frantic now. The image of a man with the knife haunted his mind.

He wasn’t armed. They weren’t armed. They’d come here to shop.

Jisung swallowed hard, eyes watering as he pressed forward. The smoke bit at his eyes and throat, and panic simmered just beneath his skin.

Then, through the thick veil of smoke, he heard it: distant, high-pitched voices that were shouting, and crying.

He moved faster, following the noise, his heart nearly leaping from his chest as he spotted a small group huddled behind an overturned kiosk—half-buried in banners and ash. And there.
Felix.

Crouched low with one arm outstretched, speaking gently to a teenage girl whose mascara-streaked face was twisted in fear. His other hand waved urgently toward a boy clutching his knee, coaxing them to move. Felix’s face was smudged with soot, but his eyes were bright, focused.

Jisung nearly collapsed in relief. He sprinted forward, ignoring how his chest ached.“Felix!”

The younger spun, eyes wide until recognition bloomed. “Han!” he coughed, his voice hoarse. “They're okay—just scared, a couple of scrapes—nothing bad. I didn’t know where you were—”

Jisung grabbed his shoulder, squeezing hard, a thousand reprimands dying in his throat. “You don’t run off like that!” he hissed. “God, Lix—I thought—”

Felix winced. “I’m sorry. I had to—she was screaming—she said her friends were—”

Jisung pulled him in for a second, just long enough to ground himself. Then he nodded, breathing hard. “Okay. Let’s get them out. We go slow and controlled.”

“Right,” Felix agreed quickly, already turning back to the teens. “We’re getting out now, okay? Just follow close, and stay low.”

They were starting to move—Felix leading, Jisung in the rear, guiding the stragglers forward—when all of the sudden the kids screamed.

Jisung’s head snapped up, and his blood ran cold.

Ahead of them, maybe twenty feet away through a gap in the smoke, stood a man in dark tactical gear. He was huge—broad-shouldered, covered in what looked like military padding, his face obscured by a balaclava and smoke-streaked goggles.

Jisung watched in frozen horror as the man raised a blade and drove it into someone in front of him. A young man, unarmed, trying to shield someone smaller.

The victim dropped like a stone.

The attacker didn’t even blink—just shoved the body aside like trash.

Felix made a sound—small, sharp—and stepped back protectively, instinctively blocking one of the girls.

Jisung raised an arm, heart in his throat. “Back,” he breathed, barely able to speak.“Everyone back—now.”

But the man had already noticed them. And he started walking forward.

Felix’s hand found Jisung’s without hesitation, his fingers trembling.

They were outnumbered, outmatched, and unarmed. But they weren’t leaving these kids behind.

Smoke and fire curled around them like a living thing, thick and clawing, biting at their lungs with every breath. The moment the man had spotted them—Felix, Han, and the group of terrified teenagers—his voice had pierced the noise of the fire like a warning bell.

“Sinful cowards! You can’t run from judgment!”

Jisung didn’t look back. He gripped the smallest kid by the wrist and yelled, “Move! Go, go, go!” His voice was hoarse from smoke and fear.

Felix was at his side, shielding the rear of their group, one arm spread protectively, his other gripping a trembling girl who looked like she couldn’t be older than thirteen. “This way!” Felix called, leading them toward a side hallway, flickering emergency lights barely cutting through the smoke.

There was shouting behind them, then footsteps. Fast, heavy, and far too close.

Then—an earsplitting boom, and the world cracked.

Heat and pressure slammed into Jisung’s back, sending him flying forward, arms thrown out to catch himself. The teen he’d been guiding let out a sharp cry, tumbling beside him. Debris rained from the ceiling, a burst of light and fire illuminating the nightmare as rubble blocked the hallway behind them.

Jisung coughed violently, disoriented, the world muffled by ringing ears and dust clouding his eyes. “Felix—” he croaked. “Felix!”

The boy beside him whimpered, and he instinctively pulled him into a shaky crouch. “You okay? Are you okay?” he asked, patting him quickly.

He nodded through a sob, but Jisung barely registered it—his eyes were scanning the crumbled wall of debris, heart hammering painfully. Then, faintly, through the haze:

“I’m okay!” Felix’s voice called, weak but still sharp. “We’re okay!”

Jisung’s instinct screamed. Every part of him said no. No, don’t split up, don’t let him out of your sight. He remembered the way Minho used to wake up crying, clutching his arm. How Chan didn’t laugh for so long, he remembered nights curled next to Felix’s bedroom door with Chan, just listening, just praying.

He opened his mouth to say something—to shout, to beg Felix to wait—but the scream came from someone else.

“Watch out!”

The teen beside Jisung shrieked, and Jisung spun, catching only a blur of movement in the smoke. The attacker.

Time slowed.

The man lunged from behind, emerging like a monster from a nightmare—gear torn and stained, eyes crazed, and in his hand, a glint of steel.

“FELIX!”

Jisung’s voice was raw as he reached forward, but the rubble was too thick, the flames too close.

Felix turned just in time to push the girl behind him. But the man was faster.

There was no sound quite like it. Just the sickening gasp Felix made as he staggered forward, arms locked against the man’s body. Jisung could see the blade now—buried in Felix’s back, protruding slightly from the front of his shirt, blood staining the fabric in a spreading bloom of red.

“NO!”

The word tore from Jisung like a roar.

But Felix—Felix didn’t go down. Not yet.

He braced himself, muscles trembling, and with one last burst of strength, shoved the attacker back, twisting enough to break the man’s grip on the knife still embedded in his body. He stood there, panting, eyes wide with shock and pain, swaying—

Then his gaze locked with Jisung’s, and in that look was everything: fear, apology, and a love so fierce it shattered Jisung’s chest.

He didn’t see exactly what happened, only the moment Felix's strength gave out, the second his legs folded and he collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain. The boy beside him screamed. Jisung screamed too, hoarse and desperate, trying to claw his way over the rubble, through the fire, but the space between them felt like miles.

“Felix!” he choked out, eyes wide with terror. “Stay with me—Felix, please!”

But Felix didn’t respond.

He didn’t even notice when the first firefighter grabbed his arm. Only realized something was wrong when someone hauled him back hard. Another set of arms joined, and suddenly he was being pulled away from the rubble.

“No—no, he’s right there!” Felix shouted, struggling like a trapped animal. “Felix! He’s still in there, let me go!”

“Jisung-ah,” someone barked, voice familiar, firm. A firefighter’s mask tilted toward him. “You need to get out now. We’ve got people going in. You’re injured.”

“I don’t care about me!” Jisung fought harder, but the grip didn’t budge. “He’s—he’s my—he’s Felix—just please—”

Jisung could barely hear anything over the pounding in his skull—the muffled chaos outside the building, the distant roar of sirens, the static of someone’s radio blaring updates that didn’t matter. Not to him. Not anymore.

All he could hear was Felix’s cry of pain echoing in his head. The sight of him—blood pouring from his stomach, eyes blown wide in shock, body finally giving out and crumpling behind a wall of collapsed debris—was seared into his mind like flame against skin. And now… now he couldn’t even see him.

He fought against the hands holding him, slamming his fists against chest plates and uniforms. He wasn’t thinking. Just moving.

“Let me go! I have to get to him—I have to—”

He didn’t care that his own voice was raw, that his lungs were heavy with smoke, that his whole body felt like it was vibrating with terror. He just needed to get to Felix.

The firefighters weren’t strangers—he knew that, somewhere deep down—but that didn’t stop him from screaming at them, clawing at their arms, dragging his boots against the floor as they hauled him toward the exit.

Then he heard it. Not Felix. Not a voice. But a shift in the air around them. A commotion. He twisted in place, and his breath caught in his throat.

Two officers were shoving someone into their van—a man, snarling and cursing, spitting some twisted, half-crazed monologue about purity and judgment and retribution. Jisung’s stomach turned. That was him. That was the man who had—

But then—then—

A new figure emerged.

San. His helmet was still on, but Jisung would’ve known that walk anywhere. And in his arms—

“Felix.” Jisung said it like a prayer.

San’s arms were cradling Felix gently but tightly, as if letting go might break him. Felix was barely recognizable under the blood, ash, and smudges of soot. His shirt was half torn open where the wound was being compressed with a balled-up dressing. His hair clung to his forehead, wet with sweat and smoke, and his lips were parted slightly, but no sound came out.

Jisung ran.

He stumbled up beside the gurney as San laid Felix down and Seonghwa stepped in, his paramedic bag already open and hands moving with terrifying speed. The sight of Seonghwa’s face—tight, serious, and flickering with just a flash of horror—nearly sent Jisung to his knees.

“I’m riding with him,” Jisung said. It wasn’t a request.

Seonghwa didn’t argue. “Then sit and help. I need pressure here—now.”

Jisung was already moving, pressing his shaking hands onto the wound in Felix’s stomach. Blood immediately soaked through the dressing, hot and thick and too much. Too fast.

Felix whimpered under the touch—barely a sound, but it was something, and it broke Jisung’s heart into a thousand pieces. His hands stung from the heat of the blood, but he held firm.

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’ve got you, Lix-ah. I’ve got you, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

Seonghwa was threading the IV into Felix’s arm, muttering vitals under his breath. He hooked up the oxygen mask next, gently fitting it over Felix’s nose and mouth, adjusting the straps with precision.

Jisung felt like he was drowning.

Felix’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths. His skin was pale—so pale—and Jisung couldn’t stop the spiral.

This couldn’t be happening again. Not Felix. Not after everything. Not after they had just gotten him back. He had been laughing earlier, teasing him, holding his arm and calling him strong.

“Is he—” Jisung swallowed hard, eyes locked on the blood soaking through the gauze. “Is he gonna be okay?”

Seonghwa didn’t look at him. Didn’t pause. Just said quietly, “Depends how fast we get him there.”

-

Felix and Jisung were still missing. No one had heard from them, no one knew what was happening inside that mall, and the statewide communication blackout made everything worse.

Minho sat at the kitchen table, turning Felix’s woven bracelet over in his fingers. He didn’t even remember picking it up from the locker room. It was just there now, like it belonged in his hand more than Felix’s wrist. Across from him, Hyunjin had his head buried in his arms, unmoving. Chan had been pacing the hallway for over an hour, eyes red-rimmed and jaw tight.
When the alarm blared through the station, it felt like a slap to the face.

"Station 143, respond to structure fire, downtown commercial, corner of 8th and Barlow."

Everyone jolted, the sudden noise slicing through the haze. For a long moment, no one moved.

Chan stood first. “Let’s go.” His voice cracked mid-command, but it was enough. The others snapped into motion, grabbing gear, heading for the truck with grim determination.

Minho caught him by the elbow as they suited up. “You sure?” he asked quietly, eyes searching Chan’s face.

Chan nodded, jaw tight. “I need to do something. Anything.”

The ride downtown was a blur of sirens and flashing lights. No one spoke. Changbin stared dead ahead. Jeongin sat with his hands clenched in his lap, his knuckles bone white. The entire cab was thick with unspoken dread.

The fire was small and contained to the upper floor of a boutique. It should’ve been routine, the kind of call they could handle in their sleep. But the second Minho stepped out of the truck, he felt the heat inside his chest ignite.

They deployed fast. Changbin and Seungmin handled the perimeter while Minho, Jeongin, Hyunjin took the hose inside. Chan stayed with the engine, coordinating with dispatch and keeping a hand on the comms.

Smoke greeted them like a punch to the face. Minho moved on autopilot, climbing the stairs with hose in hand, barking orders at civilians to get out. His vision was tight, tunneled, only barely keeping control of the memories clawing at the back of his skull.

He could see Felix in every shadow. Hear Jisung’s laugh in the crackling of the fire. The bracelet was still in his pocket. His heart thudded like it wanted out.

As he crossed a weak patch of floor, his boot caught on something. He stumbled—and then the ceiling above gave a groan. Minho looked up just in time to see a beam shift and fall.

Before he could move, strong arms yanked him back. He hit the floor hard, wind knocked from his lungs, just as the beam crashed down where he'd been seconds ago.

“Are you out of your damn mind?!” Hyunjin’s voice roared in his ears. He was breathing heavy, eyes blazing with fury and fear. “You wanna get killed?!”

Minho coughed, dazed. “I—I didn’t see it.”

“No, you weren’t looking!” Hyunjin shouted, gripping his shoulders. “You’re not with us, hyung. You’re somewhere else. You can't be like that in there!”

Minho's throat tightened. His chest felt cracked open. “I can’t stop thinking about them.”

“I know,” Hyunjin said, quieter now. “But you won’t help them by dying.”

The flames were mostly out by the time they exited. Back at the truck, Minho sat on the back step, dripping with sweat, soot streaking his face. He held the bracelet again, fingers clenched so tightly around it they trembled.

Seungmin climbed in next to him, his voice hoarse. “You good?”

“No,” Minho rasped. He looked out over the rooftops, toward the distant horizon.
The sky in the direction of the mall was choked in dark smoke.

“He better come back,” Minho whispered. “Both of them.”

Seungmin rested his arm across Minho’s back, the pressure grounding. “They will. They have to.”

-

The ambulance doors flew open the moment they screeched to a halt at the emergency bay.

“Gurney coming in! Suspected abdominal trauma—unresponsive but breathing!” Seonghwa’s voice was sharp and practiced, already calling out vitals as hospital staff rushed forward to help offload Felix.

Jisung scrambled out after them, almost tripping as he tried to keep up. His eyes were locked on Felix’s still form—blood soaked through the bandages, his hair matted to his forehead with sweat. The moment they moved him off the stretcher and onto a rolling gurney, a surge of panic seized Jisung’s chest.

“Wait—Felix—!” He pushed forward instinctively, only to be stopped by Seonghwa’s arm across his chest.

“Han-ah,” Seonghwa said, firm but not unkind. “You can’t go with him.”

“What? No—he needs—he’s—!”

“They’ll take care of him. You have to let them do their job.”

Jisung's fists clenched. His breath stuttered, and his heart felt like it was vibrating, frantic in his ribcage. He could still see Felix through the doors, just for a second—his arm slipping off the side of the gurney, blood still dripping onto the white floor tiles.

Then the doors swung shut.

Jisung stood frozen, every muscle trembling, until Seonghwa gently took him by the elbow and led him to the waiting area. It was quiet—just buzzing lights and sterile white walls, the smell of antiseptic burning his nose. He collapsed into a chair he couldn’t remember choosing, curling forward with his hands laced behind his neck, eyes burning.

The silence pressed in hard, cold and suffocating.

Suddenly, his mind pulled him backward—to a messier, warmer memory. The first time he met Felix.

The kitchen.

Jisung barely registered the clatter until he was already mid-step, half-asleep and clutching his mug of instant coffee like it owed him rent. He turned the corner into the firehouse kitchen—and promptly skidded on something cold and wet.

“Whoa—!”

His feet flew out from under him, the mug launched from his hand, and with a graceless thud, he hit the tile floor, splashing through a pool of what smelled suspiciously like banana protein shake.

“Oh my god—I’m so sorry!” a voice gasped.

Jisung blinked up from the floor, dazed, only to find a wide-eyed, flushed stranger crouching over him. The boy looked mortified, orange hair falling in his eyes, his hands fluttering like he didn’t know whether to help or apologize again.

“I just—I dropped the whole tray and didn’t think anyone would—are you okay?!”
Jisung burst out laughing.

It wasn’t dignified. It wasn’t cool. But there was something so cartoonish about the moment—about his coffee still rolling gently toward the fridge, about the protein shake slowly seeping into his pants, and this gorgeous stranger with panic all over his face—that it sent him into a fit of giggles he couldn’t stop.

The boy blinked, startled, then laughed too. It was a shy, airy sound, and it hit Jisung like sunlight straight to the chest.

“I’m Felix,” the boy offered once they’d caught their breath. He stuck out a hand, eyes still sparkling. “New probie.”

“Jisung,” he grinned, shaking it. “Resident klutz. Welcome to the squad.”

Felix ducked his head, smiling wide now. “Not the best first impression, huh?”

“Are you kidding?” Jisung said, gesturing to the puddle around them. “You just made it unforgettable.”

Jisung stared at the empty hallway beyond the trauma bay doors, fists clenched in his lap, his breath barely moving past his chest. Every time someone brushed past him in the waiting room, every time a stretcher wheeled by or an overhead announcement crackled to life, his whole body flinched. His thoughts spun uselessly, a wheel with no traction. What if they were too late? What if Felix never opens his eyes again? What if that was the last time I—

A sharp inhale cut through him.

No.

He couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t.

He gripped the edges of the plastic hospital chair like it could anchor him to something real—and without warning, his mind pulled him backward into something gentler.

Jisung had been a mess—still in half his gear, shirt clinging to his back with sweat, hands trembling from adrenaline that hadn’t faded yet. His first major structure fire hadn’t gone smoothly. He’d tangled the backup hose trying to reroute it, nearly tripped over the nozzle in front of everyone. Chan had given him the tight smile that meant “we’ll talk later,” and even Hyunjin hadn’t said much beyond a clipped “it’s fine.”

So Jisung had stormed into the kitchen with the raw kind of frustration that lived in your throat. He opened the fridge and cursed under his breath when he saw the last energy drink missing from where he swore it had been earlier.

“Hey…” came a voice, soft and warm, like someone had opened a window.

Jisung whipped around, startled. He hadn’t even noticed anyone else there.

Felix stood at the counter, in oversized sweats and one of the station’s old hoodies, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looked soft—warm in a way Jisung couldn’t even begin to process at the time.

“You okay?” Felix asked, tilting his head slightly.

Jisung blinked. “I—yeah. I’m fine. Just—” He gestured vaguely toward the fridge, realizing only afterward that he was still holding his gloves in one hand and shaking slightly.

Felix didn’t push. Didn’t press. He just leaned back against the counter, mug in his hands, fingers curled around the ceramic like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment.

“I saw you out there,” he said softly, sipping whatever he’d made. “You ran the line right when they needed it. Even tripping, even scared. You didn’t stop.”

Jisung’s heart skipped. “Yeah, well… I also nearly took Hyunjin’s head off and flooded the back half of the yard.”

Felix smiled again—this time, something deeper, and almost sadder; wiser than Jisung expected.

“We all mess up,” he murmured. “You don’t get better by being perfect. You get better by surviving long enough to learn from it.”

Jisung had frozen, still holding his gloves, not quite sure what to say. He’d felt seen, not as a fuck-up, not as someone who didn’t belong. But as someone trying. Failing, yeah, but trying.

Felix crossed the space, nudging a thermos into Jisung’s hands. “I made too much tea. Take it. You look like you need something warm.”

The touch of Felix’s fingers as they brushed his own was featherlight, but Jisung never forgot it.

He couldn’t stop shaking.

His head dropped into his hands.

Come on, Lix… come on, just hang on.

He squeezed his eyes shut, desperate for anything to cling to—and was dragged once more into memory.

They were dispatched to a two-car collision—head-on, midday traffic. He remembered the jolt of adrenaline in the rig, Chan’s voice calm and steady as he relayed scene information, and Minho’s silent concentration across from him.

And then there was Felix.

Sitting beside him, swinging his legs like a kid on a playground, grinning through the tension. Somehow bright even as the world felt like it was barreling toward disaster.

“You okay?” Felix had asked, cocking his head. “First wreck?”

Jisung had nodded stiffly. “First one with people still inside.”

Felix had just reached over and squeezed his shoulder once. “You’ll be fine. Stick with me.”

The moment they stepped out of the truck, Felix transformed. The bubbly, sunshine energy softened into something focused and exact. His shoulders squared. His eyes sharpened. And he moved.

A teenage girl was trapped in the front seat of the smaller car, her hands trembling as she held them away from a gash in her arm. There was shattered glass everywhere, and the sound of the engine ticking itself to sleep.

Felix didn’t hesitate.

He was beside her in seconds, crouched low to her line of sight. His voice was low and melodic, steady in a way Jisung didn’t know voices could be.

“Hi, I’m Felix. I’m an EMT, you’re safe now, I promise. We’re gonna take care of you, alright?”

The girl whimpered something, her voice lost in the tightness of panic.

Felix reached through the window, slow and deliberate, until his hand lightly brushed hers. “Look at me. That’s it. Just breathe with me. In… there you go. You’re doing great.”

Jisung watched, rooted to the sidewalk, heart hammering, barely able to register the rest of the scene. He could almost forget he’d been at the station longer than Felix, the slightly younger was so good at this.

Felix had smiled—gentle and unwavering. “I know it hurts. But you’re not alone. I’m here with you.”

Later, when they’d secured the girl to the stretcher and sent her off to the hospital, Jisung had lingered near the rig. Felix tossed his gloves into a bin and turned to him, his hair sweat-dampened and clinging to his forehead.

“How’d I do?” Jisung had asked quietly, unsure.

Felix had blinked, then grinned. “You didn’t panic. That’s a win in my book.”

“You didn’t even blink. How are you that calm?”

Felix had tilted his head thoughtfully. “I dunno. I think people just need to feel safe. If I can be that for them, even for five minutes, it’s worth it.”

It had left Jisung quiet. A little stunned. He’d always thought bravery looked loud—yelling orders, kicking in doors, rushing headfirst into smoke.

But that day, it looked like a boy with soft hands and a steady voice whispering you’re safe now.

His hands were cold, shaking in his lap, but his mind was warm, and he drawn into that night like a thread pulled taut from the ache in his chest.

It had been late—borderline morning—when he’d come down from the bunkroom. The station was quiet, bathed in low amber light that made every corner feel like it belonged to a dream. He padded barefoot into the lounge, bleary-eyed and grumpy, with a half-formed plan to rant to whoever was awake about the stupid call they'd just had.

But the second he stepped into the room, everything inside him stilled. Felix was there.

He was curled up on the couch in a loose hoodie and sweatpants, feet tucked beneath him, blanket sliding off one shoulder. A paused movie glowed faintly on the TV, soft flickers playing over his face. His chest rose and fell in slow rhythm, peaceful in a way Jisung didn’t see often—not on calls, not when Felix was running himself ragged to help everyone but himself.

It took Jisung a moment to even breathe.

He wasn’t doing anything special. He was just sleeping. Mouth parted slightly, lashes resting heavy on his cheeks, hair a mess of orange tangles against the pillow. The softest snore escaped him as he shifted deeper into the cushion.

Something in Jisung cracked.

Not in a sudden, dramatic way. It was quieter than that—like a worn seam pulling open, like the warmth of sunlight spilling across his back after a storm. He clutched his glass of water a little tighter as his throat tightened.

He had seen Felix bloody, exhausted, furious, and radiant. But never like this. Never so defenseless. Never so human.

There was no armor here, no uniform, no wide smile for the sake of others. Just Felix.

A knot formed in Jisung’s chest, tight and full and aching. It overwhelmed him—this fragile, glowing thing that had bloomed quietly between them. Not just fondness, not even love the way he had always understood it. This was something else, something that curled under his ribs and made his breath come slow, something that whispered he belongs to you. He doesn’t know it yet, but he does.

Carefully, Jisung moved closer, kneeling beside the couch. The blanket had slipped almost to the floor, and instinctively, he reached to tug it back up over Felix’s shoulder. His fingers brushed the boy’s arm and Felix stirred, blinking blearily awake.

“Ji…?” he mumbled, eyes not quite focusing.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Jisung whispered, his voice barely audible. “Go back to sleep, sunshine.”

Felix smiled—soft, lopsided, eyes already fluttering shut again.

Jisung sat there beside him for a long time, just listening to the sound of his breathing. He could feel it now, deep and soul-rooted: This is it. This is the moment. You’re already his, and you didn’t even realize.

He never said anything out loud. Not that night. Not the next. There was time, he thought. There would always be time.

But now, in the hospital waiting room, the clock on the wall clicked louder than it should. Jisung’s fingers clenched in his lap.

Time didn’t feel so guaranteed anymore.

His eyes burned, and he swallowed hard.

“I should’ve told him,” he whispered to the cold, empty air. “I should’ve told him how much he means to me. I thought I had time.” His voice cracked on the last word. The walls were too white. Too bright. Too loud.

Jisung sat alone in the far corner of the hospital waiting room, curled in on himself like he could somehow make his body smaller than the pain clawing its way through his chest. His hands were in his hair, fists tangled tightly enough to hurt, but it was the only thing anchoring him.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head—Felix lying limp on that gurney, blood soaking the front of his shirt, eyes closed, his mouth slack. He had looked so still. Too still.

Jisung's breathing hitched. He gasped in air that never seemed to fill his lungs. His thoughts were racing too fast to follow, crashing into each other like waves in a storm: What if he doesn’t make it? What if I never get to say goodbye? What if I’m the last person he ever saw?

His vision blurred, head pounding, hands tingling. A high-pitched ringing started in his ears. It was all too much—too bright, too sterile, too quiet except for the noise in his head.

He was spiraling.

He didn’t hear the nurse at first—just felt her presence, the shadow that stepped into his corner of panic. A warm hand landed on his arm, firm but gentle.

“Hey. Hey—breathe with me,” she said softly, kneeling in front of him. “You’re okay. You’re safe right now. In through your nose, okay? Slowly.”

Jisung couldn’t respond—couldn’t speak—but her words cut through the static just enough for him to try. He inhaled, shaky and uneven, then let out a ragged exhale. The next breath was marginally deeper. The one after that, even more so. She stayed there the whole time, breathing with him like it was the most important thing in the world.

When his hands finally uncurled from his hair, she gave a small nod of encouragement.

“You’re doing great,” she said gently. “I need to ask you something important. Can you listen?”

He blinked at her, dazed. “W-what?”

“It’s about the man you came in with.”

His eyes snapped open wider, throat closing up again.

“We’re doing everything we can, but we’ve hit a problem,” she continued, carefully. “Because of the blackout, we can’t contact the blood bank. We’re out of O-negative, and our system’s down—we’re on paper only. We can’t access his file, and we don’t know his blood type.”

Jisung’s world tilted again.

“What? No—no, it should be in the system, it has to be,” he said, voice rising with panic. “He has a file, he’s had so many checkups—he’s been injured before—he’s been in hospitals, they should know—”

“They would, normally,” she said, more urgently now, “but we can’t access any digital records. Everything’s stalled. If we transfuse the wrong type, it could be fatal. We’re trying to cover every base.”

Jisung’s breathing started to hitch again. “I—I don’t know—God, I don’t know. I never asked—I should have asked—why didn’t I—?”

He was shaking again. His knees bounced, hands clenched, heart racing dangerously fast. He thought he might throw up. Then something sparked—a half-buried memory from a routine physical. A joke Felix made about how rare blood types bonded people for life. Jisung hadn’t thought about it since.

“I’m O-negative,” he choked out. “I’m O-negative. That’s universal, right? You can take it from me. Just—just take it.”

The nurse's eyes widened for a brief second before her professionalism snapped back into place. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Take it. Take everything if you have to. Just—just don’t let him—”

His voice broke. The nurse gave him a single, solemn nod and helped him to his feet.

“This way,” she said, already moving.

Jisung followed, breath still shaky, but his steps a little more steady—because now, at least, he could fight for Felix with something real.

-

The firetruck’s engine purred beneath them, but neither Chan nor Minho spoke as they drove through the city. Minho’s hand rested on his thigh until Chan reached over, fingers wrapping around his with a quiet desperation. Minho didn’t hesitate—he squeezed back instantly, a silent affirmation: I’m here. We’ll find them.

But on the inside, he wasn’t sure if it was hope or delusion keeping him going.

He glanced at Chan. The man who had stood in front of him this morning, ring box in hand, voice shaking, eyes full of love. I want to ask him to marry me, he’d said. But I wanted to ask you first.

Minho had felt his heart catch in his throat at the time, too touched, and overwhelmed. But now, hours later, as he looked at Chan beside him, fingers clenched white-knuckled, he wondered if that moment had been too good. If maybe they’d never get another like it.

Chan’s eyebrows pinched together suddenly. “Minho,” he said lowly, sharply.

Minho followed his gaze—and his blood ran cold.

An ambulance sat parked just outside their station. Not theirs. Station 24.

Seonghwa and Yeosang stood next to it, both of them still in partial turnout gear. Their faces were tight, unreadable—but Minho didn’t need to read them. He knew.

Chan slammed the brakes before they even fully pulled in. He and Minho bolted out of the truck, the others scrambling behind them. Changbin, Jeongin, Hyunjin, Seungmin—all breathless, all terrified.

“What’s wrong?” Chan called, voice cracking with urgency.

Seonghwa hesitated. That alone was enough to make Minho's stomach twist.

“Get in,” Seonghwa said quietly. “We need to take you to the hospital.”

“Why?” Minho asked, his voice sharp, protective. “What happened?”

Seonghwa exchanged a glance with Yeosang. His voice was slow and careful. “I need you to stay calm.”

Chan stepped forward, breath hitching. “Just tell us.”

Seonghwa drew in a slow, pained breath. “We found Jisung-ah and Felix-ah inside the mall.”

Minho’s lungs stopped working. The world slowed. Chan’s hand clamped on his again.

“Jisung-ah’s okay,” Seonghwa said quickly. “We pulled him out. He was alert, shaken, but okay. I sat him down in the waiting room. He’s safe.”

Chan nodded. It was a short-lived relief. Because the next question hung between them like smoke.

“Felix?” Chan whispered. His voice sounded too small for someone who led an entire firehouse.

Seonghwa hesitated. “He was stabbed.”

The words were blunt. Minho blinked, but the words didn’t change.

“There was a group behind the attack—right-wing hate group, we think. They used the chaos of the fire to hide. Felix was trying to protect someone and he got between them and the attacker.”

Minho’s vision swam.

“He lost a lot of blood. He was unconscious when we carried him out.”

Chan made a strangled sound and then collapsed—not fully, but his knees gave out, and Minho barely caught him in time. His captain—his hyung—folded in on himself, shoulders wracked with sobs. The kind that sounded like they were being torn from the deepest part of his soul.

“This can’t be happening again,” Chan cried. “Please—please not again.”

Minho held him. He held him like his own world hadn’t just shattered too. Changbin ran to their side, taking some of Chan’s weight as they helped him stand, guided him toward the rig.

Seonghwa opened the back. “Let’s go. I’ll explain the rest on the way.”

They climbed in, the doors slamming behind them.

Minho didn’t look at anyone else. He didn’t speak. He just clung to Chan’s hand and stared at the floor of the ambulance, willing the rising panic in his chest to quiet down.

But one thought kept echoing in his mind, over and over, louder than sirens.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

The drive to the hospital blurred around Minho. He didn’t know what Seonghwa was saying anymore, not really. His eyes were glued to the road, but his mind refused to focus. All he could think about was Felix—brave, bright Felix—and how silent the world felt without him.

When they arrived, they were ushered quickly through the emergency room by Seonghwa, past other victims and the lingering smoke of chaos. The hospital was tense and clearly overwhelmed, but Seonghwa was insistent. “They’ve prepared a room for you,” he explained softly, voice tight with unspoken things. “To wait.”

That word—wait—dug into Minho’s ribs like a knife.

They were brought to a small, private waiting room on the third floor, tucked away from the noise. It was sterile and far too quiet. The kind of quiet that only came before something shattering.

Minho sat down heavily, his hands trembling as he stared at the floor. He heard the door click shut behind them, and the silence fell like a blanket soaked in fear.

Seungmin cracked first.

A soft, broken sob escaped him before he buried his face in his hands. He was curled up on the couch, shoulders shaking. Jeongin, pale and stricken, knelt in front of him, murmuring quietly as he reached to grip Seungmin’s arms. Changbin stood nearby, unsure if he should join in or give space, his own fists clenched at his sides.

Minho winced. He couldn’t imagine what Seungmin must be going through—seeing the boy he lived with and cared for bleeding out in a place that was supposed to be safe.

He turned his gaze to Chan.

The captain sat in a stiff chair by the wall, unmoving. He was staring at the opposite wall like he could burn a hole through it. There was no light in his eyes now. Just the haunted, hollow look of someone who had loved too deeply and lost too much.

Minho exhaled shakily, raking his hands through his hair. His chest felt tight, like every heartbeat was a struggle. He didn’t know how to do this again. He didn’t want to do this again.

Then the door opened. Minho jerked his head up—and froze.

Jisung stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped, face ashen. He was dressed in light green hospital scrubs that were way too big for his frame, his hair mussed and eyes rimmed red. There were soot smudges on his cheeks, and a nurse hovered behind him, saying something quietly to the others.

But all Minho could see was him. Jisung.

Alive.

He crossed the room in seconds, heart in his throat, reaching for the boy like gravity itself pulled him forward. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked, frantic hands cupping Jisung’s face.

Jisung blinked slowly. His lips parted, but no words came out. And then his eyes rolled back.

Minho caught him before he hit the floor.

“Jagiya!” he gasped, dropping to his knees with him in his arms. “Hey—hey, no, stay with me!”

The nurse rushed forward immediately, calling for help, but Minho barely heard her.

He held Jisung close, brushing his thumbs over the boy’s pale cheeks, his breath shallow with fear. “No, no, no—please—” he whispered, his own voice breaking. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re here. Don’t do this.”

“Lay him down. Now—feet up,” the nurse instructed sharply, already moving toward them with practiced urgency. “He just gave blood.”

Minho’s heart lurched. “What?”

She nodded, already pulling over the stretcher that had been wheeled into the room with her. “I tried to get him to rest longer, but the second he found out you all had arrived, he insisted. Said he had to come see you.”

Minho couldn’t speak—only followed orders, gently laying Jisung down on the stretcher like he was porcelain. His hands trembled as he slipped an arm beneath Jisung’s legs, raising them carefully and tucking a blanket under to help his circulation.

Jisung was limp, lashes fluttering, a faint groan slipping from his lips. His face was pale, streaked with ash and dried sweat, his scrubs clinging to him awkwardly after being changed in a hurry.

The nurse handed Minho a juice box and a small packet of cookies. “Make sure he drinks this—slowly. He wouldn’t wait once he heard you were here.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Minho whispered bitterly, brushing damp hair back from Jisung’s forehead. “Stupid, stubborn...”

Jisung stirred. “Jagi…?”

“I’m here,” Minho breathed, holding the straw to his lips. “Drink, baby. Just drink.”

The younger sucked down a few sips, blinking slowly, dazed and still visibly out of it. The nurse lingered for a moment longer, then nodded softly.

“I’ll try to bring an update on Felix as soon as I can.” And then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her, and for a moment, no one moved.

Hyunjin was the first to break the stillness, moving across the room with quick steps and flicking Jisung’s shin lightly. “You’re a pabo, you know that?” His voice wavered between exasperation and worry. “Who donates blood and then runs across the hospital like that?”

Jisung gave a tired, sheepish smile. “Had to get to you guys,” he mumbled. “Didn’t wanna wait…”

Chan was silent. He was still staring at the floor, jaw clenched tight, and one hand curled into a fist in his lap. It wasn’t until he spoke that everyone froze.

“What happened?” Chan’s voice was rough and broken. “Please… tell me what happened.”

Jisung didn’t answer right away. He turned his face into Minho’s chest, and Minho felt the first tear soak through his shirt before the sob followed it.

“I tried,” Jisung whispered. “I tried so hard…”

Minho wrapped his arms around him tightly.

“We were inside getting people out. There was a girl, she was hurt and Felix was helping her. And then there was shouting, and this guy—he had a knife—” Jisung was speaking faster now, his breath hitching as the words poured out. “We got her out. We were helping other people get out, but then the building shook. The ceiling caved in. I couldn’t get to him—he told me to go, but I didn’t want to—”
He broke down again, full-body sobs wracking his frame as he clung to Minho like he might fall apart completely.

Chan’s face was pale, eyes wide and glassy. Jeongin was next to him now, whispering gently, a hand steady on his shoulder. But Chan didn’t look away from Jisung.

“He—he took the hit for her,” Jisung choked out. “Felix—he didn’t even hesitate. He saw that man coming, and he—he protected her. Just like he always does. He just—he always—”

He couldn’t even finish. His voice collapsed into sobs, his whole body trembling.
Minho pressed his lips to the top of his head, eyes burning. “Shh. You did everything you could. You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

“I didn’t want to leave him,” Jisung cried. “I didn’t want to. He was supposed to be fine—he was supposed to—Minho, he promised—”

“It’s not your fault,” Minho whispered fiercely as he climbed onto the stretcher beside him. He didn’t care how uncomfortable it was. He just needed to hold him.
Jisung folded into his chest like he’d been waiting for it all day, his hands gripping Minho’s shirt in tight fists as he sobbed.

Minho wrapped his arms around him, kissing the top of his head, rocking him slowly as if it could do anything to take away the pain.

Across the room, Chan had crumpled into Jeongin’s arms. The youngest was murmuring something to him, voice low and steady, rubbing soft circles into their leader’s back as Chan cried silently, shaking.

Minho didn’t look away. He just held Jisung tighter and kept eyes locked on the door.

-

Jisung couldn’t breathe.

The waiting room walls felt like they were closing in around him, every ticking second pressing heavier against his ribs. The low hum of machines, the distant chatter of nurses, the muffled sobs coming from somewhere behind him—it was all too loud and not loud enough. The ache in his chest was unbearable, a tidal wave of guilt, fear, and helplessness crashing again and again, never letting him surface.

He stood up, moving purely on instinct. The hallway lights were harsh, buzzing slightly, and each footstep echoed like gunshots down the corridor. He didn’t know where he was going. He just needed out—he needed quiet, he needed space to fall apart.

“Jisung-ah,” a quiet voice called after him.

He turned. Chan stood there, shoulders slumped, his eyes rimmed red. He looked like a man who had aged years in mere hours—exhausted, and haunted. But his voice was steady and gentle.

“Wait up,” he said. “Can I come?”

Jisung only nodded, throat too tight to speak.

They walked side by side, not touching, but linked by the weight of grief they both carried. The small chapel came into view, a modest room tucked into a forgotten corner of the hospital. Inside, it was still and dim, soft rays of colored light filtering through stained glass, casting shades of blue and rose across the floor. A few battery-powered candles flickered along the altar, and everything smelled faintly of wax and wood polish.

Jisung moved to a pew near the front, sat for a heartbeat, then slid to his knees. His hands gripped the edge of the seat in front of him, his forehead dropping against it. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

Chan knelt beside him, silent, his hands folded loosely in his lap. The quiet stretched—long, thick, and oppressive.

Then, the dam inside Jisung cracked.

“I should’ve protected him,” he whispered, voice rough with unshed tears. “I should’ve—I promised.”

The sob that followed was raw, tearing through him as he hunched forward, his shoulders shaking violently. Chan didn’t speak, he just reached out and laid a firm hand between Jisung’s shoulder blades, grounding him.

“I watched him fall,” Jisung gasped, trying to breathe around the ache in his chest. “He was bleeding so much. He was—he was still protecting her even as he—” His voice broke again. “I tried. I swear I tried—”

Chan's hand tightened, and his voice, when it came, was rough with restrained emotion. “I know you did. I know, Jisung-ah.”

More silence. More pain between heartbeats.

Then, softly, Chan said, “I’m going to propose.”

Jisung looked up, eyes rimmed with disbelief and grief.

“I have the ring. It's in my desk back at the station.” Chan gave a small, broken laugh. “Minho’s already seen it. I called his parents last week, and got their blessing. I wanted to do it on his birthday—make it special.” His voice cracked then, and he turned his face toward the altar, lips trembling.

“I want him to know that he’s everything to me. That I wake up every morning just so I can try to be the man he already thinks I am.”

Jisung started crying again. This time, it wasn’t as loud—no wracking sobs, just quiet, steady tears rolling down his cheeks, his whole body trembling as he folded forward once more, forehead against the pew.

“I wanted to tell him too,” he whispered. “That I love him. Not the way you do. Not the way Minho or Seungmin do. But still—I love him.”

Chan nodded. “I know. He knows too.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was filled with love, with fear, with memory. All the things they couldn’t say and all the things Felix had ever been to them.

And then—

“Hyungs!” The chapel door burst open, echoing against the stone walls.

Jeongin stood in the doorway, breathless, his chest heaving. There were tears in his eyes, but something else too.

“The nurse—she came back. She said to come now. They’re bringing us to Felix.”
Jisung didn’t remember standing, he didn’t remember running. All he knew was the jolt in his chest—the desperate spark of please let him be okay—and the way Chan’s hand found his as they bolted from the chapel together.

They didn’t speak.

They just ran—hearts in their throats, prayers in their breath, and Felix’s name beating in every step.

The hallway seemed longer this time. Each step toward the room felt like moving through molasses, like his body was half trying to get there, half trying to delay the moment until he could be sure Felix was okay. Chan and Minho were on either side of him, hands locked tight in his, grounding him with every trembling breath.

The nurse stopped outside a private recovery room and gestured toward the door where a doctor stood waiting. She smiled gently, eyes kind. “They’ll explain everything,” she said softly, before stepping aside.

The doctor looked up from the clipboard he was holding, his expression calm, and that alone made Jisung’s heart lurch with tentative hope.

“You’re here for Lee Felix?” the doctor asked, and when they all nodded, he smiled just a little, the corners of his mouth lifting with reassurance. “He’s very lucky.”

Jisung couldn’t stop the choked sound that escaped him, a half-sob hidden behind a sharp inhale. Minho squeezed his hand tighter.

“Not only was the donor match O-negative,” the doctor continued, glancing at Jisung knowingly, “but also… the injury itself, while serious, missed anything immediately life-threatening. The knife hit his appendix — a very narrow miss from major arteries. We removed it during emergency surgery, and he’ll need to be monitored closely for any signs of infection or complications, but—” The doctor offered a fuller smile now. “He’s stable. And he’s going to be just fine.”

Jisung nearly collapsed, knees buckling, and Minho quickly steadied him. It was like all the air had rushed out of his lungs in one go, only to be replaced with oxygen laced with gratitude and disbelief.

He turned to Chan, who looked like someone had just shattered and stitched his heart back together in the span of a sentence. His eyes were glassy, but he was breathing again and for the first time in hours, Jisung could see color coming back to his face.

“Can we… can we see him?” Jisung asked, voice hoarse and thin.

The doctor nodded. “Of course. He’s still asleep, but you’re welcome to sit with him. Just keep things quiet.”

They nodded in unison, barely waiting for the doctor to finish before the nurse opened the door for them.

The room was dim, the lights low, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender, someone must’ve lit a scented plug-in at some point. The soft beep of the monitors was steady, even. Comforting.

And there, in the center of it all, was Felix.

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat.

He looked so small in the hospital bed, pale beneath the blanket but undeniably peaceful. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, golden hair slightly tousled over the pillow. A faint flush colored his cheeks—whether from fever or warmth, Jisung didn’t know—but the sight of it broke something inside him. Relief, crushing and overwhelming.

Minho let out a breath that sounded like it had been waiting inside him for days.

Chan didn’t even wait. The second they stepped fully into the room, he let go of Jisung’s hand and was at Felix’s side, one knee on the edge of the bed, hand cupping Felix’s face with exquisite care. His fingers brushed gently over Felix’s brow, tucking strands of hair back.

“Hey, baby,” Chan whispered, his voice cracking. “You did so good. You’re okay. I’m here. We’re all here.”

His thumb ghosted along Felix’s cheek, and he leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, his other hand never leaving the younger’s. Minho stood frozen for a beat, then quietly stepped forward to rest a hand on Felix’s shin, rubbing a small, steady circle through the blanket.

Jisung didn’t move. He couldn’t. His legs felt like they’d given out, so he leaned against the wall, watching them—watching Felix, real and breathing and here—and all he could do was cry silently, grateful beyond words that they’d made it in time.

That somehow, Felix had made it back to them.

-

It had been hours since Felix had come out of surgery.

The hospital room was dimly lit, a soft, golden glow from the bedside lamp illuminating the space in a way that made everything feel suspended, like time itself was holding its breath, waiting with them. Machines beeped quietly in the background, a gentle rhythm that everyone had tuned into, hanging onto every blip of Felix’s heart monitor like it was the only thing keeping their own hearts beating.

Jisung sat on one side of the bed with Minho asleep on his shoulder, warm and heavy. He didn’t dare move. His arm was wrapped securely around Minho’s waist, his free hand tangled in the hem of the older boy’s hoodie. He hadn’t realized until this moment just how badly he needed to be touching someone—to know that not everyone he loved was slipping through his fingers.

He scanned the room slowly. Hyunjin was curled across a pair of chairs near the wall, a hospital blanket barely covering his long frame, his head pillowed in Changbin’s lap. Changbin’s fingers moved slowly through his hair, eyes glassy and unfocused. His other hand was resting on Hyunjin’s arm like a lifeline.

Across the room, Seungmin was tucked tightly into Jeongin’s chest. His eyes were red, cheeks still blotchy, but the quiet way he let Jeongin cradle him was all the proof Jisung needed that the younger was slowly coming back to himself. Jeongin was murmuring something softly, voice low and soothing, thumb stroking over Seungmin’s spine like he was trying to erase the pain one whisper at a time.

Then there was Chan. Still awake, and still at Felix’s side.

He sat rigidly in a hospital chair, his hands tender and sure as he moved through Felix’s blond hair with gentle fingers, untangling knots with painstaking patience. He’d already split it into two neat sections and was carefully braiding each one, fingers nimble and slow like he was afraid to tug too hard.

Jisung watched him for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite the tight ache in his chest. “He’s gonna be so happy when he wakes up and sees that.”

Chan glanced up, and for a brief second, there was a smile — small, tired, but genuine. It didn’t reach his eyes, but it was still something. He didn’t answer, just bowed his head again and kept working, brushing the last golden strands into the braid with a reverence that made Jisung’s throat close.

Then it happened.

A sound. Faint, but undeniable. A whimper. And the steady, soft beeping of the heart monitor spiked slightly.

Chan froze.

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat as he jolted upright, disturbing Minho in the process. “Jagi,” he whispered urgently, shaking his boyfriend gently. “Minho, wake up. I think he’s waking up.”

Minho blinked groggily before his eyes flew wide open, instantly alert. Across the room, every head lifted. Everybody shifted. It was as if the gravity of the room had tilted—every soul drawn forward, holding onto the moment with everything they had.

Felix’s lashes fluttered.

Then again.

His brow creased, lips twitching with the tiniest of groans.

“Lixie?” Chan’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, trembling with unshed tears. He leaned forward, dropping the braid, and gently cradled Felix’s hand in both of his own. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe. We’re here.”

Felix’s eyes opened slowly, gaze hazy and unfocused, his pupils shifting as they tried to place the world around him. Confusion crept across his features—the smell of antiseptic, the sharp light, and the sensation of being tethered to machines.

Chan’s voice rushed in before fear could. “I love you,” he said, raw and desperate. “I love you so much. Will you marry me?”

Jisung let out a stunned huff, and Minho smacked Chan on the arm.

“Are you serious?” Minho hissed. “Hyung, what the hell?”

“I panicked!” Chan whispered back frantically, already fumbling for the cup of water beside the bed. “I couldn’t help it—he opened his eyes and I just—”

Felix blinked again, confused, dazed. Chan held the cup to his lips carefully, and Felix drank with trembling sips.

The room was still hushed, breathless, every heartbeat aligned with his.

Felix’s gaze slowly shifted, scanning faces until it landed on one—tear-streaked, red-eyed, but smiling.

“Ji...sung?”

Jisung let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It left him in a shudder, half-sob, half-laughter, and he was on his feet before he could think. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”

Felix’s whole body sagged, a visible wave of relief crashing over him. “You’re okay,” he whispered.

“You’re the one with a knife wound,” Jisung sniffled, carefully cupping his face. “I’m fine. You scared me half to death, you idiot.”

Felix’s eyes fluttered, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Sorry…”

“No more apologizing,” Minho said gently, stepping forward to brush a hand down Felix’s leg where it lay beneath the blankets. “You’re safe now.”

The rest of the room pressed closer, a slow wave of warmth and quiet love. Hyunjin was dabbing at his eyes, Seungmin had buried his face against Jeongin’s neck again, and even Changbin looked misty-eyed.

Chan was still holding Felix’s hand like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
There was a long beat of silence, filled only with the soft hum of machines and the collective sound of tears.

Then Felix, blinking slowly, looked toward Chan and croaked out:

“…Wait,” he croaked, his lips quirking slightly. “Did Chris just ask me to marry him?”

Chan made a noise like a squeak and buried his face in Felix’s blanket, groaning, while the rest of the room erupted into laughter.

For the first time in what felt like forever, it felt like breathing didn’t hurt.