Chapter Text
---
Sunoo sat in the practice room, back pressed against the mirror, phone abandoned at his side. The screen still lit up with notifications from the group chat, the others spamming memes and reminders about dinner. His lips curved into a soft smile at their chaos. Automatic muscle memory. But it didn’t reach his eyes.
The words replayed in his head like a scratch on vinyl. "You’ll never be anything without us. You’re replaceable. Remember that."
The voice of that “fan,” sharp and mocking, still lingered in his ears. The incident had been brushed aside by the company as “just an obsessed supporter who crossed a line.” A report had been filed. Security doubled for a few weeks.
And then life moved on.
For everyone but him.
He tugged his knees closer to his chest, chin resting against denim. His chest felt hollow, air scraping in and out as if it hurt to breathe.
To them, it was a small thing.
An unfortunate event.
A bump in the road.
To him, it was everything. It was the crack in his safety, the splinter lodged under his skin that no one could see. Dinner came and went without him. “Sunoo said he wasn’t hungry,” Jungwon explained, distracted as he reached for another helping. The others accepted it easily. Sunoo skipped meals sometimes, he was picky, they all knew that. It didn’t mean anything.
Except it did.
When practice ended that night, he lingered behind. Alone in the darkened studio, he sank to the floor. The reflection in the mirror stared back: pale skin, tired eyes, smile long since abandoned. He thought about telling them, maybe Jay who always noticed when something was off; Jungwon, who carried too much already; Ni-ki, who still looked at the world like it wasn’t broken yet.
But he couldn’t.
Because the company already knew. And they told him not to worry. They told him it was being handled. They told him it wasn’t that bad. And if the people who were supposed to protect him thought it was nothing…Then what right did he have to call it everything? He pressed his forehead against the cool mirror. “I have a feeling you got everything you wanted,” he whispered to the empty room, words slipping out like confession. “And I’m stuck here. Pretending I’m okay. Pretending it didn’t end my world.”
His reflection didn’t answer.
Later, when the others found him curled on his bed, fast asleep, they only smiled. “He must’ve been tired.” They tucked the blanket closer, whispering goodnights before slipping out. And Sunoo, eyes closed, body still, kept his silence. Because if they knew the truth, if they saw just how broken he really was, maybe the world would end for them too.
And he couldn’t do that to them.
---
The laughter in the dorm spilled out of the living room like light through a half-open door. Jay had pulled out his guitar, strumming random chords while Jake sang off-key, and the younger ones joined in, voices clashing in chaotic harmony.
It was warm. Loud. Safe.
But Sunoo stayed in the hallway, just out of sight. He leaned against the wall, letting the sound wash over him like a memory he couldn’t quite touch. He should go in. He should sit on the couch, tease Jungwon for hogging the snacks, complain about Ni-ki’s voice cracking on high notes. That’s what they expected of him, bright, sharp, effortless Sunoo.
Instead, he slid silently toward his room. “Is he okay?” Jungwon’s voice carried, quiet but enough to make Sunoo’s step falter. “He’s fine,” Heeseung answered, casual, though not unkind. “Probably just tired again.”
“Yeah,” Jay added, strumming softer now. “He’s been zoning out more lately. But, you know, Sunoo always comes back around.” The words stung. They didn’t mean harm, he knew that but it still hurt. Because they were right. He always came back. He always smiled again. That was the role he’d taught himself to play.
But this time, he wasn’t sure if he could.
The next day, cameras rolled in the practice room. A staff member clapped her hands, announcing the start of a behind-the-scenes shoot for fans. The company loved capturing their “hard work and fun moments.”
Sunoo fixed his smile in place, muscles aching from how tight it felt. “Let’s go, let’s go!” Jake cheered, pulling him into frame. He laughed, too bright, too rehearsed. But in the corner, Jungwon’s gaze lingered on him. The leader noticed things, more than he let on. And today, there was something off in Sunoo’s laugh, in the way his hands trembled when he brushed hair from his face. Jungwon opened his mouth, but the staff called for a retake, and the moment vanished.
That night, when everyone else fell asleep, Sunoo sat alone at the kitchen table. The clock blinked past 2 a.m. His phone lay in front of him, screen black. He thought about typing something in the group chat. I’m not okay. Please notice me. Please help.
But the company’s words replayed in his head: It wasn’t that bad. Don’t let it affect you.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard, then dropped the phone facedown. The silence pressed in heavy. In the dorm bedroom, Jungwon stirred awake. The spot beside him was empty. Again. He frowned into the dark. Sunoo’s world was cracking, splintering at the edges, and no one could see. Not yet.
But the sound of breaking glass couldn’t stay hidden forever.
---
The day ended late. Rehearsal had run hours longer than planned, and by the time Sunoo left the company building, the streets outside were already hushed under the weight of night. The others had gone ahead in the van, chattering about food and showers.
Sunoo had lingered, an excuse about forgetting something, though really he just wanted a few moments of silence. The air was cool as he stepped onto the pavement, mask tugged up high, hood pulled low. And then he froze. A figure leaned casually against the streetlamp, too familiar in their wrongness. His stomach twisted. He knew that face. That voice.
“Sunoo-yah,” the fan crooned, tone dripping like poison honey.
He couldn’t move.
They stepped closer, smile sharp as glass. “What? Surprised to see me again? Thought I’d just disappear after that little incident?” His chest tightened, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He darted a glance toward the building’s glass doors, security guards were inside, but too far. Too distracted. The fan leaned in, words soft enough for only him to hear. “You think you’re special? You’re not. You’re replaceable. The others shine brighter anyway. If you weren’t in ENHYPEN, no one would notice.”
Sunoo’s breath hitched.
“You smile so pretty for them,” they continued, voice twisting cruel. “But I see it. You’re fragile. Weak. They’ll get tired of you. The company already has.” The world tilted. For a split second, he saw it again, the way the company had filed the report, called it ‘unfortunate,’ then brushed it aside. The way they’d told him to stay quiet, to not make it worse. The fan’s grin widened at his silence. “That’s what I thought. Pathetic little flower. Easy to crush.”
His hands trembled at his sides, fingernails digging crescents into his palms. He wanted to run, scream, do anything. but his voice was gone, stolen by fear. “Be grateful,” the fan whispered. “I made you remember your place.” And then, as if nothing had happened, they melted into the night, disappearing into the alley across the street. By the time Sunoo stumbled back into the dorm, his mask was damp from tears he hadn’t realized were falling.
“Hey, you’re late!” Jake called from the couch, flipping through TV channels. “What took you so long?” Sunoo’s voice cracked as he forced out, “Forgot something.” No one looked twice. No one noticed how his hands shook when he set down his bag.
He slipped away to his room, pressing the door shut with quiet finality. Only then did he let himself sink against the wall, breath breaking into quiet sobs.
To them, he was fine.
To the company, it was nothing.
But to him, it was the end of the world, again.
Sunoo’s back hit the wall of his room, tears sliding silently into the collar of his hoodie. He tried to steady his breathing, but it only came out in shallow gasps. His whole body trembled as the words replayed like a curse.
Replaceable. Weak. Pathetic little flower. He clutched at his sleeves, pulling them over his fists until his knuckles turned white.
A knock sounded softly against the door.
“Sunoo?”
Jungwon’s voice.
Sunoo froze, throat tight. He scrubbed quickly at his face, willing the redness in his eyes to fade, forcing his voice into steadiness. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
He swallowed hard. “Mhm. Just tired.” There was a pause on the other side. Too long. Sunoo pictured Jungwon frowning, tilting his head the way he always did when he didn’t believe something. “I saw you come in,” Jungwon said finally, voice lower now, almost careful. “You… looked upset.” The words pierced through him. Sunoo bit his lip until it stung, forcing a smile no one could see. “I’m fine. Really.”
Another pause. Then, almost reluctantly: “Okay. Get some rest.”
Footsteps faded down the hall.
Sunoo exhaled shakily, pressing his face into his knees. Relief and guilt tangled in his chest. He hated lying. He hated hiding. But what else could he do? If he told them… if they knew that the same fan had come back, that those words had carved him open again…Would they think it was small too? Would they tell him to brush it off like the company had? The thought broke something in him all over again.
Later that night, when the dorm had fallen silent, Sunoo slipped into the bathroom. The mirror reflected a boy he barely recognized: swollen eyes, lips bitten raw, a smile nowhere to be found. He touched the glass with trembling fingers, whispering to his reflection as if it could understand. “They said I was fragile.” The mirror boy stared back, silent. “They said I didn’t matter.”
His voice cracked, breaking on the last word.
“And maybe… maybe they’re right.”
What he didn’t know was that Jungwon hadn’t gone far. The leader stood in the hallway, staring at the thin strip of light beneath the bathroom door. He’d woken again, restless, something gnawing at him since the moment Sunoo walked in. And this time, when he heard the muffled sound of Sunoo’s voice, something in his chest twisted. Jungwon didn’t catch every word, but he caught enough. “They said I didn’t matter.”
His heart dropped.
Sunoo was breaking. And this wasn’t something the company had told him. This was something else.
Something worse.
---
Jungwon didn’t sleep that night. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Sunoo’s muffled words replaying on an endless loop in his mind.
They said I didn’t matter.
Who were “they”? Why would anyone say that to Sunoo of all people? The thought made Jungwon’s stomach twist, but the heaviness in Sunoo’s voice was worse, not just the words, but the way he believed them.
By morning, Jungwon’s eyes burned with exhaustion, but no one noticed. Practice was loud, chaotic. Ni-ki was making jokes, Heeseung was teasing Jake, Sunghoon was rolling his eyes. It was almost normal.
Almost.
Because Jungwon kept watching Sunoo. Every time Sunoo smiled, it looked a little too sharp around the edges. Every time he laughed, it came a second too late. And every time his gaze dropped to the floor, Jungwon caught the flicker of something hollow in his eyes. At lunch, when most of the others were bickering over fried chicken versus ramen, Jungwon pulled Jay aside.
“Hyung,” he whispered, fingers knotting in his hoodie pocket. “Can I tell you something? But you can’t—” He broke off, lowering his voice even more. “You can’t tell Sunoo I told you.” Jay blinked, taken aback by the seriousness in Jungwon’s tone. “Okay. What’s going on?” Jungwon hesitated, the words heavy in his throat. But the memory of Sunoo’s broken whisper pushed him forward. “Last night,” he murmured, “I heard Sunoo in the bathroom. He was… talking to himself. He said—” His voice faltered. Saying it out loud made it real. “He said someone told him he didn’t matter. And he sounded like… like he believed it.”
Jay’s expression hardened, jaw tightening. “What?”
“I don’t know who it was,” Jungwon admitted quickly. “But something’s wrong. I can feel it. He’s been… off. And now this.” For a long moment, Jay said nothing, just staring past Jungwon with that calculating sharpness he had when something serious clicked into place. Then he exhaled, steady but low. “You were right to tell me.”
“Should we-...should we ask him?” Jungwon’s voice wavered between fear and hope. Jay shook his head slowly. “Not yet. If he’s hiding it, there’s a reason. We need to be careful. But…” His eyes flicked toward where Sunoo sat at the table, pushing food around his plate with a too-bright smile. “…we can’t ignore it either.”
That night, Sunoo went to bed early, claiming he was tired. The dorm settled into quiet after the usual noise. But in the dark of their shared room, Jungwon whispered across to Jay.
“What if it’s worse than we think?” Jay didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, mind racing with questions he couldn’t voice. Finally, he murmured, “Then we don’t wait for him to break. We stay close. Watch. And when the moment comes… we’ll be there to catch him.” Jungwon closed his eyes, the weight still pressing on his chest, but at least now he wasn’t carrying it alone.
And across the hall, Sunoo lay awake too, staring at the shadows on his ceiling, replaying the venom of the “fan’s” words over and over again.
Replaceable. Weak. Easy to crush.
He turned his face into his pillow, letting silent tears soak the fabric. The others laughed in their sleep, unaware.
---
To Be Continued...