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By the time Sunghoon reached the practice room, he already felt like he was running late, even though he wasn’t.
That was what comeback week did to them. The building had its usual rhythm, but faster, tighter, like every minute was being pulled forward by someone’s hand. Staff moved in the hall with clipboards and phones, calling out times and names. A manager’s voice floated from somewhere down the corridor, reminding someone to drink water. Another voice answered back in the polite tone everyone used when they were tired and trying not to show it.
Sunghoon walked in and set his bag down near the wall. The room looked the same as it always did, mirrors taking up most of one side, the floor marked faintly from the soles of their shoes. There were a few bottles lined up near the speakers, and a jacket tossed over a chair that nobody bothered to hang properly. Someone’s music was paused on a phone. The screen was still lit like it had been tapped and forgotten.
The rest of the members were already there.
Heeseung was near the mirror, stretching his arms overhead like he was trying to wake his shoulders up. Jay was doing the kind of deep hamstring stretch that made Sunghoon’s legs ache just from watching it. Jake stood with his hands on his hips, bouncing lightly as if staying still made him restless. Sunoo sat on the floor with his back against the wall, scrolling through something on his phone with the brightness turned down, humming under his breath like he was trying to keep the mood light. Ni-ki was marking the choreography quietly to himself, stepping through counts with the focus of someone who could run the same part a hundred times and still want it cleaner.
Sunoo glanced up and said, “Why does everyone look like they haven’t slept.” His voice sounded like a complaint, but it didn’t have any real bite to it.
Jay rolled his eyes. “Because we haven’t.”
Sunghoon didn’t say much when he came in. He nodded once in greeting, quick and easy. They were all past the point of needing greetings to prove anything. Everyone knew everyone was here, and that meant the day could start.
He pulled his hoodie off and started warming up right away. His hands went to his wrists first, rotating them slowly. He rolled his shoulders back and felt the tightness shift, not leaving, but settling into something he could manage. He didn’t think about it too much. It was routine, and routine was the only thing that stayed steady on days like this.
Then he saw Jungwon.
Jungwon was sitting near the mirror, one leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent, leaning forward to stretch his ankle. He moved carefully, like he respected his body and didn’t trust it to forgive him if he got lazy. Sunghoon had seen it a lot in him, even before they debuted. Jungwon had that kind of discipline that looked effortless from the outside, but Sunghoon knew it came from constant attention. It was the same kind of attention Sunghoon used to give his own body back when he trained for something else, back when mistakes had consequences that lasted longer than one practice.
Jungwon’s phone sat right beside his thigh.
The screen kept lighting up and he kept glancing at it like he was listening for it even before it buzzed. He would tap a reply fast, then put the phone down again and return to his stretch as if nothing happened. It made Sunghoon’s chest tighten, and he didn’t like how quickly that irritation showed up.
He tried to tell himself it wasn’t his business.
But Jungwon was the leader, and Jungwon was younger than him, and some days that combination looked wrong in a way Sunghoon didn’t know how to explain. Jungwon carried things without complaining. He handled problems before anyone else even noticed they existed. He did it so calmly that people started expecting it, and Jungwon never corrected them.
Sunghoon couldn’t tell if Jungwon liked it.
He doubted it.
Heeseung glanced at Jungwon and said, not unkind, “Are you answering messages again?”
Jungwon didn’t look up. “It’s nothing serious.”
Jay scoffed from across the room. “Everything is ‘nothing serious’ to you.”
Jake laughed, soft and amused. “He’s going to start replying in his sleep.”
Ni-ki, without missing a beat, said, “He already does.”
The room laughed lightly, and Jungwon finally looked up, offering a small smile that was polite in the way he always was when attention landed on him. His dimples showed, deep and obvious, and for a second he looked younger than he had any right to look during a comeback week.
Then the phone buzzed again, and Jungwon’s eyes dropped immediately.
Sunghoon turned his wrist again and tried to focus on his warm-up instead of what Jungwon was doing, but his attention kept slipping back. He watched Jungwon shift his stretch, pulling his toes back. The movement was clean and exact. He held it long enough to make it count, then adjusted the angle by a few degrees like he was checking for strain.
It was athletic in a way that made sense. Jungwon had always been like that, even in small things.
Sunghoon stepped closer without meaning to.
Jungwon noticed him right away. He looked up and said, “Hyung,” with the right amount of respect, like the word came built into his mouth.
Then he added, because he was Jungwon and he couldn’t help himself, “Why are you hovering?”
Sunghoon didn’t answer that part. He pointed down at Jungwon’s leg and said, “Your stretch. You’re doing it wrong.”
Jungwon’s expression shifted instantly. He stayed polite, but his eyes sharpened like he’d been waiting for a fight that was small enough to be fun.
“I’m not,” Jungwon said.
Sunghoon crouched down. He reached out and adjusted Jungwon’s foot by a small angle, pressing gently at the side to correct the position. He wasn’t rough. He wasn’t trying to prove anything. He just knew the right alignment, and he didn’t like watching Jungwon stretch in a way that would make him sore later.
He pulled his hand back as soon as he was done.
Jungwon went still, and Sunghoon felt the pause in his breathing. It lasted only a second, but Sunghoon noticed it anyway. Jungwon looked at him like he was processing something he didn’t expect.
Then Jungwon’s mouth curved.
His tone stayed respectful, but the smile made it dangerous. “Hyung, are you my trainer now?”
Sunghoon stood up again, keeping his face neutral. “If you want.”
Jungwon blinked, and for a second he looked caught off guard. It was quick, the kind of crack that didn’t last long because Jungwon never let anything show for too long. His dimples appeared again as he smiled, and he tried to hide it by looking down at his leg.
Sunghoon looked away, not because he was embarrassed, but because he didn’t like how easy it was to soften around Jungwon when he looked like that.
Jungwon picked up his phone again. The screen showed a string of messages Sunghoon didn’t bother reading, but it didn’t matter what they said. The point was that Jungwon was answering them. He always did.
He watched him type with both thumbs, fast and automatic. Jungwon stood up while still looking down, walking toward the mirror without bumping into anything. His body moved like it knew the room by heart. It should have been impressive. It was impressive. It also made Sunghoon feel uneasy, because it looked like someone who could do everything at once and never pay for it.
Sunghoon knew that was a lie.
Heeseung clapped his hands once, calling everyone in. “Okay, let’s go from the top.”
Jungwon slid his phone into his pocket, as if he was putting responsibility away for a second. He turned toward the center of the room and took his place with everyone else. His posture straightened. His expression settled. Leader mode returned so smoothly it was almost scary.
Sunghoon stepped into line too, standing close enough to see Jungwon’s profile in the mirror.
Jungwon’s eyes were steady. His face was calm. He looked ready.
Sunghoon wondered, briefly, if Jungwon ever got to feel ready in a way that didn’t involve forcing it.
He didn’t ask.
He just counted in with the others and moved, keeping time, watching Jungwon out of the corner of his eye the way he always did, like it was habit.
Like it was nothing.
Like it didn’t matter.
They ran the choreography from the top until Sunghoon stopped feeling his own breathing.
He kept his face blank, kept his body in time, watched the mirror for corrections instead of looking at anyone directly. That was always the easiest way to survive practice. If he looked too much at faces, he would start noticing things he couldn’t fix.
Jungwon stayed steady through the whole run.
Even when the counts got messy, even when someone’s timing slipped for half a beat and they had to recover, Jungwon kept moving like the center was something he could hold on his own. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t bark orders. He corrected things in short phrases and small gestures, the kind of direction that didn’t make anyone feel stupid.
Sunghoon followed him without thinking about it.
After the last count, the room loosened. Everyone drifted apart in the familiar way, reaching for water, wiping sweat off their necks, stretching again even though they had already stretched before they started.
Jay flopped onto the floor with a sigh that sounded like it came from the bottom of his lungs. Jake leaned forward with his hands on his knees, looking like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or collapse. Sunoo walked over to the speaker and lowered the volume a notch, humming again like he was doing the room a favor. Ni-ki was already going over a section in his head, foot tapping lightly against the floor as if he could reset the run with willpower.
Heeseung called out, “Okay, break for ten.”
Jungwon nodded, eyes flicking to Heeseung for a second. “Thanks, hyung,” he said quietly, already moving toward the door.
He didn’t grab his bag. He didn’t sit down. He just reached into his pocket for his phone, eyes dropping to the screen while he walked. The movement was automatic, like his body had learned that rest wasn’t useful unless it came with productivity.
Sunghoon watched him go and told himself he was overthinking it.
He was tired too. Everyone was tired. Jungwon was not special in that way.
But Sunghoon still didn’t like the way Jungwon moved like he couldn’t afford to stop.
A staff member stuck their head in and called out something about the next schedule, and the room shifted immediately. It always did. Like they all had a switch inside them that flipped the second the day demanded something else.
“Ten minutes,” the staff member said. “Then we go down for the behind filming.”
Jay groaned into the floor. “Ten minutes is a lie.”
Sunoo laughed. “Ten minutes is a threat.”
Jake looked over at Sunghoon and smiled like he was trying to stay positive. “At least there’s snacks downstairs, right?”
Heeseung shrugged. “If we get there before they disappear.”
Sunghoon didn’t answer. He just picked up his water and took a slow drink, letting the cold settle his throat.
A staff member popped in to remind them about the next schedule, and the room shifted immediately. Everyone started changing out of their sweat-damp practice clothes, tugging on fresh shirts and wiping their faces down with towels. Someone complained about how cold the aircon always was. Someone else asked where their spare socks went. It was quick and messy, but practiced, like they’d done it a hundred times.
When they moved again, it happened quickly.
They filed out of the practice room, walking through the hall as a group. Staff walked ahead, staff walked behind. Someone handed a member a paper cup. Someone else asked if they had their in-ears. The building felt narrower than usual, like the walls were listening.
Sunghoon stayed near the back out of habit.
Jungwon was closer to the front, beside one of the managers, nodding at whatever they were saying. He looked calm, polite, attentive. His posture was straight. His face carried that neutral expression he used when he needed the day to stay smooth.
The behind-the-scenes camera crew was already waiting when they reached the dressing area.
It wasn’t aggressive. It didn’t feel like being filmed for a show. It just existed. A camera operator standing in the corner. A staff member holding a mic. Someone checking framing and lighting. The kind of quiet presence that made everyone adjust without thinking.
Sunghoon felt it happen to him too. His shoulders squared a little. His expression settled into something safe. It wasn’t fake. It was just controlled.
Jungwon shifted even more.
His voice got brighter the moment someone spoke to him on camera. He laughed easily, answered questions with that polite warmth that made staff comfortable. He had always been good at that part. He knew how to make people feel like the room was under control.
Sunghoon watched him from a few steps away.
He knew Jungwon was tired. He could see it in the small things. The way Jungwon blinked a little slower when he thought nobody was looking. The way he rolled his shoulders once like he was trying to release tension quietly. The way his hand returned to his phone the second there was an opening.
But none of that would show up on the footage.
On camera, Jungwon looked fine.
He looked like he always looked.
Someone asked a basic question, something about practice or the comeback, and Jungwon answered smoothly. His smile came out on cue. His dimples showed, deep and familiar.
Sunghoon looked away before he could stare.
He didn’t want to be caught watching.
He didn’t want to be obvious about anything.
They were standing around waiting for styling adjustments, and Jungwon was still looking down at his phone. He held it with one hand while the other tugged lightly at the collar of his shirt, probably without realizing he was doing it. The fabric sat slightly wrong on his neck. Not enough to matter to anyone else, but Sunghoon noticed.
He always noticed.
Sunghoon stepped closer, quick and quiet.
Jungwon didn’t look up. He was typing a reply, thumb moving fast. His brows were faintly drawn together, the expression he got when he was trying to fix something before it turned into a problem.
Sunghoon reached out and touched the edge of Jungwon’s collar.
Jungwon paused immediately.
His thumb stopped.
His whole body went still for a second, like someone had pressed a hand against a switch.
Sunghoon adjusted the collar, smoothing it down and shifting the mic cable that had twisted underneath. His fingers moved carefully. He didn’t rush. He didn’t fumble. He fixed it the way he fixed things in practice, efficiently and quietly, with the kind of attention that didn’t need permission.
It felt normal.
That was what scared him a little.
Touching Jungwon felt normal.
Jungwon finally looked up, eyes widening just slightly. “Oh.”
Sunghoon kept his face neutral. “It was twisted.”
Jungwon stared at him for a moment longer than necessary, like he was deciding whether to make a joke. Then he softened, and his smile came out small and real.
“Thanks, hyung,” he said, polite again, respectful again. Still younger, still careful with the word, even when he was obviously comfortable.
Sunghoon nodded once. “Mm.”
He stepped back before anyone could notice.
Before Jungwon could say something else.
Someone nearby said something mildly funny, probably about the schedule or about how tired everyone looked. Sunoo laughed first, and it set off the rest of them. Heeseung smiled like he’d been waiting for the mood to lift. Jake laughed softly, shoulders loosening. Jay shook his head like he was annoyed but amused anyway. Even Ni-ki’s mouth twitched, like he couldn’t fully hide it.
Jungwon smiled too.
His dimples showed again.
Sunghoon didn’t mean to smile back, but it happened anyway. It was quick. A small reaction. He caught himself immediately, but not before it slipped through.
He felt the shape of it on his face, and it annoyed him.
He knew what it meant, and he also knew it wouldn’t matter how quickly he tried to hide it.
Jungwon’s glance flicked his way, sharp and knowing, like he’d caught it anyway.
Then the phone lit up again.
The glow washed over his face as he looked down. The smile disappeared so fast it almost felt unfair. His thumbs started moving immediately, answering before the message could even settle.
Watching the shift happen made the irritation return, heavier this time. It wasn’t the replying that bothered Sunghoon. It was how automatic it was, like the phone had trained Jungwon to react faster than his own body could.
So Sunghoon stayed where he was, quiet and still, watching it the same way you watched someone run on a sprain, knowing it wouldn’t stop until something finally gave.
The waiting room they were sent to was the kind of place that didn’t feel like it belonged to anyone.
It was clean and bright in a way that made it hard to relax. A couch pushed against one wall, a few chairs arranged like someone had tried to make it welcoming without knowing how. There was a low table in the middle with a couple of water bottles and a half-open snack box that looked like it had been picked through. A coat rack stood near the door with a few hangers that were mostly empty.
Sunghoon stepped in and paused for a moment, mostly to let his eyes adjust. The hallway outside was louder. This room had a quieter sound to it, like the door actually did its job.
The others weren’t all here.
They were in and out, pulled away by schedules, filming content with other idols, and touch-ups and wardrobe changes. Someone was changing in another room. Someone was eating quickly somewhere else. Staff voices passed by in the hall and then faded, like waves.
It was rare, having a gap like this.
Sunghoon didn’t trust gaps. They never lasted.
He stood near the door for a second and looked around again, more carefully this time.
Jungwon was here.
He was sitting on one of the chairs near the wall, leaning back like he was trying to take pressure off his spine. He didn’t look comfortable. He looked like he was sitting the way someone sat when they wanted to rest but felt guilty about it.
His phone was in his hand.
The screen glow lit the lower half of his face. His thumb moved in short, fast motions, scrolling through something. Messages, probably. The schedule. A group chat. Something he needed to answer before it turned into a bigger problem.
Sunghoon watched him for a few seconds, telling himself he was just checking on the situation.
Jungwon didn’t notice him come in. That alone was strange.
Jungwon always noticed.
He noticed staff footsteps. He noticed the mood of the room. He noticed when someone was off beat. He noticed when a member got quiet. Jungwon noticed everything because Jungwon had to.
But right now, Jungwon’s attention was narrowed down to the rectangle in his hand. His eyes looked tired in a way that wouldn’t show up on camera, because the camera didn’t catch tiredness unless it was dramatic.
Jungwon’s tiredness wasn’t dramatic.
It was stubborn.
He scrolled again. Then again.
Sunghoon took a step further into the room, quieter than he needed to be. He didn’t want to startle him. He didn’t want Jungwon to look up and immediately switch into that bright leader voice again. Sunghoon didn’t have the energy for that.
But then, Jungwon’s head dipped forward slightly.
At first Sunghoon thought he was just reading something. Jungwon leaned in sometimes when he was concentrating, like the words would make more sense if he got closer.
But then his head dipped again, a little heavier.
His shoulders stayed squared. His back didn’t slump. His grip on the phone loosened just a bit, but he didn’t let go. His thumb stopped moving.
Sunghoon slowed to a stop.
He knew what it looked like. He didn’t want to assume. He didn’t want to be wrong and make it awkward.
Jungwon’s head dipped once more and stayed there.
His chin lowered toward his chest, and for a second it looked like he might catch himself. Like his body might jerk awake and pretend it never happened.
He didn’t.
He stayed sitting up, posture still too straight, phone still in his hand, eyes closed.
He looked like someone who had been holding his breath all day and finally forgot to keep doing it.
Sunghoon stared at him.
He felt something shift in his chest, sharp and immediate, like irritation turning into something else.
It wasn’t surprise. Sunghoon had known Jungwon was tired. He had watched it in practice. He had watched it in the hallway. He had watched it in the dressing area when Jungwon’s smile disappeared the moment his phone lit up again.
Sunghoon had known.
What he didn’t like was seeing it this clearly.
Jungwon asleep sitting up. Still clutching his phone like it mattered more than his own body.
Sunghoon took a slow breath and walked closer.
He moved quietly, careful with his steps. The room was too quiet for anything else. Even his shoes sounded loud against the floor.
He stopped beside Jungwon and looked down at him.
Jungwon’s face was relaxed in a way Sunghoon didn’t see often. His brows weren’t drawn together. His mouth wasn’t tight. His lashes rested against his cheeks. He looked younger like this, and Sunghoon hated how that thought came so easily.
Jungwon was younger than him. Two years wasn’t much, but it showed in moments like this, when Jungwon wasn’t holding himself up on purpose.
Sunghoon crouched down and leaned in slightly.
The phone was still in Jungwon’s hand. The screen had dimmed, but it was still on. A message thread sat open. Sunghoon didn’t read it. He didn’t want to know. Knowing would make him angry, and he didn’t want to be angry at the wrong people.
He reached out slowly.
Jungwon’s fingers were loose around the phone, but not fully relaxed. It was like his hand still remembered its job even while the rest of him shut down.
Sunghoon slid his fingers under the edge of the phone and tried to lift it gently.
Jungwon’s grip tightened immediately.
It wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t a decision. It was reflex, like someone taking something from him was a threat even in sleep.
Sunghoon froze. He stayed still, hand barely touching the phone, waiting.
Jungwon shifted in the chair. His head moved a fraction, as if he was trying to find a better position without waking up. His lips parted and he made a small sound under his breath.
It didn’t form words. It was just the shape of a voice, soft and confused.
Sunghoon’s heart kicked hard in his chest.
He felt stupid for it. He felt caught, like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, like he was crossing a line that hadn’t been drawn out loud.
But Jungwon didn’t wake up.
His hand loosened again, slowly, like his body forgot what it had been defending.
Sunghoon slid the phone out of his grip carefully this time, using almost no force. He lifted it away and held it in his own hand, watching Jungwon’s fingers curl faintly like they were closing around air.
Jungwon stayed asleep.
Sunghoon swallowed and turned the phone screen off. He didn’t open anything. He didn’t check anything. He just locked it and slipped it into his pocket.
He stayed crouched there for a second longer than he needed to.
He didn’t know what to do next.
He didn’t want to wake him. He didn’t want Jungwon to wake up embarrassed and defensive. Jungwon would apologize, and Sunghoon didn’t want an apology for something that shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
Jungwon’s shoulders tensed slightly even in sleep, as if his body was trying to stay upright out of habit. His head dipped forward again, and this time it looked like it would get uncomfortable fast. He would wake up with a stiff neck and pretend it didn’t matter.
Sunghoon straightened and looked around the room.
There wasn’t much. No blanket. No real place to lie down without someone noticing. The couch looked clean but not inviting, and Jungwon was already asleep where he was.
Sunghoon spotted his own hoodie. He had been carrying it since they left practice, not wearing it because he’d been warm and moving too much.
He unfolded it and stepped closer.
He draped it over Jungwon’s shoulders gently.
The fabric fell across Jungwon’s back and arms, softening the sharpness of his posture. It made him look smaller. It made him look like someone who was allowed to be taken care of.
Jungwon exhaled.
It was deep and slow, like his body recognized warmth and accepted it without question.
Sunghoon watched that breath and felt his chest tighten in a way he didn’t like.
He didn’t know why it affected him like this. It was just a hoodie. It was just a person asleep. It was normal to cover someone if they looked cold.
But Jungwon wasn’t someone Sunghoon covered because it was normal.
Jungwon was someone Sunghoon covered because the thought of him being uncomfortable made Sunghoon angry.
And that wasn’t normal either.
Jungwon shifted again, his head tipping forward slightly.
Sunghoon stayed there for a second, watching it happen, already knowing that if he let it go on, Jungwon would wake up with a stiff neck and pretend it didn’t matter. He moved before he could overthink it.
He pulled the chair beside him closer and sat down slowly, careful not to jostle him. The room was too quiet. Even the smallest movement felt loud.
Then he reached out.
His hand rested lightly against Jungwon’s upper back, steadying him before he could fold forward again. He didn’t pull him in. He didn’t turn it into anything it wasn’t. He only guided him upright enough that his weight had somewhere else to go.
Jungwon’s head tipped sideways instead, searching for support without fully waking.
Sunghoon held his breath.
The next second, Jungwon’s head settled against Sunghoon’s shoulder.
Sunghoon went still.
His body locked up on instinct, sharp and immediate, like he didn’t know what to do with something this close. Jungwon’s hair brushed his jaw lightly. The warmth of his face seeped through the fabric of Sunghoon’s shirt.
Sunghoon didn’t move. He didn’t push him away. He didn’t shift to get comfortable, because he didn’t want to risk waking him.
He kept his hands in his lap and stared ahead at the blank wall, forcing himself to stay steady while Jungwon breathed evenly beside him, face turned slightly toward Sunghoon’s neck.
The hoodie sat around Jungwon’s shoulders in a way that made it look like it belonged there.
Sunghoon stared ahead at the blank wall for a moment, feeling the weight of Jungwon’s head against him.
He told himself it was fine.
He told himself this was just what happened when people were tired.
But his heart was still beating too fast.
He glanced down at Jungwon’s face, careful.
Jungwon looked peaceful, and Sunghoon didn’t get to see that often.
Most of the time, Jungwon looked like he was bracing for something. On stage, he was sharp and controlled, like every expression had a purpose. In practice, he stayed focused even when everyone else was laughing through mistakes. In meetings, he was polite and steady, answering before anyone could ask twice. Even when they were joking around, even when Jungwon was smiling and his dimples showed, there was always that awareness in his eyes, like part of him was still watching the room.
Now, that part was gone.
His face was relaxed, the tension finally leaving his brows and mouth. The dimples were still there, faint but visible even without a smile, like they were just part of how he was made. Sunghoon found himself looking too long. He always did. He didn’t know when it started happening so easily, noticing him like this, but it was annoying how natural it felt.
Something warm tugged at the irritation in his chest, softening it into a feeling he didn’t want to name.
Even asleep, he’s still trying, he thought, and the thought didn’t sound kind in his head. It didn’t sound angry either.
It sounded true.
Jungwon’s hand rested empty in his lap, fingers curled slightly, like they still expected the phone to be there. Sunghoon could feel the weight of it in his pocket, heavier than it should have been for something so small. It made him think about how long Jungwon must have been holding it, how hard his body had fought to keep it even while shutting down.
Sunghoon lowered his voice until it was barely there.
“Sleep.”
He wasn’t sure it could be heard. Maybe it didn’t matter if it wasn’t.
Jungwon didn’t react the way an awake person would. He only sank a little heavier against Sunghoon’s shoulder, as if his body had been waiting for permission and finally decided to take it.
Sunghoon stayed still.
He let the quiet hold them, because it was the only thing that felt gentle in a day like this. He didn’t make it a big deal. He didn’t move him around. He didn’t try to fix everything at once.
Jungwon didn’t need a big moment.
He only needed someone to be there when he finally stopped.
So Sunghoon was.
The quiet stayed for a while longer than Sunghoon expected.
It felt fragile, like if he moved wrong it would crack. He kept his shoulders steady and his hands resting in his lap, breathing carefully through his nose. Jungwon’s head stayed against him, weight warm and real, the kind of weight that made it hard to think about anything else without feeling annoyed at the world.
Outside the room, the hallway noise came and went. Staff voices passed by in short bursts. A door down the corridor clicked shut. Someone laughed briefly, then the sound disappeared like it had never been there.
Sunghoon didn’t look at the clock.
He didn’t want to know how little time this would last.
Then the door handle turned.
Sunghoon’s body tensed on instinct, even though he stayed still. He didn’t shift away, didn’t straighten up like he’d been caught doing something wrong. Jungwon didn’t move either. His breathing stayed even, slow, soft against Sunghoon’s shoulder.
The door opened.
It was Jake and Ni-ki.
They stepped in with their usual energy, like they were looking for someone, like they expected the room to be empty or at least loud. Jake’s mouth was already curved into a grin, and Ni-ki’s eyes were bright, the kind of mischievous brightness that meant he was about to start something.
When they saw them, the duo stopped so fast it almost looked like someone had yanked them back.
Jake’s expression shifted first. His grin faltered, then returned in a smaller version, softer, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to laugh. Ni-ki stared openly, taking the whole scene in without shame, because Ni-ki never had shame about noticing things.
Leader is asleep.
Head on Sunghoon’s shoulder.
Sunghoon sitting there like he had been put on pause.
For a second, Sunghoon could see the teasing forming on their faces. It was obvious. Jake’s eyes flicked to Sunghoon’s expression like he was trying to measure how safe it was to joke. Ni-ki’s lips parted like he was already about to say something loud and stupid, something that would echo in the room and wake Jungwon up.
Sunghoon didn’t let it happen.
He didn’t give them anything to work with.
He only lifted a hand slightly and brought his index finger to his lips. His voice stayed calm and flat when he spoke.
“Shh. He’s sleeping.”
That was all.
It didn’t sound like a warning. It didn’t sound like a threat. Just. That.
Jake blinked. The grin disappeared completely, replaced by something quieter. He nodded once, slow, like he understood immediately. His gaze moved to Jungwon’s face for a second and softened.
Ni-ki still looked like he was holding back a reaction, but even he didn’t push it. His eyes flicked from Jungwon to Sunghoon, then back, and Sunghoon could practically see the thought running through his head.
This is real.
This isn’t a joke.
Ni-ki swallowed and lowered his voice. “Oh.”
Jake stepped backward first, careful with his feet. “Sorry,” he mouthed, barely moving his lips.
Ni-ki followed, still staring like he was going to remember this forever and use it later when it would be most annoying. Sunghoon didn’t doubt it. Ni-ki was like that.
Before the door closed, Ni-ki leaned in just enough to whisper, “Hyung… you’re stuck now.”
Sunghoon didn’t react.
He didn’t give him the satisfaction.
Jake reached for the handle and pulled the door closed as gently as he could. It clicked softly into place, and their footsteps faded down the hallway.
Sunghoon stayed still until the sound disappeared completely.
Only then did he let himself breathe out properly.
He looked down without thinking.
Jungwon hadn’t moved. His face was still relaxed. The hoodie was still draped around his shoulders, the fabric bunched slightly near his collarbone. His hand was still resting in his lap, fingers curled faintly like he’d been holding something.
Sunghoon felt his chest tighten again, the same frustrated warmth he couldn’t get rid of.
It was fine.
Everything was fine.
He was just tired.
They were all tired.
But his shoulder still felt heavy with trust, and Sunghoon couldn’t pretend that didn’t matter.
He stayed where he was, eyes forward again, holding the quiet for as long as the day allowed.
By the time they got back to the dorm, the day felt like it had been stretched too thin.
The ride was quiet. Not fully silent, because there were always small sounds, someone shifting in their seat, someone clearing their throat, someone tapping a knee like their body still had leftover energy. But nobody tried to fill the space with jokes. Everyone looked tired in the same way, eyes half-lidded and shoulders slack, like their bodies had decided the day was over even if their schedules didn’t agree.
When they reached the building, they split up the way they always did.
Their dorm wasn’t one big shared space. It was two apartments on two floors, which meant the group was together, but not completely. It made things easier in some ways. It gave them corners to disappear into when they needed to, and it kept the noise from turning into something unbearable.
The upper unit was Sunghoon’s. Heeseung, Jay, Ni-ki, and him shared that floor.
The lower unit belonged to Sunoo, Jake, and Jungwon. Their manager, Yuki, stayed there too, which was probably the only reason the younger half didn’t live off instant noodles and stubbornness alone.
Sunghoon followed the others toward the elevator automatically, not because he wanted to talk, but because his feet already knew the route. Jay had his hood up, dragging his bag like it was heavier than it should be. Ni-ki was half a step ahead, still moving like he had energy left even when his face said otherwise. Heeseung walked slower, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as they waited for the doors to open.
Inside the elevator, Jungwon stood near the front with his bag strap tight in his hand. He didn’t say much. He only gave a quick, polite, “Good night,” voice steady the way it always was.
Sunghoon answered without thinking. “Night.”
When the doors opened on the lower floor, Jungwon stepped out first. He didn’t look back. He just walked down the hallway toward his unit, shoulders still straight like he was refusing to sag.
Sunghoon stayed inside the elevator a second longer than he needed to.
He knew Jungwon would be fine. He would go in, answer a few more messages, then finally sleep properly. That was the logical end to the day.
It still didn’t sit right.
He didn’t move fast enough. The doors slid shut, and the elevator carried them up to their floor before he could talk himself out of it. The ride was quiet, the kind of silence that settled when nobody had the energy to fill it with jokes.
When the doors opened, the others stepped out without looking back.
Sunghoon stayed inside.
“I’m gonna get water,” Sunghoon said, and it came out too casual.
Jay didn’t even turn around. “From where?”
Sunghoon kept his face neutral. “Downstairs.”
Heeseung glanced back, eyes tired but aware. For a second it looked like he might say something, but he didn’t. He only nodded once, like he understood the excuse and didn’t care to question it.
Ni-ki smirked faintly, but he was already walking away.
The lower unit door wasn’t fully closed. It was latched, but not locked, like someone had come in and left it that way without thinking. Inside, the lights were dimmer than upstairs. The atmosphere felt softer, quieter, like the day didn’t press as hard in here.
He slipped his shoes off at the entrance and stepped in.
He could hear movement from one of the rooms. Jake’s voice, low, probably talking to someone in his room. Sunoo laughed quietly at something, then it faded into the sound of a door closing.
Yuki’s voice came from deeper inside the unit, speaking into a phone. It was calm and measured, the kind of voice that meant he was still working even now.
Sunghoon moved into the kitchen like he belonged there, keeping it casual on purpose. He opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and drank slowly, letting the cold clear his head.
Then he heard the doorway.
He turned his head slightly and saw Jungwon standing there.
His hair was messy, shirt wrinkled, and his expression was blank in the way it got when he was still waking up. He looked like he’d meant to go straight to his room and sleep, but something had pulled him back out. Something urgent enough to drag him into the kitchen even with his eyes barely open.
Sunghoon already knew what it was before Jungwon even moved.
Jungwon stepped in and paused, scanning the counter, scanning the table, scanning the room like he was looking for something that could not be missing.
His hand went to his pocket.
Then the other pocket.
Then the back pocket, like the answer might be there if he checked hard enough.
The flicker of panic was instant.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
But Sunghoon saw it anyway.
“I have it,” Sunghoon said.
Jungwon’s head snapped up. “What?”
Sunghoon’s tone stayed even. “Your phone.”
Jungwon blinked once, then walked closer, stopping a few steps away. “Why? How?”
“You fell asleep,” Sunghoon said.
Jungwon’s cheeks flushed immediately. The embarrassment hit fast, sharp, like it annoyed him more than the exhaustion ever could. He didn’t like being caught doing anything that looked like weakness, even when it wasn’t.
“You took it because I fell asleep,” Jungwon repeated, like he was trying to understand the logic.
Sunghoon nodded once. “Yeah.”
Jungwon held his hand out. “Give it back.”
Sunghoon didn’t move.
“After you eat,” he said.
Jungwon stared at him like he’d misheard. “Hyung.”
The word was respectful, but the tone was warning. That familiar polite menace Jungwon reserved for him, like he knew Sunghoon would take it.
“I can do both,” Jungwon said, jaw tight.
Sunghoon stayed calm. “You always say that.”
Jungwon’s eyes sharpened. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Sunghoon answered, like it was obvious.
Silence.
From somewhere deeper in the apartment, Yuki’s voice drifted through again, still on a call, still calm. It grounded the moment in reality. They weren’t alone in the world. They just had a corner of it.
Jungwon looked away first.
He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms like he could build a wall around himself. “If I’m not on top of it, it gets messy,” he said quietly.
Sunghoon felt his chest tighten. He hated how normal Jungwon sounded, like he’d accepted it as a rule.
“It’s already messy, anyway.” Sunghoon said immediately.
Jungwon flinched. Small, quick. Almost invisible.
He didn’t argue back.
That was how Sunghoon knew it hit.
Sunghoon turned to the stove.
There were instant noodles in the pantry and eggs in the fridge. Nothing fancy, nothing that would take long. Just something warm and solid. Something that would make Jungwon stop running on empty.
He filled a pot with water and set it on the burner. The sound of it heating was louder than it should have been in the quiet kitchen.
Jungwon stayed where he was, watching.
Sunghoon kept his movements steady. He tore open the packet, dropped the noodles in when the water boiled, cracked an egg into a pan beside it and let it cook just enough to be soft.
He didn’t look back while he did it. He didn’t want Jungwon to feel like this was a performance.
When it was done, he poured the noodles into a bowl, slid the egg on top, and carried it over.
He set it down in front of Jungwon.
“Eat,” Sunghoon said.
Jungwon stared at the bowl for a second, like he didn’t know what to do with someone taking care of him without being asked. Then he sat down slowly, shoulders tense, and picked up the chopsticks.
“You’re annoying,” he muttered.
Sunghoon leaned back against the counter. “I know.”
Jungwon took a bite.
Then another.
His shoulders loosened a fraction, like food was the only thing his body trusted enough to accept without argument.
Sunghoon watched him eat, trying to convince himself he wasn’t staring.
He was.
He was watching for Jungwon’s face to soften. For his eyes to stop looking sharp. For the tightness around his mouth to ease.
Jungwon caught him.
“Stop staring,” Jungwon said.
Sunghoon lied automatically. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Jungwon replied, unimpressed.
Sunghoon held his stare for a second, then nodded toward the bowl, voice dropping quieter.
“Eat.”
Jungwon’s mouth twitched.
The dimples appeared, small and unavoidable, like they always did when he tried to hold back a smile and failed.
He looked down at the bowl immediately, like the noodles were suddenly very interesting.
Sunghoon pretended he didn’t see it.
He absolutely saw it.
And it relieved something in him that he didn’t want to admit was there.
Jungwon finished eating slowly, like his body was still catching up to the idea that the day was allowed to pause.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything while he ate. He stayed by the counter, leaning back with his arms folded, looking everywhere except directly at him. It felt safer that way. If he stared too hard, it would start to feel like he was waiting for something. Sunghoon told himself he wasn’t. He was only making sure Jungwon actually ate more than two bites before giving up again.
When the bowl was finally empty, Jungwon set his chopsticks down and sat there for a second, eyes unfocused. Then he stood and brought the bowl to the sink. He rinsed it quickly, careful and quiet, and left it on the drying rack like he couldn’t end a task without closing it properly.
Even now, even after falling asleep earlier, Jungwon’s hands still moved like they were working.
Sunghoon watched him and felt the irritation tug at him again, because it wasn’t really irritation. It was worry that had nowhere to go. It was anger at the day they lived inside. It was a helpless kind of feeling that Sunghoon hated because he couldn’t fix it with anything simple.
Jungwon turned back toward the living room, his hand twitching once toward his pocket out of habit before he seemed to remember. Sunghoon noticed it and didn’t say anything. He followed him into the small space with the couch and the low table, the blanket folded on one armrest and a pillow left on the floor like someone had tried to get comfortable and failed. A charging cable trailed out from behind the table, bent at the end from being pulled too many times.
Jungwon sat down carefully, shoulders still stiff, like he didn’t know how to sit without staying alert. Sunghoon sat on the edge of the couch beside him, close enough that it felt intentional, but not so close that it felt like he was forcing anything.
The phone was still in Sunghoon’s pocket.
He could feel it when he shifted, the shape of it pressing against his thigh. It felt heavier than it should have, like it carried the whole day inside it. Sunghoon knew it was ridiculous to think that way about a phone, but it was hard not to when he had watched Jungwon hold it like it was the only thing keeping the world from falling apart.
Sunghoon reached into his pocket and took it out.
He didn’t give a speech. He didn’t explain himself. He only held it out.
Jungwon looked at his hand for a moment before taking it, like he had expected Sunghoon to keep fighting him. Like he had expected this to turn into another argument he didn’t have the energy to win.
His fingers closed around it automatically. The screen lit up and his eyes narrowed a little as he registered the notifications stacked at the top. Sunghoon didn’t look down. He didn’t want to know what they were. He only watched Jungwon’s face and the way his shoulders tightened again, like the tension had been waiting just beneath his skin for permission to return.
For a second, Sunghoon was sure Jungwon would start typing right away. Jungwon always started typing right away. That was how he survived, by responding before anyone could get annoyed, by staying one step ahead of the mess.
Jungwon’s thumb hovered over the screen.
He stayed still.
It looked like he was arguing with himself, quiet and internal, like he was trying to decide what kind of person he was allowed to be for the next few minutes.
Then he turned the phone over and set it face down on the table.
The sound was small, a soft tap against wood, but Sunghoon felt it like a release. His chest loosened before he could stop it, and he hated that he could feel his own relief so clearly. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until Jungwon made that choice.
Jungwon didn’t look at him after. He stared at the floor, shoulders still slightly drawn in, like he was waiting for Sunghoon to say something. Like he was waiting to be told he was doing the right thing. Like he was waiting to be told he was doing the wrong thing.
Sunghoon didn’t say either.
He didn’t want to treat it like Jungwon had to earn rest. Rest was not a reward. It was not something Jungwon should have to justify. Sunghoon didn’t want Jungwon to hear praise in his voice and start thinking this was something he only deserved on good behavior.
The silence between them stayed steady, not awkward, just quiet.
Then Jungwon shifted closer.
It was small and careful, the kind of movement that pretended to be nothing. His knee brushed Sunghoon’s, and his shoulder pressed lightly against Sunghoon’s arm. It shouldn’t have meant much, but Sunghoon felt it anyway. His body became too aware, like it always did when Jungwon got close.
Jungwon’s voice came out low, rough with tiredness.
“Hyung,” he mumbled, dragging the word out like it was a complaint. “You’re really annoying.”
Sunghoon didn’t look at him, but he felt his mouth twitch before he could stop it. He kept his tone flat on purpose, even though the warmth was already sitting in his chest.
“Sleep,” he said.
Jungwon didn’t answer right away. He stayed leaned in, breathing steady but heavy, and Sunghoon could feel the tension still there under his skin. Even with the phone face down on the table, even with food in his stomach, Jungwon still looked like he was holding himself together out of habit.
Then Jungwon spoke again, quieter this time.
“…Stay.”
It was only one word, but it didn’t sound casual. It sounded like he had to force it out past his pride. Like he wanted it and hated that he wanted it at the same time.
Sunghoon’s chest tightened.
He didn’t tease him. He didn’t pretend he didn’t hear. He didn’t make it into anything bigger than it needed to be.
“I will,” he said, voice low and steady.
Jungwon leaned in further.
This time it wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a sleepy collapse. It was a choice.
His head tipped and settled against Sunghoon’s shoulder, and the weight felt different from earlier. It wasn’t just exhaustion. It was trust, quiet and simple, like he was allowing himself to stop trying for a while.
Sunghoon let himself relax, but only a little. He couldn’t forget the day existed. Tomorrow was still there waiting for them, and Sunghoon knew Jungwon would pick his phone up again the moment he woke. But this moment was quiet enough to hold, and Sunghoon didn’t want to be the first one to break it.
Minutes passed without either of them moving.
Jungwon’s breathing slowed, then deepened, the way it did when sleep finally stopped being polite. His body grew heavier, settling fully against Sunghoon’s shoulder. Sunghoon looked down once, careful, and saw the softness in Jungwon’s face again. The faint dimples stayed even without a smile, and it made something in Sunghoon go warm in a way he didn’t want to think about too hard.
He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes.
There were too many things he could call this if he tried. Too many reasons it could be dangerous, too many ways it could become complicated the moment someone noticed. Sunghoon didn’t want to name it because naming it would turn it into something he couldn’t keep quiet.
For now, it was enough that Jungwon had stopped carrying everything alone for one minute, and Sunghoon had stayed.
They fell asleep like that, quiet and close, with no confession and no label, just the kind of warmth that made the room feel safer than it had any right to.
The phone stayed face down on the table, and this time, it could wait.