Chapter Text
The motel looked like it had been abandoned long before the world ended. The sign flickered weakly, only half the letters still working, and the parking lot was cracked with weeds pushing through the asphalt. But the doors locked, the roof didn’t leak (mostly), and the windows weren’t shattered.
Now that was luxury.
Minho, the kid they had found lost days ago, was already half-asleep in Yeonjun’s arms by the time they reached the lobby. His head rested against Yeonjun’s chest, his small fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket like he was afraid to let go. Every few steps, Yeonjun adjusted his grip, careful not to jostle him.
Who knew the apocalypse was all it would take for him to be essentially a father.
Soobin walked beside them, close enough that their shoulders brushed whenever Yeonjun shifted. His hand hovered near Minho’s back, ready to steady him if he slipped. “He’s burning up again,” he murmured, voice low so it wouldn’t wake him.
“I know.” Yeonjun’s voice was tired, frayed at the edges. “He needs rest. And water. And maybe a miracle.”
Soobin’s mouth tightened. “We’ll figure it out.”
They always did. Even when they shouldn’t have been able to, when they worked together, things seemed to be okay.
The others filtered into the lobby behind them, their footsteps dragging, their faces drawn. Niki looked like he was ready to headbutt the wall with the way he was staring at Sunoo.
Yeonjun just shook his head, too preoccupied to deal with the drama stewing between the rest of the members in their company. He was simply and utterly, too tired for more apocalypse-born bullshit.
But again, the rooms smelled like dust and old carpet, but at least they were intact. The group split up immediately, some checking windows, some barricading doors, some collapsing onto the nearest surface like they’d been unplugged.
Yeonjun and Soobin took Minho to the room with the least broken furniture. The bed sagged in the middle, but it could hold a child at least. They laid Minho down gently, tucking a thin, moth-hole ridden motel blanket around him.
Minho stirred, eyes fluttering open just long enough to whisper, “Don’t leave.”
Yeonjun leaned over him. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Soobin sat on the edge of the bed, brushing Minho’s hair back with slow, steady fingers. “Sleep. We’re right here.”
Minho’s breathing evened out almost instantly, despite his elevated temperature.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The quiet pressed in around them, heavy and fragile.
Soobin let out a long, shaky breath. “He’s so tired.”
“We all are,” Yeonjun said softly.
Soobin didn’t argue. He just nodded, eyes lingering on Minho’s small, exhausted face.
A soft knock sounded on the doorframe.
Kai stood there holding a dented can of peaches like it was a sacred artifact. “We found food,” he said. “Not much, but enough to not die tonight.”
Yeonjun nodded. “We’ll be out in a sec.”
Kai’s eyes flicked to Minho, then to the two of them. “You guys okay?”
Soobin answered automatically. “We’re fine.”
Kai didn’t believe him, his raised eyebrows said as much, but he didn’t push. He just nodded and disappeared down the hall, whistling something that sounded like a poorly-adapted ‘Deja-Vu’ as he went.
Yeonjun and Soobin exchanged a look, one of those silent conversations they’d perfected over years of training and performing together. Yeonjun smiled at him softly, leaving Minho asleep in the bed as they stepped into the hallway together.
They reached the lobby once again, and the group sat in a loose circle on the motel floor, sharing cans of fruit, stale crackers, and the last of the instant ramen someone had found in a cabinet. No one complained because the state of their hunger made everything taste like a blessing.
Conversation was quiet at first, just the sound of chewing and the occasional sigh.
Then Taehyun broke the silence. “I swear this peach cup tastes like battery acid.”
Kai shrugged. “Battery acid probably has more nutrients.”
Beomgyu groaned. “Can we not talk about batteries? I’m still traumatized from that car alarm incident.”
“That was your fault,” Taehyun said.
“You told me to check the glove compartment!”
“I didn’t tell you to slam it like you were trying to kill it.”
Yeonjun snorted. “Both of you shut up. You almost got us eaten.”
Soobin nudged Yeonjun’s knee with his own. “You laughed for ten minutes after it happened.”
“I was stressed,” Yeonjun said. “But it was funny.”
Soobin smiled at him, the kind of smile he always sent his was that made something in Yeonjun’s chest loosen.
The group kept talking, slowly warming up as their meager food settled in their stomachs. The tension eased, just a little. Someone leaned against someone else, while another rested their head on a backpack. The room felt less like a motel and more like a shelter.
Or just the first breath after days of driving and running.
—
Later, the world came into view from an odd angle. Yeonjun’s head was resting painfully on Soobin’s shoulder, seemingly having fallen asleep following dinner.
Yeonjun and Soobin both stood at the exact same time. They froze, glanced at each other, then shared a tired, almost embarrassed smile.
The Yeonjun’s eyes widened, “Minho..” he said trailing off with an edge of concern in his voice
“I’ll check on him,” Soobin said quietly.
“I’m coming,” Yeonjun replied. Of course he was.
They slipped back into the room together, moving in sync without thinking.
Minho was curled on his side, clutching the stuffed animal Yeonjun had found for him days ago. His breathing was steady now, just restless enough to tug at their hearts.
Soobin adjusted the blanket, smoothing it over Minho’s shoulder. “He’s okay,” he murmured.
Yeonjun sank onto the floor beside the bed. “Thank god.”
Soobin joined him, sitting close enough that their knees brushed. The rest of the group had settled into their own rooms by then, their voices fading into tired murmurs through the thin motel walls.
Yeonjun leaned his head back against the wall. “I hate this part.”
Soobin glanced at him. “What part?”
“The part where we pretend we’re fine so the kid doesn’t worry.”
Soobin’s expression softened. “You’re doing a good job.”
Yeonjun huffed a laugh. “I don’t feel like I am.”
“You are,” Soobin said. “You always are.”
They fell into a silence that only existed between people who had survived too much together in this new world, and the previous one.
After a long moment, Soobin whispered, “Do you ever think about how weird this is?”
Yeonjun let out a soft laugh. “All the time.”
“I mean—” Soobin gestured vaguely around the room. “Us. Here. Doing this. Taking care of a kid while running from monsters and sleeping on motel floors.”
Yeonjun tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. “It doesn’t feel real.”
“It feels,” Soobin said. “Like everything is happening in 2x speed and we have no chance to catch up to any of it.”
“Yeah.”
Another quiet stretch surrounded the room.
Soobin shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing Yeonjun’s. “Sometimes I think about… how close we’ve come to losing each other.”
Yeonjun’s breath caught. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m serious,” Soobin murmured. “Every time something happens, every time someone screams or something moves in the dark… I think about what would happen if you weren’t there. And I hate it.”
Yeonjun stared at him, throat tight. “Soobin…”
“You know you’re my best friend,” Soobin said, voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t get eaten.”
Yeonjun let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “Trust me, I’m trying not to.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Soobin said, softer now. “I don’t think I could do this without you.”
Yeonjun’s heart clenched just enough that he felt it, a sharp and warm and terrifying feeling in his chest. “I’m glad you’re here too.”
Soobin’s head tipped sideways until it rested lightly against Yeonjun’s shoulder this time.
Yeonjun didn’t move or even breathe for a second.
Then he relaxed, letting his cheek rest against the top of Soobin’s hair. The contact was small, barely there, but it felt like something inside him finally exhaled.
Just two scared friends trying to feel human for a moment.
Soobin’s voice came out muffled against his shoulder. “We’re going to be okay, right?”
Yeonjun closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
Soobin nodded against him, accepting the honesty.
They stayed like that, leaning into each other, sharing warmth, sharing fear, until sleep finally pulled them under again, slow and heavy and inevitable.
—-
The school wasn’t part of any plan.
They were just driving, half‑asleep, half‑starved, and half‑alive, when the trees thinned and a building rose out of the fog like something the world had forgotten and hidden away just for them. A tall fence wrapped around it, rusted but intact. The windows were dusty but unbroken. The courtyard was overgrown, wild grass swallowing the pavement, but nothing moved inside.
It looked untouched. Yeonjun tried to suppress his hope before it would inevitably be crushed agin. Attachment was the unspoken curse of the apocalypse, one that he found himself in more than he cared to admit.
He blinked hard. “Is that…?”
Soobin leaned forward from the back seat, Minho curled against his chest, his cheek pressed to Soobin’s hoodie. “A school?”
Kai squinted. “Why is it just… there?”
Taehyun shrugged. “Maybe the universe finally decided to give us a break.”
Beomgyu snorted, but even he sounded hopeful. “Doubt it.”
Jin slowed the van to a crawl, eyes scanning the perimeter. “Should we check it out?”
Before anyone could answer, Yoongi said, calm and certain, “We’re clearing it.”
Everyone turned.
Yoongi just shrugged. “It’s big, intact, and defensible.”
And that was that.
They approached cautiously, weapons out, steps quiet, breath held. The front doors were locked, but the side entrance groaned open with a long metallic sigh. Inside, the air was stale but safe. No bodies, no blood, and no signs of walkers. Just dust, silence, and the eerie stillness of a place abandoned mid‑apocalypse.
“Holy shit,” Beomgyu whispered. “It’s actually empty.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Taehyun muttered, nudging him with his shoulder.
They split into pairs to sweep the building. Yeonjun and Soobin took the second floor, Minho’s small hands curled into Soobin’s shirt as he followed behind them.
Every classroom they opened looked frozen in time, the desks pushed aside, papers scattered across the floor, and chalkboards half‑erased with equations no one would ever finish. Sunlight filtered through dirty windows in soft, muted beams. It felt like the world had paused mid‑sentence and never resumed.
Soobin ran his fingers over a row of lockers, dust streaking under his touch. “It’s weird. Like everyone just… left.”
“At least they left us something,” Yeonjun said.
They shared a small smile, tired, relieved, and a little disbelieving. And Yeonjun found himself still staring at Soobin’s retreating form as the exited, his head a mess of thoughts.
–
By late afternoon, the group reconvened in the cafeteria. Yoongi spread out a very-very ripped map of the school on a table that he said he took from the principal's office. “We need to divide sleeping rooms. Probably minimum two or three per room solely for safety.”
Beomgyu immediately pointed at a second‑floor classroom with big windows. “I want that one.”
Soobin said, “Me too.”
Yeonjun added, “Same.”
The three of them stared at each other.
Beomgyu narrowed his eyes. “Why do you two want it?”
Yeonjun shrugged. “Good lighting.”
Soobin nodded. “Big windows.”
Taehyun sighed, giving Beomgyu a look. “Just share it. It’s big enough.”
Beomgyu scoffed. “Ugh im not sharing it with them, Taehyun where are you staying I’ll room with you.”
Soobin and Yeonjun tried not to look too pleased, as Beomgyu and Taehyun sauntered off to their chosen room.
—
Their first night watch was on the roof. The air was cold, the sky clear, and the city far enough away that the silence actually felt almost peaceful. Soobin handed Yeonjun a granola bar he’d definitely stolen. “Don’t ask where I got it.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Yeonjun said, taking it from his hand. “Food is food, thank you.”
They sat shoulder‑to‑shoulder, legs stretched out, sharing snacks and stories. The kind of stories they rarely had time for before; trainee evaluations that made them want to quit, the loneliness of dorm life, the weirdness of fame, the exhaustion of pretending to be perfect, the strange relief of not having to anymore.
“Remember that one evaluation where you cried?” Soobin asked.
“I did not cry.”
“You did.”
“You’re delusional.”
Soobin laughed, quiet, breathy, the kind of laugh he only let out when he felt safe.
At some point, Yeonjun leaned his head back against the wall, eyes half‑closed. “It’s weird. I thought I’d miss it more.”
“Me too,” Soobin said.
“Do you?”
“Some parts.”
“Which parts?”
Soobin hesitated. “Weirdly, the dancing.”
Yeonjun’s chest tightened at the thought of their late night practices, trying to perfect choreography before shows. “Yeah.”
–
The next morning, they started really cleaning their shared room. Dust coated everything. Old desks were stacked in the corner, a chalkboard covered in faded equations stretched across one wall. Yeonjun pushed open a window, coughing as stale air rushed out. “At least it doesn’t smell like death.”
Soobin laughed. “Give it time.”
“You’re right, I can smell you from here, only a matter of time before you stink the place up.” Yeonjun said, giving him an exaggerated smile.
“Trust me, if I could shower again, I would.” He shot back, “also, like you smell any better?”
Yeonjun grabbed the collar of his shirt, holding it out exaggeratedly in Soobins’ direction. “Want to find out? I bet one granola bar you smell way worse.”
Soobin shrugged, dropping the desk and beginning to walk over to him.
He released his hand from his collar, holding it out in front of him to stop the advancing Soobin. “Ew I was joking.”
Soobin just gave him an exaggerated scrunch of his face, holding his nose as he walked past him to stack scattered items in a box.
After the smell debacle, they worked in comfortable silence, moving desks, sweeping floors, wiping windows. Every so often, they’d pause and look at each other like they were remembering something from years ago and talk about it for a second.
Soobin found an old yearbook under a pile of papers. “Look at this.”
Yeonjun flipped through it. “These kids had no idea what was coming.”
“Neither did we.”
Yeonjun’s voice softened. “Do you ever think about how different things could’ve been?”
Soobin didn’t answer right away. “Sometimes.”
“What do you think about?”
Soobin hesitated. “Us. Before all this.”
Yeonjun swallowed. “Me too.”
Yeonjun didn’t know why the air suddenly felt heavier.
By evening, the room looked almost livable—two blanket mattresses on the floor,
folded neatly, a spare lantern on a desk, the small pile of snacks Soobin definitely stole, and Minho’s stuffed animal sitting on the windowsill like a guardian.
Yeonjun sat on his mattress, stretching his sore back. “This feels… nice I guess.”
Soobin sat across from him, knees pulled to his chest. “Yeah. It does.”
The school was becoming a home, and the danger outside felt far away.
And the closeness between them, already strong, was tightening into something neither of them had words for yet.
But it was there in the quiet in their shared room. In the stolen snacks and the way they kept drifting closer without meaning to.
And neither of them tried to stop it.