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The practice room lights buzzed faintly overhead, the only sound left after Haru finally killed the music at 2:11 a.m.
He stood in the center of the floor for a long minute, hands on his hips, chest heaving, staring at the mirror like it owed him an explanation. His reflection stared back, sweat-soaked hoodie clinging to his shoulders, hair dark and plastered across his forehead, eyes sunken and dull. He looked like someone who’d been running from something for days and still hadn’t outrun it. The air felt thick, heavy with his own frustration, and every breath tasted like failure.
Why couldn’t he do this? Dancing was supposed to be his escape, his language, the one thing that always made sense when nothing else did. But now, even that betrayed him.
Eight days of this, eight endless, grinding days, and all he had to show for it was a knot in his stomach and a head full of half-formed ideas that crumbled the second he tried to shape them.
He tried one more time.
Just eight counts. Something. Anything.
He counted himself in under his breath- five, six, seven, eight- and moved.
The first step felt wrong, mechanical, like he was forcing his body through someone else’s motions. The second felt borrowed, a pale imitation of styles he’d seen a hundred times before. By the fourth, his arms dropped, heavy and useless at his sides. Disgust twisted in his gut, sharp and familiar now after so many nights like this.
Nothing.
He dropped to the floor instead, knees hitting the wood with a dull thud that echoed too loudly in the empty room. His forehead pressed to his folded arms, he let the coolness of the floor seep through his sleeves, grounding him just enough to keep the tears at bay.
But the thoughts wouldn’t stop swirling: You’re supposed to be the dancer. This is your thing. If you can’t even do this, what are you here for?
The group was counting on him, the comeback was looming over him like a shadow, every delay was his fault. He imagined the choreographers’ disappointed nods, the members exchanging worried glances behind his back. Useless. Replaceable. The words looped, relentless, until his chest felt too tight, breaths coming shallow and ragged.
Tomoya’s section had come together so effortlessly, like breathing. Yu’s too, with that quiet confidence that made everything look easy. And Haru? He was the one dragging his feet, the weak link in a chain that was supposed to be unbreakable. And every time Haru had asked for help, quietly, almost ashamed, they’d given it without hesitation.
Tomoya effortlessly and kindly breaking down transitions over late-night coffee. Yu sitting cross-legged on the practice-room floor at 1 a.m., patiently walking him through steps until Haru could almost feel the shape of something good.
But more than the advice, it was Yu’s presence that had kept Haru from completely unraveling these past eight days.
Yu had a way of showing up exactly when the frustration started to feel like drowning. Not loud about it. Never dramatic. Just... effortlessly there. He’d walk in, drop onto the floor against the back wall with two iced Americanos and no explanation.
He’d stay quiet while Haru ran the same section over and over until his legs shook. Passing him the colder drink of the two without looking up when Haru finally collapsed beside him, panting. Saying only, “You’re gonna crash,” in that low, matter-of-fact voice that somehow made the words feel like care instead of criticism.
When Haru’s temper would finally snap and he’d kick the speaker stand hard enough to bruise his toes, Yu didn’t lecture him. He barely said anything at all. He just stood up, dragged Haru into the middle of the floor, and started filming one of their old TikTok challenges on his phone.
There was no warning. No asking if Haru was okay, because Yu already knew he wasn’t. Just the familiar beat filling the room until Haru was laughing instead of cursing, cheeks flushed from movement instead of shame.
Every time Yu left, he’d squeeze Haru into a hug once, firm, brief, grounding, and murmur the same thing: “Don’t stay too late.” And every time Haru ignored it, because the second Yu walked out the door, the quiet rushed back in twice as loud, twice as heavy.
That was the thing Haru couldn’t quite admit even to himself: Yu had become his anchor without either of them ever saying it out loud.
Not the flashy, dramatic kind of support he’d get from Tomoya or Sogeon. The quiet, steady kind. The kind that made Haru realize, slowly, uncomfortably, that when everything else felt like it was slipping, Yu’s presence was the one thing that could pull him back to solid ground.
That was why, night after night, the thought of going straight to his own bed felt impossible. Because alone, the thoughts got louder, meaner, sharper. But with Yu around, even if he was just sitting there doom-scrolling through his phone, the noise dulled to something manageable.
Tonight, though, even that comfort felt out of reach.
Haru didn’t know how long he stayed like that- A few minutes? An hour? Time blurred in the almost sterile look of the practice studio. Eventually, he pushed himself up, muscles protesting, and packed his bag with mechanical movements that felt detached- autopilot.
His bag slung heavy over one shoulder. His hood pulled low to hide his face, even from himself (mainly from himself). His building key card slipped into his pocket with trembling fingers.
The walk back to the dorm felt longer than it ever had before, each step dragging against the cold and wet February pavement. Wind sliced straight through his thin sweats, biting at his exposed skin, but he barely registered it.
His mind was elsewhere, replaying all his failed attempts, questioning every choice that he had made that had led him here.
Maybe if I’d started earlier. Maybe if I wasn’t so damn stubborn about doing it alone.
Yu’s visits flashed through his thoughts: the quiet company, the distractions that pulled smiles out of him when he thought he’d forgotten how to. Yu, who never pushed, just... stayed. It was more than Haru deserved, especially when he couldn’t even admit to himself how much he needed it.
By the time he reached the dorm building his fingers were numb. He fumbled with the key card and almost ended up dropping it twice at the entrance.
Inside the dorm, everything was hushed. The kitchen clock glowed 2:34 in a soft blue hue. There was a single light still on above the sink, Seita’s doing, probably. Haru paused there for a second, staring at the empty counter, breathing in the faint leftover smell of ramyeon and microwave rice.
He showered in the dark, only keeping the dim bulb above the mirror, that Tomoya uses to do his makeup, on. The hot water hit his skin like needles, then eased into warmth that almost felt like comfort.
He stood under the water until his skin pruned and the steam made everything hazy and disorienting. Haru quietly begged the water to rinse away the knot in his chest. It didn’t. The thoughts just looped louder in the white noise: You’re holding them back. They deserve someone who doesn’t fall apart over eight counts.
He exited the bathroom, towel around his waist, another over his shoulders. He pulled on loose gray sleep pants and Yu’s old black tee. The one Haru stole from the clean laundry pile, that still smelled faintly of cedar and Yu’s shampoo. His safety clothing. He needed every layer of it tonight.
He meant to stay in his own room, he really did.
Instead, he found himself standing outside Yu and Sogeon’s door, bare feet running cold on the laminate, shaky hand hovering over the knob.
They’re asleep. You’re going to wake them. You’re going to be the problem again.
But the pull was stronger than the shame.
He turned the knob so slowly the latch barely made any noise, but in the dead silence of the dorm, it felt like a shout. Haru winced, freezing in the threshold as his heart hammered against his ribs.
The room unfolded before him. The air was warmer here, thicker, carrying that familiar mix of Yu’s cologne, cedar and something clean, like fresh sheets- and Sogeon’s shampoo, soft and faintly fruity from the bottle they all shared. It wrapped around Haru like an unwelcome reminder of how much he craved this space, this closeness, even as a voice in his head whispered he didn’t belong.
Moonlight spilled through the half-open curtains, painting everything in pretty grays and blues. Yu lay closest to the window, on his back, one arm flung out toward the edge of the mattress, the other curled protectively around Sogeon.
Sogeon was tucked tight against Yu’s side, face half-buried in the crook of Yu’s neck, messy hair fanning across Yu’s collarbone, one small hand fisted loosely in Yu’s sleep shirt as if holding on even in dreams. Their legs tangled under the blanket in a casual, intimate knot. Breaths synced in slow, even rhythms. Peaceful in a way that made Haru’s chest ache with something soft and sharp.
Envy, maybe. Or longing so deep it hurt.
He stood there longer than he should have, one foot still in the hallway, the other barely inside, letting the scene sink in like salt in a wound.
They’re complete. They don’t need you crashing in.
Yu and Sogeon had always had that something the others didn’t. Something private, unspoken, that the rest of the group tiptoed around with fond smiles.
Sharing a room, sharing clothes, sharing those quiet looks that said more than words ever could. Yu would drop everything for Sogeon- had done it a hundred times, from late-night talks when Sogeon got homesick to pulling him into hugs that lingered just a second too long.
It wasn’t jealousy Haru felt, not exactly. It was inferiority. Like he was the outsider peeking into a bubble he could never burst, never join.
Who are you to want this? The thought twisted in his gut. You’re the strong one, remember? The one who doesn’t need coddling. And even if you did, why would Yu give it to you when he’s already got Sogeon?
His hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He wasn’t allowed to want comfort from Yu, not like this, not in the dead of night, not when it meant intruding on whatever sacred thing they shared. He was greedy for even standing here, pathetic for needing it so badly his legs wouldn’t move to leave.
The faint scent of Yu’s cologne lingered stronger now that he was inside the room. It hit him like it always did. Steady. Safe. But tonight it only amplified the hollow ache, reminding him of all the times Yu had offered that safety in the practice room, only for Haru to pull away too soon, too proud to lean in fully.
Yu’s breathing changed, a subtle hitch followed by a slow exhale. His lashes fluttered, then his eyes opened, dark and soft in the moonlight. Yu found Haru immediately. There was no surprise in his expression. Just quiet recognition.
“Haru,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep, wrapping around Haru’s name like it belonged there. Like Haru belonged there.
Haru swallowed. Throat tight, the words sticking like thorns. “I didn’t mean to wake you-”
“You didn’t.” He interrupted. Yu shifted his head on the pillow, eyes never leaving Haru’s face, searching him in that way that always made Haru feel seen. Sometimes too much so. “You’ve been standing there a while.”
Heat crawled up Haru’s neck, embarrassment flooding him in hot waves. He shifted his weight, toes curling against the cool floor. He was caught between bolting and crumbling.
He knows. He always knows. You look pathetic. Desperate. Go before he pities you.
“I was just-” He gestured uselessly toward the hallway, his voice barely a whisper, laced with the shame of wanting something he felt he had no right to want. “I’ll go. Sorry for... this.”
“Haru.” Yu’s voice dropped lower, gentle but final. The same tone he’d used so many nights in the practice room when Haru was fraying at the edges, when the world felt too heavy and Yu was the only thing keeping it from crushing him. “Come here.”
The words landed soft and sure, and something in Haru’s chest cracked open wider. Haru stepped inside fully. The door clicked shut behind him. Quiet, final, sealing him in the foreign space with his own vulnerability.
Haru crossed the room on silent, bare feet, each step feeling like an unspoken confession. He stopped at the edge of the mattress, heart pounding so loud he was sure Yu could hear it.
Yu watched him, patient. Then very carefully eased Sogeon a few centimeters left without fully waking him. He stretched his right arm out across the empty space that created. His palm up. Open. Waiting.
The mattress dipped under Haru’s weight as he sat down. The sound was barely audible, but it was loud enough in his own ears to make him feel like he’s an intrusion. Yu didn’t rush him, he just watched. His dark eyes were steady in the moonlight, searching Haru’s face with that quiet intensity that always made Haru feel stripped bare.
Yu’s hand moved to latch around Haru’s wrist, then slid to his palm, fingers threading through Haru’s with deliberate care. His thumb found the ridge of Haru’s knuckles and began brushing slow, gentle arcs over them like he was trying to smooth out every jagged edge Haru carried inside.
The touch was so soft it almost hurt. Haru stared at their joined hands, at the way Yu’s larger fingers curled protectively around his, and something in his chest twisted viciously.
He shouldn’t be doing this. Not for me.
Yu shifted onto his side just enough to face Haru fully, careful not to disturb Sogeon, who was still curled against his back, small hand fisted in Yu’s shirt. The movement brought Yu closer to Haru, close enough that Haru could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint remnants of cologne on his skin. Yu lifted their joined hands and pressed a slow kiss to Haru’s knuckles, lips lingering there like a promise.
“Talk to me,” Yu whispered, voice low and rough from sleep but thick with worry now. ‘’What’s going on in that little head of yours?”
Haru paused, holding back the words he so desperately wanted to say out loud. After a faint squeeze from Yu, silent reassurance, they did.
“I couldn’t do it,” he whispered, voice raw and small. “The chorus. It’s been eight days and I still have nothing. Nothing that feels right. Nothing worth showing anyone the staff, you guys, let alone the fans. Tomoya finished his part in three nights. You did yours in four. And I’m just… sitting there. Running the same sections over and over until my legs give out, and it’s still garbage. I’m holding everyone back, we’re behind schedule because of me. Everyone’s waiting on me, and I’m—” His voice cracked. “I’m failing. I’m failing all of you.”
Yu’s thumb kept moving, slow and steady, never stopping.
Haru swallowed hard, eyes burning. “I thought maybe if I stayed later tonight, it would click. But it didn’t. It just got worse. And now I’m here, shaking like some kid who can’t handle his own shit, and I—” He let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Yu started to speak, but Haru shook his head. He interrupted him before Yu ever got the chance to speak up.
“I’m useless.”
Yu’s grip tightened fractionally, not painful, just enough to say I’m here, I’m listening.
“You’re not useless,” Yu said quietly, firmly. “You’re the furthest thing from useless.” Haru let out a wet, bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not saying it because I have to.” Yu lifted their joined hands again, this time pressing Haru’s palm flat against his own chest so Haru could feel the steady thud of his heart. “I’m saying it because it’s true. And because I hate seeing you tear yourself apart like this.”
Haru stared at where their hands rested over Yu’s heart. The rhythm was slow, steady, nothing like the frantic beating of his own. He wanted to believe it, believe Yu. God, he wanted to believe every word. But the voice in his head was louder, crueler.
He’s just being kind. He does this for everyone. He does it for Sogeon because he loves him. He does it for you because you’re falling apart and he’s too good to let you drown.
He tried to pull his hand back but Yu didn’t let go. Instead, he brought Haru’s hand to his lips again, kissing the center of his palm this time, slow and deliberate.
“Stop,” Yu murmured against his skin. “Stop thinking you don’t deserve this.”
Haru’s breath hitched. “I don’t. Not like this. Not... not when you already have—” His eyes instinctively flicked toward Sogeon, still sleeping peacefully against Yu’s side, small and safe and so obviously cherished. “You have him. I shouldn’t be here taking it from him, and expecting something from you.”
Haru’s gaze flicked to Sogeon’s sleeping form again. He looked small, peaceful, tucked so perfectly against Yu’s side. Like he was meant to be there.
“I’m not him. I’m not supposed to need you the same way. I’m supposed to be the strong one. The one who doesn’t fall apart. But I’m sitting here anyway, wanting your arms around me like some greedy idiot who thinks he can just… take what isn’t his.”
His voice broke on the last word. He tried to pull his hand free again. Shame lighting up in his body, but Yu didn’t let go. Rather, Yu tightened his grip on his hand just enough to keep Haru there, thumb still stroking slow circles over his knuckles.
“Haru,” Yu said quietly, voice low and rough with sleep but firm underneath. “Look at me.”
Haru didn’t want to. He wanted to get up and leave, pretend he never came in here. But he looked at Yu anyway. Because he couldn’t help himself.
Yu’s eyes were dark, serious, but so warm it hurt.
“You think you’re stealing something from him?” Yu asked. “From us?”
Haru nodded once, small, miserable. Yu exhaled softly through his nose. “There’s no stealing here. There never has been.” He lifted their joined hands and pressed another slow kiss to Haru’s knuckles, lips lingering over the cool skin.
“Yes Sogeon needs more physical touch than most people. He always has. He climbs into my lap, holds my hand in the van, buries his face in my neck when the world feels too loud. I give it, because it keeps him steady. Because I love him”
Yu paused for just a second, before continuing.
‘’But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you just as much.’’ Yu turned Haru’s hand over, tracing the lines of his palm with the pad of his thumb like he was reading into his future.
“You never ask for that much,” Yu continued, voice dropping softer.
“You carry everything until you’re shaking apart in the practice room at 2 a.m., and even then, you try to laugh the pain off. You apologize for needing anything at all. Especially from me. But tonight-” Yu’s eyes held Haru’s without flinching.
“Tonight, you walked in here, and you let yourself need me. That’s not greedy. That’s brave. And I’m so fucking proud of you for it.”
Haru’s breath hitched. A tear slipped free, hot, silent, landing on their still joined hands. Yu caught it with his free thumb, brushing it away gently as if it was never there in the first place.
“I would kill for him,” Yu said, low and fierce. “I would tear the world apart to keep him safe. And the exact same thing is true for you. You’re both mine. In different ways, maybe. But mine. Always.”
Haru made a small, broken sound. It was half sob, half exhale of something too big to name right now.
Yu pulled him gently, guiding Haru down until his face pressed to the center of Yu’s chest, right over that still steady heartbeat. Yu’s arm wrapped around him fully, hand settling on the back of Haru’s neck, fingers carding through damp hair.
“You’re allowed,” Yu murmured against Haru’s temple. “You’re allowed to want this. You’re allowed to need me. There’s space for you here. You don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to apologize for it. Just… let me hold you when you’re breaking. That’s all I want.”
Haru’s shoulders shook once, hard. Then he melted into Yu’s hold and his tears feel freely. His tears soaked into Yu’s shirt, breaths coming in ragged little hitches that slowly evened out against the rise and fall of Yu’s chest.
Yu didn’t hush him. Didn’t tell him to stop. Just held him tighter, pressed soft kisses to his hairline every few seconds, whispered things like “I’ve got you” and “You’re safe” until the shaking eased.
The tears had slowed to quiet, intermittent tracks down Haru’s cheeks by the time Sogeon stirred, but the ache in his chest lingered like a bruise that refused to fade.
It started with a small, confused noise, barely audible but piercing in the heavy silence of the room. Then came the subtle shift of Sogeon’s body against Yu’s back. There was a soft rustle of sheets, the faint creak of the mattress as Sogeon adjusted, his small frame instinctively seeking the source of the change.
His lashes fluttered unevenly, caught in the silver glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. One eye cracked open, then the other, bleary and unfocused at first, still heavy with the remnants of his deep and comfortable sleep.
He blinked into the illuminated darkness slowly, his gaze sharpening as he registered the extra weight on the bed and the unfamiliar shape of Yu’s arm wrapped protectively around a third body.
“...Yu?” Sogeon’s voice emerged thick with sleep, small and raspy, laced with that instinctive tenderness he always carried, even in his most vulnerable moments. But underneath it, concern threaded through, pulling him further awake.
Sogeon lifted his head just enough to peer over Yu’s shoulder, his messy hair falling into his eyes, brows furrowing deeply as he took in Haru’s damp face pressed to Yu’s chest, the faint glisten of tears catching the moonlight.
“Haru-ya… what’s wrong?” The words came out softer now, almost a whisper, but they carried a weight that made Haru’s heart clench. Sogeon’s voice cracked slightly on the last syllable, his worry blooming fully as he propped himself up on one elbow, the blanket pooling around his waist.
His small face, usually so bright and playful during the day, now looked achingly young and earnest in the dim light. His eyes were wide, lips parted in quiet alarm, as if the sight of Haru’s pain had hit him like a physical blow.
Haru tensed instinctively, a fresh wave of shame flaring hot and bitter in his gut, twisting like a knife. Not now. Not him too. He didn’t want Sogeon to see him like this. So broken, so needy and worst of all, invading their space.
He started to pull away, his body curling inward as if to make himself smaller, less of a burden. But Yu’s arm tightened around his shoulders, firm and unyielding, keeping him still right where he was.
“It’s okay baby, he’s okay,” Yu murmured, his voice low and soothing, directed at both of them like a gentle bridge between the three. It rumbled through Haru’s chest, vibrating against his ear.
“He came because he needed us tonight. Needed to be held.”
Sogeon’s expression crumpled further, the worry etching deeper lines into his youthful features, making him look almost fragile himself. He pushed himself up fully, sitting on his knees beside them.
His eyes scanned Haru’s face with an intensity that felt heavy, like Sogeon was peering straight into the raw, exposed parts Haru had tried so hard to hide. Like Sogeon was looking for invisible wounds, for the hidden cracks that had driven Haru here in the dead of night.
The genuine concern in those eyes was palpable, almost thick in the air, weighing on Haru’s chest like an added layer of emotion he wasn’t sure he could bear.
“Haru…” Sogeon reached out without a second’s hesitation, his small hand finding Haru’s flushed cheek. Sogeon’s fingertips were cool against his feverish, tear-streaked skin. Sogeon’s thumb stroked gently across the rise of his cheekbone, grounding in a way Haru didn’t think was possible.
But, the touch carried an extra layer of quiet desperation, as if Sogeon could feel the depth of Haru’s pain radiating from his exhausted body. “Why didn’t you come sooner? You look so tired”
Haru couldn’t answer. The words were lodged somewhere behind the lump in his throat. He just stared at Sogeon, small, sleepy, impossibly earnest and felt something inside him crack wider open, flooding him with emotions he wanted to keep hidden.
Guilt, for pulling Sogeon from sleep; envy, for the ease with which Sogeon claimed this closeness; and beneath it all, a desperate, aching gratitude that threatened to overwhelm him entirely.
Sogeon’s gaze flicked to Yu for a brief moment, seeking silent confirmation, then back to Haru with renewed determination. He made a soft, resolute sound in the back of his throat, like he’d decided something non-negotiable.
“Move over a little, Yu-ya,” he said to Yu, his voice still raspy from sleep, but much firmer now. Sogeon was already scooting himself toward the edge of the bed to create more space by the time he finished speaking.
His small hands tugged gently at the blanket, rearranging it with sleepy efficiency. “Haru needs to be in the middle. I want to hold him too, so he knows he’s not alone.”
Yu didn’t argue, didn’t even want to. Yu shifted carefully, his arm guiding Haru forward with effortless gentleness, easing him into the newly made space between them.
Yu on his right, solid and warm like an unshakeable anchor, Sogeon on his left, smaller but radiating a fierce, protective energy that filled the room.
Sogeon didn’t hesitate once Haru had settled. He didn’t give Haru time to protest or pull away. Sogeon curled into Haru’s side immediately, one slender arm draping across Haru’s waist with a possessiveness that felt both innocent and profound. He gently tucked his face into the crook of Haru’s neck as if it had, actually, always belonged there. His breath felt warm and steady against Haru’s skin, his legs tangling with Haru’s under the blanket. His small hand fisting loosely in the front of Haru’s (Yu’s) stolen sleep shirt, fingers twisting the fabric like he was afraid Haru might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.
“There,” Sogeon mumbled against Haru’s collarbone, his voice already thickening with the pull of sleep again, but laced with a quiet victory. “Now you’re safe”
Haru’s breath shuddered out of him in a long, ragged exhale, his body trembling slightly as the full weight of the moment settled over him. Intense and heavy, nearly suffocating with how intense it was, but in all the best possible ways. It felt like a thick, weighed blanket, pressing down on him with love instead of burden.
Yu’s arm came around from the other side, hand settling broad and reassuring on Haru’s chest, right over his heart. His fingers traced slow, comforting circles into the skin, almost syncing with Haru’s slowing heartbeat.
Between them, Haru felt small in the best way. Enveloped, cradled, utterly wanted.
The warmth seeped into every cold, aching corner inside him. Into the hollow void behind his ribs where doubt had festered for days; the tight knot that had twisted in his stomach like a constant reminder of failure; the sharp, jagged edges of envy and guilt that had kept him frozen in the doorway for so long.
It all softened now, melting rapidly under the dual heat of their bodies, their breaths, their unspoken promises.
Sogeon nuzzled closer, his sleepy hum vibrating against Haru’s throat like a lullaby, sending tiny shivers through him.
“You’re warm now, right?” Sogeon whispered, his words slurring slightly as sleep tugged at him again. But his tone remained heavy with genuine care, with the kind of love that weighed on the heart in the most grounding way.
Haru nodded once, his chin brushing Sogeon’s soft hair. His tears slipped free again, but quieter this time, slower. They weren’t from pain or isolation, but from something deeper, softer, almost too much to contain.
A heavy fullness resonated in his chest, like his heart was expanding beyond its limits, filled with a love that pressed against his ribs, demanding to be felt in every beat of his heart.
“Yeah,” he managed, voice barely a breath, thick with the emotion clogging his throat. “I’m warm. I’m… I’m okay.”
Yu pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Haru’s temple, his lips warm and steady against the skin.
“Sleep,” he murmured, the word a gentle command wrapped up in affection. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Sogeon’s fingers tightened in Haru’s shirt in response to the words, a final anchor and reassurance before he surrendered fully to sleep. Haru closed his eyes, letting the tears spill silently down his temples into his hair.
The last thing he felt before sleep finally pulled him under was the steady rise and fall of two different chests against his sides, two sets of arms holding him like he belonged exactly there, two heartbeats syncing slowly with his own until everything blurred into a quiet haze.
For the first time in eight days, the world around him felt kind. Overwhelmingly, achingly kind.
And best of all, he felt loved.
-
Haru submitted his finished choreography the very next afternoon. The enthusiastic cheers and support of Sogeon and Yu were heard in the background of the video the whole way through.
And Haru smiled like an idiot watching it back, over, and over again.