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The airport doors slid open, and the noise swallowed them whole.
It wasn’t just loud. It was overwhelming. A sharp, crushing wall of sound made of shouts and camera shutters and footsteps rushing forward all at once. The air itself felt crowded, thick with bodies and a sense of urgency.
Martin stepped out first, posture straight, face composed, calm as expected of the leader. He casually greeted fans and reporters with his bag slung across his shoulder, headphones wrapped around his neck, and sunglasses on.
James followed closely, eyes sharp behind his glasses, scanning left and right, fully aware of his surroundings. His cap covered the upper half of his face, shielding him from the bright flashes as he bowed to the people waiting.
Seonghyeon walked behind them, shoulders tense beneath his jacket, a faint crease already forming between his brows. He had a tight smile on his lips, choosing to keep his head lowered as he was directed through the crowds by their bodyguards.
Juhoon trailed in between the youngest two, keeping pace with the rest of the group. His face was void of any expression, exhausted after their back-to-back schedules in Japan, wanting nothing more than to take a nap in their car.
And at the very back, Keonho, clad in his jacket with sunglasses pushing back his hair, hesitated for half a second before stepping forward. He had a rehearsed smile on his face as he politely waved to the fans waiting and screaming for him.
“KEONHO!”
“LOOK HERE!”
“KEONHO PLEASE!”
“THIS WAY, AHN KEONHO!”
His name and demands were yelled at him from every direction, voices stacking on top of one another until they blurred into noise. Phones and cameras were shoved forward, lenses flashing too close, too bright, he had to squint. Someone brushed past him roughly, and another body bumped his shoulder.
Keonho tried to keep walking, ushered along by their bodyguards. That was always the rule. Walk, smile, don’t stop.
But suddenly his bag strap jerked hard. “No—” he gasped, instinctively clutching it to his chest.
The pull yanked him sideways, throwing him off-balance. His foot caught on something, someone’s shoe, a bag, he wasn’t sure, but then his shoe slipped clean off. He tried to reach for it, but it disappeared from his sight as he was firmly guided forward.
Hands pressed in from all sides. Too many. Too close. Fingers grazed his sleeve, his wrist, his arm. Someone stepped on his socked foot, and pain shot up his leg. His other shoe vanished in the chaos, lost beneath the crowd of bodies.
“Please, my shoe—” he tried, voice thin and lost instantly under the voices of the fans and reporters.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs. Panic rose fast and sharp, curling tight in his chest. He couldn’t see the members anymore, just a blur of coats and phones and faces that weren’t supposed to be this close. A flash of fear sparked behind his eyes as he felt himself tilt again, weight shifting dangerously forward.
“Keonho!”
A staff member’s voice cut through the chaos. Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, gripping his upper arms firmly, anchoring him in place. Another bodyguard stepped to his side, forcing space with their shoulder.
“Careful, careful! Move away!”
Keonho clutched onto the staff member’s sleeve, fingers trembling. His chest hurt. His breathing was uneven, coming in short, shallow gasps. The crowd protested loudly as he was pulled forward, voices rising in frustration, flashes snapping faster.
Ahead of him, the members kept moving. They didn’t turn around. They couldn’t see him. The knowledge stung in a way he couldn’t explain.
By the time they reached the car, Keonho barely registered the door opening. He was guided inside, feet bare except for his socks against the cold air, head buzzing. A staff member rushed forward, throwing something inside next to his feet.
Keonho’s shoes. Both of them were scuffed and slightly bent. He barely glanced at them.
“Thank you,” he whispered anyway, bowing his head despite the way his vision swam. His voice was small, trembling. The bodyguard nodded, and then the door slammed shut behind him with a final, heavy thud.
The noise outside cut off instantly. For a moment, Keonho just sat there, frozen, staring at the floor. His hands were still clenched tight around his bag strap. His shoulders trembled.
Then his breath hitched. Once. Twice. And then everything broke.
He sank down on his seat, hands flying up to his face as a sob tore out of him, raw and unrestrained. His body folded in on itself, shoulders shaking violently as tears spilled over his fingers and soaked into his sleeves. He couldn’t even breathe right.
Seonghyeon, who had climbed into the seat at the other end of the car, turned around. The sight hit him all at once.
Keonho—his Keonho—curled in on himself, crying so hard his whole body shook, cheeks red, hair falling messily into his eyes. His shoes lay untouched on the floor like an afterthought.
Seonghyeon’s chest tightened painfully.
“What—” His voice broke. “Keonho?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He tapped Juhoon’s shoulder and requested a switch of seats, which the other agreed to easily. Seonghyeon’s hands came up instinctively, warm and steady, gently pulling Keonho’s wrists away from his face.
“Hey,” Seonghyeon murmured, thumbs brushing away tears. “Hey, look at me. Please.”
Keonho tried. His lips trembled, another sob slipping free as his eyes finally met Seonghyeon’s.
“They—” he choked. “They were pulling my bag. I couldn’t move. I lost my shoes, and I thought I was going to fall—”
Seonghyeon pulled him closer, one arm wrapped securely around his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. He pressed Keonho’s face into his shoulder, holding him like he was something fragile, precious.
“I’ve got you,” Seonghyeon whispered softly. “You’re safe now. I’m here. I should’ve been there, I’m so sorry.”
Keonho clung to him, fingers gripping Seonghyeon’s jacket as his sobs slowly turned softer, broken breaths.
Their manager, who was also their driver, patiently waited, respectfully looking away. The glass was tinted so they could see the fans finally starting to disperse, but no one from outside could see them inside the car.
Around the youngest two, the others closed in. Juhoon passed Keonho a water bottle, while James and Martin exchanged dark, furious looks from the back seats.
James spoke first, voice low but unwavering. “This can’t happen again.”
Martin nodded, jaw set. “We need to complain to management so they know to increase security. No exceptions.”
“I will talk to the upper management and see what I can do. Buckle your seatbelts, and I’ll drive us to the dorm,” their manager instructed, revving the car engine to life.
Keonho cried quietly against Seonghyeon’s shoulder as the car carried them farther and farther away from the airport, away from the crowd, and into the arms of people who would never let him face that alone again.
The dorm was quiet when they arrived. Not the comfortable kind of quiet, but the kind that lingered too long, pressing against the walls like it didn’t know where to go. Shoes were kicked off near the door. Coats slipped from shoulders and were forgotten where they fell. But even then, Keonho barely spoke.
Seonghyeon stayed close, never letting more than a step separate them. When Keonho sat on the couch, Seonghyeon sat beside him. When he stood to get water, Seonghyeon followed, hand hovering at his back like he was afraid Keonho might disappear if he blinked.
Juhoon quietly heated some leftovers of Keonho’s favourite takeout in the kitchen. James handed Keonho a blanket without a word. Martin lowered the lights, softening the harshness of the room.
Keonho curled into the couch, blanket pulled up to his chin. His eyes were red, lashes clumped together from dried tears. He looked impossibly small like this. Knees drawn in, shoulders rounded, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the fabric. Nothing like the usual sunshine he was.
Seonghyeon reached out slowly, carefully, as if asking permission without words. When Keonho leaned into him, Seonghyeon wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against his chest.
“Keonho, you don’t have to be strong here,” he murmured, pressing a brief kiss to Keonho’s hair. “You’re safe.”
“I tried,” he whispered. “I really tried to stay calm. I didn’t want anyone to get mad. I didn’t want to scare anyone.”
Seonghyeon’s jaw tightened, but his voice was gentle when he spoke, “You were scared. That matters more.”
Keonho swallowed hard, nodding. His fingers curled into Seonghyeon’s shirt. Not far from them, the others pretended not to listen, but every word landed heavy in the room.
When the food was placed into Keonho’s hands, he blinked in surprise. “For me?” he asked softly.
Juhoon smiled, small and fond. “Who else would it be for?”
Keonho offered back a little smile, even now, though it was dimmed compared to his usual grin. “Thank you.”
That broke something in Seonghyeon’s chest.
Later that night, when the dorm had settled into something closer to calm, Keonho sat cross-legged on his bed with his phone in his hands. Seonghyeon sat on his own bed, back leaning against the wall, watching.
“You don’t have to post,” he said quietly. “Not tonight, after everything that happened.”
Keonho hesitated. Then he shook his head. “I want to,” he replied. “They’ll worry if I don’t.”
His thumbs hovered over the screen for a moment before he began typing.
KEONHO • Nov 7, 00:39
Have a good night 😴
Good night, everyone 🌙
Short. Simple. Sufficient.
Seonghyeon watched the message go live, his phone vibrating with the notification, and felt something twist painfully in his chest as if he had been stabbed.
Keonho set his phone down and let out a small breath. Seonghyeon crossed the room and pulled him into a hug, tighter this time. Keonho melted into it instantly.
“You’re too precious for this world,” Seonghyeon murmured.
Keonho smiled weakly against his shoulder. “I just don’t want anyone to be upset.”
After everything, after the fear, after the tears, after the way he had shaken in Seonghyeon’s embrace. Keonho still chose to be kind to the world. He was truly an angel gifted from heaven.
They eventually moved to Seonghyeon’s bed, Keonho sleepily mumbling about how it was more comfortable. After Keonho had drifted to sleep, tucked into Seonghyeon’s sheets, still in his arms, the older one checked his phone.
Photographs, videos, and live streams from the incident at the airport had spread like wildfire across all social media platforms. Some were from official news outlets, while others were taken from fan sites. The reactions were immediate. Support flooded in first.
“He’s literally 16. What is wrong with people?”
“Did you see the videos? He lost both his shoes.”
“Protect Keonho better! This is not okay!”
Fans shared slowed-down clips, screenshots of staff holding his shoes, and zoomed-in frames of his panicked expression. Anger burned hot and justified.
But not everyone was kind and understanding. Others focused on something else entirely.
“He swore at fans.”
“Idols should control their reactions.”
“Fame isn’t for everyone.”
The words felt sharp even through a screen. Seonghyeon shut his phone off.
Keonho stirred beside him. “Hyeon?”
“I’m here,” Seonghyeon replied immediately, pulling him closer. Keonho buried his face against his chest as sleep once again took over.
Outside the room, the world argued, picked him apart, defended him, misunderstood him. Inside, he was just a sixteen-year-old boy who had been scared. And he was loved.
☆☆☆
In the living room, Martin and James sat with their phones out, expressions grim.
“This went too far,” James said flatly. “He’s sixteen, and there were grown women pushing themselves at him like a group of wild animals.”
Martin nodded. “He could’ve been seriously hurt. We need to change formations and increase security. They better not fight us on this.”
The call with management was long but decisive. In the next few weeks, the notice was drafted and released with a list of set fan etiquette and consequences.
[NOTICE] CORTIS Fan Etiquette
Recently, there have been persistent instances of people closely following the artists through airports, causing the artists to feel anxious and fearful.Such acts violate the safety and privacy of the members of CORTIS, most of whom are minors, and can cause mental anxiety and psychological discomfort, as well as physical harm.
If you continue or repeat such behaviour, you may be reported to the police and be subject to legal punishment beyond immediate on-site sanctions.
☆☆☆
The airport doors slid open again. But this time, the noise didn’t swallow them whole.
It was still loud with fans calling names, cameras clicking, voices overlapping, but it felt… contained. Controlled. Security lines were thicker, staff positioned more tightly along the walkway, barriers standing firm where there had once been open space.
Martin stepped out first, just like before. His stride was confident, relaxed, hood up, sunglasses perched neatly on his face. He lifted a hand in greeting, acknowledging the crowd with ease. The flashes followed him, but they didn’t surge forward.
Right behind him was Keonho. Not at the back this time.
He was dressed casually today, wearing a denim jacket loosely buttoned over a white tee, and his hair styled once again using his sunglasses. Keonho’s shoes were snug on his feet, tied well this time.
James walked close at his side, an arm resting securely around Keonho’s shoulders, his grip unmistakably protective. Keonho’s steps faltered for only a second as he took in the familiar setting, memories stirring uncomfortably in his chest.
But then James squeezed him gently. “You’re good,” he murmured reassuringly, just loud enough for Keonho to hear.
Keonho nodded. He took a steady breath and stepped forward beside Martin, feeling comfortable and safe. Keonho waved, threw some peace signs, and even showed the crowd a thumbs-up.
The fans noticed immediately. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Phones lifted, but no one pushed forward. The staff moved smoothly, practised, and created a clear path.
And then, slowly, he smiled under his mask. It wasn’t the rehearsed smile from before. Not the automatic one he’d worn during their last airport appearance. This one reached his eyes.
Further back, Seonghyeon walked with Juhoon. His hands were busy, waving at all the fans and reporters watching, but his eyes never left Keonho for long.
Once they reached the designated area and security confirmed the path was clear, their formation shifted seamlessly, just as planned. Keonho moved forward first. Martin fell beside him. James followed close behind. Juhoon next. And Seonghyeon at the back, watching everything.
This time, when fans called his name, Keonho didn’t flinch. “AHN KEONHO!” He turned, bowed, and waved in their direction. One of the many staff members surrounding him nodded approvingly. Cameras clicked from a respectful distance. No hands reached for him. No one stepped into his space.
He walked easily now, steps light, confident. As they passed the doors to the departure lounge, Keonho let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
Seonghyeon caught up to him just long enough to brush their hands together. It was barely noticeable, fleeting, but grounding all the same.
“You did so well,” he said as they lined up to board the plane to depart for Hong Kong.
Keonho smiled ever harder, his grin hidden behind his mask, but still noticeable to Seonghyeon by the crinkle of his eyes.
Inside the airplane, once they were seated and the chaos had subsided, Martin glanced back at him. “How’d it feel?” he asked.
Keonho thought about it for a moment, but he knew what he had felt this time. “…Safe,” he answered.
James, sitting to his right, ruffled his hair gently. “Good.”
From next to Martin, Juhoon grinned. “As it should.”
Seonghyeon, who sat to his left, watched Keonho lean back into his seat, relaxed, eyes bright again, the weight visibly lifted from his shoulders. The older one reached under the blankets covering them both and interlocked their hands.
Keonho turned to him, confused, at the sudden contact. “Hm?”
Seonghyeon shook his head. “Just wanted to hold your hand,” he whispered.
Keonho’s lips curved up into that soft, beautiful smile that made Seonghyeon subconsciously smile too. He realised then that he would do anything for his angel, his Keonho.