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Darkness swallowed everything. No color, no shapes—just a heavy blackness pressing down on his chest. The faint, flickering lights in the corners of the unfamiliar room made his vision unstable, and his eyes couldn’t focus on anything.
Keonho sat inside a narrow closet, his knees pressed against his chest, arms wrapped tightly around himself. His eyes darted in every direction, searching for any escape, but there was nothing—only the oppressive darkness. He tried to control his breathing, pressing his palms against his mouth to keep his voice from trembling, yet his chest rose and fell rapidly, nearly giving him away.
Footsteps… slow, heavy, approaching.
Every nerve in his body tensed. He pressed himself further into the corner, as if the fragile wooden doors could hide him. Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked forcefully to hold them back, afraid any small movement or sound would give him away.
The footsteps drew closer. He almost broke down, but suddenly… they started to recede. They moved away, fading until silence returned.
He stayed frozen, body trembling, heart pounding painfully, almost hearing its own echo in his ears. He tried to convince himself he had survived, that he was safe. A hot tear rolled down his cheek, but he didn’t wipe it. A strange sense of temporary relief settled over him, as if he had been granted a brief pause from the nightmare.
And then—
A cold, hard hand gripped his shoulders and yanked him suddenly!
There had been no escape—the thing that had been chasing him had been in the closet with him all along.
A muffled cry escaped his throat, a whimper, as he snapped his eyes open. His body recoiled in fear, chest heaving chaotically. Sweat drenched his temples, and his heart raced painfully. Slowly, he sat on the bed, breathing unevenly, raising his trembling hand to wipe his face… only to feel salty dampness on his fingers. Tears. Had he really cried in his sleep?
Darkness enveloped the room. On the small table beside his bed, the faint glow of the alarm clock read 03:30.
He stared at it for a long moment, unable to believe the time was real. He tried to lie down again, to convince himself it had all been just a dream. But suddenly… something heavy pressed against his chest. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid. What if the nightmare returned as soon as he closed his eyes again?
Slowly, Keonho pulled the blanket off his body, his feet touching the cold floor with a small shiver. He stood hesitantly, eyes shifting between the beds in the room. Directly in front of him was Martin’s bed, and on the other side, Seonghyeon’s. He bit his lip, thinking—should he go to one of them? Sleeping alone seemed impossible now.
First, he looked at Martin. The older boy lay on his side, still but exhausted. His day had been long, from morning until evening, and all he had now were these few hours of rest. Keonho knew Martin’s sleep was light; any movement beside him could wake him. He quickly dismissed the idea—he didn’t want to steal the older boy’s rest.
Then he turned to the other side, where Seonghyeon lay. He hadn’t had a busy schedule today, and more importantly, his sleep was deep; he wouldn’t wake easily. It seemed the most logical, most comforting choice. He sighed softly, as if making up his mind, and moved quietly toward his twin’s bed.
For a moment, he hesitated as he extended his hand, lifting the edge of the blanket slightly. Then, carefully, he slipped onto the edge of the bed. He curled up in a small space, trying not to make a sound, hoping Seonghyeon would remain deep in sleep. But after a few seconds, a sleepy, surprised voice broke the silence:
“…Keonho?”
He froze. He didn’t answer. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping that ignoring him would make him invisible. But Seonghyeon shifted, sitting up slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently turning him toward himself with concern. When he saw him—the tear-filled eyes, the pale face—he said nothing. He simply lifted the blanket a little higher to cover him carefully, then lay back down beside him.
After a brief silence, his voice came low:
“Was… it a nightmare?”
Keonho nodded shyly, offering no more than a single “Yes.”
Seonghyeon didn’t press, didn’t ask further. He simply gave a silent nod.
But inside, his feelings were boiling. He was slightly surprised. He had expected Keonho to go to one of the older hyungs—James, Martin, or even Juhoon. But he had chosen him. Seonghyeon. He didn’t dwell on the reason; he simply felt a warm sense of pride and satisfaction creeping into his chest.
Even though the age gap between them was only a month, a protective instinct surged within him at that moment. It was as if he were responsible for Keonho, as if he had to be a good “hyung” for him, no matter how small the difference seemed.
His thoughts drifted back to their usual dynamic: their mischievous friendship, trivial arguments that sometimes escalated into small quarrels, the endless teasing. But all of that melted away now. All he saw was Keonho, silent and frightened, seeking a safe place.
And he, of all people, was that place.
Keonho’s heart, which had been pounding painfully just minutes ago, began to calm gradually. His ragged breaths grew more steady, and the whirlwind that had trapped him in the nightmare slowly subsided. A strange sense of reassurance seeped into him, heavy yet comforting, as if he had finally found a place where he could truly relax.
He lay on the edge of the bed, his body slightly curled on his side, back facing Seonghyeon. His movements were still tense, as if he didn’t want to get any closer than necessary. But Seonghyeon, in a low, sleepy voice, whispered softly:
“Come closer… there’s space.”
Keonho didn’t hesitate. He moved slowly until he lay on his back, his shoulder brushing Seonghyeon’s side—a small touch, but enough to heighten his sense of safety. The room was wrapped in silence, only their breathing filling the space, along with the faint ticking of the alarm clock on the bedside table.
Moments of comforting quiet passed, until Seonghyeon broke it with a teasing tone:
“If you’re going to take over my bed every time you have a nightmare, I’ll have to buy a bigger bed.”
A short, tired yet genuine laugh escaped Keonho. He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling and replied lightly:
“At least I don’t snore.”
His meaning was clear to Seonghyeon. A small smile appeared on his lips before he suddenly reached out and gently took Keonho’s hand:
“And the one who snores… will be the one protecting you tonight.”
Keonho froze, quickly pulling his hand back, his face flushing slightly despite the darkness. He muttered in a stubborn, childish tone:
“I don’t need protecting.”
A brief silence followed, then Seonghyeon’s teasing voice returned:
“Then what are you doing in my bed?”
Keonho raised an eyebrow, speaking deliberately:
“Your bed is more comfortable than mine. I might think about swapping it for yours.”
A quiet laugh escaped Seonghyeon, while Keonho hid his smile by turning his face slightly. The atmosphere lightened, less heavy, yet remained warm and filled with comfort.
Seconds of silence passed, as if the air itself had settled between them after the teasing. Neither spoke, but simply having the other there was enough to fill the space with a sense of safety.
Seonghyeon remained lying comfortably, eyes tracing the ceiling, his voice softer now, mingled with a gentle tease:
“Even if you don’t admit it… I’ll still protect you.”
Keonho didn’t reply, but warmth spread through his chest. Silence fell again, but it was not empty—it was full of reassurance. After a few moments, his hand moved shyly, creeping until it rested in Seonghyeon’s. He said nothing, only held it gently.
A clear smile appeared on Seonghyeon’s lips as he closed his eyes, feeling calm and secure.
The room returned to complete stillness. Only the warmth of the blankets remained, and the sound of two breaths moving in harmony, as if each had found in the other a simple, genuine, irreplaceable sanctuary.