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“Hanbin hyung, you can go first,” one of the members says, half-laughing as they crowd into the practice room doorway.
Hanbin shakes his head with an easy smile. “I’ll lock up. Go eat.”
It’s a familiar routine—Hanbin staying behind, Hanbin watching their backs as they leave. Under the harsh practice room lights, he stretches sore muscles and exhales slowly, the echoes of their laughter still ringing in his ears.
At interviews, he speaks before anyone else can.
“We’ll reflect and do better,” Hanbin says, bowing deeply while the members stand safely behind him.
Later, in the dorm kitchen, someone frowns at him. “Hyung, you didn’t eat again.”
“I’m fine,” Hanbin replies quickly, too quickly, already turning away. He tells himself the same thing every night: As long as they’re okay, I am too.
But strength, he’s starting to realize, feels a lot like disappearing—and no one has noticed yet.
8 o’clock in the morning, Conference Room
“Hanbin-ah. How many times do we have to tell you, monitor your members when doing lives. I specifically told you all that no more spoilers for the upcoming comeback.”
The management called a sudden meeting, calling for Hanbin’s presence. “I’m sorry, I’ll tell them to tone it down.”
“That’s what you said before. But did something happen?” The snark tone pierced to Hanbin’s mind, scolding himself for not being able to control his members. “They always ignore the management’s order. That's why we made you the leader to watch over them, but what are you doing? Nothing.”
“I’ll try my best, sir. I promise to fix everything.”
“You better. You’re dismissed.” Hanbin gathered his strength to stand up, bowing before leaving the tense conference room.
“HANBIN HYUNG!”
“There you are, Hanbin-ah.” The members immediately surround the leader the moment Hanbin emerge from the door. Some looked worried, while the others oblivious. “Oh, you all are here. Let’s start the practice.”
A smile plastered on his face, yet much different from his usual one that always reached his eyes. “Baobei, you okay?” Hao whispered, worried for Hanbin’s wellbeing but got brushed off with a simple nod.
“Okay, if you say so.” The feelings were never eased up in Hao’s mind, but he decided not to push it further.
The routine kept repeating. To the point that Hanbin starts forgetting things.
Not big things—never schedules or choreography—but small ones. His phone on the counter. His jacket on the practice room chair. The way he stares at the fridge like he’s trying to remember why he opened it in the first place.
“Hyung?” Gunwook asks one evening. “You okay?”
Hanbin startles. Then he smiles. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He says it like a joke. No one laughs.
At rehearsal, Hanbin counts them in perfectly, voice steady, posture flawless. But when the music ends, he stays standing, eyes unfocused, like the room is drifting away from him.
Jiwoong moves first. “Hanbin-ah.”
“I’m fine,” Hanbin says automatically, before anyone can finish a sentence. He rubs at his wrist, skin red where he’s been gripping it too hard. “Really. Let’s run it again.”
Later, Hao notices the pills on Hanbin’s nightstand—vitamins, probably, except they’re taken too often, the bottle already half-empty.
“You should rest,” Hao says carefully.
Hanbin doesn’t look up from his phone. “I will.”
“When?”
Hanbin pauses. Then, softer: “When things calm down.”
But he never did.
The worst moment is small. A staff member raises their voice during practice, frustration sharp in the air. Before anyone can react, Hanbin steps forward, bowing low.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s my fault.”
The words land wrong. Because no one was blaming him.
After, in the hallway, Matthew grabs his sleeve. “Hyung, why did you say that?”
Hanbin gently pulls free. His smile is kind, almost pleading. “Because I’m the leader. It has to be me.”
That night, the dorm is quiet. Too quiet.
The members lie awake, listening to Hanbin’s door remain open, light still on, as if he’s afraid that if he lets the darkness in, he won’t be able to keep pretending he’s whole.
“Hyung, this is getting too far. Hanbin hyung kept brushing us off, taking responsibilities for the things he didn’t do. He’s drifting away.”
“We know, Matthew-ah. We’ll try to talk to him, okay? You guys don’t need to wor—”
Jiwoong wants to dismissed Matthew’s concern but the younger can’t take it anymore. “When?! When Hanbin hyung lost himself?! Hyung, I can’t just continue living my life while my best friend is basically fading away. I can’t.”
The silence engulfs the place after hearing Matthew’s pleas. They don’t know what to do—whether to confront Hanbin or let the leader reach for them—they don’t know anymore. “Matthew-ah…”
The moment finally happened—Hanbin’s realization.
It happens when there’s nothing left to do.
No cameras.
No members knocking on the door.
No schedule to prepare for.
Hanbin sits alone on the dorm room floor, back against his bed, phone dark in his hands. He’s answered every message. Fixed every problem. Smiled through every apology. There is nothing left unfinished—and yet his chest feels impossibly heavy.
He tries to stand.
His legs don’t move.
Hanbin laughs quietly at first, breath shaky. “This is… stupid.”
He presses his palms to the floor, pushes again. His arms tremble, useless, like they don’t belong to him anymore. The air in his lungs comes in too fast, too shallow.
I can’t do this.
The thought terrifies him more than any scandal ever has.
Hanbin curls forward, forehead dropping to his knees. His hands fist into his shirt like he can hold himself together by force alone.
“I tried,” he whispers into the empty room. “I really tried.”
Images flood in—bowing too deep, saying I’m sorry when he wasn’t wrong, stepping in front of anger that wasn’t meant for him. Every time he told himself just one more, just until they’re safe.
His breathing breaks.
The sob rips out of him, sharp and humiliating. He clamps a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking violently, but there’s no one to hear him now. Tears soak into the fabric of his sleeve as his body finally gives in to what he’s been holding back for months.
“I don’t know how to be strong anymore,” Hanbin chokes. “I don’t know how to stop.”
That’s when it hits him—not the pain, but the truth beneath it.
He’s not tired.
He’s drowning.
And he’s been sinking for so long that he doesn’t remember what the surface looks like.
Hanbin presses his forehead to his hands, crying openly now, breath hitching, wrist full of scratches. For the first time since becoming a leader, he doesn’t reach for a solution.
He just lets himself fall apart. Too immerse in himself, Hanbin didn’t notice the faint creak of the door
The room is quiet except for Hanbin’s soft, uneven breathing. Jiwoong sits cross-legged in front of him, still holding his shoulder, giving him space but offering a steady presence.
“It’s okay, Hanbin-ah, Hyung’s here.” Jiwoong whispers. “You don’t have to hide. You don’t have to fix everything.”
Hanbin shakes his head weakly, lips trembling. “I… I wanted to be strong for all of you. I have to—”
“You don’t need to shoulder everything,” Jiwoong interrupts gently, voice firm but calm. “You’re not Superman or any of the Avengers. You’re you, Hanbin-ah.”
Hanbin was about to rebut, but stopped as he can’t find the words he wanted to say. “Hanbin-ah ,it’s not your responsibility to take everything to the point you’re forgetting yourself. You’re fading.”
Slow footsteps echo in the hallway. Hao appears, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, eyes soft. “It’s okay to cry,” he says simply. No judgment, just presence. He crouches beside Jiwoong. “Baobei… you’ve been carrying too much.”
Hanbin tries to brush them off. “I… I can’t. I don't know how to st—”
Matthew and Taerae arrive next, bringing blankets. “Shh, it’s okay,” Matthew says, draping one over Hanbin’s shoulders. “Let it all out. You’re allowed to cry.”
Taerae sits quietly nearby, hand hovering over Hanbin’s arm. “You’ve been holding all of this in for how long… we just want you safe,” he says softly.
Ricky and Gyuvin slip in after, quietly grabbing a couple of water bottles and snacks. “We made sure no one’s coming to bug you,” Ricky whispers. “We’re all here.”
Gunwook hesitates at the door for a moment, then steps in last, sitting slightly apart, but his gaze never leaves Hanbin. “You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he says, voice low but unwavering.
Yujin peeks around the corner, the youngest, looking unsure but holding back tears himself. “Hyung… we’ve got you,” he whispers, almost shyly. “All of us.”
Hanbin looks up through red, wet eyes. His chest heaves as he realizes the room is full of them—all nine members, surrounding him like a shield he no longer has to hold up alone.
“I… I didn’t want to bother anyone,” he says, voice barely audible.
Jiwoong shakes his head, hand still on his shoulder. “You’re not a burden. We’re a team. And you… you’re our heart. You’re allowed to take a break. You’re allowed to rest.”
Hao nods, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Even leaders need help sometimes.”
Hanbin swallows, tears slipping down his cheeks, and for the first time in months, he stops fighting it. He lets himself lean into them, let the warmth of the blankets, the soft murmurs, and the presence of his members ground him.
Matthew lifts a hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “We love you, Hambin hyung. Don’t ever forget that.”
One by one, they settle in around him. Some sit on the floor, some kneel, some stay standing but close. Each one offers a quiet piece of reassurance: a hand, a pat on the back, a soft word, or simply their presence.
Hanbin hugs his knees to his chest, but this time, he doesn’t feel alone. The tight, suffocating weight on his chest begins to ease, replaced with something he’s almost forgotten—relief.
“You don’t have to carry this alone anymore,” Jiwoong whispers again.
“I… I know,” Hanbin says, voice cracking but steadier now. A small, fragile smile creeps onto his face. “Thank you… all of you.”
And in that quiet dorm room, surrounded by the people he has spent so long protecting, Hanbin finally allows himself to rest, to cry, to be human—and to be loved back.
The dorm becomes lively again. Music from Jiwoong’s phone drifts through the living room, competing with Taerae and Matthew arguing over who gets the last cereal.
Hao leans against the counter, smirking at Ricky. “You’re supposed to be cleaning, not eating snacks.”
Ricky grins, holding up a granola bar. “Multitasking.”
Gunwook snorts from the couch. “You call that multitasking? That’s chaos management 101.”
Even Yujin, perched on the armrest of the sofa, giggles seeing the others clocking each other out.
“YAH! KIM QUBING! That’s my granola bar!” But the said name just teasingly waves the granola bar in its hands, happily eating it in front of Ricky.
Hanbin watches from the kitchen doorway, leaning on the frame, a mug of coffee in his hands. The corners of his lips lift in a small, quiet smile. The chaos isn’t overwhelming. It’s… familiar. Safe.
Gunwook notices him. “Morning, Bin hyung,” he says, voice teasing but soft. “Coffee in hand, supervising everyone again?”
Hanbin shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Someone has to make sure you guys don’t burn the place down.”
Hao bumps him lightly with his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’re trained to survive your glaring supervision.”
Matthew snickers. “Glaring? You mean loving intimidation?”
“What? I never do that.” Hanbin chuckles quietly, though it’s soft, almost embarrassed. The warmth in the room presses gently against the heaviness he’s been carrying.
Later, they’re all sprawled on the living room floor, playing a ridiculous card game. Jiwoong teases Gunwook relentlessly, Yujin squeals whenever Matthew makes a joke, and Ricky keeps stealing Taerae’s cards.
Throughout it all, Hanbin notices little things: Hao glances at him when he laughs too quietly. Jiwoong occasionally nudges him, as if saying you’re allowed to be part of this. Even Yujin shoots him a quick smile whenever he sips his coffee.
“Sung Hanbitna, your turn,” Gyuvin announces, pointing at Hanbin with a grin.
Hanbin takes a card, feigning seriousness. “Don’t expect me to go easy.”
Ricky snorts. “Oh, you mean finally joining in after spying from the sidelines?”
“Spy?” Hanbin feigns offense, but he can’t hold back a laugh.
The teasing continues, light and chaotic, and Hanbin realizes something that surprises him: he’s laughing freely. The tightness in his chest, the constant vigilance, even the fear of failing—it’s all loosening.
Even amidst the mess, the jokes, and the playful arguments, one thing is clear: they’re keeping an eye on him. Watching, caring, without making it feel like responsibility or pressure.
And for the first time in a long while, Hanbin understands—he doesn’t have to hold everything alone anymore. Not while they’re all here, all around him, a mess of teasing, laughter, and care.
The evening settles over the dorm, soft light spilling through the windows. The group has finished practice early, and the room is calm—quiet except for the occasional laughter drifting from the corner where Yujin and Taerae are trying to stack playing cards without knocking them over.
Hanbin sits cross-legged on the sofa, leaning back into the cushions, a warm mug of cocoa in his hands. Jiwoong plops down beside him, nudging his shoulder gently.
“You look relaxed,” Jiwoong says, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah. I… guess I am,” Hanbin admits quietly, taking a sip. His eyes wander to the other members sprawled across the room—Hao teasing Matthew over a lost card, Gunwook and Gyuvin laughing at something only they understand, planning on pranking Ricky who’s busy with his strawberries.
It’s messy. It’s loud. It’s chaotic.
And it’s perfect.
Hanbin exhales, a real, full breath that doesn’t carry the weight of leadership or fear. He sets his mug down and stretches, smiling to himself.
Zhanghao leans a little closer. “You know,” he says steady yet gentle, “we don’t just need a leader, baobei. We need you. The real you. And we like this version way better.”
Hanbin laughs softly, feeling the warmth settle in his chest. “I… I guess I forgot that sometimes.”
Taerae, catching the tail end of the conversation, winks. “Don’t worry. We’ll remind you.”
Matthew leans back, grinning. “And if he forgets again, we’ll tease him until he remembers.”
Hanbin shakes his head, chuckling, but it’s gentle, free. “You guys are impossible.”
“Yeah, but lovable,” Jiwoong says, nudging him again.
Hanbin glances around the room at his team, his family, and feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time—lightness. Relief. Belonging.
He leans back, letting himself be held in the comfort of the room, the laughter, the teasing, and the love that has always been quietly waiting for him.
For the first time in a long time, Hanbin smiles without effort.
Because he is finally home.