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Everest.

The highest peak on Earth.

Part of the Himalayan range, it sits on the border between Nepal and China. Rising 29,031 feet above sea level, it is one of the most dangerous mountains a human can attempt to climb. 

The first successful summit was made in the summer of 1953 by Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay. Since then, thousands have tried to follow their footsteps. Many never returned.

There are two routes up the mountain. The South Col—the Nepal side. And the North Col—the Tibetan route.

They say the South Col is safer. More traffic, faster rescues, help within reach. The North Col is harsher. Fewer climbers. Less margin for error. Less mercy.

Everest can be climbed in a day.

But no one sane does it that way.

Instead, the mountain is broken into stages. The long trek to Everest Base Camp. The Khumbu Icefall to Camp One. Camp Two. Camp Three. Camp Four. And finally—if you're lucky—the summit.

It takes around forty days.

That is, if you make it back down.

Because Everest doesn't care if you reach the top.

And it doesn't care if you die trying.

PART ONE: EVEREST BASE CAMP
ELEVATION: 17,598 FT
DAY 1

"Minho-yah! Help me fix the ropes!"

Minho glanced up at the older man standing near the top of the glacier, sunlight flashing off the ice like broken glass. He didn't stop walking. "I already fixed that section. Where's the Sherpa, Chan-hyung?"

Chan sighed as he climbed down, boots crunching against the frozen surface. "They're portering. Had to head back to Gorakshep to guide the rest of the climbers in."

Minho hummed in acknowledgment, eyes lifting to the towering ice wall ahead. It loomed close enough to feel personal. He tugged at the rope anyway, testing the tension, the bite of the anchors buried deep in the ice.

"You think it'll hold this year?" he asked.

Chan shrugged, a careless roll of the shoulders that didn't quite hide the weight behind it. "Can't ever be sure. But... it looks good. Better than last season."

Minho nodded once. That was as close to optimism as Everest ever gave.

He turned and started back toward camp.

"Yah! You tired already?" Chan called after him, snorting.

Minho didn't look back. "I did my part," he said over his shoulder. "I'm going into hibernation."

He ducked into his tent, the fabric snapping in the wind as he slid inside.

Chan's laughter followed him. "Don't forget, you're up in a few hours! We still have to welcome the rest of the team!"

Minho rolled his eyes, fingers already pulling the zipper shut. The sounds of Base Camp dulled as the tent sealed, the world shrinking to thin air and quiet breath.

"Can't wait," he muttered, settling back as the mountain loomed patiently outside.

. . .

Minho woke to the low, constant noise of Base Camp.

Wind worried at the fabric of his tent, the sound familiar enough that it barely registered anymore. He checked his watch, he slept longer than he'd meant to sleep and dragged himself upright, joints stiff, breath shallow from the altitude. 

He unzipped the tent and stepped out into the glare.

A line of figures was winding its way into camp, boots crunching over frozen ground, duffels slung low, faces drawn tight with exhaustion. Chan stood near the center of it all already in his element, flanked by their guides as they greeted the new arrivals with claps on shoulders and smiles.

Six of them.

Minho counted automatically.

They looked like everyone did on their first day at Base Camp, dust on their pants, relief etched into their expressions. Some looked around with open awe. 

Others with the quiet apprehension that came from realizing they'd finally run out of distance between themselves and the mountain.

A Sherpa passed Minho, pressing a steaming mug into his hand without breaking stride. Coffee. Strong. Blessed.

"Thanks," Minho muttered, wrapping both hands around it.

"Sleep well?" someone asked behind him.

He turned to find Changbin grinning, already fully awake in a way Minho resented deeply.

"Define well," Minho said.

Changbin snorted. "Fair."

They drifted closer as the newcomers were ushered into camp. Packs hit the ground with dull thuds. Gloves came off, then immediately went back on. Someone swore softly in a language Minho didn't recognize.

Chan clapped his hands once. The sound cut through the chatter.

"Alright," he said. "Let's get you settled first. Pick a tent, drop your gear. Coffee's on the left—yes, drink it, you look like death. We'll talk in ten."

Ten minutes later, everyone had mugs in hand and settled on the chairs. The camp felt crowded now, alive in a way that made Minho uneasy. More people meant more variables.

Chan stood at the center again, flanked by Dorje and Pasang, their lead guides. The wind tugged at Chan's hood as he spoke.

"Welcome to Everest Base Camp," he said. "Elevation seventeen thousand-five hundred-ninety-eight feet."

"This is where we live for the next several weeks," Chan continued. "We eat here. We sleep here and we come back here every time the mountain reminds us who's in charge."

Minho leaned against a supply crate, eyes drifting over the group as Chan talked.

One climber nodded too eagerly. Another barely looked up from his coffee. One—slight, bundled in too many layers—sat cross-legged on the chair, fingers wrapped tight around his mug like he needed the heat more than the caffeine. His lashes were dark against skin already tinged red from cold and sunburn.

Minho's gaze lingered, then shifted away.

"From Base Camp, we move into the Khumbu Icefall." Chan continued. 

A murmur rippled through the group.

"The Icefall is not a trail. It's a frozen river. It moves every day. Towers collapse and crevasses open where there weren't any the day before. Ladders are how we cross them. Aluminum and rope, over nothing."

Someone swallowed audibly.

Dorje spoke beside him. "The Icefall does not care how strong you are."

Chan nodded once.

"Camp One sits just beyond it. You don't stay long. You eat, you hydrate, you let your body feel the altitude, and you go back down. That's acclimatization."

He shifted his weight, snow crunching under his boots.

"Camp Two is in the Western Cwm. People get fooled there."

Minho's jaw tightened slightly. He'd seen it before.

"The sun reflects off the ice and cooks you from every direction. You don't feel how much water, energy and judgment you're losing until you're already in deficit."

A few uneasy glances passed between the climbers.

"From Camp Two, we move to Camp Three," Chan said. "That's where things change."

His voice hardened; not louder, just sharper.

"The Lhotse Face. Fixed ropes all the way up."

Minho noticed one of the newcomers tighten their grip on their mug.

"Camp Three is high. You don't sleep well. Some of you won't sleep at all. Headaches start. Nausea. Your body will tell you to stop. You need to know the difference between discomfort and danger."

Chan's gaze swept the group, holding each pair of eyes for half a second longer than was comfortable.

"If you don't know that difference," he said, "you ask."

He took a breath, slow.

"Camp Four is the South Col. That's the Death Zone."

The words sat there, bare and unembellished.

"Above eight thousand meters, your body is dying. Literally. Cells breaking down faster than they can repair."

The wind picked up, rattling a nearby tent. No one laughed this time.

"Camp Four is not a place to push through problems," Chan said. "It's a place to make hard decisions. That's where summit pushes begin and where most good judgment ends."

Minho felt it then: the tension, the way some climbers leaned forward while others leaned back.

"From Camp Four, you go for the summit," Chan continued. "It's not a straight line. It's a series of steps that all feel harder than the last. The Balcony. The South Summit. The Hillary Step, or what's left of it after the 2015 earthquake." He added with a small chuckle.

"We're waiting on a weather window," he said finally. "When it opens, it will not stay open long. We move carefully. We move together. And we turn around if we have to."

A pause.

"There is no shame in turning around," Chan said. "There is only consequence in pretending you're fine when you're not."

Chan let the silence stretch just long enough for it to become uncomfortable.

"Alright," he said finally, clapping his hands once. "Before we get too lost in our own heads, we should do introductions. You're going to be stuck with each other for a while. Might as well know who you're trusting with your life."

A few people shifted. Someone laughed nervously.

"I'll start," Chan said. "I'm Chan. Base camp manager. I'm not climbing this year, I'll be staying here at Base Camp."

Dorje stepped forward next, calm and unhurried.

"I'm Dorje," he said. "Guide. This will be my seventh time on Everest."

A small ripple of surprise moved through the group.

Pasang followed easily. "Pasang. Also guide. Six summits." He shrugged, like it was a detail barely worth mentioning. "We get you up. We get you down. That is the job."

Chan nodded once, satisfied.

"We also have our base camp doctore, Ms. Chaeyoung. She's not here at the moment but she will be available from tomorrow so we strongly advise you check up with her once every day for safety." He added. 

Changbin cleared his throat next, rolling his shoulders like he was loosening up before a fight. "Changbin. South Korea." He hesitated, then added, "I've climbed K2 and Everest before and will be leading the expedition this year."

That got a reaction. A few sharp inhales. Someone murmured, "Damn."

Changbin gave a crooked smile. "Didn't think Everest would let me retire peacefully."

Laughter followed. 

One by one, the others introduced themselves. Different accents. Different reasons. A personal challenge. A promise to a parent. A long-held dream. Another ego climb. 

Then the attention shifted.

Minho felt it before he saw it, the subtle quieting, the way eyes turned toward him like a tide changing direction.

He straightened slightly, cleared his throat.

"Minho," he said. "South Korea."

Chan snorted softly, shaking his head. "Of course," he said, amused. "This one."

Minho shot him a look. Chan ignored it.

"This is Lee Minho," Chan said excitedly, addressing the group. "Veteran climber. All Six Summits and K2." He tilted his head toward Minho. "This is his third attempt at Everest."

A few people stared now. Most in awe.

"He doesn't talk much," Chan added. "But he knows what he's doing. If Minho tells you to slow down, you slow down. If he tells you to turn back, you listen."

Minho exhaled through his nose. "Hyung."

Chan grinned. "What? It's true."

The rest of the group didn't wait for permission to introduce themselves.

Introductions spilled out messy and overlapping, like everyone had been holding it in and finally remembered they were allowed to speak.

Someone laughed. Someone else whistled.

"I'm Mina," a woman said next, tugging her beanie lower. "Japan. My brother climbed Aconcagua with me before he passed. This was... unfinished business."

"Jisung," another voice cut in brightly. "South Korea. Midlife crisis." He raised his cup. "I'm climbing because it exists."

That earned real laughter across the entire dome.

It was chaotic and human and loud, the kind of noise that tried very hard to pretend Everest wasn't sitting just beyond the moraine, waiting. Minho listened without really listening, eyes drifting past faces.

Then the room quieted as everyone's eyes turned towards the last climber.

He was younger than the rest. Noticeably so. Smaller frame, shoulders pulled in, hands tucked into the sleeves of his down jacket like he didn't quite know what to do with them. 

"Uh—hi," he said softly. "I'm Seungmin."

His voice carried anyway.

"South Korea," he added after a moment, bowing his head slightly without realizing he was doing it.

For some reason, everyone paid attention.

Minho turned fully then, eyeing over his figure unintentionally like a hawk.

Chan smiled at him, gentler than Minho had seen all day. "And why Everest, Seungmin?"

The boy hesitated. Just a second too long.

"I—um," he said, then laughed quietly at himself. "It's always been my dream. Since I was a kid."

His gaze dropped to the ground as he said it, lashes casting shadows against wind-chapped skin. For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

Then someone cheered. Another followed. A few claps broke out, sincere and warm.

"Chasing the big one!"
"Respect!"
"Good luck, kid!"

Seungmin flushed, ducking his head further, smiling shyly like he didn't quite know where to put himself under the attention.

Minho didn't look away.

He saw it clearly, the way Seungmin's shoulders locked as he spoke, the stiffness in his spine, the careful neutrality of his expression. 

Always been my dream.

Minho had heard that lie a hundred times. Whatever Seungmin was doing here, it wasn't that simple.

The thought passed through him, registered, and moved on. Everest was full of people lying to themselves. It wasn't his job to untangle strangers.

Still, his eyes followed Seungmin as the noise swelled back up, as Chan clapped him on the shoulder, as someone offered him another coffee and he accepted it with both hands.

And just like that, it was over.

The circle loosened, conversations splintering off into smaller ones as cups emptied and guides began ushering people toward their tents. 

Minho stepped away first.

He cut across the snow toward his own tent, boots crunching softly. On instinct, his gaze flicked sideways and landed on Seungmin.

The boy stood a little apart from the others, shoulders slightly hunched, head bowed as if the weight of the mountain had already settled there. He nodded along to something Dorje was saying, eyes fixed on the ground, hands clasped too tightly around his mug.

Minho slowed without realizing it.

Too quiet, he thought. Too small.

Not physically, he'd seen smaller climbers outlast giants, but in the way Seungmin folded into himself, like he was trying not to take up space. Everest didn't reward that. The mountain noticed hesitation. It punished uncertainty.

A flicker of something like pity stirred in Minho's chest.

You can't be like that up here, he thought. It'll eat you alive.

Still, it wasn't his concern. Everyone learned that lesson one way or another. Or they didn't.

Minho turned away and continued on, ducking into his tent and sealing the world shut with a zip. The mattress greeted him as he slid out of his boots and collapsed onto his back, staring up at the fabric ceiling faintly glowing with reflected snowlight.

He closed his eyes.

Morning came softly at Base Camp.

By the time the climbers gathered near the practice wall, the sun had just begun to crest the ridgeline.

Gear checks first.

Minho moved automatically, muscle memory taking over as he strapped on his crampons, fingers working quickly even through gloves. He stamped his boots into the ice once, twice—testing bite, listening for the right sound. 

He clipped in and started up the steep face of the glacier wall, ice axe sinking cleanly with each strike. Changbin followed close behind, confident and loud as always.

"Same as K2," Changbin muttered, adjusting his footing. "Just colder. And angrier."

Minho huffed a quiet laugh, anchoring himself at a ledge and turning to watch the others climb. They took turns, some careful, some clumsy, all of them learning or relearning respect for the ice.

He corrected stances where needed, short instructions barked calmly. "Wider. Trust your feet. Don't fight the wall."

Then he saw Seungmin.

The younger climber was halfway up, movements cautious but deliberate. His foot slipped once, just slightly, and he froze, breathing and recalibrating before continuing. His hands shook, not badly, but enough that Minho noticed.

Then his eyes sharpened.

"Hey," Minho called, voice steady, not sharp. "Hold up a second."

Seungmin stilled instantly, clinging to the wall. He glanced down, eyes wide with a flicker of worry.

Minho climbed over easily, positioning himself beside him. "Your carabiner," he said, pointing. "You're clipped to the wrong fixed line. That one won't take load if you slip."

Seungmin followed his gaze, realization washing over his fac, followed quickly by embarrassment.

"Oh—" he breathed. "I didn't—"

"It's fine," Minho said, already reaching out. He moved slowly, correcting the clip, testing it once to be sure. "Happens more than you think."

Seungmin watched his hands like they were something sacred.

When Minho pulled back, Seungmin looked up at him, eyes bright with relief. "Thank you," he said quietly, bowing his head just a little.

Minho was a little caught off guard by his own gentleness. 

He masked it easily. "Keep going," he said, nodding upward. "You've got it."

Seungmin nodded and resumed his climb, movements steadier now, confidence settling into his limbs as he reached higher.

Changbin watched the entire exchange from above.

When Seungmin reached the ledge and unclipped, Changbin let out a low whistle. "Damn," he said, grinning as Minho joined him. "Didn't know you had that in you."

Minho scoffed, punching Changbin's shoulder lightly. "Shut up."

Changbin laughed, eyes still amused. "You were nice."

"Was not."

"You totally were."

Minho didn't argue further. He just turned his gaze back to the wall, lips tugging into the faintest smile before he could stop it.

Lunch came quickly.

Plates lined up under the camp dome, steaming food spilling fragrant warmth into the chill. At Everest Base Camp, it was one of the few times climbers could really eat well, past this everything would be bland, pre-packaged, and purely functional. 

Minho knew it, so he leaned back on his crate, carving a corner of space for himself among his friends, devouring the meal like he hadn't eaten in days. 

Conversations bounced around him: Dorje recounting some minor Everest mishap, Changbin teasing a fellow climber about dropping a plate of rice.

Minho glanced around, spoon halfway to his mouth and frowned. 

Seungmin wasn't here. 

Not with the other climbers. Not walking between tents.

He set his plate down and turned to Chan, who was sipping tea nearby. "Hyung... have you seen Seungmin?"

Chan shook his head. "I haven't. Didn't see him after practice, he could've gone back to his tent to rest."

Minho's frown deepened. 

He left his food unfinished and moved toward Seungmin's cluster of tents, boots crunching softly over the frozen ground.

"Seungmin!" he called.

Almost immediately, a flap opened, and the younger boy appeared. Eyes a little wide, hair sticking up from under his hood, a faint dusting of frost on his jacket.

"Coming—oh! Hey, hyung," Seungmin said, voice sheepish.

Minho arched an eyebrow and stepped closer. "Are you planning on starving your way to Everest?"

Seungmin let out an awkward laugh. "Uh, no! I—I actually eat... my meal is scheduled an hour later. According to my circadian rhythm. So it won't—uh—it won't interfere with my sleep pattern. And I've adjusted my caloric intake for the altitude... and, well, my body's used to a—"

Minho watched him rattle off the explanation, and he had to suppress a smirk. The kid was so earnest it was almost painful.

Then Minho did something completely unceremonious. He reached out, grabbed Seungmin's hand, and tugged him along.

"Come on. Eat," Minho said, voice firm but amused.

Seungmin stumbled slightly, caught by the pull, and looked up at him. "Hyung!"

"I don't care if your body's circadian rhythm is perfectly calibrated," Minho said, shaking his head as they walked toward the dome. "Here, calories is greater than schedules."

Seungmin laughed, letting himself be dragged. The tension between them eased.

A few days passed like that.

Practice, acclimatization, resting, repeating. Minho felt ready. He felt good. The same kind of ready he'd felt the year before. And the year before that. But also... not the same. This time, he was different. Stronger. Better trained. Calmer. His head was in the right place, and that mattered more than anything up here. He knew he could do this.

Somehow, he'd also ended up with a little team orbiting around him. He wasn't the expedition head or anything, but being a veteran did that, you talked enough, helped enough, and suddenly you were the centre of attention. 

It made him awkward, honestly. He wasn't social like that. But the group was easy. Chill. Almost too relaxed for people heading toward something that could very realistically kill them.

Jisung was the comedian, always joking and always loud but sharp when it mattered. His footwork was solid enough that Minho barely had to correct him. Mina stayed quiet, clearly experienced but she didn't talk much, mostly because English wasn't easy for her and she didn't speak Korean like most of them did. Minho wasn't great at English either, but they managed fine. Jeongin and Hyunjin were newer additions, they were chaotic and loud, teasing and testing boundaries in that way younger climbers did.

And then there was Seungmin.

Seungmin was good. Really good. Smart. He knew his footwork, knew his directions, probably knew a thousand things about ice and wind and pressure changes. He just didn't talk much, only when he had a real question or someone asked him something directly. 

He was quiet, focused. Kind of... cute, if Minho was being honest. You didn't see many climbers his age on Everest anymore; most people were in their forties by the time they got here.

Minho found himself looking forward to the climb more than usual. Partly because of the team. And partly because of Seungmin.

Somewhere along the way, Minho had basically become his personal sherpa. Always hanging back, always watching him, guiding him, practicing with him. Chan had started giving him weird looks. Changbin never shut up about it. Minho didn't really know why he felt so damn soft about the younger climber, but he did.

And for once, he didn't bother fighting it.

Now, he stood outside his tent with the others. 

The climbers were asked to gather near a small altar that had been built on the ice; stones stacked were carefully, prayer flags fluttering weakly, juniper branches smoking faintly in the cold air.

Dorje and Pasang stood at the front with the other expedition heads. One of the older men murmured prayers in a low voice. Butter lamps flickered. Someone sprinkled rice onto the snow.

Seungmin stood a little to the side, hands tucked into his sleeves, watching with quiet confusion. He glanced at the others, Changbin already bowing instinctively, Mina copying the motions carefully, Hyunjin whispering something under his breath and then falling silent.

"What's... happening?" Seungmin asked quietly.

Minho stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Pooja ceremony."

Seungmin blinked. "Oh."

"It's an Indian–Nepalese religious tradition," Minho continued, joining his hands together easily, familiar. "They do it before every climb... to bless the mountain, the gear and, well, us."

Seungmin hesitated, then slowly mirrored the gesture, hand spressed together, head dipping slightly. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel but the quiet, the focus, the respect in the air made him still anyway.

The priest tied prayer cords around wrists. Dorje murmured something and tapped Minho's helmet lightly, then Seungmin's, smiling faintly. Juniper smoke curled upward, sharp and earthy.

"Ask for safe passage," Minho said under his breath, eyes still lowered. "You don't have to believe anything specific. Just... respect it."

Seungmin nodded, gaze flicking back to the mountain looming above them. He bowed his head again, a little deeper this time.

For a moment, no one spoke. It was quiet.

Then Pasang clapped his hands once, breaking the stillness. "Okay," he said, practical as ever. "We go soon! Finish packing."

The ceremony dissolved just like that. But as they walked back toward their tents, Seungmin glanced once more at the altar, the offerings half-buried in snow.

"That was cool," he said, a little in awe.

Minho smiled at him softly. "Yeah. It is pretty cool," he said. "It also means we start climbing soon."

LATER THAT NIGHT

"This is what we've trained for," Chan said, voice carrying easily in the chill. 

After days of waiting, of nerves stretched thin, the mountain had finally given them permission.

All the climbers assembled near the central dome, lights from headlamps and lanterns cutting through the gathering darkness. Chan moved among them, guiding hands over ropes, checking oxygen lines, inspecting crampons. 

"I want you to know that all of you are here for your own reasons. Trust me when I say, the world looks beautiful from above. So please, keep strong. Keep calm." Chan smiled as he spoke. "Good luck. May the mountain treat you kindly."

One by one, the climbers drifted toward their tents, adjusting packs, checking maps, running last mental drills. The chatter faded away. 

Most of the climbers had drifted toward their tents. Seungmin stood still, hands buried in his jacket pockets, eyes fixed on the distant shadow of the Khumbu Icefall and a slight slimmer of the summit beyond.

Minho approached slowly, not wanting to startle him. He stopped a few feet away, just close enough that Seungmin would feel the presence, not the pressure. They didn't speak immediately. The wind seemed to pause with them.

Finally, Minho said softly, almost as if sharing a secret rather than giving advice: "It's going to be scary."

Seungmin's head tilted slightly, as though testing the words against his own thoughts. "I... I know," he admitted, voice small. "I keep thinking about it, but... I don't know if I'm ready."

"You're ready," Minho said quietly. "Your mind, your body... you've trained for this. All of it. The mountain can't break what's already ready."

Seungmin swallowed, eyes still on the horizon. "But... what if I... I mean..." He faltered, then shook his head. "I just don't want to... make a mistake that—"

Minho stepped a little closer, keeping his tone low. "Seungmin... mistakes are going to happen. Everyone makes them. What matters is how you handle them. Not the mistake itself."

Seungmin looked at him then, eyes wide and earnest. "You... you really think I can do this?"

Minho let the silence stretch before answering, letting it settle over both of them like the cold night air. Then, quietly, he said, "I know you can. You're... strong. Stronger than you think. And you won't be alone out there. You'll have the team, and me... I'm not letting anything happen to you if I can help it."

Seungmin's lips pressed into a thin line, a faint tremor in his shoulders as if letting go of some invisible weight. "I... I just... I've never... I don't usually..." His words stumbled, lost in the cold and the quiet. "I usually doubt myself so much."

"I've noticed," Minho said softly. Not teasing, not judgmental. Just fact. "And you've still kept moving forward. That's what matters. That determination... that's what will get you to the top."

Seungmin blinked, letting the words sink in, and for a moment didn't say anything. Then, quietly, almost to himself: "I don't want to fail..."

Minho's hand moved almost reflexively, resting lightly on Seungmin's shoulder. "You won't," he said. "And even if it gets hard... we'll handle it. Together."

Seungmin finally looked up at him, eyes steady but vulnerable, and let out a small, relieved laugh. "Together," he echoed, the word tasting strange and new.

Minho smiled faintly, shaking his head. "Yeah. Together."

"Your experience," Seungmin said after a long pause, voice soft, hesitant. "You've... climbed a lot. K2, Six Summits...that's quite nice."

Minho nodded. "I have. Enough to know it's never about pride. Never about beating the mountain. It's about knowing your limits... and pushing them carefully."

Seungmin swallowed, gaze dropping again. "I... I've climbed some 5000ers, and Nuptse. But... this is my first 8000er."

Minho's chest tightened imperceptibly. Protective instinct flickered, sharp and brief, but he didn't say anything. He only nodded, letting the quiet acknowledgment speak. No words were needed.

After a moment, Minho finally said, "Get some rest tonight. Eat well. Hydrate. And don't overthink it."

Seungmin blinked, a small smile ghosting over his lips. "I... okay."

Minho gave him a soft nod, then stepped back. "Tomorrow, we start early. And... remember... I'm here, okay? We climb together. We can do this."

Seungmin let that sit, staring at the faint line of the horizon. He felt steadier somehow, not fearless but ready enough to take the first step.

Minho turned quietly, walking towards his own tent. 

PART TWO: CAMP 1
ELEVATION: 19,900 FT
DAY 7

THE NEXT MORNING

The crevasse yawned ahead of them, ice walls jagged and blue, deeper than any building back home. 

Changbin went first, bounding across with easy confidence. "Cooking up a storm piece of cake," he called over his shoulder, laughter cutting the tension.

Pasang followed, steady and precise. "Keep your center. Weight over the rungs. Don't rush," he reminded the others.

Minho adjusted his harness and checked Seungmin. "Take your time. Eyes on the anchors," he said quietly.

Seungmin's boots clinked against the ladder. His hands gripped the ice axes like lifelines. "O-okay..." His voice trembled slightly, but his movements were careful, measured. Step by step, he advanced, pausing to reclip the carabiners correctly, listening to Minho's soft reminders.

"Right clip, not the slack line," Minho murmured. "Good. Keep it steady."

Seungmin nodded, barely audible, then lifted his gaze for a split second toward Minho. A faint flicker of determination crossed his features before he looked back down.

Jisung shuffled behind them, voice tight. "This... is higher than I thought."

"You'll be fine," Minho said without turning, eyes fixed on Seungmin. "Just trust your crampons."

Step by careful step, Seungmin made it across. He landed on the opposite side, and Minho exhaled quietly, unclipping from the rope to follow.

"Okay," Minho muttered to himself, then clipped in again and moved, boots testing each rung. The ladder shook slightly under his weight, but he kept calm, muscles steady. Reaching the far side, he paused to watch the others.

Mina was next, careful, whispering to herself, "Focus... focus..." Minho's eyes flicked back briefly, nodding in encouragement before returning to Seungmin.

Hyunjin shuffled across with a nervous laugh. "Why does ice always feel like it's judging me?"

"You're fine," Minho replied. "One step at a time. Eyes on the anchors."

Finally, Dorje and Jeongin crossed last.

The first crevasse lay behind them. Minho unclipped again, letting out a quiet breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Seungmin stood nearby, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with adrenaline.

"You... did well," Minho said softly. "Good pace."

Seungmin nodded, lips pressed in a small, almost shy smile. "Thanks, hyung," he said quietly.

Changbin clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "See? Told you it wasn't so bad."

Seungmin laughed shyly at him, moving forward.

Minho just shook his head slightly, but the faintest curve of a smile touched his lips. He didn't say anything more. Watching Seungmin navigate the mountain successfully—on his own, with Minho right there if needed—felt enough for now.

"Okay," Changbin muttered ahead, breath fogging. "That one was the worst so far."

Pasang glanced back, calm as ever. "Worst yet," he corrected lightly.

Jisung groaned. "Why would you say that."

Minho didn't say anything. He rarely did while moving. He kept himself a rope-length behind Seungmin.

"Ladder coming," Minho said quietly. "Two rungs are iced. Step wide."

Seungmin nodded, clipped in with careful fingers. His movements were slower than Changbin's, slower than Minho's but steady. Always steady. He tested the ladder with his boot before committing his weight, eyes focused, jaw set.

"Good," Minho murmured without thinking. "Yeah. Like that."

Seungmin's shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

They moved again. Ice walls rose on either side of them, jagged and blue and alive in a way that made Minho's skin itch. Somewhere deep inside the glacier, something cracked. 

Mina sucked in a breath. "That... that was ice, right?"

Dorje smiled over his shoulder. "Always ice."

They crossed another section of ladders lashed together, three in a row this time, stretching over a crevasse so deep Minho refused to look straight down. He watched Seungmin instead. Watched how he kept his hips low, how he didn't rush even when his hands shook.

Halfway across, Seungmin hesitated.

Minho didn't touch him. Didn't crowd his space.

"Pause is fine," he said softly. "Icefall's not going anywhere in the next ten seconds."

Seungmin let out a small, shaky laugh. "Feels like it might."

"Yeah," Minho agreed. "It always does, but you can do it, Min."

Seungmin crossed. Stepped off cleanly. When his boots hit solid ice again, he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath since Base Camp.

Minho followed. Efficient. Like he'd done this a hundred times, because he had.

They regrouped briefly in a wider section, sunlight finally hitting them properly. Everyone drank, chewed on frozen snacks, flexed numb fingers.

"You're doing good," Minho said, quieter than the others, handing Seungmin his bottle back. "Better than most first-timers."

Seungmin blinked up at him. "Really?"

Minho shrugged. "Yeah. I mean it."

Seungmin nodded, absorbing it like it was a fact, not praise. "You always stay behind me."

Minho hesitated, then said casually, "Someone's gotta make sure you don't clip into the wrong rope again."

Seungmin smiled, bumping Minho in the shoulder "My personal sherpa."

"Don't get used to it," Minho said, even as he adjusted Seungmin's shoulder strap without asking.

They moved again.

By the time the Khumbu finally ended, no one said anything at first.

They just... stopped.

Jeongin was the first to break the silence.

"...So we're alive."

Hyunjin dropped his pack for half a second and laughed, breathless. "I don't think my legs know that yet."

Jisung bent over, hands on his knees. "I'm never making fun of stair master at the gym again. Ever."

Pasang grinned, completely unfazed. "Good. Icefall let you pass today."

"Like it had a choice," Changbin muttered, but there was a smile in his voice.

Minho rolled his shoulders, exhaustion sat heavy in them.  He glanced back automatically.

Seungmin was still standing where the icefall ended, staring behind them.

"It's over," Minho said. "I'm glad, damn." he groaned a little

Seungmin blinked, then nodded. "I thought I'd feel... different."

"You will," Dorje said. "Later. When you try to sleep."

That got a few groans.

The trek up to Camp I was quieter. The adrenaline had burned off, leaving behind sore legs and steady breathing. Everyone fell into their own rhythm.

Mina walked a little apart, focused, efficient. Changbin stuck close to Jisung and Jeongin, their chatter fading in and out.

"Did you see that crevasse near the second ladder—"

"I did not look down—"

"I looked down—biggest mistake in anime history—"

Minho stayed where he'd been all day. Behind Seungmin. Close enough to notice the way his steps dragged just slightly now.

"Tired?" Minho asked.

Seungmin nodded honestly. "But...it's okay, not bad."

They crested a small rise, and Camp I finally came into view, tents were scattered across the snow, tiny and fragile against the mountain and prayer flags snapping in the wind.

Hyunjin let out a breathy laugh. "That's it?"

"That's it," Pasang confirmed.

Jeongin squinted. "Why does it look so small."

"You're at camp 1, this is all you get." Minho said.

They reached camp slowly, one by one dropping packs, sinking onto snow, leaning against anything solid. Someone handed out warm drinks. Steam curled into the thin air.

Jisung flopped dramatically onto his pack. "I survived the Khumbu Icefall. I demand respect."

"You demand silence," Mina said quietly, and somehow that shut him up.

Seungmin sat down heavily, pulling off his gloves with shaky fingers. His cheeks were flushed, eyes bright despite the exhaustion.

Minho watched him for a second longer than necessary.

"You did good today," he said.

Seungmin looked up, startled. Then he smiled, wide this time. "You too, hyung."

They didn't stay there much longer. Rest, eat, acclimatize and they were on their way down.

PART THREE: CAMP 2 
ELEVATION: 22, 145 FT
DAY 8

By the time Camp 2 came into view, Minho's lungs felt like they were working through wet cotton.

The Western Cwm was brutal today, sun bouncing off the ice walls, heat trapped between Everest and Lhotse like they'd been dropped into a giant white bowl. Thirty-seven degrees, Pasang had said earlier, laughing like it was a joke. Minho didn't laugh at all.

He kept his breathing steady, slow. No point announcing weakness. It wasn't bad, just a dull nausea, a faint pressure behind his eyes. Manageable.

He glanced back. Seungmin was still moving steadily.

His face was flushed, sweat darkening the collar of his base layer, but his steps were even. Careful. Focused. No dragging feet. No sway. For someone who should've been suffering more than the rest of them, he looked... fine.

That surprised Minho.

"You okay?" Minho asked casually, adjusting his pace so he walked beside him.

Seungmin nodded. "Hot," he said, breathy, then smiled a little. "But I've been worse."

Minho huffed. "You're built different, huh."

Seungmin laughed softly. "I don't think so."

They walked in silence for a bit, the crunch of snow and the low hiss of breath filling the space between them. Ahead, Changbin was complaining loudly about the sun. Behind them, Hyunjin was arguing with Jeongin about whose idea this whole thing was in the first place.

"So," Minho said eventually, because the quiet felt... easy. "Seungmin, what do you do?"

Seungmin nodded. "Oh, like, for a living?"

Minho nodded. 

"Oh, I'm just a university student," Seungmin said, a little shy. "First year."

Minho blinked. That explained a lot. 

"What do you study?" Minho asked.

"Physics."

Minho chuckled. "Of course you do."

Seungmin glanced at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," Minho said, smiling. "You just look like someone who studies something dramatic."

Seungmin laughed, cheeks pink. "That's funny."

"Am I wrong?"

"No," Seungmin admitted, then tilted his head. "What about you?"

Minho took a second before answering. "Graduated a few years ago, I hated my job."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Minho said. "I quit. Started climbing then freelanced when I needed money."

Seungmin's eyes widened slightly. "That's.. cool."

"It took a while," Minho said. "I Climbed around the world. Coming to Nepal was just inevitable."

Seungmin slowed a fraction, then matched his pace again. "If you don't mind me asking... why is this your third time here?"

Minho sighed. "Bad weather once. Injury another time." He shrugged. "I'm just unlucky, I guess."

Seungmin looked at him like he was trying to memorize his face. "That's still amazing," he said quietly. "You're really inspiring, hyung."

Something warm curled in Minho's chest. He looked away, pretending to adjust his gloves.

"That's lame. I just do my thing." he muttered.

Seungmin smiled to himself.

After a few more steps, Seungmin spoke again, softer. "I was really insecure, you know. When I saw everyone's experience." He swallowed. "I kept thinking I was putting everyone at risk by being here."

Minho stopped walking.

Seungmin halted too, startled.

"That's bullshit," Minho said immediately.

Seungmin blinked.

"I've seen people with ten times your ego and half your skill almost get others killed," Minho continued. "You're careful. You listen. You know your theory. You move well." He held Seungmin's gaze. "You're better than a lot of climbers I've met."

Seungmin's face went red instantly. He looked down, embarrassed, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you," he murmured.

Minho watched him for a second too long, something fluttering uneasily in his stomach. He turned away, clearing his throat.

Camp 2 appeared ahead, tents scattered across the ice, bright against the blinding white.

"There," Minho said. "Home for now."

. . .

The announcement came not long after everyone had dropped their packs.

Dorje stood near the center of camp, hands on his hips, voice calm but firm. "We stay here tomorrow. Rest for now and the day after that, we'll go for camp three!"

Minho felt the relief hit him almost immediately, like his body had been waiting for permission to finally admit how wrecked it was.

Good.
Because he felt dead.

The heat had drained him in a way the cold never did. Maybe he'd just gotten too used to the sharp, clean bite of low temperatures but this trapped warmth, the glare bouncing off the snow, the way his head throbbed faintly behind his eyes... it was getting to him. Snow blindness nipped at the edges of his vision even with his goggles on.

He turned to Seungmin, who was already unzipping his tent.

"Rest well," Minho said. "Hydrate. Don't skip dinner."

Seungmin smiled. "You too, hyung."

Minho nodded, then headed toward his own tent, already dreaming about peeling layers off—

"Yah."

He stopped.

Changbin was grinning at him, arms crossed, very pleased with himself. "You forgot about me completely."

Minho frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You talked to Seungmin the entire way," Changbin said, laughing. "Didn't even notice I was there."

Minho's ears burned. "Shut up."

Changbin only laughed harder. "Relax. It's okay to have a crush."

"I don't—" Minho started, then stopped, flustered. "That's not—stop being so stupid."

Changbin's smile softened, just a little. "Well it's not stupid," he said. "Seungmin is cute. You seem to get along well. Just... be careful, hyung. Summit day is soon."

That wiped the heat from Minho's face.

He forced a laugh, light and dismissive. "You think too much."

"Maybe," Changbin said. "Or maybe you don't think enough."

Minho didn't reply. He ducked into his tent instead, zipping it shut a little harder than necessary.

Inside, he stripped down quickly, swapping heavy layers for something lighter, his skin still radiating heat. He sat back on his sleeping mat, breathing out slowly.

Changbin's words stayed.

He had gotten close to Seungmin. Closer than he usually let anyone get on a climb. Minho didn't know if he'd call it a crush but he also didn't know what this trip would've felt like without him.

Seungmin kept him talking. Laughing. Grounded.

The thought unsettled him more than the altitude.

Minho lay back, staring at the thin tent ceiling. He told himself it didn't matter. This was Everest. There was no room for distractions.

The next day moved slower.

The sun was high again, bright and unforgiving, but the air felt calmer than yesterday.

"Hyung."

He turned.

Seungmin was walking toward him, goggles pushed up, hands tucked into his jacket sleeves. He looked rested. Better, even.

"You see that?" Seungmin said, pointing past the camp, toward the distant ridge.

Minho followed his finger.

The line of climbers stretched impossibly far, tiny figures inching upward from Camp 3 toward Camp 4, a long, dark ribbon cutting through the white.

"It looks like a black mamba," Seungmin said, half-awed, half-horrified. "That's insane."

Minho snorted. "It is insane."

"So many people," Seungmin muttered. "All at once."

"Yeah," Minho said quietly. "That's traffic for you. I hope the summit isn't too crowded by the time we're there."

They stood there for a moment, just watching. No rush. No need to fill the silence.

Eventually, Minho gestured with his chin. "Walk?"

Seungmin nodded immediately.

They moved slowly around the camp, careful steps, just enough to get the blood flowing. The conversation drifted easily, nothing heavy. Small complaints about the heat. About how everything tasted like plastic. About how Jisung somehow still had energy to talk nonstop.

"I don't know how he does it," Seungmin said. "I think he feeds on thin air."

Minho laughed. "Probably."

After a while, Seungmin spoke again, softer. "I'm kind of excited for tomorrow."

Minho glanced at him. "Camp 3?"

"And oxygen," Seungmin added. "Even if it's low flow. I think it'll feel... different, and way better."

Minho chuckled and nodded. "It will."

He could already imagine it, the clarity, the way the fog lifted just enough to remind you what normal breathing felt like.

"I can't wait either," Minho admitted. "This altitude's starting to mess with me."

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. "You? Messed up?"

Minho huffed. "Don't start."

They walked a little farther, then stopped near a ridge where the sun reflected harshly off the ice. The conversations again, just drifting off random topics. 

"I don't want to take Diamox," Minho said after a moment. "I like to keep things natural."

Seungmin tilted his head. "But you're okay with oxygen."

Minho smiled faintly. "I mean, if I really wanted to be natural, I'd climb without oxygen too ideally."

Seungmin blinked. "That's... insane."

"Exactly," Minho said. "And I'm not built for that."

Seungmin laughed, the sound light, almost surprised. "You could be."

Minho looked at him, something warm settling in his chest again. 

PART FOUR: CAMP 3
ELEVATION: 23,600 FT
DAY 14

They moved out early.

Camp 2 disappeared behind them faster than Minho expected, swallowed by glare and distance as the team clipped onto the fixed lines leading toward Camp 3. 

Better. Much better.

He rolled his shoulders, testing himself. No nausea. No fog. Just the familiar burn in his legs from the trek.

Ahead of him, Seungmin coughed.

Minho's eyes flicked up instantly.

It wasn't constant, but it wasn't nothing either. dry and sharp.

"You okay?" Minho asked, keeping his voice light.

Seungmin waved a hand without turning. "Yeah. J-just altitude. Happens."

Minho wasn't convinced, but they were already moving again, clipped into the line. This wasn't the place for hovering. Not yet.

The climb settled into rhythm.

Ascender up.
Carabiner down.
Step.
Repeat.

Over and over, muscle memory taking over. The fixed lines guided them upward, it was almost mediative. Minho stayed right behind Seungmin, close enough to see the slight tension in his shoulders, the way he paused for half a second longer before each step.

They reached the Lhotse Face, and the mountain rose up in front of them like a wall.

"Jesus," Jeongin muttered somewhere ahead. "It just... keeps going."

The slope was brutal. It wasn't technically complicated, but it demanded everything from your legs, your lungs, your focus.

Seungmin struggled a little here.

He kept his pace steady, jaw set, breathing hard but controlled. Minho wanted to tell him to slow down. Wanted to say it was okay to take longer.

But he didn't.

Behind Minho, Jisung's voice carried up the line. "Okay, guys, if you're watching this vlog—today we're casually climbing the Lhotse Face—"

Hyunjin cut in calmly, "Jisung, please save your energy, you literally don't even have a camera."

"I am saving it. Cameraman never dies, bro."

Minho almost smiled. The noise helped. Gave his brain something to latch onto besides the burn in his calves and the steep drop below.

Seungmin coughed again, sharper this time, but still waved Minho off when he glanced at him.

"I'm good," Seungmin said, breathless but firm.

"You need a moment?" Minho asked instead. 

There was nowhere to really stop on the Lhotse Face, nowhere flat or forgiving, but Dorje could've made space if needed. Minho was already scanning ahead, thinking.

Seungmin shook his head immediately. "It's okay, hyung."

He didn't look back.

That, more than the coughing, set off something in Minho's chest. Red flag. He logged it away.

They were gaining altitude steadily now, the air was getting thinner. A few climbers passed them on the way down, probably already having summited. Seeing people descend was usually comforting. Proof that this section was survivable.

Then Jisung's voice cut through the wind.

"Whoa—look over there, hyung."

Minho glanced back, then followed where Jisung was pointing.

The line stopped.

Below them, a group of guides were maneuvering carefully down the fixed ropes. Between them was someone bundled tight, limp weight shared across harnesses.

A body.

Minho's stomach dropped.

He couldn't tell if the climber was alive. Couldn't tell if they were too late or just in time. Either way, the sight sent a cold, sharp chill up his spine, cutting straight through the warmth of his down suit.

No one spoke.

Minho looked ahead instinctively.

Seungmin had gone very still.

His face was blank, eyes unfocused, like he was looking through the scene instead of at it. Then he shut his eyes—too tight, too fast—and turned forward again, climbing without a word, following Dorje and Changbin as if nothing had happened.

Minho swallowed hard.

He'd seen this before. A body was not an uncommon sighting on Everest. But it never got easier. Not really.

Because that person had wanted this too. Had trained. Prepared. Believed.

Just like them.

Minho forced his gaze back to the rope, the ice beneath his crampons. He pushed the thought down, deep and fast.

This was Everest. He couldn't afford to ponder about death. 

. . .

By the time they reached Camp 3, someone cheered.

Then someone else did. It spread down the line, weak but genuine. It had taken them around four, maybe five hours of constant slope, legs burning, lungs working overtime. The Lhotse Face didn't forgive.

Camp 3 itself was worse.

Tents clung to the mountain on a stupidly steep slope, carved into ice just enough to be usable. 

The ground felt wrong underfoot, tilted in a way your body never fully trusted. Minho didn't care. Not even a little.

All he wanted was food. And rest.

They'd be staying here another day before moving up to Camp 4. Summit day was close now, close enough to feel real. 

The thought sent a quiet, steady pride through him. He'd made it up without any major difficulty this time. A little altitude sick, sure, but nothing like before. Better than his previous attempts. Better prepared. Better mindset.

He stood there for a second, hands on his hips, breathing in oxygen-thin air.

Then he saw Seungmin.

The younger was moving sluggishly, slower than he should've been, shoulders drooping as he ducked into his tent. It made sense, anyone would be exhausted after that climb, but something about it bothered Minho. They'd been through the Khumbu multiple times. The Lhotse Face. Seungmin had held up fine there.

So why now?

Minho shrugged off his jacket, the cold breeze biting instantly through his layers, and crossed over. He knelt beside Seungmin's tent, careful with his footing. Inside, Seungmin was still setting things up, movements a little clumsy, a little delayed.

"Hey," Minho said quietly. "How do you feel now?"

Seungmin hummed, like he needed a second to process the question. "...I'm—well. Good. Just a little tired."

He didn't look at Minho. Kept fiddling with his things, rearranging gear that didn't really need rearranging.

"That's okay," Minho said gently. "You can rest for a while. We head up to Camp 4 day after tomorrow. Plenty of time to relax." He smiled faintly. "My favorite part, honestly."

Seungmin didn't react.

A few seconds passed before he nodded too quickly. "Oh—yeah. Mine too." He hesitated, then laughed awkwardly. "I—uhm. I'm sorry, hyung. Can I be alone for a bit? I feel a little sick and I don't wanna puke all over you."

Minho's smile faded.

"You feel nauseous?" he asked, shifting closer without thinking.

Seungmin nodded.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?" Minho said, voice low now. "You gotta let me know, okay?"

He reached out instinctively, fingers brushing Seungmin's hand. Seungmin froze for half a second, then interlocked their fingers.

"I promise," Seungmin said softly. "I'll be fine. Go rest."

Minho searched his face, then nodded. He stood, backing away as Seungmin zipped the tent shut.

Inside his own tent, Minho dropped into his sleeping bag, exhaustion finally catching up to him. He stared at the tent ceiling, the image of Seungmin replaying in his mind.

Something about the way he'd acted felt... off.

Minho told himself it was just altitude sickness. Minor and manageable.

He hoped he was right.

. . .

THE NEXT DAY

The sun was already high by the time Minho crawled out of his tent.

A white glare that bounced off the Lhotse Face and made everything look sharper than it felt. His head throbbed dully, like someone had wrapped cotton around his brain and then pressed a thumb into the center of it. 

He squatted near the communal cooking area, unclipping his oxygen mask long enough to take a few careful bites of breakfast. The food tasted like nothing. Freeze-dried mush with the texture of regret. He forced it down anyway.

"Eat slower," Changbin said, crouched across from him, already halfway through his own bowl. "You're gonna throw it back up."

"I'm not," Minho muttered. "Just... not hungry."

"That's what throwing up sounds like before it happens."

Minho shot him a look but took a smaller bite this time. Jisung was rambling beside them, animated despite the altitude, oxygen hose looped messily around his neck.

"I swear the Lhotse Face yesterday was worse than last rotation," Jisung said. "Like, psychologically. The slope just never ends. You think you're close and then—boom—another rope."

Hyunjin hummed, leaning back against a crate. "It's because you were aware this time. First time, you're just trying not to die."

"Hey, I was aware the first time," Jisung protested. "Aware that I hated it."

Minho let the noise wash over him. The chatter helped. Gave his brain something to latch onto besides the nausea that crept up every time he swallowed.

"You're quiet," Changbin said, nudging him lightly with his boot.

"Thinking," Minho replied.

"You?"

Minho snorted despite himself and took another bite. His stomach rolled but settled. He breathed through it, slow and practiced.

Footsteps crunched on the snow.

He looked up before he even realized he was doing it.

Seungmin was walking toward them from the tents, bundled up but lighter on his feet than yesterday. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, lips a little pale, but he was smiling like he'd practiced it before putting it on. Still, it reached his eyes enough to fool anyone who wasn't looking closely.

"Morning," Seungmin said, dropping down beside them. "Or... afternoon? I think I slept through time."

"You did," Jisung said immediately. "We were about to file a missing person report."

Seungmin laughed, easy and natural. "On Everest? They would just assume I'm dead and rolled down the mountain."

Minho watched him sit. Watched the way he adjusted his oxygen line, the way his shoulders relaxed as he joined the circle.

"How are you feeling today?" Hyunjin asked.

"Good," Seungmin said quickly. Then, softer, more honest, "Better than yesterday. My head's clearer."

Minho felt something loosen in his chest at that.

Changbin nodded. "That's good. Yesterday was rough."

"Rough but... kind of insane," Seungmin said. "In a good way. I mean, not the body thing. But seeing people come down from higher up? It made me feel motivated."

Jisung grimaced. "You say 'motivated' like it's not terrifying."

"It is terrifying," Seungmin agreed. "But it's also... nice to know? Like—if they made it there, maybe we can too."

"Okay, before this gets emotional," Changbin said, stretching, "I'm going back to my tent. Rest day means rest."

"One of us should actually rest," Hyunjin added, already following.

Jisung lingered, pointing at Minho. "If you throw up, I'm not cleaning it."

"Get lost," Minho said fondly.

Soon, it was just Seungmin and Minho standing there, the camp was quieter now.

Minho slung his empty bowl aside and stood. "You heading back?"

"Yeah," Seungmin said. "Dorje said to stay warm and do nothing. Which is harder than climbing, honestly."

Minho huffed. "You'll learn. Everest punishes overachievers."

"They should punish you."

Minho laughed.

They started walking, side by side, boots crunching in rhythm. It really had become a routine for them; eat, talk, drift back together without saying it out loud.

The silence between them was always comfortable. 

"Hey," Seungmin said after a bit. "Thanks for yesterday, hyung. For checking in on me."

Minho shrugged. "That's normal."

"Still," Seungmin said. "I appreciate it."

Minho glanced at him. "You don't have to be 'okay' all the time, you know."

Seungmin smiled faintly. "I know. I just... don't want to be a problem."

"You're not," Minho said immediately.

Seungmin looked at him then, really looked, like he was weighing the words. "You say that very confidently."

"That's because it's true," Minho replied. "I've seen people who shouldn't be here. You're not one of them."

Seungmin's ears flushed pink. He ducked his head, scuffing his boot against the snow. "You're really bad for my imposter syndrome."

"Good," Minho said. "It deserves it."

They stopped outside Seungmin's tent. The wind picked up slightly, cold threading through Minho's layers. He barely noticed.

"You should rest," Minho said. "Nap, drink something warm."

"Okay, Sir Minho." Seungmin teased.

"Freelance advice," Minho shot back. Then, softer, "If anything feels off—anything—tell me. Don't downplay it."

Seungmin nodded. "I will. Promise."

The way he said it was gentle. Convincing enough to ease Minho, even if that small knot of unease didn't disappear completely.

"See you later," Seungmin said, unzipping his tent.

"Yeah," Minho replied. "Later."

He waited until Seungmin disappeared inside before turning toward his own tent.

. . .

Chan sat hunched inside the comms tent, a tablet was balanced on his knee while a paper weather chart was taped to the wall beside him. Red and blue lines curled over the Himalayas like veins.

Across from him, Chaeyoung had her hair tied back messily, glasses slipping down her nose as she studied oxygen saturation charts and ascent timelines. The high-altitude medical tent was technically hers, but she spent just as much time here whenever teams were high up.

"Wind's holding," Chan muttered, scrolling. "Jet stream's behaving for once. Camp Four should be cold but manageable."

Chaeyoung hummed. "Cold is fine. Predictable is fine. What I don't like is delayed movement, are our teams doing well up there?"

The radio crackled before Chan could respond.

He straightened instantly, hand flying to the receiver. "Base camp, go ahead."

A few seconds of static. Then Changbin's voice came through slightly distorted, breathy, but steady.

"Base Camp, this is South Col team. We've reached Camp Four."

Chan's face broke immediately. Relief washed over him so fast he had to sit back. "Copy that. Camp Four," he repeated, partly for confirmation, partly because saying it out loud made it real. "Nice work, Changbin. Everyone accounted for?"

"Yeah," Changbin said. "All here. Tired. Pretty wrecked, honestly. But we made it."

Chaeyoung leaned closer without saying a word, already listening for what wasn't being said.

Chan pressed the button again. "Any injuries? Severe AMS? How's oxygen usage?"

"Nothing critical," Changbin replied. There was a pause, too long. The radio hissed softly in the space between them. "Most of us are just... wiped. Altitude's hitting harder than expected."

Chan's smile faded just a little. "And?"

Another pause. Longer this time.

Changbin exhaled. "Seungmin. He's... not great."

Chaeyoung's eyes snapped up.

"He's been tired since Camp Three," Changbin continued carefully. "Sluggish. Quiet. Thought it was just normal exhaustion, but—" He cut himself off. "He's slower than he should be. Takes longer to process things. Still responsive, still walking on his own, but something feels off."

Chan felt a cold knot form in his stomach. "Did he complain about headaches? Vision issues? Nausea?"

"Nausea, yeah. Some coughing. Says he's fine every time we ask." Changbin let out a humorless laugh. "You know how that goes."

Chan glanced at Chaeyoung. She was already reaching for the mic.

"Changbin," she said calmly, voice professional but firm, "this is Chaeyoung."

"Oh—hi, doc."

"I'm going to be very direct," she said. "From what you're describing, Seungmin could be developing early-stage HACE."

The silence on the other end was immediate and heavy.

"HACE?" Changbin repeated. "As in, brain edema?"

"Possibly," she said. "And the dangerous part is that climbers often don't realize it themselves. Confusion, delayed responses, unusual fatigue, personality changes, those can all show up before the obvious symptoms."

Changbin swallowed audibly. "He didn't seem confused-confused. Just... blank sometimes."

"That's enough for me to worry," Chaeyoung replied. "Listen carefully. If he shows any worsening—trouble walking straight, slurred speech, severe headache, vomiting—you turn him around immediately. No summit is worth that risk."

Chan leaned in, voice lower now. "Changbin, you hear me? If there's even a question, you pull him down. I don't care how close you are."

"Yeah," Changbin said quickly. "Yeah, I hear you."

Chaeyoung continued, softer but no less serious. "Keep him on oxygen. Monitor him closely tonight. Don't let him be alone."

Changbin exhaled again. "Minho's been glued to him anyway."

Chan exchanged a look with Chaeyoung. That didn't surprise either of them.

"We'll keep the channel open," Chan said. "Check in every few hours. Even if nothing changes."

"Copy that," Changbin replied. "We'll watch him. I promise."

The radio clicked off.

For a moment, the tent was quiet except for the wind outside.

Chan dragged a hand down his face. "I don't like this."

Chaeyoung leaned back, crossing her arms. "Neither do I. Camp Four is not where you want uncertainty."

Chan looked back at the weather charts, the clean summit window mocking him. "They're so close." He reached for the radio again, just in case.

"Please," he muttered under his breath, not sure who he was talking to. "Just let him be okay."

PART FIVE: CAMP 4 
ELEVATION: 26,000 FT (THE DEATH ZONE)
DAY 21

The tent shook with the wind, fabric snapping like it was angry at them for being there at all. 

Camp Four was nothing but a slanted patch of ice and stubbornness, and the air felt thin even through the oxygen masks.

Minho dropped inside first and barely made it to the edge of his sleeping pad before sitting hard. His legs burned. His head throbbed. He dragged his mask up properly, breathing slow, controlled.

Seungmin followed a few seconds later and collapsed almost immediately, shoulders caving in as he coughed into his mask with short, dry, ugly sounds.

Minho looked at him.

"...Seungmin," he said quietly. "You look bad."

Seungmin waved him off weakly, back of his glove brushing Minho's arm. "I–I'm just tired, hyung. We pushed hard today. It's normal—"

"No," Minho cut in sharply. "Don't fucking give me that bullshit."

Seungmin flinched.

Minho was already moving, hands coming up to Seungmin's face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, tilting his head despite the cramped space. His eyes scanned fast—pupils, focus, the way Seungmin's gaze lagged just a second too late.

"I think you're developing HACE," Minho said.

Seungmin frowned and pushed his hands away. "No. It's not that bad. You're being dramatic."

"I'm not being fucking dramatic," Minho snapped. "I know what normal altitude sickness looks like. And I know what this looks like."

Seungmin's jaw tightened. The wind howled outside, rocking the tent.

"Stop acting like you know me, then," Seungmin shot back. "You don't, hyung. We're all here to summit, so focus on your own damn climb."

Minho stilled.

"...What did you just say?"

Seungmin looked away, coughing into his mask.

"No," Minho said slowly, disbelief creeping in. "You're not summiting like that."

Seungmin's eyes widened. "What?"

Minho shook his head, a sharp, incredulous laugh escaping him. "You can't seriously think you're going up like this. You can barely hold your balance. Do you have a fucking death wish?"

Seungmin stared at him. "Hyung, what is your problem? Just focus on your own climb! Stop acting like you care about me!"

That did it.

Minho's tone dropped low and dangerous. "Stop acting like I don't care?" he said. "Seungmin, we're on fucking Mount Everest. You keep pushing in this condition, you don't get a heroic ending. You just die."

He shifted, already reaching for the tent flap. "I'm telling Changbin. You're heading back down."

Seungmin panicked.

"No—no!" He grabbed Minho's wrist with surprising strength and yanked him back down. "Hyung, please—fuck—don't tell Changbin hyung, please! I don't want to go back down!"

Minho turned on him, eyes blazing. "You can't go up like this! Summit push is in hours—hours—and you'll collapse halfway up! You can't continue!"

The wind slammed into the tent, rattling the poles.

"NO!" Seungmin cried. "HYUNG—please! Don't do this to me!"

His voice cracked completely. Tears spilled freely, freezing almost instantly against his lashes as he clung to Minho's sleeve like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

Minho froze.

Seungmin was shaking. Not just from the cold. His grip was desperate, uncoordinated. His breathing was off, too fast, too shallow, oxygen hissing uselessly between sobs.

Minho's anger evaporated in an instant. 

"Hey—hey, fuck," Minho breathed, dropping down immediately. He held Seungmin by the shoulders, firm but careful, trying to ground him. "Fuck—baby, look at me. Look at me, come on."

Seungmin finally lifted his head.

His eyes were wrecked, red and swollen, unfocused. His face was pale, lips chapped and dry, nose raw from the cold. He looked miserable. Small. Too young to be here. Minho's chest caved in at the sight.

"What's wrong?" Minho asked softly, not accusing, just wanting the truth.

Seungmin sniffed. "Hyung... I can't go back down. I'm too close. Please..."

Minho shook his head and leaned in, their helmets nearly touching. "Sweetheart, you can't go up like this," he said gently. "It'll take us around eight hours to reach the summit. You're weak, okay? You can't walk in this state. You'll just get worse."

Seungmin squeezed his eyes shut and broke again. "H-hyung, please... let me do this. Please. I can't go back down. I've come so far."

Minho stared at him.

And in that moment, he realized he was about to make the hardest decision of his life.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing through the oxygen, through the fear, through the selfish part of himself screaming at him to stop. 

When he opened them again, he pulled Seungmin closer.

"Seungminnie," he said quietly.

Seungmin looked up at him with those broken, doe-wide eyes, and Minho felt something in his chest crack clean open.

"I'll go down with you."

Silence.

The words just hung there between them. 

Minho knew how stupid it sounded. He was in peak condition. He felt good, good enough to summit. This was his third attempt. Everything had finally lined up.

And he was about to give it all up for a boy he'd met only weeks ago.

Seungmin stared at him like he'd misheard. "Hyung... y-you can't do that." He shook his head frantically. "You can't do this to yourself. Please."

Minho shook his head back, already reaching for the tent zipper. "No fighting, Seungmin-ah. I'll inform Changbin—we're heading down—"

"NO!"

Seungmin's voice tore through the tent. He was breathing hard now, chest heaving. "Minho hyung, please," he cried. "Don't do this to yourself. Don't ruin your chance because of me."

Minho exhaled slowly, frustration and fear tangling together. "Baby, you have to understand. It's not safe. Help isn't easy up there. If something happens—"

"I LIED, HYUNG!"

Minho froze. "What?"

"I lied," Seungmin repeated, voice small. He wiped at his tears and sat up a little, slipping out of Minho's hold. "My dream wasn't to climb Everest since I was a kid."

Minho frowned, listening.

"...I wanted to be a baseball player," Seungmin said weakly. "I wanted to be on Korea's national team."

Minho didn't interrupt.

"I played all the time. Day and night. When I got into university, I applied for the baseball team." His voice cracked. "I got rejected. Then I applied to teams outside uni too. They were full. Or they didn't want me."

He laughed once, broken and humorless. "That's when I realized how useless I was, hyung. No one wanted me. Not even for the one thing I was sure I was good at."

Minho felt sick.

"I started mountaineering as a hobby. It was just... an escape." Seungmin sniffed. "When I turned nineteen, I promised myself I'd climb Everest one day. That I'd prove I'm worth something. That I'm not actually useless. That I can do something."

He smiled faintly. "I'm here to keep that promise to myself, hyung. Please. Let me do it."

Minho's heart shattered.

He reached out slowly, pulling Seungmin back into his arms, pressing his forehead against his helmet.

"Placing your worth in the hands of the tallest mountain in the world is a dangerous gamble, Seungmin-ah. " Minho whispered, voice breaking, 

Seungmin smiled sadly against his chest. "It's worth it, hyung."

Minho pulled Seungmin closer against his chest, carefully lowering them onto the mattress as Seungmin clutched tightly to him. Minho held him gently, cradling his head, fingers brushing through his hair in slow, soothing strokes.

He had seen this before.

So many climbers came to the mountains to prove their worth. Not all of them made it back down.

Minho had started climbing when he was seventeen. His first was Mount Fuji, standing at the top, thinking he was the highest person on earth. 

That feeling never left him. 

He climbed through university, where he met Changbin, another idiot who lived climbing, and they hit it off instantly. He climbed through his job too, until he quit not long after because he hated it. Hated sitting in a cubicle in front of a computer when he could be on top of the world.

His personal life was messy. His parents worried constantly. His mom nagged every time he packed for another climb. His dad told him to settle down, to think about marriage, kids. 

He never listened. He had been in a few relationships, some were good, some where not but they always fell apart under the weight of his obsession with mountains. He'd reached an age where he probably should have been planning a life like that, a life with marriage, a lifelong partner, kids. 

But he never wanted to. He never truly fell in love.

Until he met Seungmin.

Seungmin was... different. Young. A little naïve. Smart and witty, stubborn in ways, but so damn good at everything he did. 

Minho had liked him from the moment he stepped into base camp. Training with him. Eating with him. Going on long walks between acclimatization days. It all felt normal, so normal Minho hadn't even wanted the trip to end.

And that was when he came to a haunting realisation.

Minho looked down at the younger boy sleeping against his chest.

He was—most probably, most certainly—in love with him.

Minho usually didn't beat around the bush with his feelings. He accepted them quickly, confessed when he could. He was direct like that. But this... this was different. 

They'd only just met. And Seungmin was right—Minho didn't even know him that well. Didn't know if Seungmin liked men. Didn't know if he was already dating someone. Those thoughts hit his chest harder than the altitude ever could.

Most importantly, Seungmin was still young. It was stupid to think about feelings like this when Seungmin could very well be dying in his arms.

Minho felt trapped in the worst situation of his life.

If he called for a turnaround, Seungmin would be heartbroken, might never trust him again. And if Seungmin continued upward... Minho didn't want to think about what could happen. Seungmin still had years ahead of him. 

But then again,

Minho didn't want to shatter his dream either. It wasn't Minho's decision to make. He was... no one to him.

He brushed his thumb over Seungmin's sleeping face and sighed. This felt like standing right between life and death.

But Minho also believed in him.

Seungmin was insanely strong. Lean, yes but fit, disciplined. The signs were there, mild and creeping, but maybe... maybe they could still try.

His fingers stopped moving.

They could go up to the Balcony. And if Seungmin got worse—if he stayed the same or deteriorated—they would turn around. Immediately. No negotiations. No arguments.

Minho leaned down and kissed Seungmin's head once more before settling back to sleep beside him.

Summit was only a few hours away.

He closed his eyes, hoping—praying—that the mountain would be kind to them.

THE SUMMIT PUSH 
CURRENT ELEVATION: 27,600 FT 
SOUTHEAST RIDGE (THE BALCONY)

They woke without alarms.

Inside the tent, everything was dim blue and shadowed breath. Minho sat up first, Seungmin followed.

They moved around each other with quietly, muscle memory taking over where words would only get tangled. 

Harnesses checked. Headlamps secured. Oxygen masks fitted and tested. Seungmin's fingers trembled slightly as he clipped his regulator in place, but he steadied them himself before Minho could notice.

Or maybe Minho noticed and chose not to say anything.

They stepped out of the tent together.

Camp 4 was already alive, headlamps were blinking across the snow. The wind cut sharply.

Changbin approached first.

He stopped in front of Seungmin, crouching slightly to meet his eye level, "You good, Seungmin?"

Seungmin smiled, convincing enough for anyone who wanted to believe it. "Yeah. I'm okay."

Changbin studied him for a half second longer, then nodded. "Alright. Stay close, okay?"

Minho looked away.

The team began to move.

No chatter now. No jokes. No nervous energy to burn off. Everyone was locked in. This was the point where Everest stopped tolerating mistakes.

Pasang took the lead for Minho and Seungmin. Seungmin followed closely behind him, clipped in, eyes focused on the line of Pasang's boots cutting through the snow. Minho stayed just behind Seungmin, close enough to reach him in two steps if needed.

Dorje guided Hyunjin and Jisung a little farther to the left, his voice low and firm whenever the wind swallowed too much sound. Changbin brought up another line with Mina and Jeongin, keeping a careful watch on their pacing.

The higher they climbed, the stronger the wind became.

By the time they reached the Southeast Ridge, the temperature had dropped noticeably, cold seeping through gloves, biting at exposed skin, freezing breath the instant it left their masks. The ridge narrowed beneath their feet, the world falling away on either side into endless dark.

Jeongin began to lag.

It wasn't dramatic, just subtle, the way his steps shortened, the way his pauses stretched half a second longer than they should have. He hadn't slept well. None of them had. Camp 4 never allowed real rest.

Changbin noticed immediately, slowing the group's pace just enough to keep him steady without calling attention to it.

They reached the Balcony just as the wind eased enough to let them breathe.

It wasn't relief so much as permission, permission to stop, to sit, to exist without moving for five precious minutes. One by one, the climbers lowered themselves onto the snow, backs against packs, ice axes planted beside them.

Dorje, Pasang, and Changbin moved immediately.

Gloves tugged tight as they checked oxygen flow rates, adjusted regulators, watched chest rise and fall. This was the last place to catch something early, anything missed here would only get worse above.

Jeongin was breathing hard, shoulders slumped, exhaustion written plainly across his face. Changbin crouched in front of him, speaking calmly, counting breaths with him until the color in his face evened out. He was tired. Nothing more. Manageable.

Mina looked solid, eyes clear and posture steady, answering questions without hesitation.

Jisung leaned back in the snow, laughing weakly through his mask. "I feel like I'm actually gonna die," he said.

Dorje snorted. Changbin didn't even look up. "That means you're fine."

Hyunjin rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers. He looked worn, but the break had helped, his movements less stiff, his breathing more controlled now than it had been an hour ago.

Minho barely registered any of it.

His attention stayed locked on Seungmin.

The younger hadn't spoken since they'd left Camp 4. No complaints, no nervous chatter, no nothing. He sat slightly apart, head lowered, hands resting on his knees, breath fogging steadily behind his mask. 

Changbin approached him last.

He knelt in front of Seungmin, checked the flow rate, watched his pupils, waited for a response. "How are you feeling, Seungmin?"

Seungmin lifted his head and smiled. "I'm fine."

Minho's jaw tightened.

Changbin held his gaze for a moment longer, searching for something Seungmin refused to give, then nodded once. "Alright. Let's keep moving."

No one argued.

THE SUMMIT PUSH
CURRENT ELEVATION: 28,707 FT
SOUTHEAST RIDGE (THE SOUTH SUMMIT)

By the time they reached the South Summit, exhaustion sat deep in their bones.

Every step felt heavier than the last, lungs burning despite the oxygen, legs moving on memory more than strength.

Minho knew this place.

Two years ago, this was where it had ended for him.

The exact ridge. The same cruel incline. The same biting cold gnawing through layers. He remembered standing here then, breath ragged, vision tunneling, the call coming through the radio that they had to turn back. He remembered the crushing disappointment, the silent acceptance, the long descent that followed.

And now he was here again.

But this time, the sun was rising.

Light spilled slowly over the horizon, painting the sky in soft golds and pale blues. Everest revealed itself in full, vast, terrifying, impossibly beautiful.

Minho felt something tighten in his chest.

No photograph, no documentary, no story ever did this justice. The sheer scale of it. The way the mountain looked alive.

He knew the danger. Everyone here did. Everest's death count wasn't as infamous as K2's, but it wasn't forgiving either. This mountain didn't care how prepared you were, how badly you wanted it, how close you got.

And yet—

Standing here, seeing a beauty reserved for less than one percent of the world, it felt almost criminal not to witness it. As if coming this far and turning away would be a greater sin than risking everything to see it through.

Minho felt sick. Truly. Nausea churned low in his stomach, sharp enough that he thought he might retch into his mask at any moment. His head throbbed, his limbs screamed, and his breath came shallow despite the oxygen feeding him life.

But the sight kept him upright. Kept him moving.

As they pushed upward toward the South Summit, the sun rose fully beside them,.

By this point, the others were far behind.

Seungmin was still a few feet ahead of him. Pasang was even farther. Around them, the ridge was crowded decently, other climbers inching forward.

Slowly though, Minho noticed it.

Seungmin's steps were slowing.

Not drastically. Not at first. Just enough to make Minho's stomach drop.

By the time he reached him, Seungmin stumbled and then collapsed straight onto the snow.

"SEUNGMIN!"

Minho dropped instantly, crouching in front of him, knees sinking into ice. 

"Hey—hey! What's wrong?" He tapped Seungmin's face sharply, panic clawing up his throat. "Look at me. Look at me!"

Seungmin's head dipped. He fumbled at his oxygen mask, fingers weak.

Minho caught his hands immediately. "No—no, that stays fucking on." His voice shook despite himself. "What's wrong, Min? You gotta tell me."

"H-hyung..." Seungmin pushed at the mask again, breathing uneven. "I—I feel tired... I think I'm gonna puke."

Minho nodded quickly, forcing his voice steady. "That's okay. That's okay. Hold it in, baby. You hear me?" He leaned closer, eyes locked on his. "If you throw up, you'll dehydrate. You gotta keep it in."

"N-no, hyung..." Seungmin's face crumpled, breath hitching as oxygen rushed into his lungs. "I—I wasn't as strong as I thought I was..."

Dread flooded Minho's chest.

"S-Seungmin—"

"It turns out I'm useless after all," Seungmin sobbed, words barely forming as he struggled for air even with oxygen. "I can't— I can't—"

"No," Minho cut in sharply, cupping his face, forcing his gaze back. "No. Listen to me." His voice softened, grounding. "We're turning around. Right now. We're heading back to Camp 4 together, okay?"

Seungmin didn't respond.

His eyes were unfocused.

"Hey," Minho whispered, fear bleeding through. "Do you hear me, my love?" He swallowed hard. "We're going down. We'll rest. You'll be okay. You'll be strong for me, baby." His voice broke. "I can't lose you."

He tried to lift Seungmin but the wind surged violently around them, slamming into their bodies, snow whipping into their faces.

"N-no, hyung!" Seungmin cried, clutching his down suit. "You can't turn back! You have to summit, please! Don't do this to yourself!"

Minho shook his head fiercely. "I'll be fine, Seungmin-ah. There's always next year. And the year after that." He leaned closer, voice urgent. "Getting down alive matters more than any mountain. Do you understand?"

"H-hyung..." Seungmin's voice was weak now. "T-too tired... you need to go."

Minho froze.

"W-what?" His breath caught. "No. No—fuck—Seungmin, you need to get up right fucking now!"

"I—I'm too weak," Seungmin whispered. "Leave me. Please. You can't die like this."

Minho's blood ran ice-cold.

He grabbed Seungmin's face forcefully, eyes burning into his. "Kim Seungmin, don't fuck with me right now," he snarled. "You're getting up. We're going down together—"

"Hyung, no!" Seungmin screamed. "I'll summit alone! You go without me—please!" His breathing turned frantic. "By the time I summit it'll be too dark—you can't stay! You'll die, hyung! You can't die..."

Rage tore through Minho's chest.

Did Seungmin really think he would leave him here?

After everything they did together, the walks, the training, the acclimatization treks, the shared tents, the quiet laughs in thin air.... did that not show how much Minho wanted him?

Did he really think Minho didn't care enough?

That if he asked him to leave, Minho would just walk away?

Because if he did, he thought fucking wrong.

Minho's expression hardened.

"Fine," he said lowly. Dangerous. "You wanna summit, right?"

Seungmin looked up at him, dazed and confused. "H-huh—?"

"Okay then." Minho stood, towering over him. "I'll help you summit."

"H-hyung!"

"You can die on me if you want, Seungmin," Minho said coldly. "But I won't let you summit alone."

He hauled Seungmin up, gripping him tight as the younger struggled to stand. Seungmin wanted to protest, Minho could see it but he was too weak. And this time, he said nothing.

THE SUMMIT PUSH
CURRENT ELEVATION: 28,838 FT
THE HILLARY STEP

By walking slower—painfully slow—they reached the Hillary Step.

The last real obstacle. The worst place to hesitate. 

A vertical wall of rock and ice at nearly nine thousand meters, where the mountain narrowed into something cruel and unforgiving. Above it waited the summit ridge. Below it, everything they'd already survived.

Seungmin was still walking on his own.

That, in itself, felt unreal.

His steps were shorter now. He leaned forward more than before, oxygen hissing loud against the wind. Minho stayed right behind him, close enough that his glove brushed Seungmin's pack every few seconds. .

Pasang was already waiting near the base of the Step, clipped into the fixed line, eyes sharp even behind frost-coated goggles.

Minho moved closer, voice low. "Pasang. He's not okay, suspected HACE."

Pasang turned immediately, gaze flicking to Seungmin. 

Pasang didn't argue. He reached for his radio.

"Base Camp, this is Pasang. We're at the Hillary Step. Seungmin's condition is worsening. Suspected cerebral edema."

The wind howled around them as Minho watched Seungmin stare straight ahead, jaw clenched, saying nothing.

Chan's voice crackled through the radio, sharp with alarm. "Turn them around. Immediately. Do not go up."

Pasang looked at Minho, Minho swallowed hard and took the radio the latter offered.

"He's been worse since Camp Four," he said honestly. "He's stubborn. He won't listen."

"Then make him listen," Chan snapped. "Minho, this is not negotiable."

They looked at Seungmin but didn't bring him into the call. Every word spoken was oxygen wasted.

Chaeyoung's voice came next, calmer but more dangerous in how serious it was. "Minho. Increase his oxygen flow now. Pasang will have dexamethasone, give it to him. If he can still walk straight, it hasn't fully progressed, but if you see ataxia, confusion, inability to stand, you descend immediately. Do you understand me?"

Minho nodded even though she couldn't see it. "I understand."

"Put him on the radio," she said gently. "I need to hear him."

Seungmin shook his head before Minho could even ask.

"No," he said hoarsely, voice sharp, almost rude but no one held it against him. "I've worked too hard for this. I'm too close. I'm not going down."

Silence followed.

Then Chaeyoung sighed, quiet and heavy. "Then Minho... you take care of him Pasang will be there."

Chan's voice returned, lower now. "And Minho—... i-if anything happens... you put yourself first."

That did it.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Minho snapped, fury breaking through the cold. "We're not at that point, hyung. Stop saying shit. "

"Minho—"

The radio crackled. Then went dead.

Pasang didn't waste time.

Minho adjusted Seungmin's oxygen, hands steady even though his chest felt like it was tearing open. He gave him the dex, murmured soft instructions close to his ear. They waited. Five minutes. Six. The wind screamed around them.

Seungmin didn't get worse. He didn't get better either but he stood. Walked.

Pasang nodded once.

"Okay," he said. "We go."

Pasang moved first, climbing up the Hillary Step with ease, guiding the fixed line. Seungmin followed, slow but controlled, boots finding grip, hands shaking but holding.

Minho stayed behind him the entire way.

Close enough to catch him. Close enough to die with him, if it came to that.

And step by step, agonizing, terrifying step by step, Seungmin climbed the Hillary Step. Minho continued behind him. 

MOUNT EVEREST SUMMIT
ELEVATION: 29,031 FT
TIME: 13:09:53

The final push felt endless.

Each step forward demanded something from Seungmin, his lungs, his legs, his will. 

The oxygen and dex took the sharpest edge off, just enough to keep him upright, just enough to keep the world from spinning apart. Still, every movement felt like wading through gravity itself.

He fought quietly.

Just a constant, burning argument inside his own head—one more step, don't stop, don't think, don't fall. His body screamed at him to sit down, to rest, to give up, but something deeper kept pulling him forward.

And then the summit came into view.

It simply... appeared. A small rise ahead. Prayer flags snapping violently in the wind. The end.

Minho was right there, their arms brushing, their shoulders bumping together with every step. At some point their hands found each other, fingers locking through thick gloves like instinct. Neither of them said anything. 

They climbed the last stretch together.

And then they were there.

On the top of the world.

Seungmin didn't even realize he'd stopped moving until his knees hit the snow. The moment it registered—I'm here, I did it—everything broke. A raw sob tore out of him, his body folding in on itself as months of fear, doubt, and desperation crashed all at once.

Minho dropped down with him immediately.

He didn't try to stop the tears. His own came just as fast, blurring the world until Everest disappeared into white and light. He crouched in front of Seungmin, hands gripping his shoulders as if afraid he might vanish.

Seungmin looked up at him through tears, smiling like he couldn't quite believe his own face.

"H-hyung..." he laughed weakly, voice breaking. "Seven... seven summits."

Minho let out something between a sob and a laugh.

He nodded, tears spilling freely now, ugly and uncontrollable. "Yeah," he choked. "Yeah."

Seungmin surged forward and hugged him, arms slipping around Minho's neck as he clung to him like the ground itself. Minho held him back just as tightly, forehead pressed to his helmet, both of them shaking in the thin air.

For a few seconds, nothing else existed.

Then Seungmin pulled back slightly, still smiling, still crying.

"Y-you did it, hyung," he said softly. "You really did it."

Minho really fucking did.

The realization hit him all at once, warm and overwhelming, spreading through his chest until Everest felt almost gentle. Aconcagua. Denali. Elbrus. Kilimanjaro. Kosciuszko. Vinson.

This was the last one.

This was it.

"I..." Minho swallowed hard, wiping at his face with a shaking hand. "Thank you, Seungmin-ah."

They stood together then, breathing hard, turning slowly to take in the view. The world curved beneath them, endless and impossibly small. Flags fluttered wildly. Tokens left behind by climbers who had made it, and by some who hadn't.

The sun shone bright at the top of the world.

"It feels good," Seungmin said quietly, voice full and awed. "To be up here."

Minho nodded. "It really does."

They turned to each other, masks lifted just for a moment, long enough for Minho to really see him, without the oxygen mask, without the danger surrounding them. Red-rimmed eyes. A cherry-tinted nose. Flushed cheeks. Those soft, stubborn eyes that had carried him all the way here.

For a second, Minho forgot where they were.

Forgot the cold. The danger. The mountain.

Nothing—nothing—felt more overwhelming than Seungmin standing in front of him like this. Vulnerable, so damn soft, so damn beautiful it could compete with Everest. 

It was stupid. Maybe it was the altitude. The adrenaline. The dopamine. The sheer insanity of being here. Minho didn't know. He only knew that the feeling in his chest demanded movement.

So he leaned in.

Their lips met warm against the cold and Seungmin froze for half a heartbeat before melting into it, arms slipping up around Minho's neck as he kissed him back. It was clumsy. Soft. Perfect.

Minho felt truly alive in the moment. He felt like his seventeen year old self again who climbed Mount Fuji with his dad and felt like the highest boy in the world. 

But nothing in his life would ever come close to this moment. Seungmin in his arms, their lips locked as the world stands beneath their feet, hearts beating in sync. This was highest of all highs in his life.

They pulled apart , breath fogging between them.

Seungmin laughed shyly, cheeks burning even redder, eyes bright as he looked at Minho.

Minho laughed too.

And together, side by side, they turned back to look at the world below.

The others reached them not long after.

Hyunjin broke first, dropping his pack and bursting into tears the moment his boots hit the summit, sobbing openly like he'd been holding it in for weeks. Mina followed, quieter but no less overwhelmed, pressing a gloved hand to her face as she cried. 

Jisung threw both arms into the air, laughter ripping out of him as he spun once in place.

"My hundred and fifty thousand dollars are finally worth it!" he yelled.

That did it.

They all laughed real and breathless laughter that cut through the cold like sunlight.

Jeongin arrived next, shaky but smiling, Changbin steadying him by the elbow. Jeongin cried too, wiping his face over and over like he couldn't believe it was real.

Cameras came out. Quick photos, clumsy ones, fingers numb and shaking. Changbin took a careful picture of Dorje and Pasang together as they planted Nepal's flag into the snow, both of them quiet and proud, the wind snapping the fabric hard behind them.

Mina knelt a little apart, bowed her head, and prayed for a few seconds before placing her brother's photo beside the flags. No one interrupted her.

When she stood, Hyunjin looked around, patting his pockets dramatically. "Man, I don't have anything," he said. "Guess I'll leave my dignity up here."

Groans and laughter followed immediately.

They gathered for a group picture, arms slung around shoulders, bodies leaning together for balance, smiles wide and unguarded. 

Seungmin caught Minho's eye, smiling softly, before kneeling to press a baseball into the snow.

Minho smiled back and placed his small Korean flag right beside it.

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, quiet, breathing, taking it in, before Changbin clapped his hands once.

"Alright, guys," he said, smiling despite himself. "Congratulations. Time to head back down."

. . .

Back at base camp, Chan sat rigid at the folding table, one knee bouncing uncontrollably beneath it. 

Chaeyoung sat beside him, calm on the surface, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. "They should've been up by now," she said quietly.

Chan nodded, jaw tight. "I'm worried about Seungmin." He exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding it in for hours. "I just... I hope his condition didn't get worse."

Chaeyoung sighed, eyes lowering to the tea swirling in her cup. "We did everything we could to get him to descend, Chan. After that..." She paused, the words clearly hurting to say. "The rest was his call."

Chan swallowed.

"But," she continued gently, looking back at him, "he'll be okay. He has Pasang. And Minho's with him. They won't let anything happen."

That eased something in him. Chan nodded, shoulders dropping a fraction. "I'm less worried because Minho's there," he admitted. "He's experienced. He won't make the wrong call—especially now that he's taken responsibility for Seungmin."

Chaeyoung nodded slowly. "They seem close. Were they friends before the expedition?"

Chan shook his head. "Not really. They met here." He hesitated, then added, "But they got close pretty fast."

She hummed thoughtfully and took another sip of her tea.

Then the radio buzzed.

Chan's head snapped up instantly.

"Changbin to base camp."

"Changbin, this is Chan. Go ahead," Chan replied, his voice tight with anticipation.

"We're on top of Everest!!"

The tent exploded.

Cheers erupted from every corner, helpers shouting, arms thrown into the air. Chaeyoung gasped, laughing as she hugged the nearest staff member. Chan stood up abruptly, relief hitting him so hard it almost made him dizzy.

"That's incredible, Changbin," Chan said, voice thick. "How is everyone? How is Seungmin?"

"Everyone's good, hyung! Seungmin's okay too. We're all doing fine."

Chan smiled, a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding finally leaving his chest. He gave Chaeyoung a thumbs-up, and she smiled back, eyes bright.

"Thank you for letting us know," Chan said. "I assume you'll be starting your descent soon?"

"Yes, hyung. We're heading down now. Over and out."

"Have a safe descent," Chan replied softly. "Over and out."

The radio went silent.

KATHMANDU
1 WEEK LATER

Seungmin woke to soft sunlight filtering through thin hotel curtains.

For a moment, he didn't move. Just breathed. Warm air filled his lungs, no mask, no burn, no thinness clawing at his chest. His body ached in a dull way, the kind that reminded him he was still here.

Alive.

He stretched his arms slowly, the sheets rustling, and that was when the door opened with a quiet click.

Seungmin smiled immediately.

Minho stepped inside, careful, like he always was now. He carried a small tray, meds neatly arranged, a glass of water beside them. He set it down on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling, love?" Minho asked softly, fingers sliding into Seungmin's hair, gentle, unhurried.

Seungmin leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded. "Much better," he said, voice still a little rough but steady. "I can't wait to go back home."

Minho smiled and bent forward, pressing a small kiss into Seungmin's hair.

They had come down a few days ago.

Everything after that blurred together, after they'd descended down, Seungmin remembered being rushed into a hospital bed, Minho never leaving his side. The diagnosis hadn't surprised anyone. HACE, confirmed. Mild, they said. Caught early. Treatable.

He had been lucky.

They told him to stay in Kathmandu for a few days. Let his brain recover. 

Minho stayed. Of course he did.

The video call with his parents had been... loud. His mom had scolded him relentlessly, voice shaking with fear disguised as anger. His dad backed her up, quieter but no less shaken. Seungmin tried to joke, tried to downplay it, and then he saw their faces crumble on screen, and suddenly they were all crying.

He promised he'd come home soon. They made him swear.

Minho had been right there the entire time, a silent presence, passing him tissues, rubbing slow circles into his back when the call ended.

And then later, when the room was quiet, when the machines had stopped beeping so loudly, Seungmin had confessed.

He told Minho he liked him. That he wanted this. Whatever this was.

Minho had kissed his head and asked if he was sure.

Seungmin had nodded, eyes determined despite the bandage wrapped around his forehead.

Minho had kissed him then, carefully, and Seungmin had tangled his fingers in Minho's hair, pulling him closer, desperation bleeding into affection.

They might've kept going if the door hadn't opened.

Doctor Chaeyoung had walked in, paused for exactly one second, then smiled like she hadn't seen a thing. She updated Seungmin on his recovery, told him he'd be cleared to go home in a few days.

Minho hadn't let go of his hand the entire time.

Visitors came and went after that. Chan. Changbin. Jeongin. Hyunjin. Jisung. Mina. Even Dorje and Pasang.

They stayed until visiting hours ended. Mina left early for Japan, pressing a bouquet of flowers into Seungmin's hands before she went. The others tried to linger longer, but Seungmin waved them off, smiling.

"Minho's here," he said simply.

They exchanged looks, knowing and teasing before pulling him into bone-crushing hugs and finally leaving.

The next day, Seungmin woke up to notifications.

THE (BOYS) CLIMBERS

Hyunjin had made the group chat. Of course he had.

Seungmin laughed so hard it hurt his head.

He was then finally discharged, settled into a quiet hotel room in Kathmandu, Minho was still here. Sitting beside him. Making sure he took his meds. Watching him like the mountain still had claws in him.

Now, Seungmin lay on his side with Minho tucked against his chest, one arm draped over him, fingers lazily combing through Minho's hair.

Minho sighed into the touch, eyes half-closed. "What are you thinking, hm?" he asked softly.

Seungmin hummed, thoughtful. "That it's funny," he said quietly. "How I almost died on Everest. If it wasn't for you... I wouldn't have made it."

Minho's hands stilled for a brief second before resuming their slow movement along Seungmin's back. "I did what I could," he said simply.

Seungmin tilted his head, watching him. "What are you thinking?"

Minho sighed, the sound fond and exhausted all at once. "About how I'm going to bring my very obviously young boyfriend home to my parents and convince them I'm not weird and that we actually love each other."

Seungmin snorted. "That's not even that bad. How am I supposed to bring you home and tell my parents I swear I'm not into older men and you just happened to be one?"

Minho lifted his head, offended. "I am not old. I'm in the prime of my life. I climbed the tallest mountain in the world."

"Yeah," Seungmin said dryly. "Good luck explaining that to my mom."

Minho groaned and buried his face into Seungmin's neck. Seungmin laughed, arms tightening around him.

"Why are parents so complicated?" Minho muttered.

"Yeah," Seungmin said softly. "Why can't they be more like mountains instead?"

"My parents are like K2," Minho replied. "They just actively try to kill me."

Seungmin huffed. "My parents are like Everest. There's a point where you just accept you're going to die and nothing you do will help."

Minho raised a finger without lifting his head. "Not if you have me."

Seungmin smiled, brushing his hair back. "Yeah."

A quiet settled between them before Seungmin spoke again. "Are you going to climb more after this, hyung?"

Minho shook his head, pushing himself up slightly to look at him. "Not like this. Everest was my last."

Seungmin blinked. "Really?"

Minho nodded. "I did the Seven Summits. That was my dream. My whole life."

"So... never again?" Seungmin asked.

"I will," Minho said with a shrug. "Just nothing crazy. Nothing that'll kill me."

He tilted his head. "What about you?"

Seungmin shook his head immediately. "Oh, hell no. Everest was the only one I ever wanted. Everything else was just prep." He paused. "It was kind of traumatizing."

Minho laughed and leaned in, catching Seungmin's lips in a soft kiss.

"I'm just glad you're okay, baby." he murmured against his mouth.

Seungmin smiled, then pulled him back in, kissing him deeper. Minho melted into it, eyes closing as he poured everything he felt into the press of his lips.

He stayed careful, always careful but when he trailed kisses along Seungmin's jaw and down his throat, Seungmin's breath hitched, soft sounds slipping out before he could stop them.

Then Minho froze.

He pulled back abruptly, eyes scanning Seungmin like he was counting ribs.

Seungmin blinked, dazed. "Hyung... what's wrong?"

Minho swallowed hard. "Okay, this sounds stupid but—" He took a breath. "Seungmin. You're... you're of age. Right?"

Seungmin stared at him for a second.

Then he burst out laughing. "What the fuck, hyung! Of course I am!" he wheezed. "I'm nineteen. I told you that already."

Minho exhaled like his soul returned to his body and immediately leaned back in. "Yeah. Just wanted to make sure."

Seungmin giggled. "You're so stupid—ah!"

He winced as Minho sucked in a little harder at his neck.

"Say that again," Minho murmured.

"Hyung is a pabo—ow! Lee Minho!"

"Try me, baby."

Everest.

The highest peak on Earth.

Up there, Seungmin had touched both life and death, the lowest of lows, the highest of highs, separated by nothing but a few breaths of borrowed oxygen.

Everest was not a kind mountain. It never pretended to be.

But it was beautiful.

Maybe that was why thousands of climbers tried for it every year, drawn by the promise of meaning, of proof, of something bigger than themselves.

Some made it. Some didn't.

Those who did never forgot it. Those who didn't became part of it. 

Seungmin and Minho might never climb again.

But Everest would remain. Looming on the edge of memory like a scar that no longer hurt, but would never fade.

Like a reminder of how close they had come to losing everything, and how against all odds they had come back alive.