Chapter Text
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Sunoo doesn’t remember the last time someone asked if he was okay. He knows he’s dramatic. He knows he cries easily, laughs loudly, takes up space with glitter and eyeliner and things other people call too much. He’s always been like this. Bright. Soft. Easy to overlook when others shine louder or darker.
But lately, it’s felt worse.
He listens to the others in the living room, Ni-ki and Jungwon bickering over a game, Heeseung's laughter ringing out, Jake saying something in a bad accent that sends Sunghoon into a wheezing fit. It’s not like they’re excluding him. Not on purpose. He was there too, earlier. Sat on the couch, made a joke, tried to lean his head on Jay’s shoulder. But Jay shifted without realizing. Jungwon talked over him. Sunghoon laughed at something else.
And slowly, Sunoo just… faded out.
Now he’s here, back pressed to the cold bathroom wall. The tiles chill through his thin hoodie, but it’s grounding. Real. Unlike the storm in his chest. He presses his palm to his mouth as another sob slips out. It’s quiet. Controlled. He’s good at that now, breaking quietly.
He doesn’t want to be the inconvenient one. The one who needs too much, who asks for reassurance, who makes things awkward by crying when everyone else is laughing.
His phone lights up beside him. A Weverse notification. Fans. Sweet, lovely fans. Always sending hearts and “Sunoo, you’re my sunshine!!” and “You’re the reason I smile.”
He should feel happy. Instead, he feels like a fraud because what sunshine cries in the dark? He doesn’t know how long he’s been there when someone knocks.
“Sunoo?” It’s Jay. “Are you in there?”
Sunoo’s breath hitches. He wipes at his eyes quickly, stands too fast, sways a little. Looks at himself in the mirror.
He looks like he’s been crying. Of course he does. But maybe if he smiles, they won't notice. “Yeah! Just washing my face!” His voice wobbles but he forces it steady. “Be out in a sec!” Jay’s silent for a beat. “Okay. We’re gonna order food. You want anything?” Sunoo thinks. His favorite place. No one will remember he likes the rose tteokbokki unless he says something. But what does it matter?
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
He hears Jay walk away.
Sunoo locks the door again. Sits back down. Tries not to cry harder than before.
Later that night, they’re all watching a movie.
Sunoo’s on the end of the couch. There’s space between him and the others, not much, but it feels like a canyon. No one notices when he curls his arms around himself. No one notices when he quietly leaves halfway through the film. He tells himself it’s fine. He doesn’t want to bother anyone. They’ve got each other.
He’s just… the decoration. The extra. The one that makes the group look balanced. But no one really needs him. He ends up on the rooftop. Hoodie too thin for the wind, but he doesn’t care. The stars are blurry. Maybe from tears. Maybe from city lights.
“Do you ever wonder,” he whispers to no one, “what would happen if you just… disappeared?”
Would they notice?
Would they cry?
Or would they say, “He was always a little distant, wasn’t he?” and move on?
The door creaks open behind him.
It’s Ni-ki.
Sunoo quickly wipes his face, pretends he’s just out for air. “Hey.” Ni-ki looks at him. Really looks. “You okay?” Sunoo flinches. That’s the first time someone’s asked him that in weeks. He almost says yes. But he’s tired. “No,” he says, quietly. “But it’s fine.” Ni-ki doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then he sits down next to him. Not too close. Just close enough.
They don’t talk.
The silence stretches between them, brittle and thin, like a cracked piece of glass holding itself together only because no one’s breathed too hard yet. Ni-ki scrolls on his phone. The screen lights up his face, and Sunoo watches the reflection dance in his eyes. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem… present, either. Sunoo pulls his knees to his chest. The wind bites harder up here. The kind that crawls under clothes and turns skin to gooseflesh. But he doesn’t move.
He almost wants to see how long it’ll take before someone tells him to come inside.
They don’t.
Eventually, Ni-ki sighs. “It’s cold.” Sunoo nods. “Yeah.” Another silence. Ni-ki gets up first. “Night,” he mumbles, and the door swings shut behind him.
Just like that, Sunoo is alone again.
He doesn’t sleep that night. He lies in his bed with the blanket pulled up to his chin, listening to the faint sounds of breathing from the others. Peaceful. Unbothered. He tries not to hate them for it. At some point, the ache in his chest becomes something heavier. Like lead sitting in his ribs. He closes his eyes and pictures disappearing again. Not dying. Just… evaporating. Like mist in the morning sun. Here one second, gone the next.
No pain.
No fuss.
No more trying so hard to be enough.
The next day, no one says anything. He shows up to practice with puffy eyes, hair tied back in a lazy ponytail. No makeup. No glitter. No sparkle. No one comments on it. Jake pats him on the back in passing. “Morning, Sunoo.”
“Morning,” Sunoo whispers. His voice is hoarse, like it's been wrung out and left to dry. He trips during choreography. Blames his shoe. No one laughs. Jay corrects his step, gently, like he’s explaining to a stranger. No teasing, no nickname. It’s worse that they’re being kind. Detached, neutral, polite. Like he’s a teammate. A coworker. Not their friend. Not their Sunoo.
He feels like wallpaper. Necessary to the room, but never noticed.
Later, they go live on V-Live.
It’s supposed to be a fun one — themed games, snacks, giggles.
Sunoo smiles on cue. His cheeks hurt from how long he holds it.
He makes a joke. No one reacts.
He laughs a little too hard. Jake chuckles, but it’s late — the kind of laugh you give when you weren’t really listening.
Heeseung nudges Ni-ki. Jay and Sunghoon are whispering something off-camera. Jungwon is leading the stream like a seasoned host.
Sunoo is a shadow in the corner, lips parted mid-sentence that never makes it out.
They go offline after an hour. Jungwon claps. “Nice work, guys!”
Sunoo peels off his mic. No one looks his way.
He walks past the mirror in the hallway and almost startles.
The person staring back looks like him. But hollowed out. Eyes dull. Shoulders slumped. Smile faded, faint like a bruise.
He leans in.
Whispers to his reflection:
“Why are you still trying?”
The next evening, the members go out for dinner. A spontaneous, happy plan. Group chat pinging with excited texts.
Sunoo doesn’t answer.
He leaves his phone on his pillow and walks to the laundry room, locks the door, curls into the corner behind the hamper. There’s a faint smell of detergent and warm cotton.
The light buzzes above. No one notices he’s not with them.
He stays there until his legs fall asleep.
His phone has one message when he returns hours later.
From the group chat.
jayhyung: get home safe everyone
jungwonie: good job today 🫶
jake: let’s watch a movie tmr!!
Nothing to him directly.
He scrolls. Nothing.
No “Where are you?”
No “We missed you.”
No “You okay?”
He wonders what would happen if he didn’t show up to practice tomorrow.
Would they text then?
Or would someone just take his part in the formation, shift a little left, and keep going?
That night, he takes a long bath.
The kind where the water goes cold before he’s ready to get out.
He traces his fingers through the steam on the mirror.
"Don’t forget me."
It disappears in seconds.
Just like everything else.
The bathwater has long gone cold.
Sunoo’s fingers are wrinkled, pale. His knees are drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them like it’s the only way to keep himself from unraveling completely.
The waterline is still. It doesn’t ripple. Nothing moves.
Just him.
Just the quiet drip of the faucet.
Just the echo of everything he wishes someone would ask.
Are you okay?
Do you feel loved?
Are you tired?
But no one does. And he’s stopped expecting it.
He gets out eventually. Moves like a ghost — towel around his shoulders, hair damp and clinging to his neck. He doesn’t dry off properly. Just throws on an oversized hoodie, the one with the sleeves that cover his hands.
It still smells faintly like Jake’s cologne.
He used to like that.
Now it feels like wearing a memory that doesn’t belong to him anymore.
His bed is too big tonight.
Not physically — it’s the same bunk, same blankets, same plushie he keeps tucked under his pillow when no one’s looking — but it feels cavernous. Hollow. Like he could scream into the mattress and the sound wouldn’t bounce back.
He tries to sleep.
But sleep feels cruel when it comes.
Because it doesn’t numb the ache.
It only promises to bring him back here again tomorrow.
The next morning, he oversleeps.
No one wakes him.
When he finally stumbles into the kitchen — hoodie rumpled, face bare, eyes red — the dorm is buzzing with life. Toast popping. Laughter spilling. Jay is talking to Heeseung about new lyrics. Ni-ki is trying to get the last dumpling off Jake’s plate. Jungwon is FaceTiming their manager.
No one notices him.
He stands there for a full minute.
Just watching.
Then turns around.
Quiet.
Unseen.
Unmissed.
He skips practice.
Says nothing.
No one texts.
No one calls.
No one asks.
The hours pass like smoke through his fingers. He curls into the corner of the practice room storage closet. It’s dark, cramped, a little dusty. But it’s quiet. And that’s all he needs now — silence that matches the one inside him.
He holds his knees and rests his head against the wall. Eyes open.
Breathing shallow.
It’s not dramatic.
It’s not loud.
It’s not some big, crashing breakdown.
It’s just this:
The quiet breaking of a boy who’s tired of trying to prove he deserves to be loved out loud.
Time loses shape.
He only moves when his phone buzzes at 10:41 p.m.
A message.
From Jungwon.
jungwonie: bro u good?? you weren’t at practice
Sunoo stares at it.
The blinking cursor mocks him.
He types.
Deletes.
Types again.
And then finally replies:
sunshine_sunoo: sorry, i overslept.
That’s it.
Not “I cried until I couldn’t breathe.”
Not “I’m so alone I feel like I’m disappearing.”
Just sorry.
Just overslept.
Jungwon replies with a thumbs-up emoji.
No follow-up.
And Sunoo feels stupid for expecting one.
The tears come back like they always do. Quiet. Relentless.
He bites down on the edge of his sleeve to muffle the sound. He doesn’t want anyone to hear. He doesn’t want pity. He doesn’t want to be the one they comfort out of obligation.
He just wants to matter without asking to.
The closet is too dark.
He tries to imagine what the world would be like if he wasn’t in it tomorrow.
Would Jake laugh less?
Would Jay cook fewer meals?
Would Jungwon hesitate before starting a V-Live?
Or would it all go on the same — with one voice missing, one laugh faded, one boy erased?
Would they fill the silence with someone louder?
Someone easier?
Someone less tired of being invisible?
And in that silence — with his back against the wall, hoodie damp with tears, body curled small enough to disappear — Sunoo makes a quiet, secret wish:
Let me be missed before I’m gone.
The next morning, the world continues.
The sun rises.
Practice resumes.
Schedules shuffle.
And Sunoo moves through it like a shadow — physically present, emotionally absent. Eyes glazed. Voice flat.
He shows up on time. He dances. He hits his marks. He smiles when the camera turns on.
But no one sees him.
Not really.
During lunch, someone takes the seat beside Jake.
Sunoo ends up at the far end of the table.
He opens his mouth to speak twice. Closes it both times.
No one notices the untouched food on his tray.
No one notices his silence.
Back at the dorm, Sunoo heads straight to the shower.
Hot water. Scalding. Like maybe it can burn away the hollowness.
He presses his forehead to the tile and breathes.
He counts the drops as they hit the floor.
One.
Two.
Three.
There’s a word stuck in his throat. A scream maybe. Or a sob. Or a plea.
But it doesn’t come out.
Nothing ever does.
He scrolls through the group chat later. Old messages. Selfies. Jokes. Voice notes. Love.
He used to be in all of them. All the time. The center of it, even.
Now it’s just messages stacked on top of one another, conversations he doesn’t belong to.
He wonders when he started fading.
Was it a specific day? A comment? A joke where no one laughed?
Or did it happen slowly, like erosion — a little piece of him slipping away each day, until all that’s left is someone even he can’t recognize?
That night, he stays on the balcony.
Everyone else is inside, loud and alive.
He sits cross-legged with a blanket around his shoulders, the cold seeping in anyway. There’s a crack in one of the floor tiles. He picks at it with his nail. Tiny pieces flake off.
Breakable things always find each other, he thinks.
His phone buzzes.
A fan edit. A new comment.
“Sunshine Sunoo 💛 you light up my life.”
He stares at it.
And doesn’t feel anything.
The numbness is worse than the sadness.
Sadness means you care.
Numbness means you don’t even have the energy to feel.
He folds in on himself. Chin to knees. Eyes burning.
He doesn’t cry.
There’s nothing left.
At 2:17 a.m., he posts a photo.
A blurry one. Out of focus. A hallway in their dorm, empty and dimly lit.
No caption.
Just silence.
He watches the comments roll in — hearts, emojis, fans saying he’s “so aesthetic.” Asking if he’s okay. Telling him he looks cool even in darkness.
But no one really asks.
No one says, “Do you feel like you’re slipping away?”
And no one from the dorm sees it.
No one comes to his room.
No one knocks.
He’s less than a meter away from them.
But it feels like miles.
He dreams of standing on stage.
The lights blinding.
The cheers deafening.
But when he looks down… there’s no mic in his hand. No in-ears. No name badge.
Just him.
Silent.
Unseen.
Even in the spotlight, no one’s looking at him.
He wakes up with a gasp.
Blankets twisted.
Throat raw.
Heart racing.
Still alone.
Always alone.
The final straw is small.
It always is.
Jay is handing out drinks after practice. Bottled water, cold and crisp.
Sunoo waits.
Watches.
Everyone gets one.
Jay pauses. Looks down. Frowns.
“Oh. I thought I had enough.”
He offers a shrug. “You can take mine if you want?”
Sunoo shakes his head, smile soft. “No, it’s okay. I’m not thirsty.”
He is.
His mouth is dry. Tongue like sandpaper. But he’s too tired to reach for kindness he has to ask for.
Too tired to exist in a space where he’s accidentally forgotten.
Too tired to believe anyone still sees him.
He skips the ride home.
Walks instead.
The city hums around him. Cars, laughter, neon lights reflecting in puddles.
He keeps his head down.
The night feels safer than the day. At least it doesn’t pretend to be warm.
When he finally returns to the dorm, it’s nearly 1 a.m.
No one notices the late door click.
No one texts to ask where he went.
He stares at his reflection in the hallway mirror for a long time.
Hair mussed. Eyes glassy. Hoodie too big.
He reaches out.
Presses his hand to the glass.
“Will they see me when I’m gone?”
The question echoes back at him from the mirror. No answer. Just his own eyes, hollow and tired, searching for something — anything — that looks like recognition.
But the face staring back feels like a stranger now.
He drops his hand.
The hallway light flickers above him.
Still, no one comes out.
Sunoo moves to the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Stares at the row of bottles and leftovers. All labeled. All organized. All reminders that life here continues whether he feels part of it or not.
He closes the door without taking anything.
There’s a dull hunger in his stomach. It’s familiar now. Like a roommate he never asked for.
He tiptoes back to his room.
The dorm is silent.
Breathing sounds behind doors. The hum of a laptop charger. A half-played video from someone who fell asleep with YouTube still running.
Sunoo climbs into bed.
Pulls the blanket over his head.
And tries to disappear.
The next day is bright.
Cruelly so.
Jungwon opens the curtains with a chirpy “Rise and shine!”
The sunlight falls across Sunoo’s face.
It hurts.
“Hyung,” Ni-ki says, nudging his shoulder, “we’re gonna be late.”
Sunoo mumbles something unintelligible and pulls the blanket tighter around himself.
“Hey,” Jake says gently. “You good?”
Sunoo nods under the blanket.
“Okay. We’ll see you downstairs,” Jake says.
The door clicks closed.
He’s alone again.
He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t want to.
The weight in his chest feels heavier today. Not sharp like sadness — just dense. Like his heart is made of wet concrete.
His phone buzzes. Several times.
Group chat.
Their manager.
Schedule reminders.
Fan messages.
All of it blurs together.
He turns it face down.
Curls deeper under the blanket.
Wills himself not to exist — just for a few hours.
They come back late that evening. Their voices are loud. Someone’s laughing — maybe Sunghoon. Jay is complaining about something. Jungwon is trying to keep things organized. The usual chaos.
Sunoo listens from his bed.
No one knocks.
No one asks why he didn’t show up to the shoot.
No one checks to see if he ate.
No one says his name.
And that’s what finally does it.
Not the silence.
Not the pain.
Not the forgetting.
But the absence of his name.
His name — the one he used to hear a hundred times a day, tossed around affectionately, fondly, playfully.
Now it’s nowhere.
Like he’s already gone.
He slips out of bed once the dorm is quiet again.
Moves slowly.
Barefoot.
Blanket still draped over his shoulders like a cape made of shadows.
He goes back to the balcony.
Same spot. Same tile.
He sits.
Pulls the blanket tighter.
Looks up at the night sky.
It’s cloudy.
Even the stars don’t want to look at him tonight.
He doesn’t cry.
There’s nothing left.
Only this feeling:
Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference if I wasn’t here.
He leans forward.
Elbows on knees.
Head in hands.
And for the first time in weeks, a thought whispers — soft and terrifying:
Would it hurt less if I just stopped trying?
Not to die.
Not to disappear.
Just to stop trying so hard to be loved.
To be seen.
To be Sunoo.
He sits like that for a long time.
Just breathing.
Just existing.
Just… waiting.
For what, he doesn't know.
A knock on the door?
A voice calling his name?
A hug, maybe.
But nothing comes.
And the longer he waits, the more it confirms what he already fears:
No one is coming.
-
He doesn’t know how long he stays on the balcony.
His fingers are numb.
His neck hurts.
His phone battery dies somewhere in the silence.
But he stays.
He’s not waiting anymore. He gave up on that hours ago.
Now he just is — still and empty, like an unplugged lamp, like a song with no melody.
He closes his eyes.
Tries to remember the last time he laughed without forcing it.
Tries to remember the last time someone looked at him and really saw him.
Nothing comes.
Just the quiet.
Just the cold.
Just—
“Sunoo?”
The voice is soft. Uncertain.
A heartbeat. Then the sound of the door creaking open.
Footsteps behind him.
“Hyung…?”
Ni-ki.
Sunoo doesn't move. Doesn’t breathe.
He doesn’t have the energy to pretend anymore.
“Are you…” Ni-ki pauses. “Why are you out here?”
Still nothing.
The silence is louder than any scream.
Then:
“You didn’t come to the shoot. No one could reach you.”
No one except Ni-ki came looking.
Sunoo slowly turns his head.
His eyes are rimmed red. His skin pale. His lips cracked.
“I didn’t think anyone noticed,” he whispers.
Ni-ki freezes. “What?”
“I thought I could disappear,” Sunoo says. “And no one would care.”
Ni-ki stares at him like the wind’s been knocked out of him.
“That’s not true.”
“It feels true.”
Sunoo finally breaks.
His voice cracks in the middle of the sentence. His shoulders shake. He curls into himself, arms wrapping tightly around his knees.
“I’m so tired, Ni-ki,” he says. “Of trying. Of smiling. Of pretending everything’s okay when I feel like I don’t exist anymore.”
Ni-ki sits beside him — not too close, but close enough.
“I didn’t know,” he says. “None of us did.”
Sunoo laughs, bitter. “That’s the point.”
Inside the dorm, Jake is setting down his phone when Ni-ki appears in the doorway, frantic.
“Sunoo’s on the balcony,” he says, breathless. “He’s not okay.”
Jake doesn’t hesitate. He runs.
Behind him, the others stir — Jay frowns, Jungwon sits up, Heeseung drops his chopsticks.
When Jake reaches the balcony, he finds Sunoo curled up, face buried in his knees.
“Sunoo—” Jake kneels down. “Hey, hey, it’s me.”
Sunoo doesn’t look up.
“I’m sorry,” Jake says. “I should’ve seen it. I didn’t. I thought you were just tired. Or… or giving us space. I didn’t know you were hurting.”
Sunoo finally lifts his head. Barely.
His voice is paper-thin.
“Was I really that easy to forget?”
Jake’s face breaks.
“No. God, no.”
By then, Jungwon is there too. Jay. Heeseung. Sunghoon. Ni-ki.
They all stand in the doorway, staring like they’re seeing him for the first time in weeks.
“Hyung,” Jungwon says, voice shaking. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not,” Heeseung says, stepping forward. “You never were.”
“You were just…” Jay clears his throat. “You were quiet. And we were too loud to notice.”
Sunghoon kneels next to him. Doesn’t say anything — just gently places Sunoo’s hand in his.
Warm.
Real.
Sunoo finally starts to cry.
Not quiet tears this time.
Big, messy ones.
The kind that shake the soul loose.
And this time — someone is there to catch them.
Jake wraps his arms around him.
Jungwon places a hand on his back.
Sunghoon squeezes his fingers.
Jay is holding his hoodie sleeve.
Heeseung gently strokes his hair.
Ni-ki rests his forehead on Sunoo’s shoulder.
All of them. Together.
Sunoo weeps like he’s being stitched back together.
Later, he falls asleep curled up between them on the living room floor. Someone brings him a blanket. Another dimly turns off the lights.
There’s no fix-all.
No apology that erases it all.
But when he wakes up in the middle of the night, his name is whispered like a lullaby.
“Sunoo.”
He opens his eyes.
Jake is still awake beside him. Watching, worried.
“Can’t sleep?”
Sunoo shakes his head. “I just… didn’t expect you to stay.”
Jake smiles, tired but warm.
“We’re staying now,” he says. “All of us. For real.”
And for the first time in weeks…
Sunoo believes it.
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The End