Chapter Text
The hotel room in Jakarta smells like air conditioning and complimentary soap. Renjun is sprawled across the bed closest to the window, phone held above his face, thumb scrolling mindlessly through Twitter while the others argue about what to order for dinner. Mark's voice rises above the chaos—something about wanting Indonesian food since they're actually in Indonesia—and Haechan immediately shoots him down with a dramatic groan about his sensitive stomach.
Renjun smiles without looking up. This is normal. This is them.
His timeline is the usual mix: fan art, fancams, screenshots from today's fan meeting. Someone's posted a compilation of Jisung nearly falling off his chair during the games segment, and he double-taps it reflexively. The algorithm knows him well enough by now—his feed is mostly NCT content, mixed with art accounts and the occasional meme.
Then he sees it.
It's a thread. "a comprehensive guide to nct dream ships for new czennies 💚" with nearly ten thousand likes. He shouldn't click it. He knows he shouldn't. But his thumb moves before his brain catches up.
The first tweet is markhyuck. Of course it is. There's a gif of Mark laughing at something Haechan said during a vlive, his whole face scrunched up in that way that makes his eyes disappear. The caption reads: "the original, the blueprint, the cultural reset. if you don't ship markhyuck do you even nctzen???"
Renjun scrolls.
Nomin is next. A photo compilation of Jeno and Jaemin staring at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist. "soulmates since childhood, still inseparable, still in love, still making us cry." The photos are admittedly good—there's one from their recent comeback stage where Jaemin's adjusting Jeno's mic pack, fingers gentle against his jawline, both of them smiling soft and private.
More scrolling.
Jichen. "the babies who grew up together 🥺" A video of Chenle teaching Jisung some dance move, hands on his waist, both of them giggling when Jisung gets it wrong.
He keeps going, even though something small and uncomfortable is starting to unfurl in his chest.
Chensung. Markhyuck (again). Nomin (again). Johnmark—wait, that's 127. More markhyuck. A rare Markji. Jaeno. Chensung again.
Then, finally: "norenmin for the ot3 enthusiasts ✨"
There he is. Sandwiched between Jeno and Jaemin in a photo from some airport, all three of them wearing masks and hoodies. The caption: "when you can't choose between nomin so you just add renjun for flavor."
For flavor.
Renjun clicks out of the thread and locks his phone in one motion.
"Renjun, what do you want to eat?" Jaemin's voice cuts through his thoughts. He's sitting on the other bed, hair still damp from his shower, looking at Renjun with those wide eyes that the fans write poetry about.
"Whatever's fine," Renjun says, and his voice comes out normal. Easy. "I'm not picky."
This is fine. This is normal. He doesn't care about shipping—he never has. It's just fan stuff, just people having fun with content they give them. It doesn't mean anything.
So why does he feel like he's swallowed something sharp?
It's not like he thinks about it constantly. Days pass—a whole week, actually—before he encounters it again. They're back in Korea, in the practice room, taking a break between runs of their new choreography. Renjun is sitting against the mirror, legs stretched out, watching Jeno teach Jisung a particularly tricky footwork sequence while Chenle films them, providing unnecessary commentary that makes everyone laugh.
Mark's next to him, also watching, his knee pressed against Renjun's in that casual way they've always existed in each other's space. Comfortable. Easy. Years of friendship condensed into small touches that mean nothing and everything.
"They're good together," Mark says, nodding toward Jeno and Jisung. "Jeno's patient. Jisung actually listens to him."
"Unlike when you try to teach him," Renjun teases, and Mark shoves his shoulder with a laugh.
"Hey, I'm a great teacher. Jisung's just—"
"Scared of you?"
"Respectful," Mark corrects, but he's grinning. "There's a difference."
Haechan appears from nowhere—actually, from the bathroom, but it feels like nowhere—and drapes himself across Mark's back like a particularly clingy cat. "Are you talking about me?" he asks, even though they obviously weren't.
"Why would we be talking about you?" Mark's voice has that fond exasperation that's become his default with Haechan.
"Because I'm interesting. Unlike some people." Haechan's eyes flick to Renjun for just a second, glinting with mischief, before returning to Mark. "Hyung, I'm hungry.
Let's go get tteokbokki."
"We just ate lunch two hours ago."
"And? I'm a growing boy."
"You're twenty years old."
"Exactly. Growing. Developing. Maturing." Haechan's wiggling now, making it impossible for Mark to ignore him. "Come on, hyung. Please? I'll pay."
"You never pay."
"I'll let you pay and I'll be really grateful about it?"
Mark sighs, but he's already standing up, already reaching for his jacket. "Fine. But just tteokbokki, and then we're coming straight back."
"Yes, yes, whatever you say." Haechan's already pulling him toward the door, throwing a wave at the rest of them. "We'll bring some back!"
They won't. They never do.
The door closes behind them, and the practice room feels bigger somehow. Quieter, even though Chenle's still narrating Jeno and Jisung's practice session like it's a nature documentary.
Renjun pulls out his phone.
He doesn't mean to go looking. He really doesn't. But somehow he ends up on Instagram, and somehow the explore page shows him a fan edit set to some emotional ballad, and somehow it's Mark and Haechan, a compilation of moments he recognizes because he was there for all of them. Mark's hand in Haechan's hair. Haechan's face pressed into Mark's shoulder. The two of them in their own world, always, even in a room full of seven.
The caption: "the way mark looks at haechan should be studied by scientists 🔬💔"
Twelve thousand likes.
He scrolls down. The comments are in Korean, English, Thai, Chinese—a dozen languages all saying the same thing. "Parents." "Soulmates." "The only ship that matters." "I've never seen two people more in love."
In love.
Renjun locks his phone and puts it face-down on the floor.
They're just fans, he reminds himself. They don't know them. They see what they want to see, make stories out of moments that are just... friendship. Brotherhood.
They don't know that Mark leaves his socks everywhere and Haechan snores like a chainsaw. They don't know the boring, mundane reality of seven guys who've lived in each other's pockets for years.
But.
But when was the last time someone made an edit like that about him and Mark? They're close. They've always been close. He's the one who translates for Mark when his Korean fails, who listens to his half-formed song ideas at three in the morning, who knows he likes his coffee with too much sugar and his ramen slightly undercooked.
When was the last time someone noticed?
"Renjun hyung!" Jisung's voice startles him out of his thoughts. He's standing over Renjun, sweaty and grinning, Jeno and Chenle flanking him like bodyguards. "Did you see? I got it!"
"Got what?"
"The footwork! Show him, show him." Chenle's already pulling out his phone, pulling up the video he took.
Renjun watches Jisung nail the sequence that he's been struggling with all week, and he smiles, and he says all the right things. "That's great, Jisung-ah. See? I told you you'd get it." And he means it. He does.
But there's something hollow in his chest that wasn't there before.
It becomes a pattern he can't unsee.
Not obsessively. He's not seeking it out, not really. But once you notice something, it's everywhere. Like when you learn a new word and suddenly hear it in every conversation.
During a vlive two weeks later, Renjun is sitting between Jaemin and Chenle, the three of them answering questions from fans while eating fried chicken. It's casual, comfortable—Chenle keeps stealing the crispiest pieces and Jaemin keeps letting him, too soft-hearted to actually fight back.
The comments stream past faster than Renjun can read them, but certain phrases catch his eye.
"where's jeno 🥺"
"nomin separated today we lost"
"chenle and jisung should do a vlive together!!"
"markhyuck vlive when???"
And then: "renjun is so cute 🥰"
One comment. Surrounded by dozens asking where other members are, when other ships will do vlives together, why certain pairs aren't here right now.
Jaemin reads a comment out loud: "Are Jeno and Jaemin fighting? No, no, he's just tired. He's sleeping." He laughs, fond and soft. "Our Jeno works so hard."
Our Jeno. The possessiveness is casual, unthinking. The way you'd talk about a partner.
Renjun takes a bite of chicken and tastes nothing.
"Renjun ge," Chenle says, nudging him with his elbow. "You're quiet today. Are you okay?"
The concern is genuine. Chenle's always been perceptive, has always noticed when something's off. It's one of the things Renjun loves about him—his sharp edges and sharper observations, the way he sees through bullshit.
"I'm fine," Renjun says, and he is. He is. "Just tired."
"You should sleep more," Jaemin adds, reaching over to ruffle his hair. His hand is warm, familiar. "You've been staying up late drawing again, haven't you?"
"Maybe."
"Definitely," Chenle corrects. "I can hear you from my room. Your lamp stays on until like four AM."
They banter. They laugh. They eat chicken and answer questions and it's fine, it's all fine, except Renjun can't stop seeing the comments asking for other people. Can't stop feeling like he's filling space until the members people actually want to see are available.
After they end the live, Jaemin stretches, his shirt riding up to show a sliver of stomach that will definitely be screenshotted and analyzed. "That was fun," he says.
"We should do trio vlives more often."
"Yeah," Renjun agrees, because what else can he say?
But he's thinking: they're not a trio. They're not norenmin. They're just... three people who happened to be available at the same time.
The fansign in Busan is packed. It's always packed, but this feels especially chaotic—maybe because it's a weekend, maybe because they've just released a new album, maybe because Renjun is paying attention to things he's always ignored before.
They're sitting in their usual order: Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin, Chenle, Jisung. Alphabetical by age, logical, decided years ago. Fans move down the line, a few minutes with each member, and Renjun smiles and signs and listens to their stories like he always does.
A girl around his age sits down across from him, and her hands are shaking as she pushes her album toward him. "Hi," she says in Mandarin, and his heart warms immediately.
"Hi," he responds in the same language, grateful for the chance to speak his first language. "How are you?"
"Nervous," she admits with a laugh. "I've been waiting for this for so long."
They chat easily—she's a college student studying art, and they bond over that, over the specific frustration of trying to capture light in a drawing. She shows him some of her work on her phone and it's actually good, detailed pencil sketches that show real skill.
"These are beautiful," he tells her honestly. "You should keep drawing. Don't give up on it."
Her eyes get shiny. "Thank you. That means so much, especially from you. Your art is so inspiring."
It's a good interaction. A meaningful one. The kind that reminds him why they do this, why the exhaustion and pressure and constant scrutiny are worth it.
Then she glances down the line, toward where Jeno's laughing at something a fan said, and she leans in conspiratorially. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Are Jeno and Jaemin really...?" She trails off, but her meaning is clear. Her eyes are bright with curiosity, with the hope of getting insider information.
Something in Renjun's chest goes cold.
"Really what?" he asks, even though he knows.
"You know." She's blushing now. "Together? Like, the way they look at each other... it seems so real."
He keeps his smile in place. He's had years of practice keeping his smile in place. "They're very close," he says carefully. "We're all close. We're family."
"But they're different, right? Special?"
"We're all special to each other," he says, and it sounds hollow even to his own ears.
She looks slightly disappointed but nods, and then her time is up, and she's moving on to Jeno, and Renjun is signing the next album, smiling at the next fan, saying the right things.
But he can hear her talking to Jeno. Can hear her say, in Korean this time: "You and Jaemin are so cute together."
Can hear Jeno's laugh, embarrassed and pleased.
Can hear the fan after her say something similar.
And the one after that.
By the time the fansign ends, Renjun's face hurts from smiling.
In the van on the way back to Seoul, everyone's exhausted. Jisung's asleep on Chenle's shoulder. Haechan's playing a game on his phone, the tinny sound effects barely audible over the road noise. Mark's reviewing footage from today on his camera, his face scrunched in concentration.
Renjun is looking out the window, watching Busan disappear behind them, when Jaemin's voice breaks the quiet.
"That was intense," he says. He's sitting in front of Renjun, turned around in his seat so he can see them. "Did you guys notice how many fans asked about... you know. Ships?"
"Oh my god, yes," Haechan says without looking up from his game. "This girl literally asked me if Mark and I share a room on purpose. Like, what am I supposed to say to that?"
"What did you say?" Mark asks.
"I said we're close and left it at that. What else can you say?"
"I got asked about nomin like five times," Jeno adds. He sounds tired. "It's flattering, I guess? That they think we're that close? But also kind of..."
"Weird," Jaemin finishes. "Yeah. I don't know how to feel about it either."
"At least people ship you guys," Haechan says. "Imagine being Renjun and just... existing in the background of everyone else's ships."
He says it like a joke. He means it like a joke. Renjun can hear it in his voice—there's no malice, no intent to hurt. He's just being Haechan, saying whatever comes to mind without a filter.
But it lands like a punch.
The van goes quiet for a second. Then Mark laughs, awkward. "That's not—I mean, Renjun has ships too. Right?"
"Sure," Haechan says, still focused on his game. "Like, norenmin. Markrenhyuck. The trio ones. But it's not the same as having your own thing, you know?"
Renjun should say something. He should laugh it off, make a joke, prove that it doesn't bother him. That's what the old him would have done—the him from a year ago, from six months ago, from before he started noticing.
But he can't make his mouth move.
"I don't think Renjun cares about that stuff," Jeno says, and there's something protective in his voice that makes Renjun's throat tight. "Right, Renjun?"
Everyone's looking at him now. Waiting.
"Right," he manages. "I don't care."
And maybe if he says it enough times, it'll become true.
That night, alone in his room, Renjun makes a mistake.
He opens Twitter. He searches his own name.
The results are... fine. Good, even. Lots of people saying nice things about his visuals, his voice, his art. Compliments that should make him feel good.
But then he searches "nomin" and the results are overwhelming. Thousands of tweets, hundreds of fan accounts dedicated solely to Jeno and Jaemin's relationship.
Analysis threads about their body language. Slow-motion videos of them looking at each other. Fanfiction with tens of thousands of likes.
He searches "markhyuck" and it's even more. An entire ecosystem of content, of people who care so deeply about Mark and Haechan's dynamic that they've built communities around it.
He searches "norenmin" and finds a fraction of the content. Most of it is just nomin content with him photoshopped awkwardly into the frame. "When you can't crop Renjun out but he's not really part of the ship 😅"
He searches "markrenhyuck" and finds even less.
Then, because he hates himself apparently, he searches for ships with him as the main focus. Him and Mark. Him and Jeno. Him and anyone, really, in a pairing where he's not just an accessory.
The results are sparse. A few dedicated fans, bless them, but nothing like the overwhelming tsunami of content that exists for the other ships.
He finds a tweet from earlier today: "why is renjun always the third wheel lmao like he's just THERE"
Another: "renjun is like the friend you bring along so it's not awkward when you hang out with your crush"
Another: "no shade to renjun but he doesn't really have chemistry with anyone? like he's just kind of... there?"
Just there.
Just existing in the background.
Just filling space.
Renjun locks his phone and throws it across the room. It lands on his bed with a soft thump that's not nearly as satisfying as he wants it to be.
This is stupid. This is so stupid. He's twenty-two years old, a successful idol with millions of fans, and he's spiraling because of shipping discourse. Because of what strangers on the internet think about his relationships with his members.
But it's not really about the ships, is it?
It's about what they represent. It's about the fact that when people look at them, they see Mark and Haechan's special bond. They see Jeno and Jaemin's soulmate energy. They see Chenle and Jisung growing up together.
And when they see him, they see... what? A supporting character? A buffer between the real relationships? Someone who's just kind of there?
He thinks about all the moments he's shared with the members. Years of inside jokes and late-night conversations and quiet support. He thinks about translating for Mark during his hardest days, about teaching Jeno Mandarin phrases, about staying up with Jaemin when his insomnia gets bad. He thinks about the way Chenle comes to him for advice, the way Jisung still calls him hyung with that particular softness that means he trusts him.
He thinks about how much he loves them. How much they mean to him.
And he wonders: is it not visible? Does he not show it enough? Is he really that easy to overlook?
Or worse—is it visible, and just... not interesting? Not compelling enough to capture attention? Not special enough to matter?
His phone buzzes from where it landed on his bed. He considers ignoring it, but habit wins out. He retrieves it and finds a message in their group chat.
Jaemin: "jeno fell asleep on my floor again"
Jaemin: [photo of Jeno curled up on the carpet, using a throw pillow, looking peaceful and ridiculous]
Mark: "why is he on the floor"
Jaemin: "he said my bed was too soft"
Jaemin: "and then just... laid down there"
Haechan: "LMAOOOOO"
Haechan: "that's so jeno"
Chenle: "leave him there"
Chenle: "he made his choice"
Jaemin: "i put a blanket on him does that count"
Mark: "you're too soft"
Jaemin: "you're one to talk hyung"
The conversation continues, easy and warm, the kind of banter they've perfected over years of living together. Renjun reads it all, and he feels the affection in every message, the care in Jaemin's photo and the teasing in everyone's responses.
He types out a reply—"at least put a real pillow under his head"—and sends it.
Jaemin responds immediately: "good idea!! brb"
And that's it. That's the whole interaction. Normal. Friendly. Exactly what it's always been.
So why does it feel like he's watching from outside a window?
The next day, Renjun makes a decision.
Not a dramatic one. Not a conscious one, really. But during practice, when Haechan throws an arm around Mark's shoulders and Mark leans into it automatically,
Renjun doesn't move closer. He stays where he is, on the other side of the room, stretching.
During lunch, when Jeno and Jaemin sit next to each other like they always do, he takes a seat at the other end of the table. Not obviously distant—Chenle's there, and Jisung, and they have a perfectly nice conversation about the new anime Chenle's watching.
During the vlive that evening, when the manager asks who wants to go on, he says he's tired. Mark and Haechan go instead, and he watches from his room as they're soft and funny and perfect together, exactly what the fans want to see.
It's not that he's avoiding anyone. He's not angry, not punishing them for something that isn't their fault. He's just... creating space. Stepping back. Letting the real pairs have their moments without him hovering awkwardly in the background.
If he's just there anyway, does it matter if he's not there?
The thought sits heavy in his chest as he turns off the vlive and picks up his sketchbook. He's been working on a drawing of a bird in a cage, but now he adds something new—another bird outside the cage, flying away.
He's not sure which bird is supposed to be him.
His phone buzzes. It's Jeno: "you okay? you seemed quiet today"
Renjun stares at the message for a long time.
The old him would have said yes immediately, would have reassured him, would have made a joke to deflect. But he's tired of pretending everything is fine when he can't even articulate what's wrong.
Renjun: "yeah, just tired. need some alone time"
Jeno: "okay, but let me know if you need anything"
Jeno: "we're here for you"
We're here for you.
The words should comfort him. They don't.
He sets his phone aside and returns to his drawing, adding more details to the bird in flight. Its wings are spread wide, caught in the moment between captivity and freedom, and he can't tell if it looks liberated or lost.
Outside his window, Seoul glitters with a million lights, each one representing someone living their own story. And here he is, in a dorm with six people who love him, feeling more alone than he has in years.
The realization settles over him like a weight: this is going to get worse before it gets better.
He's not sure he knows how to stop it.
But for tonight, he just keeps drawing, his hand moving across the page, creating something beautiful out of the ache in his chest. It's what he's always done—transform pain into art, loneliness into something tangible.
The bird outside the cage is almost finished now. He adds shadows beneath its wings, depth to its feathers, until it looks real enough to fly right off the page.
If only it were that easy.