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They met when they were still too young to understand what it meant for someone to feel familiar before you even learned their name.
Back then, everything was new. The practice rooms that smelled like sweat and disinfectant, mirrors that never let you forget your posture, the pressure sitting in his throat even when he tried to laugh it off. There was fear, yes, but also the strange, quiet thrill of belonging somewhere for the first time. Like the world had finally made room for his dream.
And in the middle of all that, there was a boy with fox-like eyes and a shy smile, someone who laughed at the same things and listened as if every word mattered.
Jeongin.
Seungmin never figured out when exactly he started looking for him. Maybe it was the way Jeongin tried to tuck his nerves away behind polite bows and “yes, hyung”, like good behavior could keep him from shaking. Maybe it was the way his whole face changed when something genuinely amused him, eyes crinkling, shoulders dropping, laughter slipping out before he could catch it.
Maybe it was simply that, even in the chaos of training, Jeongin felt like a place to breathe.
Their friendship didn’t happen all at once; it unfolded slowly, steadily, like a song easing into its melody. They were paired for vocal lessons, seated next to each other during practices, thrown together in the chaos of trainee evaluations and late-night convenience store runs where the air outside was cold enough to sting.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, Seungmin learned the shape of Jeongin’s habits - how he worried his lower lip when he was anxious, how he pretended he wasn’t tired until his voice softened at the end of the night, how he listened to every word like it was the most important information. Jeongin also learned Seungmin’s customs - how he needed time alone, but not too much that he felt lonely; how he went about his tasks methodically, or even that he preferred to sleep with his back to the door.
They were just two boys trying their best in a world that expected more than they knew how to give.
Their personalities didn’t match on paper, but in practice they fit like puzzle pieces someone had sanded down until the edges aligned. Seungmin was warmth and playfulness, a quiet brightness that made Jeongin relax in ways he didn’t know he needed. Jeongin was steadiness hidden behind shyness, a grounding presence that Seungmin always seemed to orbit around without noticing he was doing it.
They grew up like that. Through long rehearsals; shared meals eaten too fast between schedules; whispered jokes behind the cameras; the shock of their debut and the exhaustion that followed; the comfort of knowing someone would always be there at the end of the day. Their bond deepened into something solid, something the other members teased them for but relied on all the same; something that felt like home.
Jeongin became the person Seungmin trusted without thinking; the one he could complain to, the one he could lean into without admitting he needed it. And Seungmin became the person Jeongin searched for first, whether he realized it or not. The person his eyes found across rooms, across sets, across crowds loud enough to swallow him whole.
Without either of them noticing, affection started blurring at the edges.
It was small, almost embarrassing in how ordinary it looked: the way Seungmin’s chest tightened when Jeongin laughed too brightly, like it was a sound he wanted to keep safe; the way he held onto shared earbuds one second too long; the way he felt a flash of irritation when someone else stood too close, like his body reacted before his mind could pretend it wasn’t happening.
And Jeongin? He wasn’t far away. You could tell by the way his eyes were always searching for Seungmin in the room, unable to stay away; or the way he didn’t pull away from a casual hug, letting it linger as if testing something unspoken.
Neither of them named that feeling because naming it meant risking everything.
They didn’t talk about it. They couldn’t talk about it.
They were always afraid. Afraid of ruin, of change, of the possibility that the most important person in their life didn’t feel the same.
So they kept their feelings folded neatly inside their hearts, pretending not to see the truth in each other’s eyes.
And the years went by, carrying them from nervous trainees to young men who moved through life almost instinctively in sync. By the time they were sharing dorms, schedules, and the constant noise of daily life, their friendship had woven itself so deeply into the group that no one questioned it anymore.
Everyone knew: where there was Jeongin, Seungmin wasn’t far behind. And where Seungmin went, Jeongin always followed, even when he tried to act like he didn’t.
Their dynamic had a life of its own, an easy, familiar rhythm the others were used to watching from the sidelines. Jeongin complained that Seungmin was “too clingy”, but never actually pushed him away. Seungmin called Jeongin “dramatic”, but was always the first to show up when Jeongin needed help (or snacks, or company, or just someone to sit silently beside him while he scrolled through his phone).
It was during one of those ordinary evenings, with everyone gathered in the living room with takeout containers spread across the table, arguing over what to watch, that the unspoken truth between them felt especially loud to Seungmin.
“Not horror,” Jeongin said immediately, eyes narrowing at the remote.
Changbin scoffed. “Why? You’re scared?”
“I’m not scared,” Jeongin insisted, which only made Hyunjin laugh like he’d just been handed proof.
Seungmin, stretched across the couch, hooked his foot around Jeongin’s ankle and tugged casually, pretending it was an accident. Jeongin rolled his eyes, but he didn’t move away. If anything, he shifted closer, shoulder brushing Seungmin’s, like his body had made the decision before his pride could interfere. His hand pressed briefly against Seungmin’s, as if testing something, before settling back. It was enough to make Seungmin’s pulse skip in a way he quickly dismissed.
“Yah,” Jisung said, mouth full. “Do you two have a membership for that couch spot? It’s always taken.”
Seungmin grinned without looking up. “Yes. It’s called ‘Jeongin lets me’”.
“So annoying,” Jeongin muttered, but his voice didn’t have any bite. He didn’t shake Seungmin off when he leaned into his shoulder either, just let it happen, his own posture easing like he was settling into something comfortable.
The others barely reacted; just amused glances and little smirks, the kind of teasing that came from something long accepted. And through it all, Jeongin stayed right beside Seungmin: comfortable, unguarded, safe in a way Seungmin didn’t think Jeongin was with anyone else.
Seungmin teased him relentlessly, poking his cheek, stealing gummies from his bowl, nudging him whenever Jeongin’s concentration drifted. But every time, Jeongin’s gaze softened in that small, secret way - a truth he still didn’t know how to admit.
It was just another night.
Just another moment in their strange, easy closeness.
Just another day ignoring what was right there, hidden inside their hearts.
The dorm was unusually quiet.
3RACHA had vanished into their creative cave hours ago, chasing melodies that always seemed to slip through their fingers after midnight. DANCERACHA had left too, swallowed by the mirrored walls of the practice room where they’d dissect every beat of their MAMA choreography. The group chat was a steady stream of we’ll be late and eat without us.
The stillness left behind was thick enough that Seungmin heard the whisper of Jeongin’s door opening before he saw him, the quiet creak of hinges, the shuffle of socked feet on hardwood.
Jeongin stepped out, a dark shirt clinging loosely at the collarbone, hair still damp from the shower, the faint scent of citrus shampoo trailing behind him.
“Everyone’s gone?” He asked, rubbing at the ends of his hair with a towel.
“Yeah,” Seungmin said, tossing a small grin his way. “Guess it’s just us tonight.”
Jeongin hummed, that familiar half-smile playing in his mouth as he grabbed the worn fleece blanket from the couch back - the one Seungmin always stole during movie nights - and dropped onto the cushions beside him. Their knees brushed. Neither moved away.
“What are you watching?”
“Nothing yet,” Seungmin shrugged, pretending the answer was casual. “Was waiting for you.”
Jeongin blinked. For a brief second, his gaze caught on Seungmin’s face, and then he looked away, clearing his throat. Seungmin pretended not to notice how his shoulders relaxed at the words.
“Oh,” he said, sounding shy. “Okay.”
Seungmin reached for the remote before he could think too much about it. They settled on some forgettable rom-com, the kind where the plot didn’t matter and the jokes came predictable enough that you could talk over them without guilt.
The living room filled with small comforts: the crackle of beer cans opening, the rich umami scent of instant ramen and the quiet crunch of fried chicken, the flicker of the TV, the warmth trapped under the blanket after Jeongin pulled it over both their legs without asking.
“Oh my God,” Jeongin groaned when the male lead delivered a particularly terrible joke. “Why is she with him? His humor is clinically dead.”
Seungmin nudged Jeongin’s thigh with his bare foot. “Why do you keep talking like she can hear you through the screen?”
“Why do you laugh at jokes that should be illegal?” Jeongin shot back, taking a swig of beer.
“They’re funny to me,” Seungmin protested, grinning when Jeongin rolled his eyes, so hard his whole body swayed with the motion.
“Exactly.” Jeongin pointed his can at Seungmin like an accusation. “Your sense of humor is broken beyond repair.”
Seungmin gasped dramatically. “Take that back.”
“No,” Jeongin answered simply.
Seungmin narrowed his eyes. “Take that back now, Jeongin-ah!”
Jeongin’s mouth twitched. “Make me.”
The challenge hung between them for half a heartbeat before something in Seungmin sparked, quick and reckless. Before Jeongin could react, Seungmin lunged, laughter bubbling up as his fingers found Jeongin’s damp hair, ruffling with both hands.
“Yah-!” Jeongin yelped, a sound caught between protest and amusement, as Seungmin mussed his freshly washed locks with gleeful determination. The towel slipped off his shoulders and onto the floor as he tried to block Seungmin’s hands. “Cut it out!”
Jeongin’s hands found Seungmin’s waist automatically, pushing half-heartedly even as laughter shook his shoulders. He didn’t actually push, though. Not with real strength. His palms stayed there, steady, like he’d decided holding onto Seungmin was safer than letting go.
“Say it!” Seungmin demanded, fingers still tangled in the dark strands. Jeongin’s hair was soft from the shower, cooler at the ends, and Seungmin’s fingers lingered just a second too long. “Say your humor is the problem.”
“Never!”
Then the world tilted.
One moment Seungmin was perched triumphantly over Jeongin, the next his back hit the couch cushions with a quiet thud as Jeongin flipped their positions with startling ease. The air knocked out of Seungmin in a surprised gasp, and the blanket tangled around his legs.
“Yah!”
Jeongin hovered above him with that competitive spark, both of them breathing fast from laughter. He caught Seungmin’s wrists and pinned them above his head, just firm enough that Seungmin felt his pulse beat against Jeongin’s fingers.
“You’re so annoying,” Seungmin murmured, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.
Jeongin just rolled his eyes, but didn’t let go. Didn’t move away. The laughter died completely, thinned into slow gasps. The movie kept playing in the background, but Seungmin stopped hearing it clearly, the sound of his pulse too loud in his ears. He could smell beer on Jeongin’s breath underneath the clean soap scent. He could feel heat radiating from his body, close enough to steal his air.
The room sharpened into details: the fabric of the couch under his shoulder blades, the faint ringing in his ears, the way Jeongin’s damp hair hung forward a little, almost brushing Seungmin’s forehead.
And then Jeongin looked at him.
Not a quick glance. Not the casual, familiar kind.
Jeongin’s gaze held, steady and open in a way that made Seungmin feel suddenly exposed. Like Jeongin had reached into him and found the thing Seungmin kept folded away.
Seungmin’s smile faltered.
He felt the shift, like stepping from shallow water into something that drops out under your feet. Seungmin’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Jeongin swallowed. His grip loosened without fully letting go, as if he was giving Seungmin space to decide. His eyes barely flicked down, and Seungmin’s stomach turned hot when he realized where Jeongin was looking.
His mouth.
Seungmin’s heartbeat kicked hard, sudden and intense. He should move. He should laugh, make a joke, wriggle free. He should say something stupid and save them both.
But his body didn’t obey.
Part of him, small and terrified, was already whispering. If you don’t stop this now, you won’t be able to pretend again.
Jeongin leaned closer, hesitant, searching Seungmin’s brown, crystal-like eyes for any sign, any hint that what he felt wasn’t one-sided. He was slow enough that Seungmin had time to pull away. Time to turn his face. Time to make it a mistake that never happened.
Seungmin didn’t move. Didn’t push him away. Didn’t even blink.
His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each one brushing gently against Jeongin’s lips as they drew closer. His fingers curled instinctively in trembling anticipation, still pinned above his head.
Jeongin’s heart hammered against his ribs, each beat louder than the last. He felt weightless and heavy all at once, like he was stepping off the edge of something terrifying and beautiful. As he leaned down, the world shrank to the small space between their mouths, to the warmth of Seungmin’s breath, to the question hanging trembling in the air and the silent answer in Seungmin’s eyes.
Seungmin met him halfway.
The first brush of lips was soft, hesitant, careful, like both of them were afraid of what the contact would mean once it existed. It was gentle, almost startled, like both of them needed a heartbeat to understand this was really happening. A warmth bloomed between them, spreading from where their mouths touched, unfurling in slow waves down their spines.
Seungmin’s whole body went taut, then softened, like something in him had finally stopped fighting. His breath caught against Jeongin’s lips, a tiny sound that made something in Jeongin tighten. His hands slipped free to fist in Jeongin’s shirt, grounding himself as their lips moved in shy sync, exploring each other, savoring the sweetness of something new and wanted and impossibly overdue.
When they slowly pulled back, their eyes searched for each other with a hint of fear. They stayed like that, flushed faces, breathing the same air, foreheads nearly touching, hearts still racing in time with one another.
Seungmin’s hands slowly slid through Jeongin’s arms, locking in on his nape. His fingers hesitated for just a second before threading gently into Jeongin’s hair, playing with the soft strands there. A small smile curved his lips, so shy, so fleeting, that Jeongin might have missed it entirely if his attention hadn’t been completely, utterly fixed on the boy beneath him.
The sight made something in Jeongin give.
He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, relief and longing tangled together, and then he closed the distance between them again, this time without hesitation. Seungmin felt his own heart pull painfully tight, relief and fear tangled together so closely he couldn’t separate them.
This is real, his mind whispered, dizzy. This is happening. This is-
Jeongin’s right hand stayed beside Seungmin’s head, supporting the weight of his body, while the other reached for the older boy’s waist, pulling him closer with a growing urgency burning through him.
Seungmin melted into it.
A warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading outward until his fingers tingled and his thoughts dissolved completely. The world narrowed to the feeling of Jeongin’s lips, to the urgency of the moment, to the realization that this was what he had been holding back for so long. His lips parted slightly without thought, inviting Jeongin to discover his taste.
Their tongues intertwined, tasting each other, devouring each other, memorizing each other so they would never forget. Every small movement sent a shiver through Seungmin’s spine, his heart overwhelmed by feelings.
Jeongin felt intoxicated, addicted to the taste of Seungmin’s lips, as if he had fallen into a trap with no way back. He was spellbound - he wanted more, needed more, was desperate for more. Seungmin let out small, breathless sounds against Jeongin’s mouth, completely surrendered to him. His body reacted to every minimal touch, burning with sensitivity, his mind clouded and unfocused.
Jeongin savored every second, every breath, every quiet sound Seungmin made just for him. His thumb pressed at Seungmin’s waist, feeling the warmth of his skin, grounding and claiming all at once, the contact sending a shiver straight through Seungmin’s body. He arched instinctively into the touch, fingers tightening in Jeongin’s hair as if anchoring himself there. He felt exposed, seen, wanted, chosen. His heartbeat was loud in his ears and his thoughts reduced to nothing but Jeongin, Jeongin, Jeongin.
Jeongin didn’t slow down. He couldn’t.
All the years he had spent swallowing his want came rushing back at once, crashing through his heart with nowhere else to go. His grip tightened at Seungmin’s waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left to pretend, no distance left to hide behind.
The kiss was rougher, mouths moving with urgency, breaths colliding, teeth grazing lips as if both of them constantly needed proof that this was real, that it wasn’t going to disappear the moment they blinked. Seungmin’s fingers tangled in Jeongin’s hair, his nails grazing his scalp, the sensation sending a jolt through him.
Jeongin broke the kiss, pulling their mouths apart with a shaky breath. His lips trailed down Seungmin’s jaw, over his cheek, lingering at the corner of his mouth before descending to his neck. His mouth moved with purpose, unrestrained, as if he needed to feel Seungmin everywhere at once.
Seungmin stopped thinking entirely.
The moment Jeongin’s mouth found the sensitive skin of his neck, the world narrowed until there was nothing left but sensation - heat, pressure, breath, the weight of Jeongin’s body anchoring him to the couch. He gasped, the sound tearing straight from his throat, raw and unfiltered. His body arched into Jeongin’s touch, his nerves buzzing violently as every kiss lit him up from the inside.
Seungmin’s hands slid down Jeongin’s arms, gripped at his shoulders then pulled fiercely, demanding closeness, demanding more. His body responded before his mind could catch up, chasing the feeling with a hunger that startled him with its intensity.
Jeongin made a sound against his neck, low and breathless, like he’d been caught off guard by how desperate Seungmin felt beneath his hands. The vibration of it shot straight through Seungmin’s chest. He turned his head just enough to catch Jeongin’s mouth again, kissing him hard, messy, no hesitation left between them.
He didn’t think about fear. He didn’t think about tomorrow.
He just thought about now.
The taste of beer and skin, the heat trapped between their bodies, the relief of finally touching the person he’d been orbiting for years.
Seungmin felt drunk on it; on Jeongin’s weight, on the way his hands roamed with growing confidence, on the way his breath stuttered whenever Seungmin tugged him closer. There was something feral in the way Jeongin kissed back now, like restraint had finally snapped and there was no reason left to pretend.
Seungmin broke the kiss just long enough to breathe.
“Jeongin,” he whispered. It was not a warning, not a question; but a plea.
Jeongin’s forehead dropped to his, their noses brushing. His hand was still firm at Seungmin’s waist, grounding and possessive all at once. His eyes were dark, blown wide with want, chest rising fast.
“Hyung,” he breathed back, voice rough, undone.
That was all it took.
Seungmin twisted just enough to push himself up, fingers lacing with Jeongin’s wrist as he guided him off the couch. Jeongin followed without resistance.
Every step toward the hallway felt heavy, charged, unreal; hands slipping, shoulders bumping, mouths finding each other again in desperate, clumsy kisses that tasted like urgency and relief tangled together. Seungmin’s heart pounded so hard it hurt, his body trembling, alive in a way it never had been before.
When the bedroom door closed behind them, the sound landed deep in his head. Seungmin barely registered the darkness before Jeongin was there again, and he let himself sink into it completely. Into the mattress. Into Jeongin’s weight. Into the knowledge that this wasn’t something he wanted to escape.
This was something he wanted to drown in.
The bedroom felt too small for what was happening between them.
Jeongin’s hands were firm at Seungmin’s waist, mouth claiming his with a hunger that stole the air from his lungs. The kiss was messy, breaths breaking apart as they collided, teeth grazing, mouths chasing without patience.
Seungmin’s hands moved instinctively, fingers hooking into the hem of Jeongin’s shirt and pulling it up, then off, like his body already knew what to do. Jeongin didn’t hesitate for a second, arms lifting and fabric tossed aside without care. Seungmin’s breath hitched at the warmth of bare skin under his palms, the solid reality of Jeongin beneath his touch.
Jeongin answered in kind, hands sliding under Seungmin’s shirt, thumbs dragging up warm skin before pushing it over his head. The air against his skin made Seungmin shiver, his pulse roaring in his ears as Jeongin’s hands explored him, his lips leaving wet kisses across his sensitive body.
Their bodies pressed together until there was no space left between them. When their hips brushed, almost accidental, a low sound slipped from Seungmin’s throat before he could stop it, breathy and honest. Jeongin groaned in response, pushing his hips deliberately, breath breaking as his forehead dropped against Seungmin’s shoulder.
They moved again, instinctive, seeking, chasing the friction like it was the only thing grounding them. Seungmin felt overwhelmed by it; the heat, the pressure, the way Jeongin held him like he belonged there. Years of restraint burned away with every touch, every sound dragged from their throats.
Then Jeongin stilled. Just for a second.
His hands stayed at Seungmin’s waist, thumbs digging in like he needed the contact, but his head lifted. His dark eyes met Seungmin’s, searching, steady despite how fast his chest was rising.
“Are you sure, hyung?” He asked quietly, voice rough, stripped of teasing and fear.
Seungmin didn’t look away. He reached up, fingers curling at the back of Jeongin’s neck, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched, breaths trapped between their faces.
“Please, Innie.”
That was enough. Whatever restraint they had left dissolved in that moment, leaving only desire, instinct and the undeniable pull between them.
Their bodies responded in a chain reaction, touch igniting touch, breath knocking unevenly from their lungs. Heat spread fast and relentless, every movement drawing another sharp inhale, another sound they didn’t bother to hide.
Seungmin felt it everywhere - in the way his muscles tensed, in the way his body leaned in, in the way his eyes rolled up, in the way sounds escaped him raw enough to surprise even himself. Every place Jeongin touched burned alive, nerves lighting up one after another, leaving him gasping and aching for more.
They learned each other in touch and breath, in heat and movement. They felt, they tasted, they devoured; sating a hunger that had been building for too long, unspoken but never absent.
For the first time, nothing stood between them at all.
Seungmin woke to light.
It crept in through the thin gap between the curtains, pale and unforgiving, settling over his face and dragging him back into consciousness far too gently for how his chest felt. For a moment, he didn’t move. He stayed still, suspended in that fragile space between sleep and waking, where memory hadn’t fully caught up yet.
Warmth lingered in his body. A dull ache. The echo of weight and breath and hands that had known exactly where to touch him.
Jeongin.
The name surfaced before his eyes opened.
Seungmin turned his head instinctively, arm shifting across the mattress in search of familiar heat, but his fingers met nothing but cool sheets. He frowned, blinking sleep from his eyes, looking to the other side of the bed.
Empty.
The indentation beside him was already gone, smoothed out as if no one had been there at all.
His stomach dropped.
Maybe he just went to the bathroom, Seungmin told himself, sitting up slowly. The room was quiet, too quiet. Jeongin’s clothes weren’t on the floor. The faint citrus scent that had clung to him last night felt thinner now, diluted by morning air.
Seungmin swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor biting into his bare feet. He stood, scanned the room again, more carefully this time. Nothing. No sign of hurried dressing. No careless trace of someone leaving in a rush. No note.
His pulse picked up.
“It’s fine,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough with sleep. “He’s probably just in the kitchen.”
The words didn’t convince him.
Seungmin pulled on yesterday’s shirt and stepped into the hallway. The dorm was awake in that muted, half-living way it got in the mornings. Soft light spilled from the kitchen, warm against the pale walls, and the faint sound of water poured broke the silence. The air smelled like chamomile tea.
Seungmin found Minho standing by the counter, sleeves pushed up, carefully pouring hot water into two mugs.
“Morning,” he said without turning around.
Seungmin blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Oh. Morning.”
Minho glanced over his shoulder, eyes flicking briefly to Seungmin’s face, then back to the mugs. “You want some tea?”
“Uh… yeah. Sure.” Seungmin stepped closer, leaning against the counter, hands shoved into the hem of his shirt more out of nerves than comfort.
Minho grabbed a third mug from the cupboard, filling it and sliding it toward him. “You look wrecked.”
Seungmin huffed a weak laugh, wrapping his fingers around the warmth. “Thanks.”
They stood there in silence for a second, and Seungmin couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, whether Minho realized or not.
Seungmin hesitated, then asked, as casually as he could manage. “Hey… did you see Jeongin today?”
“Hm?” He said, glancing back at Seungmin. “Yeah. Earlier.”
A knot formed in Seungmin’s stomach. “You did?”
“Yeah. He was already dressed when I came out.” Minho took a sip of his tea, watching Seungmin over the rim. “Left in a hurry, though. Didn’t say much.”
“Oh,” Seungmin said quietly.
Minho tilted his head slightly. “Why?”
Seungmin shook his head too fast. “No reason! Just- was looking for him.”
Minho studied him for another moment, expression unreadable, then hummed. “If he left early, he probably went to the studio. Or took a walk.” A pause. “You know how he gets.”
Seungmin nodded, even though his thoughts were already spiraling.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I know.”
But he didn’t.
Not this version of Jeongin.
Not the one who kissed him like he meant it. Not the one who had held him like leaving had never been an option.
Minho grabbed the other mug on the counter. “I’ll be in Hannie’s room,” he said lightly. “Try not to overthink before breakfast, okay?”
Seungmin forced a smile. “I’ll try.”
Minho left. Seungmin stayed in the kitchen, staring down at the surface of his tea until it rippled slightly, hands trembling, heart pounding, phone suddenly heavy in his sweats pocket. He pulled it out, thumb hovering for a second longer than necessary. Then he typed.
Seungmin: Innie?
Seungmin: Where are you?
He stared at the screen after sending it, watching the time tick forward. No typing bubble appeared. No read receipt. Nothing.
The silence pressed in.
Last night replayed in fragments he hadn’t asked for. Jeongin’s voice saying his name like it meant something sacred. The way his hands had held him like he was decided, like he wasn’t going anywhere. The question. Are you sure, hyung?
Seungmin swallowed hard, eyes stinging. He rushed back to his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clutching the phone as if to force an answer out of it. He leaned back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the sheets where Jeongin had been only hours ago. The warmth was gone now, replaced by something tight and uncertain curling low in his stomach.
A quiet fear began to coil in his chest, slow and insistent, tangled with a deeper ache that made tears stream down his cheeks. Seungmin had been left alone, abandoned without a word by the one person he trusted most, the person who mattered most, the person he loved.
Seungmin wiped at his face with the heel of his hand, annoyed at himself when it only smeared the tears further. He stayed there for a long moment, breathing shallowly, listening to the quiet hum of the dorm waking up around him - distant footsteps, a door opening somewhere, the low murmur of someone laughing down the hall. Life continued as if nothing had shifted overnight.
As if his world hadn’t tilted on its axis.
He sat up slowly, shoulders curling inward, phone still clenched in his hand. He checked the screen again, absurd hope flaring for half a second.
Nothing.
The ache in his heart sharpened, pressing harder now, like he’d let himself believe in something fragile and beautiful and woken up to find it gone.
Did it mean the same to Jeongin?
The question gnawed at him relentlessly. Every memory from the night before felt suddenly unstable, like it might crumble if he touched it too closely. The way Jeongin had looked at him. The way his voice had softened when he said hyung. The care, the urgency, the way he’d stayed.
Seungmin pressed his palm flat against his chest, as if he could physically hold the feeling in place.
Maybe Jeongin panicked.
Maybe he needed space.
Maybe this was just how things were supposed to go.
The thoughts pile up, each one colder than the last.
What scared him most wasn’t just the idea that Jeongin might regret it. It was the uncertainty of what came next; the fragile, undefined space where their friendship used to be. He didn’t know how to exist in a world where he had crossed that line and couldn’t tell if Jeongin would meet him on the other side.
He didn’t know how to look at Jeongin again if this became something they never talked about.
Seungmin exhaled shakily and pushed himself to his feet. He needed to move, to do something before the spiral swallowed him whole. He changed mechanically, washed his face, stared at his reflection a little longer than necessary. His eyes were rimmed red, his mouth pulled tight like he was bracing for impact.
You’re fine, he told himself. You’ve handled worse.
But that felt like a lie.
Seungmin forced himself to leave the room.
He needed distraction. Noise. Anything that wasn’t the echo of last night replaying in his head.
He was halfway down the hallway when he nearly collided with Felix, who was coming out of his room with a hoodie slung over one shoulder and his headphones dangling around his neck.
“Oh- Min!” Felix smiled immediately. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah,” Seungmin said, the word automatic. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Felix studied him for a second longer than necessary, eyes gentle. “You okay?”
Seungmin hesitated. Just for a breath. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Just… restless.”
Felix didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t push. He never did. “I was gonna grab coffee. You wanna come?”
The offer felt like a lifeline.
“Sure,” Seungmin said quickly. “Yeah, I do.”
They left together, the morning air outside cold and biting against Seungmin’s skin. Felix chatted easily as they walked; about a song stuck in his head, about something Hyunjin had said the night before, about absolutely nothing important at all. Seungmin listened, answered when he needed to, laughed at the right moments.
It helped. A little.
They sat in a small cafe near the dorm, steam curling up from their cups, sunlight spilling through the windows. Felix scrolled through his phone, occasionally shoving it toward Seungmin to show him something ridiculous. Seungmin smiled, even felt almost normal for a few seconds at a time.
But every quiet moment pulled his thoughts back.
Had Jeongin read the message by now?
Was he avoiding it? Or just not looking at his phone?
Hours passed like that. Slowly. Painfully. By the time they headed back, Seungmin’s chest felt heavy again, hope worn thin around the edges.
Back at the dorm, Felix stretched, rolling his shoulders. “I’m gonna play a game or two before practice,” he said, already pulling his headphones back up around his neck. “You coming?”
“In a bit,” Seungmin replied. “I think I’ll just… sit for a while.”
Felix nodded, then paused, hand on the doorframe. “Hey. If you need anything-”
“I know,” Seungmin said quickly, grateful. “Thanks.”
Once he was alone again, the silence returned, settling around him like something familiar and cruel. Seungmin sat on his bed, phone in his hands once more. He checked the time. Hours had gone by since his first message.
Still nothing.
The fear was no longer quiet now. It had edges.
He stared at the screen, thumb hovering. This time, he didn’t rush. He breathed in, slow and shaky, then typed.
Seungmin: Innie…
Seungmin: Did I do something wrong?
The message sent with a soft tap.
Seungmin exhaled, long and unsteady, and leaned back against the headboard, eyes closing. Now all he could do was wait and hope that whatever they had shared hadn’t disappeared with the morning light.
Hours passed without an answer. Not even a read receipt.
By the time it was close to rehearsal, the hope Seungmin had been nursing all morning had thinned into something brittle and uncomfortable. He moved through the motions on autopilot, grabbing his bag, slipping on his shoes, following Felix out the door alongside Minho and Jisung, his phone feeling like a second, unwanted heartbeat in his pocket.
The drive to the company felt longer than usual. Jisung talked animatedly about a beat he’d been working on, Minho complained about the weather, Felix chimed in with commentary that made them laugh. Seungmin smiled when expected, nodded at the right moments, but it all felt distant, muffled, like he was underwater.
The building loomed into view, familiar and unforgiving. The glass doors slid open, letting in the cool, sterile air that always smelled faintly of cleaner and old sweat. They walked into the practice rooms, muffled voices and music mixing together.
When they reached the last room, Seungmin saw them immediately. Changbin stretching by the mirror, Hyunjin tying his hair up, Chan checking something on his phone near the speakers.
And Jeongin.
He stood near the wall, hoodie zipped halfway up, bottle in hand. For a split second, his eyes lifted and met Seungmin’s.
The world narrowed.
Seungmin felt it like a physical jolt, sharp and electric, all the air knocked from his lungs at once. His heart stuttered, hope flaring painfully bright despite everything.
Jeongin looked away. Immediately.
He turned his head as if the contact had burned, took two quick steps back, and went straight for the water cooler. His shoulders were tense, movements clipped, focused anywhere but on Seungmin.
The sound of the bottle filling was too loud in the sudden quiet inside Seungmin’s mind.
Oh.
The hurt came first, hot and fast, blooming under his ribs like a bruise pressed too hard. Then anger followed close behind, strong enough to make his jaw tighten. Not loud, not explosive, but cold and bitter in a way that made his hands curl into fists at his sides.
So that was it. No message, no explanation, just this.
Felix bumped his shoulder lightly, unaware. “C’mon,” he said. “We’re late.”
“Yeah,” Seungmin answered, voice steady despite the way his heart ached. “I’m coming.”
He didn’t look at Jeongin again.
He didn’t go after him. Didn’t ask what that look meant, didn’t demand an explanation, didn’t give himself the chance to be ignored twice in the same day. Something in him shut down instead, drew back, protective and stubborn.
If Jeongin wanted distance, Seungmin would give it to him.
He crossed the room and dropped his bag by the mirror, rolling his shoulders, fixing his expression into something neutral and controlled. The familiar routines of practice settled over him like armor - stretching, lining up, listening as Chan clapped his hands and called for focus.
But the tension clung to the air, thick and unresolved.
Every time Seungmin caught movement at the edge of his vision, every time Jeongin shifted or laughed quietly at something someone said, it pulled at him. He kept his eyes forward. Kept his mouth shut. Kept the ache buried where it couldn’t spill out in front of everyone.
The rehearsal dragged to its end with efficiency.
Seungmin hit every mark, sang when he was supposed to sing, nodded along to Chan’s feedback like muscle memory alone was carrying him through. From the outside, he was flawless. Inside, every pause felt too long, every silence thick with everything he wasn’t saying.
Jeongin’s distance wasn’t obvious. Nothing anyone could call out. But Seungmin felt in the details; in the way Jeongin chose a different spot in the formation, how he seemed almost careful not to let their eyes meet again.
When Chan finally clapped his hands and called it, relief swept through the room.
“Finally,” Jisung groaned, collapsing dramatically onto the floor. “I swear my legs are going to quit on me tomorrow.”
“Drama,” Minho said, nudging his foot. “You say that every time.”
Hyunjin slung a towel over Jeongin’s shoulder, grin sharp and familiar. “At least someone here looks like they’ve got energy to spare.” His gaze flicked between Jeongin and Seungmin, teasing. “What? Did you two fight? Or is this just the classic couple phase where you stop talking for a day?”
Normally, it would’ve earned laughs. Exaggerated reactions. Seungmin rolling his eyes while Jeongin protested too loudly.
This time, nothing.
The silence dropped heavy.
Seungmin kept his eyes on his water bottle, twisting the cap harder than necessary. Jeongin let out a low, awkward laugh and took another step away, suddenly very interested in drying his hair.
Chan frowned slightly. Felix’s smile faded.
“Okay…” Changbin cleared his throat. “Food. Before someone actually collapses.”
The ride back was quieter than usual. They stopped at a drive-thru on the way, and soon the smell of food filled the air. Voices picked up again, plates clattering, someone complaining about missing cutlery.
Seungmin dropped his bag by the door and kept walking.
“You’re not eating?” Changbin asked.
“Not hungry,” Seungmin said. “I’m going upstairs.”
“You always say that and then steal food later,” Jisung muttered.
“Not tonight.”
He didn’t wait for a response.
The room felt too still when he shut the door behind him. Seungmin stripped without thinking and went straight for the shower. Hot water hit his shoulders, heavy and grounding, washing sweat and exhaustion from his skin.
It didn’t touch the knot in his chest.
He braced his forehead against the tile for a moment, breathing slowly, letting the water drown out the sound of his thoughts. When he finally stepped out, loose clothes hanging in his body, hair dripping onto the floor, he sensed it before he saw it.
Felix was sitting on his bed, cross-legged, back against the wall and hands folded in his lap.
“Oh,” Seungmin stopped short. “You-”
“I know,” Felix said quickly. “I should’ve knocked. But I figured you might try to avoid me if I didn’t.”
A weak, tired laugh slipped out of Seungmin. “Probably.”
Felix tilted his head, eyes scanning him carefully. “You didn’t eat.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You’re always hungry after practice.”
Silence settled between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Felix had always known how to wait.
Seungmin looked away, rubbing at his damp hair. “I’m tired, Lix.”
“I know,” Felix said softly, standing and taking a small step closer. “But that’s not all, is it?”
Seungmin closed his eyes.
When he opened them, whatever he’d been holding together all day felt thinner. Fragile. “I don’t want to talk badly about him,” he murmured. “But I don’t know what to do.”
“Then don’t talk badly,” Felix said. “Just talk.”
Seungmin sank down onto the edge of the bed as he stared at the floor. His shoulders were tense, hands curling into fists at his lap.
“I didn’t tell you earlier because I didn’t know how,” he said. “And because if I said it out loud, it would stop being something I could pretend wasn’t real.”
Felix’s expression was curious, but he stayed quiet.
“Jeongin and I…” Seungmin swallowed. “We didn’t just have a weird morning. Something happened last night.”
Felix straightened slightly. “Okay.”
Seungmin laughed under his breath, brittle. “God. This sounds ridiculous.”
“It doesn’t,” Felix said immediately.
Seungmin finally looked at him. His eyes were red, glassy, like he’d already cried too much and still wasn’t done. “We crossed a line,” he said. “One we’ve been circling for years.”
Felix’s breath stilled.
“We kissed,” Seungmin continued, voice low. “And it wasn’t drunk or accidental or meaningless. It was… slow. And desperate. And real.” His hand came up to his chest unconsciously. “It felt like something we’d both been holding back forever finally snapped.”
Felix didn’t interrupt. He just listened.
“And I let myself believe,” Seungmin said quietly. “I let myself believe it meant the same thing to him.”
Felix’s brows knit together. “Because it did mean something to you.”
“Yes,” Seungmin said, with a bitter taste in his mouth. “Because I’m in love with him.”
The confession landed heavy in the room.
Felix’s eyes widened just slightly, not in shock, but in understanding. “Min…”
“I’ve been in love with him,” Seungmin went on, faster now, like if he slowed down he’d break. “For years. I just never said it. I never let myself think about it too closely. Because he was my best friend, and because this life doesn’t leave room for mistakes like that.”
Felix exhaled slowly, squeezing Seungmin’s knee lightly.
Seungmin sniffed, wiping away a single tear with the back of his hand. “And last night,” he whispered, “for the first time, it felt like maybe it wasn’t just me. Like maybe he chose me back.” His voice cracked. “Then I woke up and he was gone. I texted him, twice, and got no response. And then today he wouldn’t even look at me.” His hands trembled now, openly. “Lix, it felt like he erased me. Like I imagined the whole thing.”
Felix shook his head slowly. “That’s… that’s a lot.”
“It hurts,” Seungmin said simply. “And I’m angry. And I hate myself for being angry because I know he doesn’t owe me anything.” He laughed weakly. “But I thought I at least deserved not to be treated like a stranger.”
Felix leaned closer, voice soft but steady. “You’re allowed to be hurt, Min. You didn’t just hook up with someone. You confessed without words.”
Seungmin squeezed his eyes shut. “What if I ruined everything?”
Felix’s answer came carefully. “You didn’t ruin anything by being honest with your heart.”
“But what if I lost him?” Seungmin whispered. “Not like this. Not just awkward. What if I lost the way we were?”
Felix reached out then, resting a hand over Seungmin’s clenched fist. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “If Jeongin ran, it’s not because what you shared was meaningless. It’s because it was too much for him to face right away.”
Seungmin looked at him, eyes desperate. “You really think that?”
Felix nodded. “Jeongin doesn’t avoid things he doesn’t care about. He avoids things that scare him.”
Silence fell between them.
“I don’t know what to do,” Seungmin admitted. “I don’t want to chase him. But waiting feels like torture.”
Felix squeezed his hand once, then let go. “Then don’t chase. And don’t disappear either.” He gave a small, sad smile. “Give him space. But don’t erase your feelings.”
Seungmin leaned back against the bed, exhaustion finally catching up to him. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this.”
Felix lay down beside him, hugging his shrunken body. “You don’t need to be strong,” he said. “Just honest. With yourself.”
Seungmin just took a deep breath, closing his eyes and settling into the comfortable warmth of the embrace. Felix shifted beside him, adjusting until they were both laying more comfortably on the bed, shoulders brushing, the space between them warm and familiar.
“Please, don’t tell the boys about this…” Seungmin asked, his voice no louder than a whisper. “I don’t think I can explain it yet.”
“Don’t worry, Min. This won’t leave this room,” Felix said softly. “And Min?”
“Yeah?”
“You loving him isn’t a mistake,” Felix said clearly. “No matter how this turns out.”
Seungmin stared at the ceiling, breath slowly evening out as the tension in his body loosened, little by little. Felix’s presence was steady, grounding, a quiet reminder that he wasn’t completely alone in this.
You loving him isn’t a mistake.
The words echoed in his mind.
He turned them over again and again, like something fragile he was afraid to drop. Loving Jeongin hadn’t been a choice. It had crept in through years of shared space and shared silence, through laughter and trust and the way Jeongin had always felt like home. Maybe that didn’t make it wrong. Maybe it just made it human.
Felix’s breathing eventually deepened beside him, slow and even.
Seungmin closed his eyes, exhaustion finally pulling him under. The fear was still there, the ache still unresolved, but for the first time all day it didn’t feel heavy enough to keep him awake.
As sleep claimed him, one thought lingered softly at the edge of his mind - no matter how this turned out,what he felt was real. And that had to mean something.
The days passed.
Schedules filled, practices resumed, cameras turned on and off like nothing fragile had cracked beneath the surface. Life kept moving forward with cruel consistency, even as something between them stayed painfully stuck.
Jeongin kept his distance.
It wasn’t dramatic or loud, but subtle and deliberate. He chose different seats, different rooms, different moments to speak. When Seungmin entered a space, Jeongin found a reason to leave it. When their paths crossed by accident, his eyes slid away too fast, his body angling just slightly out of reach.
Every time, it stung.
Seungmin told himself it was what Jeongin needed. Space. Time. Room to breathe. He repeated it like a mantra whenever the pain became too intense, whenever a knot formed in his throat, tightening at the sound of Jeongin laughing with someone else, as if that laughter hadn’t once belonged to him too.
So he stayed back. He didn’t follow, didn’t corner him. Didn’t ask questions that might force answers Jeongin clearly wasn’t ready to give. He swallowed the hurt and wore patience like armor, even as it chipped away at him piece by piece.
The group noticed, of course. They exchanged confused glances and quiet, worried looks, sensing the shift without quite understanding it. Something was off, unmistakably so, even if no one could name it out loud. The space between Seungmin and Jeongin felt wrong in a way that made the air heavier, conversations faltering mid-sentence.
The usual jokes stopped landing. Teasing that once came easily now fell flat, hanging awkwardly in the room before dissolving into silence. Someone would make an offhand comment, expecting the familiar reactions - a laugh, a complaint, an eye-roll - and instead be met with nothing. No spark. No rhythm. Just an uncomfortable pause everyone pretended not to notice.
Seungmin smiled when he was expected to, careful and rehearsed. Jeongin looked away, or laughed a beat too late, as if the sound had to travel farther to reach him.
They tried to talk to them. One by one, then in pairs. Gentle questions wrapped in concern.
“Did something happen?”
“You guys okay?”
“You’re being weird.”
Seungmin deflected with practiced ease. He’d learned long ago how to keep things light, how to make discomfort disappear with a joke or a shrug.
Jeongin avoided the questions altogether. He changed the subject. Left early. Claimed exhaustion. Claimed nothing at all.
And the distance between them stretched thinner, sharper, more dangerous with every passing day.
Felix stayed with Seungmin. He didn’t push him to talk when he didn’t want to. He didn’t try to fix what clearly couldn’t be fixed with advice. He just listened, in quiet dorm rooms late at night, on walks that went nowhere in particular, over meals Seungmin barely touched.
Sometimes Seungmin talked until his voice went hoarse. Sometimes he said nothing at all, staring into space while Felix sat beside him, solid and real. Some nights, Seungmin admitted the anger. Others, the fear. Most often, the exhaustion of loving someone who wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Felix never told him to move on or to wait forever. He just reminded him, gently, again and again, that his feelings weren’t something to be ashamed of.
And still, the days kept passing.
And still, Jeongin stayed just out of reach.
Until Seungmin couldn’t hold back anymore.
It was a little past noon when Seungmin woke up.
His head throbbed dully, the familiar aftermath of another restless night spent half-awake, half-drowning in thoughts he couldn’t outrun. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then dragged himself out of bed. His hair stuck up in every direction, and he didn’t bother fixing it. He pulled his sleeves over his hands as he shuffled toward the kitchen, like he was trying to make himself smaller.
The apartment was silent, but not the comfortable kind. No background noise, no overlapping voices, no music bleeding from someone’s room. Just stillness. It pressed in on him as he filled the kettle, set water to boil, moved through the motions of making something quick and forgettable to eat.
While he waited, he picked up his phone, notifications blooming across the screen.
Minho: left early
Minho: camping trip turned into an overnight thing
Minho: if a bear eats Jisung, I’m not filling paperwork
Jisung: HYUNG????
Jisung: why would you manifest that
Jisung: anyway yeah, we’re still alive
Jisung: back late tomorrow
Seungmin let out a breath that almost counted as a laugh. Another notification popped up.
Felix: good morning my loves <3
Felix: long day today with LV event
Felix: *picture*
A picture followed: Felix in a sleek outfit, peace sign raised, all sunshine and confidence. Seungmin typed without thinking.
Seungmin: you look good
Seungmin: have fun!
Felix: I will! you too, yeah?
Seungmin didn’t answer right away. Before the silence could stretch, another message came in.
Chan: gym with the guys
Chan: they’re suffering and refusing to text
Chan: you up, Min?
Seungmin stared at the screen for a second before replying.
Seungmin: yeah
Chan: eat something proper
Chan: not just ramen
He glanced down at the pack in his hand.
Seungmin: no promises
Chan: I’ll check on you later
Seungmin locked his phone and put it in his pocket just as the kettle clicked off.
He finished preparing the ramen, poured it into a container, and leaned back against the counter while he ate. The sound of him chewing felt too loud in the empty space. Steam curled up into his face, fogging his vision slightly.
Halfway through, footsteps sounded in the hallway. Seungmin stiffened before he could stop himself.
Jeongin stepped into the kitchen and froze.
“Oh-” He startled visibly, eyes widening for a split second. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were here…” His voice dropped, uncertain, already retreating. He turned almost immediately, like instinct had taken over. “I’ll just-”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Something snapped.
Seungmin set the ramen down harder than necessary, the container rattling against the counter. “Jeongin,” he said harshly, already moving. “Enough.”
Jeongin barely made it to the living room before Seungmin caught up, fingers closing around his wrist. Not rough, but firm. Unyielding.
Jeongin stopped short, breath hitching. He didn’t turn around.
“Don’t,” Jeongin said quickly. “Seungmin, just- I don’t think this is a good time-”
“When is it?” Seungmin cut in, voice tight. “Because it’s been days. And you keep pretending I don’t exist.”
Jeongin tried to pull his hand free, but Seungmin didn’t let go.
“I’m just tired,” Jeongin said, avoiding his gaze. “Can we not do this right now?”
“No,” Seungmin said. His grip tightened, just slightly. “We’re doing this now.”
Jeongin laughed weakly, the sound brittle. “You’re making this bigger than it needs to be.”
Seungmin felt something hot rise in his chest. Anger, sharp and overdue. “You don’t get to say that,” he snapped.” You don’t get to kiss me, to disappear, refuse to look at me, and then tell me I’m overreacting.
Jeongin finally turned, eyes dark and guarded. “I didn’t disappear.”
“You did,” Seungmin said immediately. “You left. You stopped answering. You won’t even stand in the same room as me.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Jeongin swallowed. “I needed space.”
“I gave you space,” Seungmin shot back. “I’ve been giving you space every single day while it ripped me apart.”
Jeongin stood there, trapped in the small space between the couch and the wall, Seungmin’s hand still around his wrist like an anchor he hadn’t asked for but desperately needed.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Jeongin said finally, voice strained. “I just- I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”
“YOU ALREADY DID!” He shouted, the words tearing out of his throat before he could stop them. “Do you have any idea what it felt like? Waking up alone? Being ignored like I imagined everything? Watching you look at the floor like I don’t even deserve your eyes?”
Jeongin recoiled as if struck. “I was scared,” Jeongin cried, tears spilling shyly. “I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to lose you.”
Seungmin let out a laugh, bitter and broken. “You thought this was better?”
Jeongin’s hands curled into fists at his sides, shoulders shaking. “I thought if I pretended it didn’t happen, we could go back. I thought if I gave it time, the feeling would go away.”
“And did it?” Seungmin demanded, stepping closer, voice rising again. “Did it go away?”
Jeongin shook his head, tears falling faster. “No...” His voice cracked completely. “I didn’t want to lose you over a mistake,” Jeongin sobbed. “I didn’t want to destroy everything because I crossed a line I wasn’t brave enough to face.”
Seungmin’s heart burned. The anger, the hurt, the days of silence - it all boiled over at once.
“So I’m a mistake to you?” he said, voice almost a whisper. “Is that what I am?”
Jeongin looked up abruptly, horrified. “No, it’s not-”
“Then what am I to you?” Seungmin pressed, voice shaking. “Say it, Jeongin!”
Jeongin’s lips trembled. His knees nearly gave out as the truth finally broke free.
“You’re everything,” he cried. “You’re everything I ever wanted and never thought I could have. You’re the person I look for without thinking. The one I fall back on every time the world gets too loud. I was terrified because if I lost you-” he choked. “I don’t know who I’d be without you.”
The room went quiet except for the sound of his breathing. Seungmin stared at him, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Slowly, carefully, he stepped forward.
Jeongin didn’t pull away.
Seungmin lifted both hands, cupping Jeongin’s face like something precious, fragile. His thumbs brushed gently under his eyes, wiping away the tears still spilling over.
“Innie,” he said softly, voice breaking in a completely different way now. “I was never something you weren’t allowed to have.” Their eyes met, frightened and gentle and hopeful. “I was always yours.”
Jeongin let out a broken sob, hands gripping Seungmin’s wrists like he was afraid he’d disappear if he didn’t hold on. Seungmin leaned in slowly, giving him time until their foreheads touched, breaths mingling.
And then Jeongin closed the distance.
The kiss was gentle, trembling, full of relief and apology. Jeongin clung to him, crying quietly into the kiss, and Seungmin held him there, grounding him, forgiving him without words.
For the first time in days, the tension eased. For the first time since that night, they weren’t running. They were here. Together.
They stayed like that for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing slowly syncing as the storm finally settled. Jeongin’s hands were still gripping Seungmin’s wrists, knuckles tense, like he was afraid that if he loosened his hold even for a second, everything would unravel again.
Seungmin didn’t rush him. He let Jeongin cry it out, let the tremors pass through his body, thumbs tracing small, grounding circles along his jaw. When the sobs softened into uneven breaths and Jeongin leaned into his touch instead of shaking against it, something in Seungmin’s chest finally eased.
“I’m sorry,” Jeongin whispered eventually, voice raw and small. It wasn’t panicked this time, just honest.
“I know,” Seungmin murmured back. “I just needed you to say it.”
They moved without really deciding to, sinking down onto the couch together. Their knees brushed, their shoulders touched. It felt tentative, almost shy, like learning each other’s gravity all over again. Jeongin hesitated for only a second before resting his head against Seungmin’s shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to him.
Seungmin wrapped an arm around him, holding him there. Solid. Present.
Nothing was magically fixed; they both knew that. The fear hadn’t vanished completely, and neither had the uncertainty. But the silence between them was different now, no longer sharp or punishing.
Jeongin’s fingers curled into the fabric of Seungmin’s shirt, grounding himself. “I missed you these past few weeks…” He said quietly, voice threatening to break.
Seungmin let out a shaky breath, burying his nose in Jeongin’s hair. “I missed you too,” he replied just as softly. “We’re not doing that anymore.”
Before Jeongin could answer, a low buzz broke the silence. Seungmin’s phone vibrated against his thigh and both of them stilled. Felix’s name was flashing on the screen with two new messages.
Felix: You okay?
Felix: You went quiet… just wanted to check in
Seungmin stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary. The concern in it, even when he was busy, made something warm twist in him. He typed back slowly.
Seungmin: Yeah
Seungmin: I think I am now.
He locked the phone and set it aside, turning back to Jeongin.
Jeongin shifted slightly, then squeezed Seungmin’s hand once. “We don’t have to tell anyone yet.” It was uncertain, almost a question.
Seungmin didn’t hesitate. “I know,” he said. “But we will. When you’re ready.”
Jeongin nodded, relief softening his features, tension draining from his shoulders like he’d been holding his breath for days. For the first time, the thought of facing the rest of the world - the dorm, the group, the questions - didn’t feel terrifying.
Because this time, Seungmin wasn’t something he had to lose. He was right there.
They shifted slowly, carefully, like neither of them wanted to risk breaking the calm they’d finally found. Seungmin tugged a throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over them both, adjusting until Jeongin was comfortably tucked against his side. Jeongin sighed, the sound faint and unguarded, and curled closer without hesitation.
“I’ll put something on,” Seungmin murmured, reaching for the remote.
“Anything’s fine,” Jeongin said, voice already heavier, calmer. “I just… want to stay like this.”
Seungmin smiled to himself and queued up a movie he’s seen a dozen times already, something familiar and easy, more background than focus. The TV filled the room with low light and muted sound, but neither of them was really watching. Jeongin’s fingers traced idle shapes over Seungmin’s shirt, slow and absentminded, like he was reassuring himself that this was real. Seungmin leaned down to press a soft kiss to Jeongin’s temple, then another to his cheek.
Jeongin tilted his head up, meeting him halfway. Their kisses were unhurried now, gentle and warm, nothing like the desperation from before. Just quiet affection, noses bumping, lips lingering a second longer than necessary. Each touch felt like a promise made without words.
Eventually, Jeongin’s movements slowed. His breathing evened out, the tension in his shoulders melting away as exhaustion finally claimed him. He shifted once more, then settled fully, his head resting against Seungmin’s chest.
Seungmin wrapped both arms around him, one hand slipping up to card gently though Jeongin’s hair. He traced slow, soothing strokes, memorizing the weight of him, the warmth, the quiet trust of being held while asleep. Jeongin let out a tiny, content hum in his sleep, fingers still curled into Seungmin’s shirt like an anchor.
Seungmin smiled, eyes burning just a little. This was what he’d been missing.
The sound of the front door opening made him glance up. Voices drifted in from the entryway, tired with post-workout chatter.
“Man, my legs are dead,” Changbin groaned.
“Worth it,” Hyunjin replied. “Chan went way too hard today.”
They stepped into the living room and stopped short. All three of them took in the scene at once: Jeongin asleep on Seungmin’s chest, Seungmin frozen mid-hair stroke, eyes wide like he’d been caught doing something illegal.
For half a second, no one said anything.
Then Chan smiled, kind and knowing. Changbin’s grin spread immediately, his fist pumping silently in the air. Hyunjin raised both thumbs, eyebrows wiggling in exaggerated approval.
Seungmin felt heat rush straight to his face. He mouthed “shut up”, without any real bite behind it, trying - and failing - to hide his smile.
Chan pressed a finger to his lips, nodding toward Jeongin. He mouthed back “We’ll be quiet”. They moved past carefully, deliberately loud in their silence, shoes kicked off gently, bags set down without a sound. Changbin shot Seungmin one last celebratory look over his shoulder before disappearing to his room.
Seungmin shook his head, helpless, his smile lingering as he looked back down at Jeongin. Still asleep, still there.
He returned to stroking Jeongin’s hair, slower now, more mindful. The movie played on, forgotten, the apartment filled with the kind of peace that only came after a storm had finally passed.
For the first time in a long while, Seungmin let himself believe they were going to be okay.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and warm, painting the room in muted gold. Seungmin woke before he was fully conscious, his body already recognizing the presence beside him. Jeongin was still there, curled against him, one arm slung loosely over Seungmin’s waist, his face tucked into the space beneath Seungmin’s chin like it had always belonged there. His hair was a mess, lashes resting against his cheeks, mouth slightly open as he breathed.
Seungmin didn’t move. Just watched, for a long moment, the way Jeongin’s breath rose and fell, the way his fingers twitched faintly against Seungmin’s shirt, as if even in sleep he was holding on. Seungmin smiled, slow and quiet, and reached out to card his fingers through Jeongin’s messy hair. Jeongin mumbled something incoherent, nuzzling closer, and Seungmin’s chest tightened in the best way.
“Good morning,” he whispered, even though he knew Jeongin wouldn’t hear him yet.
But Jeongin did hear. Or, at least, he felt it. His lashes fluttered, and then his eyes opened, hazy with sleep, focusing on Seungmin like he was the first thing Jeongin wanted to see when he woke. A small, sleepy smile curved his lips.
“Good morning, hyung,” his voice was rough, still thick with sleep.
Seungmin couldn’t resist. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to Jeongin’s forehead, lingering there, feeling the warmth of his skin, the way Jeongin’s eyes fluttered shut again, like he was memorizing the gesture.
“Did you sleep well?” Seungmin asked softly.
Jeongin nodded, eyes still closed, then stretched, muscles shifting beneath the blankets before settling back in, this time with his head resting on Seungmin’s shoulder.
“Better than the last few nights,” he admitted, and Seungmin knew what he meant. Better than the nights they’d spent apart, when the silence between them had been an open wound.
“Me too,” Seungmin murmured, kissing the top of Jeongin’s head again.
They stayed like that for a few more minutes, until Jeongin’s stomach growled loud enough to make them both laugh.
“I think it’s time to eat,” Jeongin said, sitting up slowly, his eyes bright in a way Seungmin hadn’t seen in weeks.
“I think so,” Seungmin agreed, sitting up as well, but not without pulling Jeongin back for a quick kiss first, just because he could.
Jeongin laughed against his lips, and when they parted, he was smiling in a way that made Seungmin feel light.
The kitchen was already busy when they came downstairs.
Oil sizzled in a pan, the air warm with the smell of eggs and tomatoes. Minho stood at the stove, humming off-key while he cooled; Hyunjin carefully arranged slices of fruit in a bowl; and Chan hovered between burners, focused but relaxed, sleeves rolled up.
Seungmin paused just inside the doorway without meaning to. Jeongin’s hand was still laced through his, fingers warm and sure. For a brief second, the noise and movement made something old flicker inside him, an habitual caution, the instinct to pull back.
Then Chan looked up.
“Well, look who finally decided to join the living,” he said, grin wide and unmistakably smug. “Sit down, food’s almost done.”
There was something in his tone that made Jeongin glance sideways at Seungmin. Not nervous, just checking. Seungmin squeezed his hand once in answer. They sat together at the table, close enough that Jeongin’s knee rested against Seungmin’s.
Hyunjin set a plate down and gave them a brief look over the rim of his glasses. “You two are unusually quiet,” he noted lightly.
Before either of them could respond, Minho snorted. “It’s because Jeongin finally stopped acting like a menace,” he said, flicking a napkin across the table. “Miracles do happen.”
“I was never a menace.” Jeongin protested, but he was smiling. When Seungmin looked at him, there was something new in that smile; something light.
It didn’t take long for Jisung, Felix and Changbin to return home from the grocery store with drinks and ice cream, and lunch was served. Conversation resumed its familiar rhythm, overlapping voices and half-finished thoughts.
After eating, they began to settle down on the sofas in the living room to enjoy their day off. Seungmin sat on the corner of the sofa, grabbing the blankets to distribute among them. In the middle of a debate about which movie to watch, Jeongin turned to Seungmin like it was the most natural thing in the world and settled into his lap.
Seungmin’s arms came around him instinctively, hands resting at Jeongin’s waist. When he looked at the others, there was no surprise on their faces. Changbin raised his eyebrows, but it was Jisung who spoke.
“So…” he said slowly, a grin spreading across his face. “We’re not pretending anymore, huh?”
Jeongin finally looked up, realization dawning, then flushed, ducking his head with a shy laugh. He didn’t move, though. Seungmin felt warmth bloom in his heart.
“No,” he said simply. “We’re not.”
“Finally!” Changbin said, like it was obvious. Like they’d all known, just waiting for the two of them to realize it.
Chan shook his head. “You took your time,” he said, fond more than anything else. “We figured it out ages ago.”
“Figured out what?” Jeongin asked, mock-offended.
“That you’re stupidly in love,” Felix said, eating another chopped strawberry. He bit into it and smiled at them like this was his favorite ending. “Also, you weren’t subtle on the couch yesterday.”
Jeongin groaned, face burning. Seungmin laughed, pulling him closer without apology.
“You’re all awful,” Jeongin muttered, but the tension was gone from his voice.
“We know,” Minho said, starting the movie. “But we’re on your side.”
That was it.
They stayed right there the rest of the afternoon, fingers tracing lazy patterns against each other's skin. When the movie finished, Jeongin leaned down to press a quick kiss to Seungmin’s lips, eliciting a happy sigh from his lips.
Later, when the daylight softened and the house grew quieter, Seungmin realized the ache and longing he’d carried for so long was finally gone, transformed into something steady and real. Jeongin was there, loving him, choosing him. And this time, there was no fear, just a certainty that whatever came next, they would face it together.