Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It'd been a long couple of days. They were all tired, traveling and making sure to stay on top of dance practices and working on filming projects for STAYs on top of their busy schedules outside of work. There'd been very little time for much recuperation for really anyone.

Jisung let out a quick breath, leaning back against the couch as he eyed the track open on his laptop. Only one of his earbuds was in, the other hanging limply against his chest as he listened to the same seven seconds of beat over and over again. His brain was starting to fry with the consistency and his ears were aching from the headphones shoved in them. Chan sat at the table in front of him, his own laptop out though he wasn't working currently, instead conversing back and forth a bit animatedly with some of the staff members over next weeks schedules—or so he assumes from the half muttered cursing and barely there clips of the conversation as Chan grumbled his reply—trying to fetch them some time to just sit for a minute and not have to rush off to the next thing. Believe it or not, a fifteen minute car ride in between photo shoot locations or a twenty minute walk home from dance practice just to change and be swept right back to the studio for voice lessons for another two hours wasn't the break their managers seem to think it is.

Of course, they can't blame it completely on the staff, they're working just as hard as the members are, just in different ways, but that doesn't mean they have to be happy about it.

He hears Chan let out another curse, much louder this time and in English, before he slams the phone down on the table, hiding the screen from view. He leans back in his chair, a hand covering his face and eyes shut like he's trying to ward off a headache. Which, to be fair, he probably is at this rate. They'd both been staring at screens for the better part of four hours, and it was already nearing midnight. Changbin had stayed with them for the first three hours before dipping out halfway through the fourth, barely keeping his eyes open as he nodded off at his computer.

Jisung had wanted to go home with him, tired from dance practice earlier and feeling a bit sticky and gross from the lack of shower he'd been allowed before being whisked off to a quick meeting with some of the managers and the development staff. His skin was tacky with dried sweat and he could feel the way his hair was limp against his forehead, though he only had to hope it didn't look too awful, he still had to walk home. The only reason he hadn't left earlier like Changbin was because he'd had a much later start to his day than all of the other members, getting to stay in until seven before promptly getting dressed and going about his busy schedule. He'd even had a two hour lunch break, which is more than he can say for some of the others. Call it guilt, but he felt a bit bad for Chan who'd been couped up most of the day.

"Hyung," he started, voice a bit scratchy from practice earlier. "It's late, we should start wrapping up. We have an early start tomorrow."

Chan didn't respond to him for a moment, not even glancing up before he picked his discarded phone up again and resuming the conversation-turned-heated-discussion. "I don't know why you care, you don't have to be up till eight tomorrow, remember? It's only us who have the early start." It was said in passing, a mumbled grunt that Jisung almost missed completely had it not been near silent in the recording studio.

Jisung froze, his mouth falling slightly open before snapping shut again. The words weren't meant to cut, he knew that. Chan was just tired, worn down to the bone. But the weight of it landed heavy anyway, curling up in his chest and pressing down on something that was already cracked from the weeks of running on fumes.

He blinked down at the project still looping endlessly in his ear. Seven seconds of beat, over and over again, like a taunt. His fingers twitched against the keyboard, but he didn't press play again. Didn't press stop, either. He just sat there, staring, his heart pounding too loud in the quiet space.

"You're right," he breathed out eventually, voice no more than a whisper. He wasn't even sure Chan heard him, still glaring at his phone screen like he could melt it with just pure willpower and spite. "I'm sorry."

The apology sat in the air between them, heavy but unanswered. Chan didn't look up, didn't even acknowledge it at first. His thumb tapped across the screen, his jaw tight as he muttered something under his breath that Jisung didn't catch.

Jisung's throat tightened. He wasn't even sure what he was apologizing for. For speaking up? For being tired? For existing in the same space and daring to ask for a break? He shifted in his seat, pulling the dangling earbud into his lap and winding the cord around his fingers until it bit into his skin.

It wasn't Chan's fault, not really. None of this was. They were all stretched so thin it felt like a miracle they hadn't all snapped weeks ago. Still, the sting lingered, and Jisung couldn't quite shake it.

Chan finally sighed, loud and sharp, and shoved his phone face-down on the table. His head tipped back, eyes shut, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. For a second, he looked less like their leader and more like another twenty-something drowning in the weight of too much responsibility.

Jisung's chest eased a fraction at the sight, guilt pressing in around the edges.

"Sorry, Sung," Chan said after a moment, his voice low and raw with fatigue. He didn't open his eyes, didn't move, just let the words fall into the room like an afterthought. "I didn't mean that. Just... rough night."

Jisung swallowed, the sound loud in his own ears. He wanted to say it was fine, that he understood, that they were all in the same boat, but the words stuck. Instead, he nodded, even if Chan couldn't see it. His gaze drifted back to the laptop, to the project waiting for him, and he forced himself to click play again.

Seven seconds of beat, looping, relentless. He could almost trick himself into thinking it drowned everything else out.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. He distantly remembers Chan finally shutting his laptop and tucking it into his bag before slinging it over h is shoulder, pausing as he stood up and glanced at Jisung, who was still curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the track. He'd moved on from the initial seven seconds of beat, now interlooping the whole song, but it didn't feel like much was happening. He'd couldn't figure out what needed fixing and he couldn't be bothered to move on to a different piece. Clicking away and saving and moving to a different tab and opening a new track just felt like way too much work.

Chan threw a few questions at him, trying to coax him to come home with him as the company cars weren't going to be available past midnight, but Jisung just waved him off and said he had a little bit more to work on. He had time, besides, he wasn't due to start his day until eight tomorrow, he can fit in a few more hours of much needed editing before he went home. And if he knew Chan was too tired and a bit out of it to really process what he was saying, just nodding numbly and walking out with a slight stumble to his gait, then nobody needed to know. That was between Jisung and whatever higher power was looking down on them and shaking their head.

The studio was silent once Chan left, save for the dull hum of electronics and the soft whir of the air conditioner. The kind of silence that pressed against Jisung's ears until the looping track felt even louder, more invasive, like it was burrowing under his skin.

He leaned back into the couch cushions, tugging his hoodie tighter around himself though the room wasn't cold. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, then dropped uselessly into his lap again. Every adjustment he made sounded wrong, and every wrong note felt like proof he wasn't working hard enough.

The clock on the wall ticked past twelve, then twelve-thirty. He lost track of how many times he restarted the song, how many times he blinked himself back into focus after his eyes blurred from staring too long at the same lines of audio.

His phone buzzed once in his pocket—probably one of the group chats, maybe a reminder about call times tomorrow—but he ignored it. He couldn't face the thought of reading through a dozen messages, more instructions, more schedules.

At some point, he pulled both earbuds in, not because he wanted to but because the quiet of the empty studio made his thoughts feel too loud. The music filled the space instead, relentless and sharp, and though his head pounded with the beat, he let it play anyway.

When he finally glanced up again, the clock read nearly two. His laptop battery was blinking low, his shoulders stiff from hunching over the screen. He rubbed at his eyes, groaning quietly into his palms. The couch cushion dipped where he shifted, but otherwise the room remained unmoved, sterile and still.

He knew he should leave. Knew he'd hate himself in the morning when the alarm dragged him up in just a few hours. But the idea of going back to the dorm, peeling off sticky clothes, stumbling into a shower, and pretending he could sleep—it felt just as exhausting as staying.

So he stayed.

Mouse clicking, track looping, the hours bleeding into each other like spilled ink.

By the time he finally shoved his laptop shut, the sky outside the windows had started to grey with the first threads of dawn.

Fuck. Fuck!

He stumbled out of his bed, not bothering to fix the covers as they followed with him, tangling up in his legs and dragging for a few steps before he kicked them off in a mild panic. His alarm hadn't gone off, the loud beeping from his phone distinctly absent when he blinked his eyes open groggily and pawed at his phone on the nightstand, assuming he'd just woken up before it. The sight of the online clock reading 10:27 and several messages from nearly thirty minutes ago and still rolling in made his heart drop to his feet.

He barely had time to yank on his clothes, grabbing whatever he saw first—a pair of dark gray sweatpants that were much too long on him, and likely not his own, and a wrinkled T-shirt from the floor that still bore the faint smell of cologne—and threw himself out the door, foregoing brushing his teeth and his usual morning routine, not even stopping to grab anything to eat quickly as he ran to the JYPE building for their scheduled dance practice that was supposed to have started an our ago.

The morning air hit him sharp in the lungs, cold and biting enough to sting as he half-jogged, half-tripped his way down the street. His hair stuck up at odd angles from where he'd slept on it, his hoodie pulled tight over his head as if it might make him less noticeable—not that it mattered. His pulse was thundering too loud in his ears for him to care about appearances.

He hadn't meant to crash so hard last night. He'd only meant to finish one more loop, fix one more transition. But the blur of hours between midnight and dawn had left him useless, and by the time he stumbled into bed, his brain was running on fumes. He hadn't even set his alarm. Rookie mistake.

His phone buzzed violently in his pocket again, and he dared a glance while waiting for the crosswalk.

[09:59] Chan: Where are you?

[10:05] Minho: You're dead when you get here.

[10:11] Hyunjin: Don't bother, we'll tell them you got eaten by pigeons.

[10:13] Manager-hyung: Call me. Now.

Jisung shoved the phone back into his pocket with a grimace, stomach churning worse than it had when he first woke up. He knew most of the meaner messages sent by the boys were joking, but it didn't make his heart sting any less or the foggy feeling in his head dissipate.

By the time he burst into the practice room, chest heaving and sweat sticking his T-shirt to his back, the rest of the members were already mid-run through the choreography. The mirrored walls reflected eight sets of sharp, practiced movements—until they noticed him and the music cut out abruptly.

Eight pairs of eyes turned his way. Some annoyed, some amused, some unreadable.

"Nice of you to join us," Minho said flatly, adjusting his cap as he eyed Jisung from head to toe. "What'd you do, oversleep in the studio?"

Jisung forced a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "...Something like that."

Chan exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before motioning him in. "Get in position. We'll go again from the top." His tone wasn't sharp, but it wasn't forgiving either. Just tired.

Jisung nodded quickly, ducking his head as he shuffled to his spot. The floor felt unsteady under his feet, his legs heavy from both the sprint over and the hours he'd lost to sleepless work. His chest was still tight, his pulse erratic, but he squared his shoulders anyway when the music started again.

He couldn't afford another mistake today.

The music kicked back in, bass rattling through the floor as they moved into formation. Jisung's body went on autopilot, muscle memory taking over where his mind lagged. Step, turn, drop, hit. He kept his face neutral, trying to shake off the tremor in his hands and the sluggish way his legs dragged a half-beat behind.

It didn't take long for the cracks to show. His chest was still burning from the run over, breath shallow and uneven. Each jump landed heavier than the last, and his focus blurred at the edges. He pushed harder to keep up, lungs screaming in protest, and the room tilted for a second when he spun too fast.

"Han," Minho snapped over the music, sharp enough that the others faltered mid-step. "You're off. Again."

Jisung blinked, heart hammering in his ears. He nodded quickly, muttered a hoarse, "Sorry," and reset into position.

They tried again.

By the third run-through, his shirt was plastered to his back, sweat dripping into his eyes. His legs gave a small, betraying buckle during a drop to the floor, knees skidding on the polished wood. The music kept going, but Chan lifted a hand, signaling for the track to cut.

Silence dropped like a weight.

"Jisung." Chan's voice wasn't harsh, but it carried the kind of edge that told him patience was thinning. "What's going on with you?"

Jisung swallowed hard, forcing himself upright. His chest rose and fell too quickly, breath hitching in a way he tried to disguise as a cough. "I'm fine, hyung. Just—just need a second."

"Fine?" Minho's brow furrowed, arms crossed as he studied him. "You look like you're about to collapse."

"I said I'm fine," Jisung bit out, sharper than he intended. His voice cracked halfway through, and he hated how weak it sounded.

The room went still again. Hyunjin shifted uncomfortably, chewing on his lip. Seungmin muttered something under his breath, too low to catch, but it sounded like skepticism.

Chan exhaled, long and heavy, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Take five," he said finally, tone clipped. "Everyone. Water, stretch. We'll go again in a minute."

The group dispersed with varying degrees of relief, some immediately reaching for their bottles, others flopping against the wall. Jisung stayed where he was, hands on his knees, fighting to steady the shaking in his limbs.

Five minutes wasn't going to be enough.

He knew it. But he stumbled to the wall anyways, pressing his shoulder against the cool plaster and letting his aching body slide down until he was sitting, his head leaning up against it. He didn't blame any of them, they had good reason to be annoyed, he'd be annoyed too if any of them were late to a group practice with no prior notice, especially if they had gotten a supposed extra two hours of sleep compared to everyone else. 

So why did his chest ache? Why was the fog that had been steadily creeping in all morning suddenly getting so much worse as he ignored the sideways glances he was getting and the clipped tones he was receiving when anyone tried correcting his movements?

The ache in his chest didn't let up, no matter how many steadying breaths he tried to take. His throat was raw like he'd swallowed gravel, his pulse fluttering unevenly at his temples. He tipped his head back against the wall, eyes slipping closed for just a second too long.

"Jisung.”

His eyes snapped open at the sound, Minho crouched in front of him now, water bottle in hand. Not offering it—just holding it, tapping the side with his fingers. His expression was flat, but his eyes sharp. "If you can't keep up, just say so. Don't drag everyone else down trying to act like you're fine."

The words weren't loud, weren't even cruel, but they hit harder than if Minho had shouted. Jisung's jaw clicked shut around the automatic apology that wanted to spill out. His throat worked once, twice, but nothing came. He just nodded, quick and small, eyes dropping to the floor.

"Good." Minho stood, moving away without another word.

Jisung sat there a second longer, chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with breathlessness. He wanted to argue, to explain, to say I'm trying—but the words jammed up somewhere in his ribs and wouldn't come out. So he said nothing.

When Chan called them back to start again, he pushed himself up silently, legs trembling like he'd been running for miles instead of sitting out for barely five minutes. He joined the formation, face blank, every movement a little too sharp like he was holding himself together by sheer force.

The music slammed back into the room, bass reverberating up through the floor. Jisung focused on counting in his head—one, two, three, four—trying to glue himself back to the rhythm. For the first couple of counts, it worked. His body moved on autopilot, going through the motions.

Then came the drop. A sharp pivot to the right, a slide back into formation. His vision tilted half a beat late, and his foot clipped against the polished floor harder than he meant. He stumbled sideways—straight into Jeongin's shoulder.

The youngest staggered with a startled noise, just barely catching himself before he fell into Hyunjin. The formation broke for half a second.

"Yah, Jisung!" Minho's voice cut through the music before anyone else could react, sharp enough to make the others freeze. "Watch where you're going! If you can't control yourself, don't drag the kids into it."

The music cut off abruptly. Silence slammed down harder than the bass had.

Jisung's whole body went rigid, hands flexing at his sides. His mouth opened, desperate to get out some kind of explanation—it had been an accident, he hadn't meant to, he wasn't trying to throw anyone off. But all that came out was a weak, breathless, "Sorry."

Jeongin shook his head quickly, voice soft. "It's okay, hyung, it was just—"

But Minho had already turned away, running a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath about wasted practice time. Chan didn't intervene, just pressed his lips together like he was holding in his own frustration.

Jisung stayed frozen in place, apology still burning on his tongue, chest tight and throat raw. His legs felt heavier than before, like he'd been nailed to the floor.

After that nobody looked at him. Nobody noticed the way his eyes dropped, or how his shoulders curled in just slightly, like bracing for another hit.

When Chan finally said, "Again. From the top," Jisung nodded wordlessly, slipping back into position.

Because if he cracked now, he wasn't sure he'd stop.

By the time they were dismissed, it was well past afternoon, the kind of hour where the windows let in more heat than light. Everyone was wrung out, dragging bags and bottles with them as they trudged back toward the dorms. The air was thick with exhaustion and short tempers, the kind of silence that felt louder than words.

Jisung stayed near the back of the group, hoodie pulled over his damp hair despite the warmth. His steps felt half a beat behind, like he was moving through water. Nobody lingered for him, though—nobody even looked back. And maybe that was better. He wasn't sure he could take another sharp glance.

The dorm door clicked open and they all shuffled in like shadows. Shoes were kicked off in a heap by the entryway, water bottles dropped to counters, bags abandoned by the couch. Within minutes, the others dispersed—some straight to the shower, others collapsing face-first onto their beds without a word.

Jisung stood in the entryway longer than he meant to, fingers fisted in the hem of his hoodie. The quiet of the dorm pressed heavier than the studio's silence had. At least in practice, the music had been there, pounding hard enough to drown out his own thoughts. Here, it was just him. Just the echo of Minho's voice in his head, sharp and too clear: Don't drag the kids into it.

His throat tightened. He blinked hard, trying to chase away the sting behind his eyes, and slipped quietly into the shared bedroom before anyone could notice. Wasn't he one of the kids too? Wasn't he part of the maknae like just the same as Jeongin?

The door shut with a soft click. He sank onto his mattress without pulling the blanket back, hoodie still clinging damp to his skin. His chest felt too tight, like every breath was catching halfway, his body refusing to unclench.

It wasn't like Minho had meant it to stick. None of them had. They were tired, stressed, just as frayed as he was. He knew that. He knew. But knowing didn't stop the words from burrowing deep, didn't stop the way his heart replayed the stumble, Jeongin's startled noise, the look of frustration on Chan's face, over and over like a broken loop.

He pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes until he saw bursts of color. His other hand curled into the blanket at his side, twisting the fabric tight. His breath hitched once, then twice, before he managed to bite it down.

No one noticed him in practice. No one noticed him on the way home. No one noticed him slip away now.

And maybe that was for the best.

Because the crack he'd been holding shut since last night finally split wide open in the quiet of his room, and he couldn't bring himself to patch it back up.

He hadn't meant to slip. Really, he'd tried holding it back, and he realized he'd been doing so all day, the fog slowly creeping in only accelerated by his stress and heightened emotions. The tears welling in his eyes didn't seem to dissipate no matter how hard he pressed the heels of his palms into them, snaking down his face even as he pressed so hard it hurt.

A sob worked its way up his throat, getting stuck for a minute in a sticky, suffocating ball before it spilled out, his face crumbling with it. He's no stranger to little space, in fact, it was a relatively welcomed sensation all-considering. It took the stress off his shoulders and allowed him to unwind when he needed it, to forget everything that was burdening him at the moment and just let his mind be quiet for a few hours. It wasn't some taboo amongst his friends either, Felix was a little as well, much to Jisung excitement when he'd found out, and the rest of the members were more than happy to be caregivers when either of the boys needed it. 

And yet, Jisung always managed to feel like a burden whenever he slipped. Like he was a little pest that his members were forced to deal with. Felix was cute, he was sweet, and gentle, and kind, and such a lovely little. A joy to be around—their caregivers said as much. Always showering him with praise and little kisses and hugs and gentle affirming words.

And Jisung was just... Jisung. He was a bit loud, rather hyper-active, and a bit destructive. His age range was on the older side, not really teetering into babyspace very often, if ever, the boy preferring the fun, fast paced hours of play and shows and chattering on about the things he enjoyed like a toddler would. He wasn't cute, or sweet, or gentle, or kind, like Felix was. He was loud and messy and... and bad... and... a-and...

Another choked sob made its way out of his mouth, a wet sound that came from deep in his chest. He was bad. Bad. His hyungs didn't praise him nearly as much as they did Felix, nor did they coddle or play or give him little kisses and hugs. He was a bad boy, a bad little—he'd been punished a enough times via the corner, or a stern talking to for being too loud or making a mess or being too rough with the mentally younger boy to know it was true.

He curled tighter into himself, dragging the blanket halfway over his head like it might muffle the sounds clawing out of him. The tears felt endless, burning trails down his cheeks until the pillow grew damp beneath him. His chest ached with every hiccup, sharp and hollow at the same time, like he couldn't quite catch a full breath.

Bad, bad, bad. The word pounded with the same rhythm as his pulse, matching the crash of his heart in his ears.

Felix never got told off. Not like him. Felix's laughter was sunshine; Jisung's was noise. Felix's messes were "adorable accidents," while his were "careless" or "reckless." He could remember every clipped tone, every sigh, every quiet "Hannie, enough" that had cut deeper than anyone realized. They all loved him—he knew they did—but in moments like this, love twisted itself into something conditional, measured out by how good or quiet or useful he could be.

His hands fumbled at the blanket, pulling it tighter until it pressed against his mouth. He bit down on the fabric, muffling another sob, though his body still shook with it. His legs kicked restlessly under the covers, the restless energy of his regression bubbling out in stutters and twitches he couldn't control.

He wanted—no, needed—someone to tell him he wasn't bad. To ground him, hold him, stroke his hair until the sharp edges dulled. But asking felt impossible. Asking meant admitting he'd slipped, admitting he couldn't hold it together like everyone else. That shame pressed down heavier than the blanket.

Another hiccup shook through him, and he pressed his face harder into the pillow. His voice broke around the words, soft and muffled and desperate:

"'M sorry... 'M so sorry. Won't be bad again. P-promise."

But the room stayed quiet, his apology swallowed by the four walls.

The worst part was knowing nobody was ignoring him on purpose—they just didn't know. They didn't know he was crumbling two doors down, that he was drowning in the echo of Minho's words, that his chest was full of cracked glass every time he replayed the stumble into Jeongin.

And because they didn't know, no one came.

So he lay there, shaking, until his sobs blurred into hiccupped breaths and the exhaustion tugging at him felt heavier than the shame.

Still, even as sleep dragged at his eyelids, one thought circled like a thorn he couldn't dig out:

If Felix was sunshine, maybe he was just the storm.

Chapter Text

Seungmin sighed, pressing his sweaty forehead against the cool window of the car as he waited for the rest of the members still at the studio to load up. It'd been a long day, waking up just shy of six so he, Minho, and Hyunjin could make it to JYPE on time for their connecting car that was to drive them to their filming location. After spending several hours there—which, to be fair, playing with small puppies for the better half of the morning had been pretty fun—before being brought back to the studio for a group dance practice that started way too damn early.

When he'd gotten there, he was mildly surprised to see that they were the one of the last ones of the group, having gotten stuck in early morning traffic, it was nearly 9:15 by the time they entered the room and began stretching after setting their stuff down. He didn't even notice Jisung wasn't present until Felix had brought it up.

"Is Jisung Hyung late?" He'd heard the question, but hadn't really registered it till some of the others started picking up on the conversation, chiming in their own comments.

"I didn't see him this morning," Changbin had said, still sitting on the floor by his bag, water bottle in hand.

"Me neither," Jeongin had hummed, "but I thought he had a late start compared to us today. Maybe he's just late?"

Hyunjin groaned dramatically, lolling his head over onto the youngest shoulder. "What I wouldn't give to have a couple extra hours of sleep.

Jeongin snorted, shoving Hyunjin's head away, but didn't argue. Seungmin had only half listened, arms crossed as he leaned against the mirrored wall, but when Chan came in a few minutes later with that pinched look on his face, it became obvious something was off.

He'd already sent Jisung a message, a simple "You coming?" after the group chat lit up with questions, but it had sat unread the entire twenty minutes they spent stretching—elongating the time in hopes Jisung would pop in soon. Even when they'd finally gotten up and into formation, Seungmin kept checking his phone between stretches, waiting for the little read receipt to pop up. Nothing. Just silence. By the time the warm-up track ended and Minho started drilling them into formations, the unease in Seungmin's chest had settled into something heavier.

The group moved through their first run-through, energy clumsy without its missing piece. Chan's jaw tightened as he reset them again and again, pushing harder than usual to make up for the gap. Ten o'clock came and went. Sweat beaded down Seungmin's spine, his body straining to keep sharp, but his mind kept circling back to that unanswered message in his pocket. By the time the clock blinked past ten-thirty, it was less about being annoyed Jisung was late and more about the creeping thought of what if he's not okay?

And then Jisung burst in—sweaty, flushed, hair a mess like he'd just rolled out of bed and sprinted the whole way.

Seungmin didn't say anything at first. He didn't have to. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, sharp and tense as Minho's voice cut across the music and Chan's patience seemed to visibly thin. Jisung looked like he was barely holding it together, breath shallow, body moving a half-step behind everyone else. And when he stumbled into Jeongin, sending the formation off-kilter, nearly nocking both of them to the ground, Minho's words landed harder than they probably should have, a sharp edge to them from frustration built up over the two hours they were struggling to center the song without its center.

Seungmin had wanted to step in then, maybe ease it over, but his tongue stayed pressed behind his teeth. He wasn't sure if it was his place, or if speaking up would just make things worse. Besides, he had been late. It was annoying, and they'd have to make up for the wasted time later on. But the shouting and blaming was unnecessary. Seungmin could see the moment Jisung had clammed up, lowering his head and refusing eye contact with the older members as they scolded him, not looking at anyone else the rest of the time, even avoiding eye contact in the mirror.

It made a sharp bolt go through his chest when he noticed nobody was making an effort to check on him too, but then again, neither did he, so why does he feel bad now? When he can't do anything?

Later, after they'd gotten home, Seungmin hadn't missed the way Jisung had quickly made his way into the dorm, in front of the other three boys who he'd often walk with, and was gone—disappeared into the bathroom—by the time the rest of them had gotten their shoes off and walked in fully.

The sound of running water started almost immediately, muffled behind the thin door. A shower, maybe, though Seungmin had caught the redness in Jisung's eyes when he brushed past, head ducked low. It could've just been sweat, exhaustion, but it hadn't looked like just that.

Felix had frowned faintly, starting to ask something, but Minho's grumble about food delivery drowned it out, and the moment passed without comment. Everyone drifted into their usual rhythms—bags dropped in bedrooms, voices overlapping with discussions of chicken vs. ramen, Hyunjin already pulling at his hoodie like he'd collapse if he didn't change immediately.

Seungmin lingered in the entryway longer than he needed to, fingers worrying at the strap of his backpack. The bathroom light still glowed faintly beneath the door, steam curling into the hallway. No one else seemed concerned. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe Jisung really was just showering off the day.

But Seungmin kept replaying the look on his face in practice—the way he'd folded in on himself, lips pressed tight like he didn't trust them to stay steady if he opened his mouth. It was the same look he'd carried home, and the same look he'd vanished with now.

With a small sigh, Seungmin finally pushed off the wall and followed the others toward the kitchen. If Jisung needed space, barging in wouldn't help. Still, the knot in his chest didn't ease, and for the first time that day, his unread message burned like a weight in his pocket.

By the time food arrived, the dorm was loud again—bags rustling, Felix humming happily as he peeked into the takeout boxes, Hyunjin sprawled across the couch dramatically whining about how he was "actually starving to death." It was familiar, easy noise, but the absence in it pressed in at the edges.

Seungmin noticed first, of course. Jisung still hadn't reappeared since slipping out of the bathroom. No shuffle of feet, no jokes tossed from the hallway, no presence hovering near the others. Just silence.

"Seungmin, grab him, yeah?" Minho called from the kitchen, already dishing out portions. "Tell him before Hyunjin eats everything."

Hyunjin squawked in protest, mouth already full, and the others laughed. Seungmin didn't. He sighed, pushing up from the floor where he'd been crouched by the coffee table, and padded down the hall. Their shared room door was shut, the faintest line of light leaking out beneath it.

He hesitated with his hand on the knob, then knocked once. "Food's here," he said simply. No answer. He waited, knocked again, softer this time. "Hyung. You're gonna miss it."

There was a rustle inside, and Seungmin could hear the muffled sounds of what sounded like quiet sobbing. His heart dropped a bit.

Now, he was no stranger to crying, nor overhearing others cry. The dorm walls were quite thin and they lived incredibly stressful lives—not to mention they had two littles to take care of from time to time. So, it's not like he'd never heard one of his friends break out into tears before. However, this sounded like a full on break down, chest heaving, lungs aching, barely able to breathe type sobbing, and it was making him nervous.

"Hyung," he called again, knocking on the door. Normally he'd just barge right in, it was his room too after all, but he didn't want to risk making the situation worse if Jisung really was on the verge of a break down. "Hyung, I'm going to come in okay?"

He turned the knob slowly, easing the door open just enough to peek inside. The room was dim, the only light a weak glow from the desk lamp left on earlier. Jisung was curled up on his bed, hoodie bunched around his face, hands fisted tight into the fabric. His shoulders shook visibly with every broken breath, the sound raw and unsteady in the quiet.

Seungmin slipped in and shut the door behind him, soft but sure. "Hyung..." he said again, lower this time, careful. He crossed the room, sitting at the edge of Jisung's bed without reaching out yet.

Jisung flinched anyway, tugging the blanket higher like he wanted to disappear.

Seungmin's chest tightened. He rubbed his palms against his thighs, grounding himself before leaning forward. "I brought food," he said gently, nodding toward the desk where he'd set the bowls down earlier. "Chicken. The good kind. It's still warm."

No answer. Just another wet sniffle, another hiccup of breath.

Seungmin exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch for a beat before he tried again. "You don't have to talk. But... can you come out from under there? Just a little?"

There was a pause, then the blanket shifted, sliding down just enough for Jisung's eyes to peek out. Red, puffy, still wet with tears. His face looked younger like that—soft and small, like he'd shed years in the span of an afternoon.

"Hi baby," Seungmin murmured, softening his voice further. "There you are."

Jisung's lips trembled. His hand twitched toward Seungmin, then pulled back like he wasn't sure if he was allowed.

That was all it took, if he hadn't known for sure if he was little before he was positive now. Seungmin moved first, reaching out to brush damp hair off Jisung's forehead. His skin was clammy, sticky from sweat, hoodie clinging uncomfortably to him, proving that he hadn't actually been showering before. He didn't recoil, though. Instead he leaned the smallest bit into Seungmin's hand, eyelids lowering like the touch was too heavy but too needed to let go.

"You worked hard today," Seungmin said, thumb smoothing at his temple. "It was a lot. You're tired. That doesn't make you bad."

A shaky sob slipped out before Jisung could stop it, his arms wrapping tight around himself. How did he know? How did he know that Jisung felt like that? Like he was bad?

Seungmin didn't hesitate this time. He slid closer, one arm winding around Jisung's shoulders and tugging him in until his forehead was pressed to Seungmin's side. The damp hoodie clung to him too now, but he didn't care. He just held him steady, rubbing slow circles into his back.

"Breathe," Seungmin whispered, quiet and steady, matching his own breaths so Jisung could sync up. "With me, okay? In... and out. Just like that."

Little by little, the sharp sobs dulled, breaking into softer sniffles, then into hiccuping exhales. Jisung's grip on his hoodie loosened, shifting instead to cling lightly to Seungmin's sleeve.

When the silence stretched again, Seungmin tilted down toward him. "Think you can try a bite?" he asked. "Just a little. I'll bring it here so you don't have to move."

Jisung hesitated, lips parting like he wanted to argue, but then he gave the faintest nod, pressing his face further into Seungmin's side.

"That's good angel face," Seungmin said softly, easing away just enough to reach for the food. He carried the bowl back to the bed, perching again at Jisung's side, chopsticks in hand. "Open up for me. Just one piece. If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it."

Jisung peeked up at him, eyes wide and shining. There was no fight in them, only exhaustion, and the quiet kind of trust that always came with Hannie.

Seungmin held the chopsticks out, waiting patiently. "C'mon," he coaxed, gentle as ever. "I'll take care of you."

After he'd gotten Jisung to eat most of what was on the plate, he moved away to set it on the nightstand for him to take out later before shuffling back into the bed, letting the boy curl up tightly into his side.

Seungmin wasn't usually a main caregiver for either of the littles, that fell mostly on Chan and Minho, however he'd helped take care of the boys plenty of times to know what to do.

Normally, Jisung was much more active than this. Playful, easily excitable, a little light in an otherwise dark room. He'd giggle and talk loudly as he played with his toys, leaning against whoever was closest, grinning happily and waving his hands around as he talked about the story line with his little figurines or the show they were watching, oblivious to the loving, adoration filled looks the mentally olders were giving him.

But tonight was different. Tonight Jisung was curled small and silent, clinging to Seungmin's shirt like it was the only tether keeping him steady. His usual chatter was gone, replaced by little hums and the soft hiccup of breath every now and then. The difference made Seungmin's chest ache in ways he didn't want to name.

He kept rubbing circles into Jisung's back, letting the rhythm do the work. He didn't try to fill the silence; he knew from experience that forcing words only made things harder. Instead he hummed low in his throat, some unrecognizable tune, the sound vibrating gently through his chest. Slowly, the rigid tension in Jisung's shoulders eased, his grip on Seungmin loosening just enough that he could finally breathe without it rattling.

"You are you feeling any better baby?" Seungmin asked softly, glancing down at the top of his head. "It's okay to be tired, you've had quite the day today."

Jisung shifted against him, making the smallest sound—half whimper, half sigh—before tucking his face deeper into Seungmin's hoodie. It wasn't an answer, but it wasn't resistance either.

Seungmin adjusted, lying back so they were both half-reclined against the pillows. He reached over to pull the blanket up around them, tucking it snug against Jisung's shoulders. His fingers carded gently through damp hair, untangling what he could. "Rest now. I'll stay here," he promised, words slipping out before he even thought about them.

For the first time since they'd walked in the door, Jisung let out a shaky little breath that almost sounded like relief. He burrowed close, body heavy with exhaustion, and Seungmin let him. He wasn't used to being the anchor—but right now, if that's what Jisung needed, then he'd hold steady for as long as it took.

Seungmin stayed with him through the early evening, letting the quiet settle around them. The rest of the dorm had grown louder, the clatter of takeout containers and Hyunjin's dramatic complaints about food drifting faintly through the hallway. But in their little corner of the room, the world felt smaller, slower, safer.

He hadn't shut the door when he'd come in, it probably would've been a good idea in hindsight, but he couldn't bare the muffled whimpering the boy let out whenever he moved too far, so he just elected to hope anyone who walked by either didn't glance in or ignored the scene.

Of course, he had no such luck—he'd obviously just spoke the damn thing into existence.

Changbin popped his head into the doorway, blinking at them slowly for a moment before his eyes seemed to widen, finally catching up to what was happening. "Is he little?" He asked anyways, just to make sure.

When Seungmin nodded the man only hesitated for a moment before glancing over his shoulder and back down the hallway. "Do you need anything? I'll tell the guys to shut up."

Seungmin laughed softly, shaking his head no. When Changbin ducked out of sight he only heard a little bit of yelling before the room was bathed in silence again. Jisung stirred a little after the noise outside died down, a soft whimper muffled into Seungmin's chest. His fingers flexed against the fabric of Seungmin's hoodie, like he was trying to ground himself.

Seungmin kept his voice low. "You awake, baby?"

There was a pause, then the tiniest nod against him.

Seungmin shifted, pulling back just enough so he could see Jisung's face. His cheeks were blotchy from crying, lashes still damp. He looked younger than ever, soft around the edges in a way that made Seungmin's chest tighten.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," Seungmin said gently, brushing his thumb across Jisung's temple. "But I think something's been hurting you today. Do you wanna tell me what it is?"

Jisung squirmed, his lips pressing together like he was fighting with the words. His voice, when it came, was small and uneven. "I... was late."

Seungmin tilted his head. "Yeah, you were," he admitted, tone soft, careful. "But being late isn't the end of the world. Why did that make you so upset?"

Jisung's breath hitched, his eyes flicking away. "Because... because they got mad," he whispered. "Hyungs were mad. Min'o yelled. Chan... he—he looked so..." His little fists clenched tighter in Seungmin's shirt. "I 'uined everything."

"Oh, Sungie..." Seungmin's heart cracked. He pulled him close again, letting Jisung bury his face into his chest. "You didn't ruin anything. Practice was already hard today. Everyone was tired, everyone was snappy. That wasn't your fault."

Jisung shook his head, muffled words spilling out. "But I stumbled. I hit Innie. I messed it all up. They were 'ight to yell. I'm bad."

"No," Seungmin said firmly, one hand cupping the back of Jisung's head. "You're not bad. You're human. You were tired, you overslept—it happens. And yeah, you bumped into Innie, but you didn't mean to. You'd never hurt him on purpose."

Jisung whimpered, body trembling. He pressed his face hard against Seungmin chest, like he wanted to meld himself into the other boys skin, the apple of his cheek puffing up slightly. "Felt like eve'yone hated me."

Seungmin pressed a kiss to the top of his hair, rubbing soft shapes into his shoulder. "No one hates you, baby. Not even close. They love you. We all love you. Sometimes people say things sharper than they mean when they're stressed. That doesn't mean they don't care."

Slowly, Jisung lifted his head, eyes watery and unsure. "P'omise?"

"Promise," Seungmin said without hesitation, holding his gaze steady. "You're not bad. You're not hated. You're just tired and sad, and that's okay. You're allowed to be both."

That finally broke the last of Jisung's resistance. He sagged against Seungmin with a quiet sob, but it wasn't sharp this time—it was release. Seungmin held him through it, rocking gently, humming low until the sobs faded into hiccups. Maybe the words were a bit big, a little too heavy for such a little baby at the moment, but Seungmin had never been great at the baby talk, and he can't help but think that maybe, if you squinted, Jisung's little mind might appreciate the straightforward-ness.

"You're safe," he whispered into Jisung's hair. "I've got you."

Jisung nodded faintly, the tension in his body easing for the first time all day. His grip on Seungmin's hoodie loosened, shifting instead into a soft, sleepy clutch.

Seungmin kept holding him, certain now that the worst of the storm had passed, but ready to sit there all night if that's what Jisung needed.

It didn't take too long for the boy to fall asleep again, exhausted from his hours of crying and his long day. Seungmin, loathed though he was to leave the sweet thing by himself for too long, desperately needed to run to the bathroom, and a talk was due for several of their hyungs.

He slipped out of bed, carefully removing his arm from where it had been trapped under the boys head and easing him onto the pillow beneath, tucking the blanket over top of him and slipping a small plush rabbit he'd found wedged between the bed frame and wall an hour prior when trying to find a more comfortable position. When he was sure Jisung was comfortable and not going to wake up again, he tiptoed out of the room and shut the door behind him, easing it closed and turning the knob so it wouldn't click when shut.

It wasn't too late, only around 20:30, so no one should be asleep just yet. He made his way down the hallway, peaking into a few of the open rooms just to check if anyone was lounging around. When he saw Jeongin lying on the floor in one of the rooms he quickly ushered him up to follow him to the living room. They were about to have a little chat with the whole group.

Jeongin blinked up at him when Seungmin's shadow fell across the threshold. He had his phone balanced on his chest, thumb tapping idly at the screen, but he sat up quickly enough when Seungmin tilted his head toward the hall.

"What's wrong?" Jeongin asked, voice low, already reading the tension in Seungmin's shoulders.

"Not here," Seungmin murmured, jerking his chin toward the living room. "We need to talk. All of us."

A brief expression of worry flickered across Jeongin's face. He didn't ask more, just pushed himself off the floor and padded after him.

By the time they stepped into the living room, the others were already scattered across it in their usual evening sprawl. Felix was tucked into the corner of the couch with a blanket over his lap, Hyunjin was stretched out beside him like a cat, and Chan was hunched over his laptop at the table. Minho had the remote in hand but wasn't really watching the muted television, just flipping absently between channels. Changbin had just returned from the kitchen with another bottle of water.

The noise of them all quieted as soon as Seungmin walked in, Jeongin at his shoulder. It wasn't anything he said—the silence came from the way he carried himself, the rare gravity in his expression.

Chan set his laptop aside. "What happened?"

Seungmin stayed standing for a beat, scanning each of their faces. He could feel the words pressing at the back of his throat, heavy and hot, but once they broke free, they came steady.

"Jisung's little."

That wasn't news. They all knew it, lived it, cherished it. But the words landed with weight all the same, like a reminder they'd let slip too far from their minds today.

"He slipped after practice?" Felix asked, already soft around the edges, guilt flickering in his eyes.

"He was already little when he got home," Seungmin corrected quietly. "And he's been crying for hours. A proper breakdown—he could barely breathe when I found him." His voice tightened. "And all he could say was that he was bad. That he ruined everything."

Hyunjin sat up slowly, blanket sliding into his lap. "Oh, no..."

Minho's jaw flexed, and for once, he didn't have a retort. Just silence, heavy with the memory of his own sharp tone in the studio.

Seungmin ran a hand through his hair, restless. "Look, I know we were all frustrated this morning. Tired, stressed, annoyed. But yelling at him like that—piling it on when he was already late and struggling—that wasn't fair. Not when we're supposed to protect him, even from ourselves."

The room shifted under the weight of his words. Felix's eyes went glassy, his hands twisting in the edge of his blanket. Changbin looked away, expression tight. Hyunjin pressed his palms over his face, muffling a groan that sounded more like regret than anything else.

Chan leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, voice low and rough. "You're right. We messed up." He scrubbed at his face, then dragged his hands down with a sigh. "I messed up. I saw him struggling and instead of stepping in, I let it get under my skin. I shouldn't have looked at him the way I did. He read it, and it crushed him."

"Me too," Minho muttered, voice almost foreign in its softness. "I snapped. Too hard. He didn't deserve that." His hands tightened around the remote until his knuckles went white. "Not our Hannie."

Felix shifted forward, blanket sliding to the floor. "So what do we do? We can't just—just let him sit there thinking we hate him. He'll bottle it up and keep breaking down until he shuts us out."

Seungmin exhaled, the edge in his chest loosening slightly. "Tomorrow. We all talk to him tomorrow. Gently. Not like practice—no lectures, no frustration. Just... remind him he's safe. That we love him. That being late doesn't erase that."

Jeongin nodded firmly, expression steady for once. "We should play with him. If he wakes up still little, let him set the pace. Toys, cartoons, whatever he wants. Show him we still want him around, no matter what."

Felix reached over, grabbing Jeongin's hand with a grateful squeeze. "Yeah. That's perfect."

"First thing tomorrow," Chan agreed. His tone was final, leader steady again—not with orders, but with resolve. "He won't have to ask for it. We'll show him."

The silence that followed wasn't heavy this time. It was weighted, yes, but with something warmer—determination, love, a collective promise that none of them would let their baby feel unloved another day longer.

The next morning Minho was up early, prattling off instructions as he pushed Chan and Hyunjin around the kitchen, instructing them on their own little tasks as they made breakfast. Chan had called their manager late last night complaining of a stomach bug, saying that all of them had come down with something—likely a bought of food poisoning from the lunch that had been catered the other day. With a little bit of back and forth and some huffy comments—as well as some hurried assurances that he'd continue to work remotely on music production and the like—he'd gotten them the full day off.

By mid morning, the fragrant smell of Kimchi-jjigae was wafting through the dorm, bringing a few of the stragglers out of their beds. As he was finally setting the table, shooing away Felix's hand that was reaching for the yakgwa cookies he'd just set out. They were one of Jisungs favorite sweets that Minho would make and he hadn't gone to bed the night prior until nearly two in the morning, whipping up a batch.

The table was nearly set when soft footsteps padded down the hall, uneven and hesitant. Seungmin appeared in the doorway, one hand steadying the small figure trailing at his side.

Jisung's hair was mussed, sticking in every direction from sleep and dried tears. His oversized hoodie swallowed him whole, sleeves dangling past his fingertips, the hem brushing the tops of his thighs. He clutched one sleeve tightly in his fist like a tether, the other hand hooked into Seungmin's. His face was blotchy, eyes still a little swollen from the night before, but there was no shame in the way he blinked owlishly at the room—only the soft, glassy blankness of a little who hadn't quite come back up yet.

"Morning," Seungmin said evenly, though there was a note of protectiveness threaded into his voice. His gaze swept across the table, then to Minho. "He wanted to eat with everyone."

The shift in the room was immediate. Felix's hand dropped from the cookies without protest, Hyunjin straightened from where he'd been leaning against the counter, and Chan shut his laptop softly, setting it aside.

"Good timing," Minho said, his tone gentler than usual. He stepped forward, wiping his hands on a towel, and crouched slightly to meet Jisung's eye level. "We made your favorite, Sungie. Cookies too. You hungry?"

Jisung gave a tiny nod, eyes flicking from Minho to the spread on the table. His lower lip caught between his teeth as he shuffled closer, still clinging to Seungmin's hand.

Seungmin crouched just enough to murmur, "Do you want to sit next to me, or hyung?"

Jisung glanced around the table as though it were a test. Then, without words, he tugged toward Felix, who immediately brightened and slid over to make space.

"Come here, baby," Felix coaxed softly, patting the spot beside him.

Seungmin released his hand only once Jisung had perched carefully at Felix's side, still tucked into the hoodie like it was armor. Felix draped the blanket from the couch over Jisung's lap without asking, keeping his movements slow, unthreatening.

Chan cleared his throat quietly, drawing everyone's eyes. His usual leader's authority was absent; instead, his words came soft, almost apologetic. "We're sorry about yesterday, Sungie. We weren't fair to you. You didn't do anything wrong."

For a moment, Jisung just blinked at him, thumb creeping up to his lips. Seungmin's hand twitched as though to intervene, but he stopped himself when Jisung leaned against Felix's shoulder, comfort clear in the small motion.

Felix smoothed his hair back, speaking quietly. "Hyungs love you. So much. Always. Even when we're tired. Even when we're grumpy."

"'Sungies our baby," Hyunjin added, voice pitched low, almost playful, but his eyes were soft and serious all at once.

That earned the smallest sound—a tiny hum, muffled against Felix's shirt. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make the others release a breath they hadn't realized they were holding.

Minho set a steaming bowl in front of him, chopsticks carefully placed at the side. "Eat a little. Then you can have cookies, yeah?" His voice was firm but warm, the exact balance Jisung usually responded to best.

Jisung peered into the bowl, then nodded once, picking at the sleeves of his hoodie. Felix reached over to guide his hands, murmuring encouragement until Jisung clumsily picked up the chopsticks.

The dorm filled slowly with the sounds of breakfast—the clink of utensils, the soft murmur of voices.

The day continued like that, soft voices and gentle activities. When Jisung had finished his meal, Felix had wiped the leftovers off his face with a wet towel before picking the boy up beneath his arms and carrying him bridal style over to the living room. The little had squealed, wrapping his arms around the blondes neck and pressing his head beneath his chin, eyes wide and mouth slightly open like he was on the best rollercoaster ride of his life.

The rest followed suit, Minho and Changbin staying back to clean up before reuniting with the group a few minutes later. Jisung had been set on the ground, the coffee table pushed to the side in favor of a large gathering of blankets and pillows, half constructed into a fort. Hyunjin was perched on the couch, knees beneath him like he was about to leap off and crush the half-done structure but Felix was holding him back, making faux noises of struggle like it was hard to hold Hyunjin back, who was growling and roaring like a dragon. Jisung was on the floor, giggling loudly and shrieking whenever Hyunjin managed to get free and lunge at him slightly, only to be pulled back again by Felix. Chan was on the floor too, hiding beneath the slowly leaning structure of pillows and blankets, his hands balled into fists under his chin, whining like some damsel in distress. Jeongin and Seungmin 

Jeongin and Seungmin had taken up the role of "builders," fussing with the blankets draped over chair backs and carefully stacking pillows to shore up the sides of the fort. Seungmin was focused, brows furrowed in concentration, while Jeongin kept sneaking peeks at Jisung, grinning every time his hyung dissolved into another fit of giggles.

"Yah, Innie," Seungmin muttered, tugging a corner of the blanket tighter. "If you don't help me hold this side, it's going to collapse on Sungie."

Jeongin scrambled to catch it, overdramatic as he braced it with his arms. "Don't worry! I've got it! No blanket monster's gonna hurt our baby!"

That made Jisung squeal again, rolling onto his back in the nest of cushions. He kicked his legs in the air, hoodie sleeves flopping over his hands, laughter spilling out of him unchecked.

"Dragon's coming!" Hyunjin roared suddenly, breaking free from Felix's grasp and throwing himself toward the fort. Felix grabbed him around the waist mid-leap, the both of them tumbling onto the couch in a heap.

Jisung gasped, covering his face with both sleeves, peeking out through the gap like it was the most suspenseful thing in the world. "Save meeee!" he squeaked, voice high and breathless.

Chan crawled halfway out of the fort, clutching at Jisung's ankle dramatically. "Oh nooo, the dragon found us! Somebody help!"

Changbin chose that moment to stomp into the living room with Minho right behind him, both of them wiping their hands on dish towels. He took in the scene with a grin. "What's all this noise, huh?!"

"Dragon attack!" Jeongin yelled, pointing accusingly at Hyunjin, who was growling from Felix's arms.

Without missing a beat, Changbin puffed out his chest and struck a pose. "Don't worry, Sungie! Super Bin is here!" He flexed his arms ridiculously, making Jisung laugh so hard his giggles turned into hiccups.

Minho rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the fond curve of his mouth as he crossed to the fort. He crouched beside Jisung, smoothing a hand over his hair. "Don't be scared, baby. Hyung's here too. We'll keep you safe."

Jisung's hiccup softened into a little hum, and he burrowed closer into the pillow pile, gazing up at Minho with glassy, adoring eyes. His thumb hovered near his lips again, and Minho gently redirected it, pressing a cookie into his hand instead.

"Here. Brave heroes get sweets," Minho said, his tone playful but firm.

That earned a quiet giggle, Jisung biting into the cookie with crumbs scattering down his hoodie. Felix tucked the blanket tighter around him, and Jeongin declared the fort "dragon-proof" with one final flourish of the sheet.

The rest of the afternoon blurred into laughter and soft chaos—the fort standing lopsided but sturdy, Hyunjin roaring dramatically every few minutes just to make Jisung squeal, Chan pretending to faint in the corner, Seungmin pretending to scold them all while secretly making sure Jisung always had a snack within reach.

And through it all, Jisung glowed. Safe, adored, wrapped in the warm bubble of his hyungs' love. Their baby, their Sungie.