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Euijoo feels the first cramp during the transition into the second chorus. A sharp, twisting pull deep in his lower abdomen—low enough that it’s unmistakable and unwelcome. He breathes through it, holds his core tighter, and wills his expression to stay steady in the mirror. No one seems to notice. Good.
They run the choreo again. And again. Each time, the ache returns harder, a slow curl that spreads across his pelvis and up into his back. His body always picks the worst timing. Today is no exception.
“Euijoo, that’s late,” the choreographer calls. “You’re our front line. You’re usually sharper than this.”
“Sorry,” he says, bowing quickly. “I’ll fix it.”
Across the room, Nicholas’ eyes flick toward him—just a glance, but too focused to ignore. K stretches next to him, watching him longer than necessary. Fuma, near the speaker, tilts his head just slightly.
But no one asks. And he doesn’t offer.
The track restarts.
Euijoo pushes through the pain, trying to keep his movements clean. He’s danced through worse. Usually, he can force his body to behave long enough to get through practice.
Today… not quite.
When he tightens for the spin, the cramp strikes hard—sharp enough to blur his vision. He lands half a beat late.
The music cuts.
“Again,” the choreographer sighs. “Whatever’s happening, fix it.”
Before he can respond, Nicholas speaks, frustration edging his voice. “We can’t keep pretending it’s nothing.”
Heat prickles up Euijoo’s neck. “It is nothing. I just need—”
“You don’t look like nothing,” Kei murmurs, crossing his arms, all quiet precision.
Fuma steps closer, voice lower. “If your body’s acting up, you can say so. You don’t have to—”
“I’m fine,” Euijoo says too fast, too sharp. “Let’s go again.”
They try.
He barely gets halfway through the chorus before the world tilts. He doesn’t register falling—only the sudden, firm grip around his waist hauling him upright before his knees hit the floor.
“Hey.” Nicholas’ voice, right at his ear, steady but strained. “Look at me.”
Euijoo tries to focus. A pulse of pain drags his breath out of sync.
Fuma crouches in front of him. “Sit down, before you go down harder.”
Kei’s already handing him water. No teasing. No commentary. Just quiet urgency.
“I’m okay,” Euijoo mutters weakly. “It’s just… my stomach.”
Nicholas’ jaw tightens. “Lower stomach?”
Euijoo freezes.
The question is too specific. Too familiar.
The choreographer sighs heavily. “Take a break. We’re done for now.”
Relief hits him like a sigh he didn’t mean to release. Nicholas doesn’t remove his hand from his waist. Fuma and Kei hover in a way that makes his chest ache—present but not intrusive.
And just like that, the moment escapes explanation. No admission. No naming. Just shared understanding in the quiet.
.
The van ride is dim and warm. Euijoo curls against the window, counting breaths to keep the cramps from swallowing him. Every bump in the road tugs at the low ache deep in his belly.
Nicholas slides in next to him without comment.
A minute passes.
Then two.
“You kept holding your stomach back there,” Nicholas says quietly. “Not your ribs. Not your side."
Euijoo lifts a shoulder weakly. “It’s nothing serious.”
“You almost collapsed.”
“That happens sometimes,” Euijoo mutters.
Nicholas hums—a sound too soft to be judgment, too steady to be casual. “Same kind of thing as last month?” he asks carefully.
The breath Euijoo draws is shaky.
So he had noticed. Even back then. Even when Euijoo chalked it up to a pulled muscle and hid in the shower for an hour.
Finally, Euijoo nods—barely.
Nicholas exhales slowly, tension unwinding in his frame. Then, gentle: “Come here.”
Euijoo stiffens. “Nichol—”
“It’s just support,” Nicholas murmurs. “Lean if it helps.”
Reluctance… and relief. Both at once. Eventually, Euijoo lets his head tip sideways onto Nicholas’ shoulder. The hand that settles on his upper arm is warm, grounding.
Nicholas keeps his scent calm, unobtrusive. A quiet envelope instead of a blanket.
“You don’t have to explain anything,” Nicholas says softly. “But I can’t help if you don’t let me see you.”
Euijoo closes his eyes.
It’s humiliating how much better he feels with that one sentence.
.
By the time they reach the dorm, the fatigue is bone-deep. Euijoo barely makes it down the hall before Fuma touches his wrist lightly.
“Room,” he says simply. “We’ll handle the rest.”
Kei is already plugging in the heat pack he dug out of a drawer. He puts it in Euijoo’s hands with no fuss, no commentary.
“Lie down,” Kei says. “Slowly.”
Euijoo obeys. The moment he curls on his side, tension finally starts to crack. The heat presses into his abdomen, heavy and soothing.
Fuma checks the temperature, then adjusts the blanket over him with the precision of someone who does this more often than he says. “Call if it spikes,” he murmurs. “Doesn’t matter when.”
Kei adds, “And don’t get up. If you try to walk around, Nicholas will rat you out.”
Nicholas, sitting at the edge of the bed, mutters, “I absolutely will.”
Fuma and Kei leave the door cracked—close, but not closed. Present, but not pressing.
Nicholas stays.
“You don’t have to—” Euijoo begins, but Nicholas shakes his head.
“I want to,” he says simply. “Is this okay?”
It is. It feels ridiculous to admit it, but it is.
“Yeah,” Euijoo whispers.
Nicholas shifts behind him, lying down carefully. Not crowding him. Not pulling. Just offering warmth. His arm rests lightly over the blanket near Euijoo’s waist—close enough to anchor, far enough not to press where it hurts.
When another cramp hits, Euijoo curls in on himself with a quiet hiss. Nicholas’ hand moves to his back instantly, rubbing slow, steady circles.
“You tighten your breath,” Nicholas murmurs. “Try with me.”
He counts. Euijoo follows. The tremor in his muscles eases, just a little.
After a long silence, Euijoo says, barely audible, “It’s the cycle. Just the beginning. It gets bad sometimes.”
Nicholas nods against the pillow. No shock. No awkwardness. Just acceptance.
“Thank you for telling me,” he says softly. “You don’t need to say more.”
Euijoo’s throat closes. Relief is almost as painful as the cramps themselves.
“Feels embarrassing,” he admits. “It’s private. Saying it out loud makes me feel—”
“Human?” Nicholas finishes gently. “You’re allowed that.”
Another silence. Softer.
Nicholas keeps his hand at Euijoo’s back, steady and warm.
“You scared me today,” Nicholas adds, voice dropping. “When you went down.”
Euijoo swallows. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” Nicholas says. “That’s why it scared me.”
The truth of it settles thick and warm between them.
Euijoo breathes. The cramps ebb. The room quiets.
And little by little, he lets himself lean back into Nicholas’ touch—not fully, not yet, but enough.
Enough to rest.
.
They fall half-asleep like that. At some point, Kei returns with soup. He deposits it in Nicholas’ hands and announces, “If he says he’s not hungry, I’m force-feeding him.”
Euijoo glares weakly. Kei ignores it.
Nicholas feeds him when his hands shake too much. Euijoo complains, embarrassed. Nicholas pretends not to hear.
After Kei and Fuma leave again, Nicholas settles back in behind him, arm returning to its place like gravity brought it there.
Hours later, the pain fades to a dull throb. Euijoo drifts.
“Nicholas?” he murmurs.
“Mm?”
“Do you…” He hesitates. “Do you actually mean the things you say?”
Nicholas shifts closer, breath warm against Euijoo’s hair.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he answers. “Especially to you.”
The words make something inside Euijoo waver, tilt—like a step taken onto unfamiliar ground.
He turns carefully until they’re facing each other. Their eyes meet in the low light. Nicholas looks exhausted, worried, and impossibly gentle.
“Can I…?” Nicholas asks quietly, lifting a hand but not closing the distance.
Euijoo nods before he thinks.
Nicholas leans in slowly, giving him time to pull back. Their lips meet in a soft brush—warm, hesitant, unbearably careful.
When they part, Euijoo’s breath trembles.
“Okay?” Nicholas whispers.
Euijoo nods again. “Yeah. Good.”
Nicholas smiles, small but real. He tugs Euijoo gently into his chest.
“Sleep,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”
This time, Euijoo does.
.
Morning sunlight slips under the curtain. Euijoo wakes slowly, warmth pressed along his spine and an arm heavy around his waist.
Nicholas.
They must have shifted in the night—Euijoo is half sprawled over him, face buried in his shirt, one leg tangled with his.
For a moment, Euijoo freezes.
Then Nicholas stirs beneath him.
“Morning,” he says, voice rough with sleep.
“No it’s not,” Euijoo mutters, refusing to open his eyes. “Go away.”
Nicholas laughs softly. “We have a meeting in an hour. Kei will break down the door if we don’t show up.”
Euijoo groans into his chest. His stomach aches—dull but manageable.
He sits up slowly. Nicholas follows.
The hallway knocks interrupt whatever comes next.
“Status check,” Kei calls. “Are you two alive? Walking? Presentable?”
Euijoo clears his throat. “Alive.”
“Good,” Kei says. “Breakfast in ten. Don’t make me fetch you.”
“And don’t overdo it,” comes Fuma’s calm voice from behind him. “You push too hard today, we reorganize. Understood?”
Euijoo presses his lips together. “Understood.”
Footsteps fade.
Nicholas glances over. “They mean well.”
“I know,” Euijoo murmurs. “It’s just… new.”
Nicholas nods. “Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just… don’t shut us out.”
Euijoo looks at him—sleep-tousled hair, pillow-creased cheek, eyes warm despite the exhaustion.
“Okay,” Euijoo says quietly. “I’ll try.”
“And if it starts hurting again,” Nicholas says, gentle but firm, “text me. Before it gets like yesterday.”
Euijoo swallows. Then nods.
“I will.”
Nicholas smiles, relief soft across his face. “Good. Then get dressed. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
He leaves with a final glance back.
Euijoo takes a deep breath, pulls on a hoodie, and steps into the hallway where warm light and quiet voices spill from the kitchen.
His phone buzzes in his pocket.
From: Nicholas
remember our deal
“hey my uterus hates me” works fine
Euijoo snorts, typing back:
horrible phrasing
but okay
He tucks his phone away, and for the first time, the weight in his chest feels lighter.
Not gone.
Just—shared.