Archive of Our Own

In ancient Greek thought, wisdom was often preserved through concise truths;
Ἡ μοῖρα ἵστησιν ὅν δεῖ σωθῆναι.'

A belief passed down to mean that fate does not halt without reason, but pauses those it seeks to keep safe.

Sang would soon come to learn that everything felt different once his ankle was wrapped tight, and he could no longer follow the world on his own two feet.

───

It wasn’t that Yeosang hadn’t known rest was a crucial part of health. He simply believed he could outpace the need for it.

He had been doing well lately. Better than well, even- keeping up, showing up, finding a kind of balance he’d worked hard to build.

And when the days finally stopped demanding so much after their latest comeback, he saw opportunity instead of pause, reaching for long-delayed plans with bright, almost impatient eagerness.

Meals slipped into the background first- replaced with vitamins swallowed between practices, often on an empty stomach, more habit than nourishment.

Vegetables sat untouched, proper meals postponed, the body expected to keep up on intention alone.

Extra practice followed. Longer sessions. Repeated runs through choreography that already lived in his muscles. Vocal drills late into the night. English lessons squeezed in where sleep should have been.

It hadn’t begun as neglect.

On nights when Sang arrived home meaning to rest, San was already heading back out, shoes laced, momentum waiting.

Sometimes the older joined to stay fit. Sometimes to catch up with one another. Sometimes because it just felt easier to keep moving together than to sit still alone.

One session turned into two, two into routine, and before long, exertion followed him right up to the hour meant to lay snug under his blankets.

Yunho had been the first to notice these changes throughout the past few weeks.

He’d reached out as a friend, once or twice, in passing- that growth didn’t always come from choosing the harder path, that the body needed something solid to build on if the mind was to stay clear.

Besides, the other could tell from his own past experiences that the adrenaline of movement would dull hunger until it felt optional at a point, excitement filling the space where appetite should be living.

And Yunho's wisdom couldn't be closer to the truth, because nowadays, by the time Yeosang's body asked for nutrition properly, he would find himself distracted by the very thing he would be doing- reaching instead for supplements meant to bridge gaps he didn’t notice forming all that much, despite his friend's kind intervention.

To Yeosang, rest was certainly available. He knew what Yunho had meant- it just never felt urgent enough to choose.

It wasn’t lost on any of them how his schedule seemed to fill itself like air, how readily he filled every gap with something more- how often he chose more over enough.

The concern existed, ofcourse- voiced lightly, then left alone.

They knew better than to press.

Sang had never responded well to being managed, and pushing him toward rest would only have sent him running further from it.

He was a stubborn nut by nature, and all the more determined when he felt like he had something to prove.

───

The afternoon stretched on in that midweek way- practice done, but not quite polished enough to walk away from.

There was no such thing as a rush, no official block carved out for them, just a shared sense of unfinished business.

Somewhere between stretching and idle debate over what still needed work, they ordered in and ate together.

The practice room briefly cluttered with containers, lids stacked crooked, half-empty cups pushed aside as conversations came and went.

The talk drifted the way it always did these days- half-finished stories about practice, complaints about sore muscles, someone wondering out loud what tomorrow’s schedule looked like before deciding they’d deal with it later.

It was the kind of conversation that didn’t need everyone’s full attention to exist.

At the mirrors, San peeled off his T-shirt and replaced it with a sleeveless top, stretching his arms once like he was thanking the air for being there.

Mingi lingered near the table, taking a few more long pulls from his water bottle before finally twisting the cap back on, only to charm Yunho out of his last bite of ramen.

Yeosang stayed where he was, seated on the floor with his container of japchae and a protein shake held carefully in both hands.

He finished both with determination despite the way his mouth pulled at the taste of the shake, trusting it would last him through the night and into the morning.

Post-dinner energy hit in waves- someone had pulled up dance challenges on their phone, and suddenly the room was loud again, laughter bouncing off the mirrors as half-serious stretching turned into pointing and daring.

Jongho was dragged into the middle with exaggerated ceremony, the screen held up in front of him while the rest of them begged- loudly- for him to commit and shake it the way the video showed.

Yunho nearly doubled over laughing before announcing an even more unhinged challenge they should 'definitely, absolutely' film next.

Mingi had taken the floor without meaning to, mid-story about who he’d run into during a bathroom break earlier, voice rising and falling while his hands filled in the parts words couldn’t.

A few of them had scattered around to listen and intervene properly, eyes on him, reactions quick; others only caught pieces, attention flickering between his voice and their phone screens.

The lights lingered half-set across the studio, warm rather than dim, the mirrors catching and returning the light in a way that made the room feel held- gathering their attention naturally.

The music slipped in almost unnoticed, not loud enough to claim the room yet- just a soft undercurrent, opening notes settling into the air like a subtle heads-up.

In the corner, Hongjoong crouched by the stereo, fingers tapping and adjusting with practiced fussiness while Seonghwa hovered close, leaning in to murmur something about the balance, nudging a knob until the sound finally felt right again.

Shoes shifted against the floor, jackets were nudged aside, bodies gradually reorienting while the chatter thinned.

'Alright,' Yunho said, clapping his hands once as he moved to the front. 'Let's start from the prechorus, until mid-bridge then another time around.'

No complaints followed, only agreement in motion- hands braced at waists, necks tilting, shoulders circling loose while the steps ran themselves through memory, waiting for the count-in.

And so he did, taking his position at front, posture straightening and gaze sweeping over them once as his focus locked in.

Whatever he said was brief and precise- less instruction than alignment- his role as dance lead shaping the moment without needing emphasis.

'Five, six, seven, eight-'

They moved as one, bodies snapping into formation flawlessly, the spacing instinctive, practiced into them over countless run-throughs.

Yunho’s voice threaded amid the beat as they went, guidance effective and perfectly-timed, counting them through the pre-chorus while he stepped back into line mid-phrase.

He turned his head slightly while he moved, mouthing the lyrics under his breath- take my soul, take my heart, el amor es ciego- adjusting the angle of his shoulder as he did, allowing the flow of movement to speak for him.

'Let's try that 7-8 step again,' he said, circling behind them. 'Here- this part.'

He reached out briefly, nudging Hongjoong half a step to the left without breaking rhythm, his voice slipping easily between count and instruction as they reset.

'Seven, eight- one.'

He halted at the close of the section, mulling it over.

'In between the second and third arm raise,' he continued, demonstrating with his own body, '-reach here, hyung- yeah, then twist on the third step.'

Hongjoong nodded, stepping forward to mirror it when Yunho finished the phrase, hands lifting instinctively from where he showed the adjustment again.

'Okay, but remember how we were taught to work around the center,' he added, shifting his weight to trace the pathway. 'You don’t cut straight through. Think of it like wrapping around- then opening back out.'

He moved through it once more, slower this time, making the arc clear.

'For this part, mirror it for Yeosang,' he said, switching between glancing at the mirror and peeking over his shoulder. 'That way he can jump in clean without breaking the formation the way it did before.'

They shuffled and recalibrated; shoulders brushing, feet nudged into place while the formation tightened, then loosened again.

Yunho circled once more, nodding to himself, as Wooyoung stepped in to tug someone a fraction to the side, straightening angles with quick, familiar touches.

'Yeah,' Wooyoung said. 'It should work when we keep it fluid like this.'

They ran the entire part again- then once more- repetition sanding down the edges.

The count settled deeper into muscle memory each time, timing smoothing as they learned how to weave around the center without thinking about it.

Yunho pulled them back again, correcting a reach here, a step there, until the changes finally clicked and the sequence held together as one continuous line.

'One more,' he said, more suggestion than fact, though no one seemed to disagree with said initiative; they could save some serious amount of time further down the line if they'd nail this part head-on.

They stepped back into formation at rapid speed.

San shifted first, clearing the line the way they’d agreed on, Hongjoong leaning back exactly as planned to open the center a third time.

Yeosang came in from the far right, timing clean, left foot landing forward with practiced ease.

His body followed on instinct, shoulders squared, focus narrowed to the line ahead of him.

He was tired- not enough to stop, not enough to say anything- just enough that the edges of the movement felt slightly dulled, concentration stretched thin in that familiar, manageable way he'd felt more often lately.

He’d nodded along when Yunho asked for another run, unwilling to be the reason they slowed down, trusting muscle memory to carry what focus didn’t.

Besides, he was painfully aware that they already knew he hadn’t been taking proper care of himself.

Admitting he was tired would only confirm said suspicion and concern, and they would surely step in the way they always did- quietly firm, impossible to ignore.

Yeosang wasn’t ready for that kind of interference yet.

And so, he drew a slow breath through his nose when the count reset, shoulders rolling loose the way they always did, settling back into place.

He let the rhythm of the music take over, his breathing evening out as his body slipped back into a well-worn familiarity.

The studio lights felt warmer than before, the air a little thicker against his skin, but none of it mattered once he locked in- reaching flow-state.

On the next count, Yeosang stepped laterally, rotating his right side open to mirror San’s position up front.

He tracked the movement through the mirror for half a beat, adjusted his spacing, then committed forward as the formation locked back in.

His right foot was meant to cross into a brief shuffle right after- forward, then back- just enough to transition his weight.

It landed shallow.

The contact didn’t fully take, the sole skimming instead of landing solidly, and Yeosang felt it a beat too late.

When the movement reversed as the choreography demanded, his right foot snagged against the left, steps locking together where they should have separated cleanly.

Right then, Yeosang could only register that the tangle wasn’t correcting itself, the familiar movement failing to resolve into the next count.

His weight shifted automatically, searching for balance that had already slipped away.

His left foot bent where it shouldn’t have, caught awkwardly against his right, which made his body tip the wrong way.

The floor met him on an angle he couldn't have anticipated, ankle folding under before his foot could catch.

For a split second, everything slowed- the mirrors, the lights, the music still counting them forward- and then the awful thud cut through it.

A sharp, unmistakable thump.

Bone against floor.

No one reached him in time. No hands were able to catch his shoulders, neither could any arms break his fall.

There was nothing ahead of the sound, nothing fast enough to outrun it.

His shoe skidded loose with rapid speed, spinning once before coming to rest a few metres away.

Yeosang lay there in the sudden quiet, the breath instantly knocked out of his system.

He folded in on himself almost immediately after, knees scraping the floor first, the rest of him following in a rush of instinct he didn’t have time to think twice about.

His hands came up and then down again- uncertain where to place them for relief or support.

He ended up tucking his arms beneath his head, pressing his face into them and rocking himself in short, panicked motions that looked more like bracing than comfort.

The sound ripped out of him then- sharp, painfully high, raw- and then splintered into something breathless, like his lungs couldn’t decide whether to scream or gasp.

The music kept playing for a heartbeat too long.

Then everything lurched into motion.

Hongjoong was the first to spin, running for the laptop, fingers slipping as he fumbled for the track.

The music cut off mid-beat, the sudden silence crashing down heavier than the noise had ever been.

'That sound,' San whispered, voice tight, eyes locked on Yeosang.

'What- what was that?' The words came out wrong, fractured, and he took a step forward before catching himself, stopping short like he was afraid of making it worse.

Yeosang didn’t answer.

Only his breathing moved- short, uneven pulls scraping out of his chest, each one too shallow to shape into words.

Whatever he might have tried to say never made it past the pain.

The room stalled around him.

Voices hovered and faltered, everyone instinctively holding back, unsure who should move first, who he would want in such a situation.

'Hyung,' Wooyoung tried, already dropping to his knees in front of him. 'Hey- hey, can you hear me? Hyung-'

Someone else took a half-step closer but decided otherwise.

Another called his name again, softer this time, as if volume were the problem- as if a gentler approach might make him respond any sooner.

The questions came anyway, overlapping and uncertain, circling him without finding a way in.

'Where does it hurt?'
'Don’t move- wait—'
'Sang, look at me.'

Nothing seemed to reach him.

The pain kept him folded inward, sealed off and wordless- and that was when Seonghwa knew to step in.

'Hey- hey. Let’s give him a bit of a breather,' he said, voice firm without ever turning sharp, cutting cleanly through the well-meant chaos. 'I'm sure he's in a hell lot of pain right now.'

He moved while he spoke, one hand lifting in a silent stop, the other guiding bodies back just enough to open the space around the younger.

'Don’t touch his leg yet. We don’t know where the injury might be,' San added mindfully, concern written plain across his features.

'Or if there’s more than one,' Hongjoong murmured, the implication hanging like a second shoe yet to drop.

Seonghwa nodded once without looking back.

He crouched down beside him, his hand settling along Yeosang’s spine as it had countless times before.

He knew that would be enough.

Sang would feel it, know it for what it was, and understand who was there with him now.

A sound tore out of the younger before he could stop it- sharp and thin with pain, closer to a whimper than a cry, though also filled with recognition the way Hwa had intended-pulled from somewhere raw.

'Shh,' the older comforted at once, the soothe barely more than a hum, low and rhythmic as he repeated it, his hand staying where it was.

While he tried to solace, his eyes lifted, just briefly, meeting Hongjoong’s over Yeosang’s shoulder with a look on his face that told the whole story in a second.

Something was entirely wrong.

Yeosang wasn’t one to sound or behave like this.

Pain usually drew him inward- quieter, contained, something he carried rather than showed.

He endured it, waited it out, held onto whatever pride he had left, unwilling to slow anyone down or lean too hard on someone else’s support.

This was different.

This was the first time they had seen him bend so visibly under it, and that alone told them how wrong things were.

Hongjoong’s voice cut in next, calm by design, measured so it wouldn’t add to the distress filling the room naturally.

'Mingi, Jongho,' he said evenly. 'Can you grab a bottle of water and a towel, please?'

His eyes never left Yeosang as he spoke, already mapping steps ahead. 'We’ll need something to rest his foot on, eventually.'

Seonghwa caught on at the same time. They couldn’t have him stand right now- not without knowing what was wrong with his leg.

Still, Hongjoong didn’t rush.

The younger hadn’t said exactly where it hurt, though his leg was clearly involved- and staying curled on the floor like this wouldn't be doing him any favors.

'Before we move you,' he said gently, lowering his voice as he crouched closer, 'I need to check something, okay?'

He waited until Yeosang nodded- shaky, but present.

Then his hands moved with deliberate care, pressing lightly along his hips first, then his ribs, then his waist.

Each touch was followed by a soft question, murmured close, checking for pain, for reaction, for anything that might change what came next.

His hands shifted slowly, thoughtfully, never jostling him, never assuming.

He wasn’t taking chances.

If there was an injury higher up, easing the leg to relieve the ache in Yeosang’s ankle wouldn’t be responsible- not if his hip or thigh was involved.

Luckily for the younger, there didn't seem to be a major injury of any sort around those places from what their leader could tell, and so, he decided it was best to elevate the ankle for now- easing the swelling and correcting its angle as much as he safely could.

The other lifted his gaze and met Seonghwa’s for a brief second.

He didn’t say anything- just gave a small, decisive nod, eyes flicking downward to Sang's leg.

Seonghwa understood immediately.

He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice until it was meant for Yeosang alone, calm despite the tension in his chest.

'Sang… we're going to rest your leg onto a higher surface to get some pressure of and minimize swelling, okay?' He asked patiently. 'I know you don’t want to move right now- but we can’t really leave you like this, either.'

His hand remained warm at Yeosang’s back from where he leaned nearer, searching for his approval while keeping his tone kind and supportive.

The younger managed no more than a small hum of acknowledgment before folding in on himself again, attempting to breathe through the aftershocks.

'We’re going to help you sit. Slowly. I won’t let you drop.'

Yeosang’s breath hitched, then he gave another tiny, pained hum.

Seonghwa answered with a soft pat along his spine, right where his hand had been resting.

'Hyung…' his voice barely carried past his lips.

Hwa's brows drew together as he looked at him, taking in the strain written across his face.

'I know,' he murmured. 'It’ll be quick.'

He met Hongjoong’s gaze once he moved into place, and together they worked in precise coordination, Joong easing an arm around Yeosang’s side and guiding him with care, rolling him just enough for his weight to shift onto Seonghwa’s lap.

The eldest received him where he was seated on his knees, solid and grounding beneath him, while the younger followed the movement as best he could, jaw clenched.

'Almost there,' Hwa encouraged, one hand bracing his back, the other firm at his side. 'I’ve got you.'

From there, the older moved with painstaking care, easing them both down until he was properly seated, guiding Sang's twisted body until his weight eased onto his own, then slowly lowering him to the ground so he could sit fully.

The sound Yeosang made this time carried further than the previous ones.

A pained whine slipped out, strained and unmistakable, his face finally giving him away- brows drawn tight, eyes glassy with hurt as the ache flared sharp and bright from moving places- despite the effort.

They didn’t need to look closely to know.

The angle of his ankle was wrong the moment their eyes dropped to it- turned just enough to steal breaths from the room.

Color had already begun to bloom there, red spreading outward from the point of impact, skin flushed from strain and shock- the kind of change you would notice even if you weren't looking for it.

Hongjoong went very still beside them, gaze fixed there for only a second before he looked back up, voice sympathetic yet certain.

'That’s definitely broken, Sangie.'

Mingi and Jongho returned a moment later, breath a little rushed, water bottle and towel in hand.

Mingi slowed mid-step when his eyes landed on Yeosang’s ankle.

'Oh shit,' he breathed before he could stop himself.

Jongho shot him a look, but Mingi was already moving again, quickly offering the bottle to Seonghwa instead, voice dropping.

'Water.'

The older took it with a quiet thanks, never taking his eyes off their injured friend.

Hongjoong shifted closer, making sure to stay within Yeosang’s line of sight, positioning himself there deliberately so he wouldn’t startle him by accident.

'Sang,' he said softly, voice patient, 'I’m going to move your foot a little, okay? Just enough to rest it on the towel. I’ll be very careful.'

The younger didn’t answer.

His gaze flicked up briefly, unfocused, checking faces rather than words, before drifting away again.

Joong pushed his worries aside; there were more immediate things to do- make him comfortable first, then getting him to the hospital.

'I’ll talk you through it,' he said reassuringly.

He then folded the towel with careful precision and set it within reach.

Moving in, his hands bracketed Yeosang’s leg- one folding at the upper thigh, the other around his calf.

He was meticulous about what he didn’t touch, keeping well clear of the ankle, since he could only imagine the pain he was in already; he didn't need to add to it.

'Let's ease you down now,' he said quietly, more to orient himself than to reassure.

His grip tightened just enough to stabilize before he lifted, guiding the leg with deliberate slowness, angling it downward, on top of the towel neatly stacked.

The second Yeosang’s heel brushed the fabric, whatever restraint he’d been clinging to finally collapsed.

The resonance that came out of him didn’t come all at once- it poured.

A sharp, broken cry that cracked immediately into many more, breath hitching as the hurt spilled past every place he’d been holding it in.

Tears followed fast and unchecked, his face crumpling in a way none of them had ever seen like this- at least, not outside of regression.

He couldn’t contain himself even if he would've wanted to.

Every breath dragged another shriek or whine loose.

Yeosang’s eyes found Seonghwa’s first- glassy, unfocused at the edges, wide in a way that didn’t quite belong to him like this.

They locked on as though the rest of the room had simply thinned into nothing.

'Ou- ouch…'

The word fractured in his mouth- rounded and lisped at the edges- uniquely his.

Seonghwa stilled completely.

That wasn’t just pain.

That was small.

Sang had slipped.

Not just halfway, like he sometimes would if something felt uncomfortable, but wholly- and Hwa knew wholeheartedly that it meant the injury wouldn’t be something he could grit his teeth through.

A severe injury was one thing. Enduring it while little, already more sensitive, already less able to shield himself from the hurt- that was something else entirely.

It left Seonghwa momentarily awestruck, and more than a little panicked.

What followed thinned further, the sound shrinking even as it refused to stop, breath catching around it like he couldn’t decide whether to cry or call for help.

'Mah- mm- ma…'

Seonghwa didn’t look away. He couldn’t.

He already knew what lay ahead, and every part of him ached with the knowledge that Sang was going to have to go through all of it like this.

Behind him, there was a subtle intake of breath.

San swore under it, barely audible.

‘…Oh.’

Beside him, Hongjoong’s thoughts ran ahead despite himself, mapping outcomes he didn’t want to consider but had to, as a leader.

Logistics tried to push their way in- hospitals, doctors, timing- and beneath it all, the question he didn’t want to, but had to ask nonetheless pressing harder by the second.

His mouth opened before his instincts could talk him out of it.

'Should we-'

'We can’t.'

Seonghwa cut in immediately, not sharp, but absolute. Final. He didn’t even lift his head to face the other.

'I know,' Hongjoong’s gaze dropped as he nodded once, slow and resigned, knowing that had been the answer all along.

Seonghwa didn’t move from Yeosang’s side, his hand firm and grounding as ever.

'If his body slipped because it needed to survive this much pain, we don’t get to force him out of it.'

While Hongjoong and Seonghwa discussed at Yeosang’s side, Wooyoung hovered a few steps back, hands flexing at his sides.

He circled once, then again, eyes tracking everything without really settling anywhere.

'Forcing him back would only make it worse,' Seonghwa speculated out loud, clearly weighing the same options Hongjoong had dared to voice, even as he dismissed them.

'We respect what his body’s doing. We keep him safe. That’s it.'

Yunho shifted closer, stopping just short of the space Seonghwa had carved out.

His disapproval was written plainly on his face, brows drawn together as he glanced towards Yeosang once before looking back at Seonghwa.

'I get that,' he said softly, respectful but worried. 'I really do. But if we keep him like this, it’s going to expose something deeply private.’

Seonghwa inhaled sharply, already shifting forward-

'Yeah, but if we-'

A hand closed around his shoulder before he could finish.

‘Hyung,’ Hongjoong said quietly, firm without force. ‘Let him finish.’

Only then did he continue.

'He won’t be able to answer for himself, he won’t understand what’s happening, and an X-ray is going to terrify him. People won’t know how to respond- and that’s only going to cause more tears.'

'I get what you're saying, but this isn't-'

'I’ll be back in a second,' Wooyoung murmured to Hongjoong as he passed, already halfway turned. 'I need to take care of something real quick.'

He didn’t wait for an answer, slipping out of the room with rapid, purposeful steps.

More than one of them watched the other go- San’s expression tightening, Mingi’s attention drifting to the door- questions written plainly on their faces when it clicked that Wooyoung was leaving the room in its whole.

Hongjoong caught it.

He lifted one hand in a small, dismissive wave, eyes never leaving Yeosang. Not now. Not important. Later.

The silent cue worked.

The room’s focus folded back in on itself, attention returning to where it needed to be, while whatever Wooyoung had gone to handle was allowed to exist outside the moment- for now.

The younger kept his hand on the handle as he pulled the studio door shut behind him, easing it closed until the latch caught with a final click.

Wooyoung moved down the hallway without slowing.

He crossed the hall with his attention fixed on his phone, scrolling through his contacts even as he walked, brows drawn together in concentration.

He noticed the empty room on the far right- dim, unused, the door standing open just enough to invite him in.

He angled toward it, thumb pausing only long enough to tap the contact he needed.

He then stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and turned the lock on purpose, eyes never leaving the screen.

The dialing tone pulsed outward, reverberating faintly against the walls.

Wooyoung waited through it, shifting his weight, fingers tightening briefly against the edge of the table as the buzz repeated itself.

It clicked, and the line opened.

'Hyung?' Yeonjun answered right away, amusement clear in his voice. 'This is unexpected. Missed me that much already?'

Wooyoung let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh on another day.

'Yeah,' he said, a little thin. 'Something like that.'

There was a faint rustle on the other end of the line, the sound of Yeonjun shifting his phone, perhaps walking to another room or area for privacy, if the other had to take a guess.

'Okay,' he said lightly. 'That didn’t sound convincing. What’s up?'

Wooyoung dragged a hand down his face, thumb pressing briefly into his brow before he answered.

'I’m sorry to call you out of nowhere. I know it’s late.'

'You never apologize unless it’s serious,' Yeonjun replied, teasing gone now, replaced by something more attentive. 'What happened?'

Wooyoung paced once across the small room before stopping, eyes fixed on the floor as if it could help him organize the mess in his head.

'It’s Yeosang. He got hurt during practice. His ankle-' He paused, jaw tightening. 'It’s bad.'

The silence on the other end sharpened.

'Okay,' the other said slowly. 'Bad how?'

'He can’t put any weight on it. The angle’s off,' Wooyoung answered, words coming quicker now that he’d started.

'We haven’t moved him much yet, but-' He swallowed. 'He slipped. He’s regressed.'

There it was.

Yeonjun didn’t react out loud, but the older could hear the shift anyway- the evident recalibration of someone who understood exactly what that meant.

'Alright,' he said after a beat, voice mindful. 'I’m guessing this is why you’re calling me instead of emergency services.'

'Yeah,' Wooyoung said with a sigh. 'We can’t just bring staff in. Not like this. He won’t understand what’s happening, and strangers- doctors-' He shook his head, even though the other couldn’t see it. 'It would scare the hell out of him.'

'I get it,' Yeonjun said immediately. 'So you’re thinking imaging first.'

'X-ray,' Wooyoung confirmed. 'And then a cast, if that’s what it is. You’re licensed for diagnostic imaging, and you’re certified for plaster casting.'

His voice dipped, the ask surfacing naturally.

'You're good with littles,' he added, softer now. 'You took care of me once when I slipped- wrong waiting room, wrong day, right person. I figured it wouldn’t be any different with him. I need someone he won’t panic with.'

There was a brief pause on the line.

'I’m not scheduled at the hospital on weekdays,' Yeonjun explained. 'I usually cover weekends. But I can come in for this.'

Wooyoung halted mid-step.

'You’re sure?'

'I’m sure,' Yeonjun replied, decisive at last. 'I can get to you. I’ll bring the van- we’ll keep it discreet. I’ll drive him myself if you want, maybe one or two of you could tag along. It'll be fine, hyung.'

The older closed his eyes, relief hitting hard enough to make his chest ache. 'I owe you,' he said quietly. 'I owe you big time.'

Yeonjun huffed, fond and familiar. 'You can treat me to dinner next week. I’m on my way, hyung.'

The younger stayed on the line just long enough to make sure Wooyoung had everything- a reminder about comfort items, a clear plan for the side entrance- care threaded through every detail.

The call ended a second later.

He turned the screen off and pocketed his phone, hand hovering there a second longer than necessary before urgency snapped him into motion.

The mechanism gave beneath his fingers, and he eased the door open just long enough to slip back into the hall.

Yeonjun was already on his way, which meant everything else had to fall into place now.

No dithering, no more waiting for the room to decide what to do next.

Sang needed to be prepared- bundled, supported, and thoroughly arranged before they could move him from the studio to the hospital without adding unnecessary strain.

Wooyoung slowed just before the studio, catching himself mid-stride.

Rushing in like this would only raise the temperature in the room.

He took a deep breath, longer than the last, grounding himself in the steps ahead- what needed to be done, in what order- and felt his concentration lock in.

When he moved again, it was with purpose rather than panic.

The room lifted its head when he stepped back inside, tension tightening instinctively as if it could feel the shift in him before he spoke.

Jongho stood near the wall with his phone pressed to his ear, voice low and careful as he spoke to someone on the other end- staff, maybe management- relaying just enough to explain what had happened, offering only what was necessary.

The calm complimented him- it always did- but Wooyoung still caught the small tell, the way Jongho’s free hand curled into a fist at his side, worry peeking through the otherwise composed facade he wore so well.

Seonghwa sat with Yeosang pressed fully into his chest, Sang’s body lax with a mix of pain and fatigue, his head nestled beneath the older's chin in wordless trust.

San stayed near, kneeling near Sang's legs without intruding, his attention fixed and ready to step in if needed.

Yunho lingered just behind him, hands loosely folded, gaze moving between Sang’s face and Seonghwa’s with silent vigilance.

Across the room, Mingi worked quietly, cutting the music and powering down equipment, the room gradually emptying of noise as he prepared it for departure without being asked.

Even without a clear plan yet, they all knew this was heading one way- Yeosang would need to see a doctor at the hospital, and there was no point pretending otherwise.

Wooyoung took the entire ambience in with a single sweep, then lifted one hand, palm down, a subtle signal rather than a command.

'It’s okay,' he said calmly, voice level by design. 'We’re good.'

The room exhaled just a fraction.

Jongho glanced over, relief flickering across his face while he murmured something into the phone and turned slightly away to wrap things up.

Mingi paused mid-motion.

San and Yunho glanced up at him fully now.

Hongjoong met Wooyoung’s eyes then, offering him a look of question.

From his place near the door, the younger returned the gaze and tipped his head slightly in invitation.

Hongjoong crossed to him without comment, which made Woo lean in closer, angling his body to keep the exchange private- he figured it was only right that the leader see the full picture first.

'I called Yeonjun,' he said quietly.

The older's reaction was immediate.

His breath caught, eyes flying wide from where he stared at him with naked disbelief- the kind that asked, plainly, if he’d completely lost his mind.

'You- Woo-' he started, barely above a whisper.

'I know how it sounds,' the younger cut in gently, shaking his head- he had expected a response like this, after all.

'Listen- Yeonjun and I are close. I know what he’s qualified for. He’s trained in X-ray imaging and casting, but more than that, he knows about littles. He understands regression. If Sang is treated by him directly, it stays discreet.'

Hongjoong’s expression shifted- not quite disagreement- just careful concentration while he pieced together what Woo was implying.

The younger sighed, locking eyes with Joong before elaborating any further.

'It's the only way we get him care without exposing him.'

Hongjoong glanced at him for a beat longer, processing fast, then nodded once, sharp and decisive despite the mess of thoughts clearly colliding behind his eyes.

'Okay- yeah. Yeah. That… that works,' he said, exhaling hard. 'Good call, Woo. Really good call.'

The younger knew they didn't have time to linger on this for too long, and therefore got the ball rolling.

'Great, let's get started.'

Hongjoong gave him the go-ahead, and the younger didn’t waste it.

Wooyoung clapped his hands once, sharp enough to cut through the noise, eyes sweeping the room until he had everyone’s attention.

'Alright friends- we’ve got about ten minutes,' he said, his voice pitched to carry. 'Maybe less.'

The room oriented further towards him, intent on following his directions.

Hongjoong straightened, leader mode clicking fully into place.

'Okay,' he said. 'What’s ahead?'

'Yeonjun’s on his way with a van,' Woo explained, addressing the group while staying anchored beside their leader.

The name drew a handful of surprised looks, though no one interrupted.

They trusted Wooyoung to know what he was doing.

'He’ll pick us up from the side of the building. No front entrance. He’s handling Sang directly once we’re there, which means we need him ready to move by the time Yeonjun arrives.'

Hongjoong nodded once, the information slotting neatly into place.

He didn’t hesitate- didn’t need to.

'Alright,' he said, already shifting into logistics. 'Then this is how we do it.'

He glanced around the room, assessing quickly.

'Two of you head back to the apartment. Grab Sang’s emergency bag- everything he might need if the rest of us join later. Clothes, comfort items, bottle. Be fast with it.'

'I’ll go,' Yunho said straight away.

'Me too,' Jongho added, reaching for his jacket.

'Good,' Hongjoong said. 'Straight there and back.'

Yunho was already moving before the older finished speaking, hand catching Jongho’s sleeve in a brief, wordless agreement.

'We’ll be right back,' he promised quickly.

'Five minutes there, five back,' Jongho added, already halfway to the door.

They were gone a second later, the studio door swinging shut behind them as they headed for the dorms at a near jog- Sang’s emergency bag, comfort items, spare clothes in case they'll have to cut his sweatpants to get to the injury, and his bottle.

Hongjoong tracked them for half a heartbeat, then refocused.

'When Yeonjun arrives,' he said patiently, '-two of us should go with Sang and stay with him through the intake. Everyone else follows as soon as they can- Wooyoung’s shared the route and the staff parking with me in order for us to keep this discreet.'

'I’ll go with him,' Wooyoung said.

Hongjoong’s response came just as quickly.

'Then Seonghwa hyung comes along,' he added. 'Taking his comfort person out of the equation right now would be ridiculous.'

The room accepted this immediately.

'Agreed,' Woo hummed.
San gave a short nod. 'Makes sense.'

Hongjoong glanced toward the side of the room.

'Did we loop management in?'

Mingi, still near the doorway, looked up.

'Yeah. Jongho handled it before he left. Gave them the basics. No details they don’t need.'

'Good,' Hongjoong said. 'That’s covered, then.'

'There’s one more thing that needs to be handled, though,' Seonghwa voiced, not interrupting the flow so much as carefully stepping into it.

'He needs to be diapered,' the older said softly. 'He’s really small right now.'

He paused, sighing, the look in his eyes making it clear he hated having to add yet another step to the plan.

'Hey- no, that’s okay, hyung,' Joong said fondly. 'We’ll take care of that while the others sort out an extra van with staff.'

Then, more practically, he added, 'You’ll need help keeping the pressure off his leg. Let’s make sure he’s in as little pain as possible while we do this.'

Seonghwa nodded once in agreement.

'Yeah,' he said. 'There should still be one in his sports bag. Maybe you could fetch it for me?'

'Got it,' the other replied, turning on his heel while glancing back over his shoulder, continuing where he left off. 'Okay- while I do that, here’s what we need-'

'Mingi,' he said, glancing his way, '-maybe you could keep an eye on the hallway for a bit? Just to make sure no one wanders too close while we take care of him- and give us a heads-up when Yeonjun gets here?'

The younger nodded immediately.

'Yeah, sure thing, hyung,' he said, turning towards the door, though he glanced back at San at last.

'Sannie, could you tag along? If you stay by the front gate to keep an eye out for Yeonjun, I'll keep people from wandering the hallway while they're changing him.'

San nodded, patting his friend on the shoulder once he reached his friend.

'Yeah,' he said softly. 'I’ve got it.'

They slipped out together, the door closing gently behind them- one less thing for the room to worry about.

Wooyoung met Hongjoong’s eyes. 'I’ll stay too, for now,' he said. 'Once the bag’s here, I’ll help get everything ready to move.'

'Thanks,' Hongjoong nodded appreciatively.

'Phones on silent, but close. If Yunho or Jongho text, tell me, please.'

Without another word, Wooyoung stepped towards the mirror and collected the three phones, placing Seonghwa’s, Hongjoong’s, and his own side by side within reach.

When Joong returned with the sports bag as promised, he set the item down within Seonghwa’s reach and crouched just long enough to unzip it, checking contents.

'Found it,' he murmured, a hint of a smile breaking through as he took in, not for the first time, how mindful his friend was about these things.

He placed it where the older could grab it easily.

'Wipes are here as well.'

Yeosang’s attention lingered on Hongjoong from where he moved closer, eyes large and unfocused, his fingers curled weakly into Seonghwa’s shirt.

A piece of the fabric found its way between his lips then- a small, subconscious comfort- and he kept suckling on it, pressed close against his dearest friend.

Hongjoong noticed, ofcourse.

He slowed right away, lowering himself into Yeosang’s line of sight instead of towering over him.

His voice softened the way it always did when he needed to make himself smaller, safer.

'Hey, snugglebug,' he said gently, a small smile warming his words. 'You’re doing amazing, little fighter,' he added softly. 'So brave, mh?'

Yeosang blinked- a faint, interested sound slipping out as his mouth stilled against the hem of Seonghwa’s shirt.

'We think it would feel better if you'd wear a diaper right now,' Hongjoong explained patiently. 'So, mama and appa are going to help you with that, tiny.'

He didn’t rush the explanation. Didn’t dress it up. Just spoke calmly- every word meant to anchor Yeosang right where he was.

'It’s okay,' Hwa added tenderly. 'We’ll help you. Nothing bad’s happening.'

Behind them, Wooyoung’s attention had drifted to the beige, fluffy jacket Yeosang had been wearing earlier, abandoned near the bench.

He picked it up without a word and brought it over, folding it once before laying it carefully on the floor just behind Seonghwa.

'For padding,' he murmured, mostly to the oldest. 'The floor’s rough.'

Seonghwa nodded in quiet thanks.

'Alright, sweetheart,' he announced. 'We’re going to scoot you back just a bit.'

He adjusted his position first- shifting his legs, bracing himself so he could control the movement instead of letting Yeosang’s weight tip unexpectedly.

One arm stayed firm around the younger's middle, steadying him, while the other slid behind his shoulders.

'Joong,' Seonghwa said quietly.

'I’ve got him,' Hongjoong replied right away.

He moved in close, both hands coming to Yeosang’s injured ankle with deliberate care.

He never lifted it off the floor, only cradled in place, palms firm and warm, keeping the joint from shifting even a fraction.

A thin, distressed whine slipped out of Yeosang the moment he felt the proximity, his body tensing, heel drawing back as if he could make his limb disappear entirely.

'Nothing’s going to hurt you, love,' Hongjoong reassured with a coo, coaxing his foot back.

'I’ve got your foot. I won’t let anything happen to it.'

Seonghwa waited until the younger was fully set, then shifted Yeosang inch by inch- guiding him back, easing his weight down onto the folded jacket.

Every movement was careful, intentional, narrated gently so their little one wouldn't be startled by what he couldn’t see.

Nevertheless, a thin, panicked sound slipped out of him as his hands fumbled blindly for Seonghwa, fingers clutching at his sleeves, trying to pull himself back upright- back into the familiar hold, back where he felt safest.

'Mmh- Ma—' The sound broke halfway, turning into a shaky cry when tears spilled over, his body curling instinctively towards the older again.

He didn’t want the floor. Didn’t want space. He just wanted his mama.

Seonghwa moved at once, closing the gap again, one hand resting on Yeosang’s shoulder, the other holding him in place- enough to keep him from sitting up, careful not to startle him.

'Shh, I know,' he whispered. 'I know.'

Yeosang cried harder at that, face scrunching as he clung, breath hitching in uneven little pulls.

'I know,' Seonghwa murmured, pressing his forehead briefly to his hair. 'I know you want to come back up. Mama’s here. I promise.'

He didn’t let go- but he didn’t give in either.

'We need you to stay right here for just a moment, darling,' he continued softly, one hand rubbing patient, grounding circles along Yeosang’s arm. 'Just so I can help you properly. Then I’ll pick you back up.'

The younger didn’t quite settle the way Seonghwa hoped he would.

He didn’t fight it outright, but the crying didn’t stop either- thin, breathless sounds spilling out as he clung weakly to the older's sleeves, upset and overwhelmed, taking the comfort without fully accepting the stillness.

Hwa understood then that stretching this any longer wouldn’t ease him- it would only make the landing harder.

Better to move through it quickly and gather him close afterward.

'Okay,' he murmured, calm but purposeful now. 'That’s alright. Mama’s here.'

He shifted his weight, moving with efficiency.

Hongjoong stayed exactly where he was, both hands still supporting Yeosang’s ankle, eyes focused on the task at hand.

'D'you think you've got enough space to work with?' He questioned mindfully, scanning the floor to see if he could move even the tiniest bit in advance.

Seonghwa nodded once with a smile and repositioned himself, settling between Yeosang’s legs with care, making sure nothing pulled or twisted as he worked.

He guided the fabric of Sang's sweatpants and underwear back just enough to clear the way- like he had so many times before- the ease of repetition leaving no room for fumbling.

'Woo,' Seonghwa asked without glancing up. 'Could you pass me the wipes, please?'

The younger was on his feet within seconds, leaving the phones behind as he crossed to the wipes a little too far from Hwa on the floor, grabbing the pack.

Yeosang caught Woo’s presence through the blur of tears and wavering breaths, and the realization of how many eyes were on him was enough to push him over the edge completely.

He cried out, distressed, knees drawing inward instinctively and face turning away as he tried to hide away from the situation best he could.

'Oh, I know,' Seonghwa cooed. 'You don’t like being seen like this. Mama gets it.'

A small pause.

'Woo’s just helping me for a second, love. He’s not watching.'

And just as explained, the other didn’t linger- simply placed the wipes into Seonghwa’s hand and stepped back without another word, giving Yeosang the space he needed.

'That’s it,' Seonghwa murmured as he opened the younger's thighs from where they bent inward, working quickly now, movements efficient but careful, mindful of his hips and the injury they were protecting.

'Almost done. You’re doing so well.'

The diaper was settled with minimal movement, everything kept close and controlled.

Seonghwa spoke words of encouragement and praise the entire time- meant to soothe the distress the change caused.

'There,' he whispered once he was done, fastening it securely. 'All finished.'

Yeosang’s crying didn’t stop right away, but it softened- the sharp edge easing into tired, hiccupped sobs when the discomfort passed.

'Such a strong little man,' the older praised gently, smoothing his hand along Sang's side. 'Mama’s proud of you.'

Hongjoong didn’t release Yeosang’s ankle until Hwa gave a small nod- the silent signal that the hardest part was over.

'Okay,' he then spoke, tactically wondering how they should approach the next step.

He glanced at the jacket beneath Yeosang, then back at Seonghwa.

‘If we can move him a bit, while he’s still lying flat, we can work the middle up behind him. It’ll save us trouble with the coat.’

Seonghwa nodded at once. 'Good idea.'

They worked together without rushing it- Hongjoong lifting the edge of the fluffy jacket, Seonghwa guiding Yeosang just enough to shift it higher, cushioning his back instead of his hips.

Sang fussed carelessly at the movement, a small whine caught in his throat, elbows tucking in tight as if instinctively guarding himself.

'All right, baby,' Seonghwa soothed, smoothing a hand over his chest.

'Almost done.'

Hongjoong caught the right sleeve and extended it toward him, opening the fabric in a silent prompt for his arm.

'Okay, let's get those arms of yours inside,' he coaxed with his tongue peeking out of his mouth in concentration, trying to guide one sleeve on when it became clear Sang would only do the favors of staring at him.

Joong steadied his wrist and attempted to slide the sleeve further up, easing it past his forearm before it could bunch.

Yeosang immediately bent his elbows after that, stubborn and wiggly, making it nearly impossible for the other to succeed.

The older huffed a quiet laugh under his breath.

'Hey- those are supposed to go through,' he said fondly, trying again.

One sleeve went on.

The other… didn’t.

Sang squirmed, elbows still tucked forcefully, face scrunched in mild protest.

'Buddy,' Hongjoong muttered with a challenging grin, blowing a soft puff of air in mock exasperation.

'You’re making this very hard for appa.'

Yeosang ignored his comment, attention snagged on the glint at Joong's hand instead; an intrigued 'ooh' slipping past his lips when the item shone with every movement.

His fingers reached without hesitation, brushing at the ring as if it had personally called to him.

The older huffed under his breath.

‘Oh, now you’re interested.’

Sang’s elbows remained tucked close to his sides, arms bent awkwardly as he leaned forward to examine it.

‘You look like a little chicken wing,’ he chuckled, amusement softening the strain in his voice.

Still distracted, Sang kept turning the ring between his fingers- and in the small window of stillness it created, Joong worked the second sleeve up and over his arm in one smooth motion.

The coat settled into place at last.

'There we go,' Seonghwa said warmly, tugging it straight and smoothing it down. 'All dressed.'

The studio door opened right then, Yunho slipping back inside with Jongho close behind him, both of them a little breathless from the jog.

‘We’ve got it,’ Yunho said with a vivid smile, lifting the familiar emergency bag in a small, relieved gesture.

Hongjoong crossed the space at once and took it from his hands with gratitude.

‘Thank you,’ he said softly, fingers working the zipper just enough to check the contents before nodding to himself and passing the pacifier over first.

Seonghwa shifted the younger back onto his lap, adjusting him carefully where he could support his weight without disturbing the injured ankle.

The moment the pacifier touched his lips, Sang’s breath stuttered- and then eased altogether.

Seonghwa breathed out through his nose and rubbed circles over Sang’s tummy, answering the visible release in his body without needing words.

His tummy betrayed him a second later, a soft but unmistakable rumble vibrating against Seonghwa’s hand.

‘Oh,’ the older acknowledged gently.

Yeosang answered by blindly reaching into the open bag with eager fingers, clearly searching for food at first, but finding Tippy by touch alone instead and tugging the stuffy close with a tiny, satisfied sound.

Yunho released a fond chuckle at that and reached out to ruffle the younger's hair.

‘Got priorities, don’t we, little man?'

Sang simply hummed, tucking himself in tighter, careful of his leg- as though some part of him- regressed or not- still knew better, cheek pressing into Seonghwa’s collarbone.

‘Tiwpy… an’ Mama,’ he mumbled around the pacifier, arms curling in as if to claim both.

Seonghwa’s expression softened instantly.

He kissed the top of his head, holding him close.

He then glanced up at Hongjoong, fingers continuing to move absently against Sang’s still very much rumbling stomach.

‘Joong-ah, would you mind making his bottle? Heat it the way Yunho does.'

Yunho let out an incredulous sound.

‘Hey. Excuse you- I heat things perfectly.'

‘You heat things to the surface of the sun,’ Hongjoong replied to the younger without missing a step, before eyeing Hwa with a nod.

‘On it.’

Seonghwa inclined his head in thanks.

‘I’ll feed him at the hospital,’ he said attentively. ‘It’ll hold the warmth.’

An urgent knock followed a heartbeat later- two quick taps, familiar.

Mingi leaned in just enough to catch their eyes.

'He’s here,' he announced. 'He just pulled up.'

Wooyoung and Jongho moved first, scooping up what was left- water, coats- the smaller, loose items- and slipped out ahead of the others to load the van and keep the hallway clear.

Seonghwa started to rise but paused when Yeosang’s weight shifted in his arms, the lift from the floor proving trickier than it looked.

Yunho moved in right away, taking the younger into his arms without a word.

Sang's protest came immediately- a small, wounded sound that tipped into crying as he wriggled in place, reaching blindly for Seonghwa.

He tilted his head, amused. ‘I thought you liked dada, hm?’

The response came in the shape of a louder, more desperate cry.

‘Okay, okay,’ he conceded at once, leaning forward when the eldest reached in.

He passed Yeosang back carefully, and the younger melted into his arms without missing a beat, tears breaking loose- not sharp this time, just fatigued- the accident must have cost him a lot of adrenaline altogether.

Seonghwa murmured encouragement against his ear while tucking tippy closer, adjusting his hold on the younger so nothing pulled, nothing jarred- his socked feet dangling at his sides.

'I’ve got you, love,' he said quietly. 'We’re going now.'

They made their way down the hallway, Seonghwa’s pace unhurried, Yeosang pressed close to him, face hidden, fingers knotted in the front of his jacket.

It wasn’t until they pushed through the doors that the older registered how much time had slipped by; the light outside had dulled, the sun already gone, the air carrying that unmistakable evening chill.

With motherly instinct, he shifted his hold just enough to free one hand and tugged his scarf loose, draping it carefully over Sang's head and the curve of his cheek, tucking it in to block the bite of air.

Yeosang released a small, content squeak, muffled against his chest as he nudged closer, nuzzling into the warmth with gratitude, shoulders relaxing just a fraction beneath the fabric now that he was covered in mama's fragrance.

Yeonjun stood on the pavement when they reached the van, gaze warming as it traced the scarf around Yeosang’s head and the adoring way Seonghwa kept him close.

'Hey, hyung,' he said to the eldest, the greeting shared with a small smile between them, before he hovered close enough to be noticed by the little one hiding behind Hwa's scarf comfily.

'Hi there, little friend.'

Yeosang responded with a tiny, curious hiccup from his hiding place.

Somewhere beneath the adrenaline, Hwa's relief began to surface. They were past the guessing stage now. From here on, all would be managed.

'Thank you,' he said then, the gratitude unmistakable. 'Really.'

Before Yeonjun could answer, Hongjoong stepped out from the building as well, bottle in hand, steam fogging faintly against the cooler air.

He lifted it slightly towards Seonghwa.

‘It’ll keep for a bit,’ he said. ‘I heated it properly.’

Mingi leaned out from the back of the van at the same time. ‘Bag’s in the trunk,’ he added. ‘Everything’s in there.’

Yeonjun’s expression softened at the sight of the bottle.

‘Perfect,’ he said, stepping aside to clear the way. ‘Let’s get you both seated in the van, it’s chilly out.’

He then straightened and gestured at the van’s interior with an easy smile, already thinking a step ahead.

'I'd sit in the back row,' he explained, keeping his voice light. 'You can sit next to one another- and there’s enough space to stretch his leg all the way out on the seat so his ankle won't get bumped on the way.'

The older nodded, adjusting his hold as he followed his lead, easing himself onto the second row and seating Yeosang cautiously beside him, hand around his waist.

The younger tucked in close at once, leg guided out straight across the cushion just like Yeonjun had said, the position earning a small, relieved sound when the pressure gradually eased.

'Perfect,' the other murmured, satisfied. 'That’ll keep him comfortable.'

Up front, Wooyoung climbed into the passenger seat without a word, buckling in as Yeonjun rounded the van and took the driver’s seat.

He glanced back once, checking them over, and gave a small nod.

Outside, Hongjoong lifted his hand in a short wave.

Wooyoung waved back through the window, a quick grin breaking through the undeniable tension, and Seonghwa added to it with a softer one of his own.

'We’ll see you there,' Yeonjun said, easing the door shut.

The van hummed to life, pulling away smoothly- everyone in place, moving forward together, the rest set to catch up soon.

───

The drive itself was rather uneventful, the van gliding through traffic with only the low hum of the road filling the space.

A few bumps still found them, unavoidable dips in the road that drew pained, tearful sounds from Sang behind his paci- soft whines he couldn’t quite swallow down.

After the first jolt, every one that followed had him tensing in expectation, fingers curling before slowly relaxing again.

Yeonjun noticed them all.

From the front seat, he pulled two chocolate cookies from the carton, breaking them into careful pieces before reaching his arm back through the gap between the seats and passing them over one by one.

Yeosang took each with earnest little nibbles, crumbs smudging his lips while he looked up at him with open adoration- discomfort easing, just a bit, with every sweet distraction the other offered.

The van rolled into the assigned parking spot within no-time, tires crunching subtly as Yeonjun guided it in and shut the engine off.

'We’re here,' he said, keys in hand while he turned to look back at them. 'I’ll grab a wheelchair from the entrance, so you won't have to carry him.'

Seonghwa and Woo both thanked him simultaneously, sincere though brief, which Yeonjun took as his cue to step out.

They stayed put, doors closed, waiting.

The eldest tipped his head downward, attention drawn to the pacifier bobbing between sang’s lips, now streaked with chocolate from the cookies.

He smiled despite himself and brushed a thumb across his cheek, catching a smudge before it could spread any further.

‘Hey,’ he murmured, near and amused. ‘You’ve got cookie all over your paci.’

Yeosang blinked up at him, entirely unbothered, sucking at it with renewed interest as if that only proved its worth.

Wooyoung stayed half-turned in the front seat, thumbs moving over his phone from where he typed out brief updates, promises sent and received to keep it that way until the others arrived physically.

Hwa huffed a small breath and shifted just enough to catch Sang’s eyes again, which had been fixed moments earlier on his own chocolate-smudged fingers, studying them one by one with nothing but intrigue.

The older might as well use the waiting to prepare him a bit, explain what would happen in simple terms; even if he was small, he deserved to know.

‘Okay. Listen to mama for a sec, yeah?’

Sang’s gaze wandered, then came back, paci still firmly claimed.

‘In a minute,’ he continued, ‘Yeonjun-hyungie is going to bring you a fancy rolling thing. Like a chair, but cooler.’ A brief pause. ‘You don’t have to walk. Mama’ll be right there, pushing your wheelchair.’

He tipped his forehead lightly against Sang’s temple. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Yeosang’s fingers curled tighter in Seonghwa’s jacket, his ankle kept carefully against his side.

‘We’re going to talk a little,’ the older murmured. ‘About your ankle ouchie- and how Yeonjun-hyungie will be going to fix it,' he glanced toward the front while speaking, then turned back to Sang.

‘And mama will feed you your bottle while we do.’

That got a reaction- the younger's eyes flicked up, interest sparking even through the haze.

‘Mah… boffle,’ he insisted softly, paci clicking while he sucked at it.

Seonghwa released a tender breath. ‘Mm. Your bottle,’ he agreed. ‘Mama’s got it.’

When the other returned a few minutes later with the wheelchair, it slid easily into place beside the van.

Sang made it clear he had no fondness for the wheelchair, clinging to Hwa like a lifeline.

It took a firmer lift than usual to settle him into it- though a few carefully offered pieces of chocolate were enough to distract him into reluctant cooperation.

Yeonjun led them towards the side entrance as discussed, walking just ahead since the route was second nature to him by now.

He held the door for them, waited until everyone was through, then guided them down a short, non-crowded stretch of hallway.

The building was quieter at this hour- not empty, never that- but eased, the main rush long past.

They were guided into the side wing where X-rays and linked consults were handled, a space that saw its heaviest traffic earlier in the day and moved more gently by evening.

It made things easier than they might’ve been otherwise, though it had been more luck than wisdom in any case; the wheelchair which carried a very much regressed Sangie passed without notice, no pause or curiosity clinging to it.

Tippy and the pacifier stayed tucked into Seonghwa’s pocket, kept out of view as a matter of course.

Yeonjun stopped in front of a door near the end, unlocked it, and flicked on the light.

'You can sit here,' he invited, stepping aside to give them space.

They followed without comment, chair legs rasping lightly as the small waiting area was adjusted around them.

Wooyoung stopped beside his seat and caught Yeosang’s attention from where he was ceremoniously wheeled inside by Hwa.

'Look bug, Youngie will sit on the left, and there's mama’s chair,' he said, pointing to the seat on the right side of the table. 'You’re gonna sit right there on his lap, tiny.'

After he spoke, he took it upon himself to reach into the bag he’d been carrying in from the van, fishing out the heated bottle.

He wrapped his palm around it, turning it once, then again, gauging the warmth by feel- not too hot, not cooled down past comfort.

Satisfied, he gave a small nod to himself and looked up just in time to see Seonghwa bend.

'Up we go,' he whispered more to himself than to the younger, lifting Yeosang with caution, one arm secure beneath him, the other mindful of the socked ankle while he settled him onto his lap as promised.

He adjusted him with a bit of help from Yeonjun, balancing his weight until Sang was properly seated, supported and contained.

The tension in Yeosang’s shoulders held on, his eyes flicking around until they landed on Yeonjun, who had been glancing at the younger with a kind-hearted smile.

There was a hint of sympathy there, too- an easy, reassuring presence that felt more hyung than hospital.

Wooyoung caught it from the corner of his eye and knew, right then, that he’d made the right call; of all the options, Yeonjun was the one who could make a room like this feel less sterile- less frightening for their Sangie.

Seonghwa found the younger's hand, lacing their fingers together as he pecked his forehead affectionately.

While Woo slipped out of his jacket and started on Seonghwa’s sleeve, Yeonjun shifted his weight closer, careful not to crowd.

'Hey little friend,' he coaxed with a small smile. ‘That was some rough luck, hm? Falling like that.’ He tilted his head. ‘Bet it startled you, didn’t it?’

With a subtle pout tugging at his mouth, Sang extended a finger towards his ankle, gaze earnest and unblinking.

Yeonjun followed the gesture with exaggerated seriousness before his mouth curved.

‘Of all the ways to fall, you had to pick that one?’ He mused lightly. ‘How did that even happen, mh?'

Sang blinked at him, thinking hard- the kind of thinking that scrunched his brows together.

‘Sawng… sweepy lots,’ he admitted at last, voice honest and utterly sincere.

Seonghwa’s brows lifted before he could stop them- not once during practice had Yeosang said he was exhausted.

He pushed down the instinct to question it, recognizing the habit for what it was.

‘You felt tired, hm?’ Yeonjun echoed gently. ‘Then you shouldn’t have been dancing at all. Sleepy bodies belong in bed- preferably with a stuffy and a blanket.’

Yeosang’s shoulders dipped just a little at that.

'Me is sowwy…’ he murmured, eyes lowering briefly before flicking back up to check Yeonjun’s face.

The other offered a sweet smile in return, cooing.

‘You don’t get in trouble for being tired, little one. We just make better choices after. Hyungie will do his very best to make your ankle all better, promise.’

Wooyoung’s lips curved faintly at Yeonjun’s words.

He shifted where he stood, speaking next in a softer tone.

‘He hasn’t really been resting much lately,’ he said quietly, not to Sang- but about him. ‘Keeps saying he’s fine.’

'Mistakes teach,’ Yeonjun replied with a tight-lipped smile, knowing how stubborn Yeosang could be naturally. ‘And he’s got all of us to help him figure it out.’

Then, deliberately lighter, ‘-now, Youngie once told me you’ve got a talent for finger painting.’ His grin turned knowingly curious. ‘Said you know plenty of your colors by heart, huh?’

A happy hum bubbled out of Yeosang while he nodded, fingers twitching.

'Me knows blue… an’ gween,' he whispered proudly, like listing treasures.

The other smiled.

'Such a smart boy, Sangie.'

Wooyoung chuckled fondly as he leaned in.

'He’s not kidding,' he added, fingers working at the buttons of Yeosang’s fluffy coat.

'You should see the pieces of art he makes at home- we've got some of them framed and plenty on the kitchen door, don't we, button?'

The younger nodded along and shifted obligingly from where the coat was eased off his shoulders, Wooyoung catching it neatly before hanging it on the coat rack beside them, next to their own.

‘We’re all very proud of our little one,’ he added, making sure it was heard- especially after a day like this.

He then reached for the bottle on the table and placed it into Seonghwa’s hand before seating himself beside them, careful of the ankle dangling at an uneasy angle right next to his knee.

'Here you go, poppy,' Hwa hummed when he offered the warm bottle in hand.

Yeosang took it after a beat, suckling tentatively at first, then more relaxed, savoring the taste of the heated milk like a treasure made just for him.

His body mellowed by degrees, weight shifting back until he leaned into Seonghwa fully, limbs tucking in from where he settled bridal-style against his chest and arms.

Yeonjun leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms while he glanced at them, the calm of Yeosang drinking marking the right moment to speak.

'Okay,' he said, easy but focused, '-before I can legally provide an X-ray or start any kind of treatment, he has to be in the system with a completed injury file. Nothing too complicated- we’ll go through the list together.'

A shared nod from Wooyoung and Seonghwa told him to keep going.

He turned back to the desk, waking the screen with a tap of the keyboard.

'It’s just the basics, really- full name, date of birth, address, insurance. I type, you answer. After that, we’ll go over what exactly happened, so I'll know what I'm working with.'

He pulled the screen towards them to show the format and scrolled through the intake list, slowing so the others could follow along.

As he worked, he glanced up every other second, asking the information he needed without rushing them, while they supplied the details as they came.

He then filled in the gaps of the fall as they talked, building the accident piece by piece until it sat complete on the screen, ready to be sent through.

'Alright,' Yeonjun said, eyeing between them before resting his hand on the desk, '-here’s what we’ll do.'

'There are a few options from here that could work. None of them are perfect- I want to be upfront about that.'

His gaze flicked briefly to Yeosang, still tucked in, bottle held close.

'Given where he’s at right now, I’m going to approach this as if I’m treating a child. That helps narrow things down- it takes a couple of options off the table that would ask more of him than he can reasonably give tonight.'

Seonghwa nodded, one hand firmly wrapped around the bottle of milk. 'That’s exactly what we’re aiming for,' he said softly.

The other nodded in return as he leaned back slightly.

'My priority is keeping him as comfortable and regulated as possible while still getting us the information we need. That means choosing the path that causes the least distress, even if it’s not the fastest or most convenient.'

'That also means,' he added calmly, 'I’m not going to expect him to stay still or manage this on his own given his regression. It would likely be distressing, and distress makes for bad images.'

'I see,' Wooyoung nodded, listening along attentively.

'Therefore, for the imaging, I’d recommend a short mask sedation- nothing complex- so he can sleep through it and we don’t put him under unnecessary stress.'

He paused, watching their faces, making sure they were with him.

'It’s the safest and kindest option here.'

Seonghwa didn’t answer right away.

His free fingers tightened around Yeosang’s hand instead, thumb brushing affectionately over his knuckles while the younger peeked at the illustrations hung at the wall in front of him with peaked interest.

'When you say put him under,' he asked finally, eyes lifting to Yeonjun, '-are there any short- or longterm effects we should expect?'

He paused, choosing his words with care.

'Dizziness, nausea- anything like that. And… it is safe, right? For something this brief.'

Yeonjun nodded, like he’d expected the question.

'That’s fair to ask,' he said easily. 'For something this short, the effects are minimal.'

He explained it without rushing.

'He might be a little groggy when he wakes up. Maybe a bit disoriented, maybe clingy- that's nothing out of the ordinary. Some people might feel slightly nauseous, but it passes quickly, and we keep a close eye on him the entire time.'

Then, more firmly, to the part that mattered most-

'It’s safe. We do this kind of sedation all the time for short procedures, especially when staying still would be hard or stressful. The dose is low and it wears off fast.'

Seonghwa nodded first, knowing Yeonjun wasn’t one to decide lightly- if he proposed it, he had thought it through with Yeosang in mind.

Woo let out a small breath, humming along in thought.

'Thanks,' Woo said. '-for thinking this through, that means a lot, actually.'

'No worries at all,' Yeonjun said with a smile. 'Before we move forward, though, I want to lay everything out so there are no surprises.'

The two hummed along, indicating the other could continue where he left off.

'Because you’re not completely sure how he landed- whether it was more on his hip, or his bottom after his foot- I don’t want to focus only on the ankle. I’d rather do a full lower-extremity X-ray, including the hip. It’s the safest way to make sure we’re not missing anything higher up.'

He paused, giving them time to take that in.

'For that kind of imaging, shoes have to come off. Socks too.' A small beat. 'The diaper is a bit different- it depends on how we go about it.'

He turned slightly toward the screen, tapping a few keys before looking back at them.

'For a clear hip image, it sometimes needs to come off briefly. Not because of modesty or protocol- just because the material’s thick and sits right at the hipbone, which can interfere with the picture.'

Yeonjun shifted closer again, tapping lightly at the desk as if outlining the choices in his head.

‘So,’ he began, ‘-there are two main ways we usually handle this.’

'Can I-' Seonghwa cut in softly, then gave a small, apologetic smile. 'Sorry. Just- one thing.'

Yeonjun stopped right away, turning back towards him.

'Yeah. Of course.'

The older adjusted Sang a little higher against his chest, lowering his voice without making it secretive.

'He… really doesn’t do well with the concept of a diaper, like changes and telling us he needs one. Especially in unfamiliar places.' A beat, then, almost wry, '-like- at all.'

Wooyoung snorted under his breath, not unkindly.

'That’s the understatement of the year.'

Yeonjun blinked once, then nodded, absorbing it.

'Okay. That’s useful to know.' He said it easily, without any sort of judgment on the line. 'Thank you for telling me.'

Seonghwa hesitated, then added, more frankly now, '-It’s less about the diaper itself and more about… exposure. Vulnerability. Once he feels that, it’s very hard to pull him back.'

'That tracks,' the other said thoughtfully. He leaned back, recalibrating. 'Alright- then let me adjust.'

He glanced at Yeosang again, the steady suckling unchanged.

'Since he’d be asleep for the imaging,' Yeonjun continued, '-that gives us a bit more room to work without putting him through that distress.'

He lifted a finger, counting without ceremony.

'First option: we leave the diaper on the entire time. We position him carefully and see if the images come out clear enough that way. That’s usually the least upsetting route, though I can’t promise it’ll be sufficient- if the hip images aren’t clear, we may need to adjust, which will automatically lean into option 2.'

He hesitated briefly, then added the second path, clearly shaped by what they’d just told him.

'And the other option- given what you shared- is removing the diaper but keeping the sweatpants on. The diaper’s thick enough to interfere with the image; the pants usually aren’t.'

He glanced between them.

'That way we still get what we need, without putting him in a situation that feels too vulnerable.'

They both looked towards Yeonjun then, not for permission, not quite, rather to ground themselves into making a decision that fits Sang best.

‘Medically speaking,’ Seonghwa asked, ‘- the pants-on option would give you what you need and get the imaging done in one take?’

Yeonjun nodded without hesitation.

'It does. If you’re comfortable with the idea, that’s the one I’d lean toward- good images, minimal intrusion.'

The room settled again, the decision crystallizing without fanfare.

Seonghwa exhaled, the familiar weight of deciding for someone else pressing briefly at his ribs.

'Okay,' he said. 'Then that’s what we do.'

Wooyoung nodded, agreeing. 'Yeah. That feels right.'

Seonghwa lifted his gaze back to Yeonjun.

'We’re good with that option.'

The older then noticed how Sang's bottle ran dry, taking it from his mouth and chuckling when his small, displeased sound followed the action the way it always did.

'Hey,' he shushed, guiding the younger upright until his cheek found the back of his own shoulder.

One hand steadied him there, the other marking a measured rhythm along his spine.

The burp surfaced faint and fleeting; Seonghwa met it with a low hum, continuing to circle anchoring paths until the younger slackened again.

While he did, Yeonjun pushed away from the desk and stepped closer, moving them along without breaking the calm.

'Alright,' he said lightly. 'Let me prepare you for what happens next.'

He gestured down the hallway with a subtle tilt of his head.

'The imaging suite’s just down there. It’s set up as a room-within-a-room- we’ll go into the first one together.'

He glanced at Sang, who returned the gaze with wide, curious eyes and an adorable scrunch of his nose.

‘The first room is just for prep. We’ll make him comfortable, take off anything that can’t enter the scan area, and you’ll have space to change him and store his things.’

A small pause.

'Quick check while we’re at it- does he have anything metal on him? Jewelry, clips, anything like that.'

Seonghwa tilted his head, checking around Yeosang’s neck before slipping his hand under the fabric of his shirt to feel for a chain. After a moment he withdrew it again.

‘He’s clear.’

Yeonjun's gaze softened slightly, nodding.

'He can keep his pacifier and his friend tippy with him, though. Those are fine. If they help him feel secure, they come along.'

Seonghwa nodded, instinctively tucking Yeosang closer at the mention of comfort.

'I’ll put him to sleep in that first room as well,' he continued. 'Mask only, as told. You’ll be right there when it happens, which I'm sure Yeosang would appreciate.'

Then, gently but clearly, '-once he’s asleep, I'll wheel him into the second room myself and get to work.'

'-that part’s separate because of the radiation; no one’s allowed to stay in the room with him while it’s happening, I'm behind the glass too, given its protocol.'

He didn’t linger on it.

‘As soon as I’m done, I’ll bring him straight back out and wheel him into the recovery room across the hall, where you can wait with the others and he can sleep off the medication right by your side.’

Wooyoung followed with a small, firm agreement of his own, trusting Yeonjun to take care of his beloved friend with care and professionalism.

Seonghwa gave Yeosang another soft pat, his chin resting briefly against the crown of his head, as if anchoring them both before what came next.

The younger shifted at the contact, a faint, drowsy sound slipping past his lips while his fingers curled into the fabric of Seonghwa’s hoodie, seeking purchase there.

'Alright,' Yeonjun said, nodding towards the hall. 'Room A first. We’ll get him seated and take it from there.'

He stepped ahead to lead, and the eldest rose patiently, careful not to jostle Sang too much as he did. Wooyoung followed close behind.

Seonghwa didn’t even consider setting the younger down in his wheelchair- he simply held on tighter, one arm beneath his thighs, the other secure around his back, keeping him tucked close where he could feel a heartbeat and familiar warmth.

Yeosang went pliant against him, cheek pressed into his shoulder, eyes heavy but tracking just enough to know he was being moved.

Wooyoung made a fond, pleased sound and leaned in, catching Yeosang’s cheeks between his hands and squishing them with unmistakable delight.

'Oh no,' he whispered dramatically right after. 'What am I supposed to do without this face?' A delicate squeeze followed. 'You better wake up fast- I’m bringing snackies.'

Yeosang responded with a weak, indignant sound, brows knitting as he tried to turn his face away, shoulders giving a small, half-hearted wiggle of protest.

It didn’t get him far.

Wooyoung followed the movement easily, still holding his face, pressing another gentle squish in before relenting just enough to keep from being scolded.

In his enthusiasm, the bag he took along slipped dangerously low on his shoulder, though he thankfully caught the strap at the last second, hitching it back into place with a sheepish huff.

Seonghwa released a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth lifting while he watched the scene unfold.

'If I were you,' he said mildly, not even looking at Wooyoung, 'I’d stop coddling him now. You’ll regret it otherwise.'

Wooyoung barely had time to laugh it off before he leaned in once more, poking lightly at Yeosang’s ribs in a last, playful attempt to end the ceremony on his own terms.

His friend answered the way Seonghwa had seen coming from miles away.

Sang bit down at the offending finger with surprising intent- not hard enough to hurt, but with enough determination to make his point clear.

A muffled, grumbly sound followed, brows drawn tight as his teeth closed around skin in a way that was far more warning than bite.

'Hey—!' Wooyoung laughed under his breath, withdrawing his hand with a shriek. 'Okay, okay. Message received.'

He lifted both hands in exaggerated surrender, smile still bright, as if conceding victory while secretly delighted by it.

That was when Yeonjun reached the door ahead of them, pushing it open and holding it open with his shoulder.

He glanced back over it, before inviting them with a kind smile and a wave of his hand.

'This would be the right moment to bring out his comforts,' he said, glancing briefly at the bag where tippy and his pacifier had been stuffed in after taking them out of Hwa's coat pockets.

Room A welcomed them with a softer kind of silence.

The exam bed waited where Yeonjun had said it would be, paper already rolled across the surface, faintly crinkled at the edges.

Seonghwa sat first and then eased Yeosang down with him, keeping him close, half-supported against his chest so nothing felt abrupt.

Wooyoung moved in automatically, placing Tippy where his friend could see him and guiding the pacifier back between his lips.

Yeosang latched on at once, small and insistent, the earlier edge of protest dissolving into rhythmic suckling while his shoulders sagged.

'Okay, tiny one,' Seonghwa murmured, brushing his thumb along the younger's cheek. 'Let's get you comfy now.'

Hwa started with the socks.

He lifted one foot carefully, fingers warm around Sang's heel from where he eased the fabric down.

The moment it slipped free, Yeosang made a thin, displeased sound, toes curling sharply before wriggling them with a whine.

He flexed them again, brows knitting as he stared at his bare feet, pacifier bobbing with a frustrated suck.

'Hey,' the older softly corrected, catching his foot before it could kick. 'Your socks will only be off for a little bit, sweetheart. Just for now.'

The other sock followed, earning another unhappy sound and a sharper wriggle, toes spreading and pulling back as if Yeosang might will the fabric into returning on its own.

Yeonjun gave a small nod and turned away, moving to the storage space.

'I’ll give you some privacy while I prepare the medication.'

Seonghwa leaned in closer while the other busied himself, lowering his voice instinctively.

'Okay,' he murmured, smoothing his hand along the younger's side. 'We’re keeping your pants on, sweetheart. Mama just needs to fix your diaper underneath for the pictures.'

Yeosang frowned faintly around the pacifier, brows knitting while he listened.

He didn’t pull away- just shifted restlessly, a tiny, uncertain sound slipping out as his toes curled again.

It was only when Seonghwa’s hand moved beneath the fabric of his sweats that he came to his senses immediately- and misunderstood just as fast.

'N–nwo—' He sobbed, breath hitching hard. 'Sawngie not- not whant-' His words collapsed into tears before forcing their way back out.

'Sawngie clofs- Sangie clofs!'

'I know, tiny. I know,' the other whispered, voice radiating calm even as his chest ached.

'Clothes come back right after I removed your diaper. Mama promises.'

When the diaper finally came loose, he gathered him back in straight away, holding him from the waist up, careful of his leg and ankle, pressing his cheek briefly to Yeosang’s hair.

The younger fussed into his chest, clinging even as the distress poured out of him-wanting Hwa near despite his own frustrations.

Wooyoung moved in without a word, hands gentle but certain as he caught the waistband of Yeosang’s sweatpants and eased them back into place, tugging them up over his hips with careful, practiced motions before throwing the diaper into the bin.

Yeonjun returned a moment later, washing his hands before he approached the table.

'Alright, little friend,' he hummed, before eyeing both Woo and Hwa. 'I need you lying flat now, head on the right.'

Seonghwa nodded and shifted carefully, easing Yeosang down onto the table without breaking contact, keeping one hand firm at his stomach until he was properly laying down.

The younger fussed faintly at the change, still teary and dazed, but didn’t resist, his body filled with exhaustion.

'If you want to give him a kiss or a hug before he goes to sleep, that’s okay,' Yeonjun said, smiling kindly at them.

Seonghwa leaned down, brushing a few strands of hair back from the younger's forehead.

'There you go,' he murmured with a sweet smile of his own. 'Such a brave boy.'

He pressed a quick, gentle kiss to his temple. 'We’ll see you in a little bit.'

Wooyoung stepped in on the other side, tucking Tippy close against Sang's neck and shoulder, making sure the plush was nestled where it always belonged.

He stayed there, close enough that Yeosang could feel him even if he didn’t quite register the reason.

Yeonjun waited a beat, then lifted the mask.

'Okay,' he said quietly, easing the mask into place. 'You can pick a nice dream, sweetheart.'

The cap settled over his nose, warm plastic and unfamiliar weight making his breath catch for just a second.

His eyes fluttered, wide and glassy now, searching.

They found Wooyoung.

The other answered his gaze with a reassuring, grounding smile and let a hum slip free-Edelweiss, the notes catching on warmth and soothe- shaped more by affection than by tune.

Yeosang watched him with round, unblinking eyes, pacifier nestled between his lips, lightly bobbing from where he suckled in uneven little pulls.

His breathing lengthened, then lengthened again, syncing softly to the rise and fall of the hum until his eyes began to drop.

Wooyoung didn’t move.

He just kept humming, close enough to be seen, close enough to be felt, until Yeosang’s gaze finally softened and slid away, his body going loose beneath Seonghwa’s hand as sleep took him at last.

The tune lingered a moment longer, fading only once Yeosang was fully gone.

───

By the time they were back in the office, everything felt slower, as if the building itself had exhaled and decided to let them catch up after a rather hectic afternoon.

The others caught up with them while Yeosang was in imaging, coming in one by one with subdued energy, exchanges reduced to brief looks and minimal movement.

Now they were all there, assembled closely around the desk, the space drawn taut with collective attention.

Yeosang could be found tucked against Seonghwa again, weight heavy and pliant in his arms, head lolling sleepily against his chest.

The medication hadn’t fully worn off yet; he’d stirred only briefly five minutes earlier, lashes fluttering, mouth working weakly around the pacifier before sinking back into that hazy in-between.

Awake enough to surface briefly, not awake enough to make sense of where he was- or why his leg felt so strange and solid now.

Yeonjun, meanwhile, hadn’t stood still in the meantime.

He moved between printer and desk with quiet efficiency, collecting the pages as they slid free, aligning corners, smoothing edges before setting the stacks down.

The soft click of the stapler punctuated the room twice, forming two neat packets- results, images, annotations pulled directly from the scans.

Angles marked, notes added, conclusions laid out with care, everything arranged in a way meant not just to inform, but to be understood when the time came to talk it through.

'Alright,' he said, drawing their attention without raising his voice.

He tapped the first stack lightly.

'This one is for now- general aftercare, follow-up appointments, things you’ll want on hand over the next few weeks.'

'And this one,' he continued, '-is for later. When he’s out of regression, there’s a good chance he’ll have questions- this should help with that.'

All sets of eyes followed the small stack of papers.

'There are notes in here written for him,' he explained, matter-of-fact but thoughtful. 'Clear explanations, diagrams, a few printed images from the scans themselves.'

He flipped the top page just enough to show the edge of a photo beneath.

'I’ve marked the angles of the fracture and added comments- what happened, what it means, and why certain choices were made today. That way he doesn’t have to fill in the blanks himself afterward.'

A beat.

'So,' Yeonjun said then, shifting his weight slightly, attention returning to the group before flicking briefly back to Yeosang. 'As you’ve probably noticed, his lower leg and ankle are already in a cast.'

Seonghwa’s hand stilled, thumb resting warm against Yeosang’s side, nodding along.

'That wasn’t a difficult call, by the way,' Yeonjun continued, conversational now. 'I was able to catch the position of his fracture right off the bat- not exactly something I had to squint at or debate,' a faint huff of understatement followed.

'And because the swelling was still limited, it gave me a window.'

He gestured lightly, as if outlining the sequence.

'So, I took care of it while he was still asleep after the imaging. That way he didn’t have to be awake for the positioning, or deal with holding still while everything set.'

‘Thank you for being so thoughtful about him,' Yunho said, to which the other smiled and nodded.

'There are two fractures within the joint itself. Clean breaks, but breaks nonetheless.'

A pause, allowing them to take the results in.

'The cast stabilizes both points. No surgery needed at this stage, but strict immobilization is important.'

Yeosang shifted faintly against Seonghwa, a small, sleepy sound leaving him as his head rolled closer into the hollow of Seonghwa’s neck, utterly unaware that decisions had already been made on his behalf- carefully, deliberately, though still made and to be accepted.

Across the desk, Hongjoong drew a silent breath, fingers curling briefly where they rested against the edge of the wood.

His gaze lingered on his friend for a moment longer than necessary- on the way he lay slack and soothed against Seonghwa- before he looked back up again.

'What does that mean for him,' he asked after a moment, voice calm but carrying the strain beneath it, '-with work? As an idol.'

There was a conflict there, clear if you knew him well enough; relief that the injury was contained, threaded tightly with the familiar worry of responsibility.

Yeosang was the last person who would willingly slow down, the first to insist he was fine, to minimize pain in favor of keeping pace.

Hongjoong knew that pattern intimately- had spent years managing it, guarding against it- and the knowledge sat heavy now, written in the tight set of his jaw and the way his eyes never fully left the younger.

Yeonjun glanced up at him- not surprised, not put on the spot. If anything, he seemed comprehensive of the impact this will have work-wise.

'That’s a good question,' the other said. 'And it’s the right thing to be thinking about.'

He leaned back just enough to give the answer space.

'Realistically, we’re looking at a minimum of six weeks in the cast. Possibly eight, depending on how the joint responds. For the first few weeks especially, he won’t be dancing. No weight-bearing choreography, no rehearsals that put stress through the ankle.'

Hongjoong’s gaze settled on Seonghwa as the explanation sank in.

Seonghwa met it with recognition, the kind that came from knowing each other well enough to read the thoughts that never needed saying.

'Even when he feels better, that doesn’t mean the bone is ready. Pain and healing don’t run on the same schedule.'

He continued then, trying to lighten the inconvenience by focusing on what Yeosang would be allowed to do, instead.

'Upper-body work is fine. Sitting schedules are fine. Vocals are fine, as long as he’s comfortable. But anything involving jumps, turns, or extended standing is off the table until we clear him.'

Hongjoong nodded slowly, absorbing it.

'As for hygiene,' Yeonjun added, practical now. 'The cast can’t get wet. No showers without protection, no soaking, no shortcuts. If it does get wet, it needs to be changed immediately. Skin integrity matters just as much as bone healing.'

He reached for one of the paper stacks, tapping it lightly.

'We’ll schedule regular check-ups. First one in about a week to monitor swelling and fit, then follow-ups every two to three weeks after that. Imaging again before we talk about removal.'

A beat.

'And mobility,' Yeonjun went on, glancing briefly at some of them. 'The hospital will provide both a wheelchair and crutches. He can use the chair on days when he is regressed- his tone made it clear that wasn’t an afterthought. '-And the crutches when he isn't and yearns the independence.'

Mingi released a somewhat relieved breath, shoulders easing just a fraction.

‘Well…’ he started, then huffed quietly. ‘At least this happened at a time we don’t have a packed schedule or a comeback breathing down our necks. That’s something.’

A few heads nodded. The tension didn’t disappear, but it shifted- less sharp, more manageable.

San leaned forward slightly, gaze soft where it rested on Yeosang.

‘Poor Sangie,’ he murmured, fond more than anything else. ‘Guess we’re lucky he’s a butt shuffler, though.’ A small smile tugged at his mouth. ‘Saves him a lot of frustration with the whole not-moving thing.’

It earned the faintest ripple of warmth through the room- not laughter, exactly, but relief shaped like affection.

Hongjoong hummed at San’s remark, something close to a smile touching his mouth before fading again.

His gaze drifted back to Sang, still far in dreamland within Hwa's arms.

‘Yeah,’ he said after a moment, voice thoughtful. ‘That part might help.’

Then, quieter, almost to himself, ‘-he likes his independence a little too much, though.’ A brief pause. ‘If he decides to… scoot his way past the limits we set…’

His eyes flicked to Seonghwa, knowing.

‘We’ll have to be ahead of him. Before he convinces himself he’s fine.’

The room didn’t argue with that. It didn’t need to.

Yeonjun shifted slightly, touching his throat.

‘If I may,’ he said, and continued when no one objected.

‘One thing that might help,’ he said, glancing between them, ‘-does he sleep in a sleep sack when he’s regressed?’

A few pairs of eyes turned his way.

‘I ask because,’ Yeonjun continued easily, ‘-it limits how much he can fuss with the cast once the novelty wears off. Keeps hands from picking at it out of frustration, and it reduces unnecessary movement during sleep.’

A faint smile.

‘It also tends to make kids feel contained in a good way, which helps when their body suddenly won’t cooperate.’

He reached back to the desk then, setting a small bag beside the papers. Inside, neatly arranged, were the medications.

‘Pain relief is included here,’ he went on, tapping one of the labels. ‘It can be mixed into his bottle if needed. It’s vanilla flavored- goes down easier that way, and the warmth helps it settle.’

He placed the bottle deliberately close to the paperwork, all of it grouped together so nothing would be forgotten in the fog of going home.

‘Routine will do a lot of the work for you,’ he added. ‘Same sleep cues, same comforts, same order of things. The less new he has to process, the less he’ll test what he shouldn’t.’

His gaze flicked briefly to Yeosang, a small trail of drool at the corner of his mouth dampening Seonghwa’s shirt.

‘He doesn’t need to understand everything right now. He just needs consistency.’

Then, lighter, ‘-and a bit of strategic prevention never hurts.’

It was received with a few low laughs, understood for what it was- support, not direction- and the atmosphere lightened in response.

Seonghwa shifted the younger slightly higher against his chest before looking back up, his expression open and appreciative.

‘Thank you,’ he said, and then again, softer but no less sincere. ‘Really. For all of it.’

Wooyoung nodded along, before personally thanking his friend as well.

‘Yeah. Seriously- thank you,' he bowed a tad bit too low for the occasion playfully, the gesture easy in a way that came from knowing Yeonjun well enough to get away with it.

‘I’m stealing you for dinner soon, by the way. A proper one.'

Yeonjun smiled at that, bowing in response.

‘I’ll hold you to it, hyung,’ he said, then added, more gently, ‘And thank you- for trusting me with him.’

They gathered themselves after that, movements without a rush as they all turned towards the exit, where Sangie got transferred to the wheelchair with ease, crutches taken along by Yunho.

Yeonjun walked them out, matching their pace.

At the threshold, he paused and reached out, knuckles brushing tenderly along Yeosang’s cheek, a careful, sweet gesture.

'Get well soon, little friend,’ he murmured, before waving them goodbye.

───

Getting him home took a bit of adjustment and care- nothing more than what love already knew how to offer.

Yeosang slept through the drive, head tipped to one side, lashes resting dark against his cheeks.

Seonghwa moved slowly when they arrived, unbuckling the car seat with patience, murmuring soft reassurances even though Yeosang didn’t stir one bit.

The hard line of the cast met the car seat at an odd angle, forcing the older to change his grip, one hand guiding, the other bracing to keep the ankle knocking from where he lifted him out.

Yeosang hadn’t protested at all, despite stirring awake once held.

He stayed little through the short walk inside, eyes barely opening before slipping shut again, breath mellow and even against Seonghwa’s shoulder.

He had settled him on the bean bag in the living room, easing him down with kind hands before tucking a fluffy blanket up around his sides.

The fabric swallowed him easily, cocooning him in warmth, the cast propped just right so it didn’t tug or press.

Sang shifted once, a sleepy sound leaving him, then went still again, cheek turned into the blanket as if he’d been waiting for exactly this.

Yunho lingered at the edge of the bean bag, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze bouncing between his slumbering friend and the rest of them.

The scene had the same energy as parents bringing their child home for the first time, setting the car seat down and realizing there were no more instructions.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then tried, ‘…So. Uh. What do we do now?’

Seonghwa straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders as if only now noticing the weight he’d been carrying all day.

Before he could answer, a voice drifted in from the kitchen.

‘I’m on dinner!’ Wooyoung called, the clatter of pans punctuating the words. ‘Nothing fancy. We’ll feed Sang once he arises out of his hibernation.’

San chuckled from where he leaned against the arm of the couch, eyes soft on the small bundle of blanket and limbs.

‘Good,’ he murmured, more to himself than to Woo in the kitchen. ‘He’ll need it.’

Yeosang shifted faintly at the sound of voices, lashes fluttering, fists rubbing weakly at his eyes before falling back to his chest.

Seonghwa stepped closer again at once, smoothing the blanket, staying within reach the way he always did when it came to their little Sangie.

They ate around the living room in a loose sprawl- plates balanced on knees, someone sitting on the arm of the couch, another on the floor- voices low, attention drifting back to the bean bag every few seconds without anyone meaning to.

Seonghwa remained near, perched at the edge of it, one hand resting on the blanket like a promise rather than a restraint.

Yeosang slept through most of it, breathing paced against the blanket.

It wasn’t until the room grew a little livelier that he began to stir properly.

First a frown.
Then a soft, unhappy sound.

His fists came up, rubbing at his eyes with clumsy insistence, the blanket bunching beneath him while his breathing hitched.

The sound sharpened quickly- thin, tired, unmistakably upset.

Seonghwa was on him right away, brushing his blanketed stomach and murmuring reassurance, but the cry held- which wasn't something they hadn't anticipated, as it must be very confusing to wake up with a cast and its consequences, after all.

His eyes blinked open fully then- round, glassy with tears, unfocused for a second before finding his mama.

His lower lip wobbled as his hands shyly reached out, fingers clenching and unclenching again, yearning for the one person who could make all alright again.

‘Shh,’ the older soothed gently, leaning in to meet the reach of his hands. ‘You’re alright, tiny. That was such a good nap you had, wasn’t it?’

He slid his hands beneath him and scooped him up with a dramatically drawn-out ‘oof.’

‘Ohhh, what is this? Why are you suddenly so heavy, hm?’ His voice carried the faintest grin. ‘Did you grow in your sleep?’

Yeosang let himself be gathered up without resistance, arms curling in immediately, body folding toward Seonghwa with instinctive relief.

Tears soaked into the skin there, dampening the familiar scent of his perfume- warm and sweet and grounding all at once.

Sang breathed it in like it was medicine of its own, small sobs muffled against Hwa's pulse.

‘I know,’ the older murmured, rocking him affectionately.

His hand caressed passionate waves along Yeosang’s back- broad strokes that started firm and softened at the edges, repeatedly, guiding him through his post-sleepy upset.

He pressed small kisses into his hair between words.

‘I know, baby. It’s confusing. Mama’s here.’

Sang clung tighter in return, fingers bunching in his shirt, hiccupping breaths evening out little by little under the caress.

‘There we go,’ the older whispered, cheek resting briefly against the crown of his head. ‘All safe. All okay.’

He stayed like that for another breath, letting his crying taper into soft sniffles against his neck.

Only when the grip in his shirt loosened from desperate to clingy did he shift his weight.

‘Let’s get you something warm,’ he murmured, brushing his thumb once along Yeosang’s cheek before turning towards the kitchen.

The kitchen felt somewhat cozier than the living room at this time of day, the overhead lights lowered to a mellow, honeyed glow that smoothened the edges of everything.

Beige curtains met in the middle of the windows, sealing out the night and reflecting the room back on itself.

A magazine lay open and unattended on the table, pages subtly dog-eared, two glasses of tea forgotten at its side.

A small bouquet of flowers Hongjoong had brought home a few days ago rested in the center- still fresh, petals catching the dimmed light in gentle color.

It smelled faintly of dinner and steeped chamomile.

Seonghwa stepped into it all with Sang tucked against him and shifted closer to the counter.

‘Alright,’ he murmured softly, brushing his nose against the younger's temple before easing him down. ‘Let’s see how well you can sit, tiny.’

He kept a supportive arm around him, allowing the younger a moment to find his balance before easing his hold just slightly.

The cast rested awkwardly along the surface, too present to ignore, and the little glanced down at it with a small, uncertain frown.

Seonghwa picked up on it instantly, the confusion clear in the faint crease between his brows.

He smiled, but not dismissively.

His hand brushed slowly along his side while the other reached for the pot.

‘Hm,’ he murmured, stirring once. ‘Must be so strange waking up like that, isn’t it? With something wrapped around your leg and not a single clue why it won’t move the way it used to.’

He glanced at him again, expression soft but serious enough to match the feeling.

‘Mama would be confused too.’

The spoon moved in slow circles through the homemade soup San had prepared earlier, while Yeosang had still been in imaging.

The broth had deepened since then, carrying the scent of simmered carrots, sweet potato, and finely chopped leek, all tender enough to melt at the touch of a tongue.

Steam lifted in pale ribbons between them, fragrant and comforting.

From the living room, content conversation drifted in- the others still gathered on the floor around the coffee table, plates balanced on knees, finishing the last bites of dinner they’d insisted on eating nearby earlier so they wouldn’t be far if Yeosang stirred.

A soft laugh. The scrape of a fork. The house felt full.

Seonghwa reached up to open one of the kitchen cabinets, retrieving a breadstick from a paper bag.

He placed it on the counter and cut it into small, even pieces, the blade moving in measured strokes as the crust gave way to the softer middle.

He glanced sideways mid-cut and smiled faintly.

‘Look at you,’ he murmured warmly. ‘Sitting so well. Back nice and straight and everything.’ He nudged Yeosang’s knee gently with his hip. ‘Such a good boy.’

The younger blinked at him, pacifier bobbing slowly, shoulders pulling just a touch straighter at the praise.

Seonghwa gathered the firmer pieces into a bowl and ladled a bit of the warm broth over them, letting them sink and darken.

‘Mama’ll soften the crusts for those tiny teeth of yours. No wrestling with tough bread tonight,' he hums, brushing one of his hands along the younger's knee while stirring the pot with the other.

He let the spoon circle once more before setting it down, turning his body just enough so he could see Sang properly.

‘You had a big day today,’ he explained with a hushed voice, remembering the uncertainty the younger had carried minutes ago.

‘Your ankle got hurt at practice. It twisted the wrong way.’ He tapped lightly at his own ankle in demonstration.

His thumb brushed soothing circles at Yeosang’s side then.

‘So now it gets a hug from the cast until it feels better.’

‘Outhie?’ The younger asked quietly, lisp soft around the word.

Seonghwa’s expression gentled right away.

‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘An ouchie.’

Sang then blinked at him, sucking his paci, eyes drifting down to the cast again.

Seonghwa turned back to the stove, giving the soup one last slow stir before lowering the heat.

The vegetables had softened fully now, the bread melted into the broth just the way he liked it for him.

‘Almost done,’ he murmured. ‘Just letting it cool a tiny bit so it doesn’t burn your tongue, love.'

Beside him, Yeosang’s posture had begun to fold in on itself.

His shoulders drooped, and without even announcing it, he leaned sideways until his forehead came to rest against Hwa's upper arm.

The other adjusted without looking, angling his body so the younger could lean properly, one arm slipping more securely around his middle.

‘Getting sleepy again, hm?’ He whispered.

Yeosang made a small, tired hum in response, pacifier bobbing without rhythm now.

Seonghwa lifted the spoon from the pot and blew gently across the surface of the soup before setting it aside.

‘We’ll have a few spoonfuls first,’ he murmured. ‘Then your bottle with your medicine, and then I'll tuck you in for the night.’

His fingers brushed lightly over the cast once more.

‘And maybe,’ he added thoughtfully, voice warm, ‘-when you’re a bit more used to your cast, we can all draw something on it for you. With a marker. Give it some personality.’

Yeosang’s eyelids fluttered.

‘Daw?’ He mumbled faintly.

‘Yeah,’ the older smiled. ‘Draw. Maybe little stars. Or hearts. Or a big smiley face so it doesn’t look so serious.’

He pressed a quiet kiss into his hair.

‘We’ll make it yours.’

The soup cooled just enough before he carried everything into the living room- the main bowl cradled carefully in one hand, a plate balanced on top of it.

On the dish sat the softened crusts soaking in their own little puddle of broth, and beside them the pillowy insides of the bread he’d torn into small pieces, ready to be dipped or mixed in.

Yeosang was gathered easily into his other arm, cast angled just right against Seonghwa’s hip as he lowered himself onto the floor with the others and drew the younger in, adjusting him until his back rested comfortably against his chest.

He arranged the cast across his thigh with near ceremonial care- an instinctive protectiveness that bordered on overdoing it, and yet felt entirely warranted.

‘Okay,’ Hwa murmured. ‘Taste test.’

The first spoonful was cautious- blown on, offered delicately.

Yeosang opened his mouth automatically, more out of habit than hunger.

Only then did it seem to register how hungry he actually felt- the hollow feeling in his stomach, the energy he hadn’t noticed missing until now.

The second spoonful disappeared faster. The third even more so. By the fourth, Yeosang’s hands were creeping forward, fingers curling around the handle of the spoon with determined little grabs.

‘Ah-ah,’ Seonghwa laughed softly. ‘Let mama steer.’

But the younger was suddenly very invested.

His brows furrowed in focus, pacifier abandoned somewhere in the blanket as he leaned forward eagerly.

When Seonghwa pulled the spoon back to scoop more, he let out an indignant little whine, twisting slightly.

‘It’s coming,’ the older soothed, smiling despite himself. ‘It can’t fly, you know.’

Another spoonful. Another. A small impatient sound when it wasn’t fast enough.

From beside them, Wooyoung reached in with a cloth and dabbed gently at the corner of Yeosang’s mouth between bites.

‘Slow down, tiger,’ he teased with an amused hum, fluffing his hair up little.

Yeosang barely acknowledged him, entirely focused on the spoon’s journey.

By the time the bowl was scraped nearly clean, his eagerness had softened into something rather mellow again- hunger satisfied, warmth spreading through him.

His movements slowed. The spoon no longer had to compete with grabbing hands.

Woo wiped his mouth properly this time, careful around the pacifier once it was returned, and pressed an adoring kiss to the top of his head.

'I'll heat your beloved bottle,' He then said, raising from where he'd been seated and taking some empty plates along.

In the kitchen, he warmed it carefully, giving the bottle a swirl once the medicine had fully mixed through the milk.

He tested a drop against his wrist, satisfied, and returned.

Seonghwa shifted Yeosang higher against him as the bottle was passed over, the younger leaning into the familiar shape of it, eyelids heavy once more.

‘Upstairs?’ San asked softly, a towel working through his damp hair as he lingered nearby, having finished his dish earlier than the rest.

Hwa nodded- then carefully passed Sang sideways into Wooyoung’s awaiting arms so he could stand without straining his own back nor the angle of the cast.

Wooyoung accepted him with immediate enthusiasm.

‘Ohhh, hello,’ he breathed dramatically, bouncing him just once for effect. 'My little Sangie-bangie, ankle-sprankle cutie of a sleepy bean~’

Yeosang blinked at him, dazed and pliant, bottle clutched loosely between his hands.

Woo leaned closer, eyes narrowing with playful intent.

‘Guess it’s my time to get those smooches in, isn’t it?’

A mischievous little laugh followed.

He pressed an exaggerated kiss to Yeosang’s cheek.

Squeak.

Sangie scrunched his face instantly, shoulders creeping up, a startled little sound escaping him before dissolving into a breathy giggle.

The other grinned, tickling his sides affectionately at the adorable reaction.

‘Is that my little squeaky bean I’m hearing?’

Another kiss- this time more playful, lingering properly against the other cheek instead of a quick peck.

Wooyoung exaggerated the sound of it, lips pressed warmly to Yeosang’s skin.

The little squeaked again, higher this time, shoulders jerking up as laughter tried to escape and protest tangled into it.

‘There it is!’ Woo declared triumphantly. ' I knew you had another one up your sleeve.'

He shifted him slightly, threatening another one with puckered lips hovering just an inch away.

‘Should I? Should I not? Hmm?’

Yeosang shook his head weakly, anticipative giggles escaping already, cast wobbling slightly before Woo steadied it with a firm though kind hand.

‘No?’ He teased. ‘But what if the ickle-tickle kissy monster demands one more?’

He leaned in slowly- very slowly- until Yeosang burst into a full, airy giggle before the kiss even landed.

Mwah.

‘Attack successful.’

Yeosang buried his face into Woo’s collarbone, shoulders shaking with soft laughter, pacifier forgotten entirely for the moment.

‘Oh, don’t hide,’ Woo cooed, laughing too. ‘You can’t escape the smooch patrol.’

Another tiny squeal. Another peck.

‘Alright,’ Seonghwa’s voice came in from beside them, fond but edged with a purpose at hand. ‘Smooch patrol can clock out. It’s bedtime.’

San smiled faintly. ‘You keep that up and he’ll be wide awake for another hour.’

Wooyoung looked up with theatrical reluctance.

‘Fine, fine. Medical orders.’

He shifted Yeosang higher once more, pressing one last deliberate kiss to his forehead, lingering there a second longer than strictly necessary.

‘Rest well, my brave little pipsqueak.’

Yeosang blinked up at him, cheeks warm, a faint giggle still caught in his throat.

Woo smiled, softer now- and transferred him carefully back into Seonghwa’s arms, making sure the cast was supported properly before letting go.

Around them, no one even attempted to hide their expressions.

Yunho’s grin stretched wide, San’s eyes curved into crescents, Jongho shaking his head with quiet amusement.

It was impossible not to smile at the sight of those two- the way Woo and Sang fell into their own rhythm so effortlessly, their own private pact of chaos and affection.

Seonghwa adjusted the younger against his chest, one hand settling instinctively at the cast.

‘Say goodnight,’ Woo whispered conspiratorially.

Yeosang gave the smallest, sleepy huff in response.

And with that, Seonghwa turned toward the stairs- bottle in hand, laughter still lingering warmly in the room behind them.

Halfway up, Sang shifted in his arms, lifting a heavy hand to point at the first painting along the wall.

‘Dat one,’ he declared with sleepy conviction.

It was a habit of his when he felt big enough to voice things, small enough not to put too much detail to it.

He would be naming every canvas as if he were conducting a private tour, even when his eyes were already drooping.

He pointed at each in turn as they climbed- the abstract with its bold cobalt streak, the soft landscape washed in muted greens, the small framed photograph near the landing.

‘Blue… gween… pwletty.’

As far as Sangie was concerned, the spectrum began at blue and ended firmly at green.

Everything else, in his mind, was simply a more complicated shade of one of those.

His finger wobbled with the effort, but he insisted on each one, waiting for Seonghwa to hum acknowledgment before moving to the next, as though skipping even a single frame would undo the order of the night.

San walked ahead of the two, slipping into the nursery before moving towards the low dresser by instinct rather than instruction.

The top drawer opened with a muted glide.

He paused over the neatly folded sleep sacks, fingertips brushing fabric until he chose the pale one with the stitched crescent moons, one they all adore on the younger.

Pajamas followed- one of the newer pairs they’d added to his drawer only days ago, chosen carefully during a late scrolling session that had ended in far more purchases than planned.

Then Tippy, lifted carefully from the corner where he’d been waiting once he'd gotten out of the emergency bag, and the pacifier resting in its small case beside it.

All of it gathered against his chest in a generous armful as he walked back towards the two.

In the adjoining bathroom, water ran briefly- not hot, not cool- until steam barely fogged the mirror.

San tested the washcloth against the inside of his wrist before wringing it out and draping it over his forearm, warmth held in its folds.

Behind him, Seonghwa had already lowered Sang onto the rug.

The thick weave cushioned them from the hardwood beneath, lamplight pooling gold across its surface.

He set the bottle aside within reach and reached for the diaper caddy without ceremony, retrieving a fresh nappy and wipes in a movement so practiced it barely required sight.

‘Alright,’ he murmured, easing Sang down onto his back with care.

One forearm slid beneath the injured leg at once, elevating it just enough to prevent any outward roll.

His other hand settled briefly at Sang’s waist, grounding him there before moving to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Sang made a small protesting sound- more habit than resistance- fingers catching at Seonghwa’s sleeve.

Before the fuss could gather momentum, the older leaned down and pressed his mouth against the younger’s tummy, then let his fingers flutter lightly across his sides in a subtle tickle.

The reaction was immediate.

A startled squeak burst from Sang’s chest all over again, somewhere between a giggle and a gasp, the tension breaking in a ripple rather than a snap.

‘Mama-’ he complained weakly, but his mouth betrayed him, curving despite himself.

‘You’re welcome,’ he replied with a grin after feigning bewilderment for a second too long.

The sweatpants were eased down in stages, hips shifted only a fraction at a time.

Each adjustment was measured, almost economically so.

The injured leg never dropped; it remained supported, angled precisely where it would cause the least strain.

Sang’s earlier determination had thinned into drowsy sensitivity.

He fussed when cool air brushed his skin, when the wipes made their first pass, when he realized he couldn’t curl fully onto his side the way he usually preferred.

Despite that, he was doing absolutely perfect for the situation at hand.

The clean diaper slid beneath him with minimal lift, tabs secured snug but not tight, fabric smoothed flat beneath Seonghwa’s palm as if erasing the long, eventful day along with it.

San did not linger at the edge of the room when he returned.

He lowered himself properly, his knees settling into the rug so he met Sang at eye level.

The washcloth rested folded in his hands, warmth still held inside it, faint steam clinging to its edges in the lamplight.

His knuckles brushed lightly over Yeosang’s arm before he spoke.

‘Hey, little moon,’ he smiled, whispering. ‘Let’s freshen you up a bit, hm?’

The younger spotted the cloth before he processed the rest- the soft fold of it resting in San’s palms.

His lashes lifted slowly, meeting San’s eyes that had been waiting there all along.

Sang’s brows pulled together in a small, stubborn crease- not meant to be unkind, just deeply unconvinced that any of this needed to be happening right now.

His fingers tightened in Seonghwa’s hoodie from where the older leant in, a silent little plea woven into the fabric- surely mama would tell Sannie there was no need.

Of course, the other understood exactly what that meant- he’d learned long ago to read and translate him by heart.

His thumb ghosted along Sang’s temple.

‘Love,’ he breathed, leaning in close, ‘Mama knows you must feel very tired after all that has happened.’

Sang blinked up at him, lower lip nudging forward in the tiniest pout. Seonghwa’s voice shifted into that unmistakable parental tone- tender, calm and certain all at once.

‘We've practiced earlier, remember? And you didn’t get to wash up after.’ A pause. ‘We can’t crawl into bed like that, sweetheart. That’s not very kind to your body.’

He kept it simple. No long lecture. Just truth.

‘Sannie has to freshen you up at least a bit,’ he elaborated softly. ‘Just your face, your hands, under your arms- the parts that worked hard today. That's all.'

San nodded, holding up the cloth. ‘Any part that will turn you into less of a stinky,’ he added with a grin.

‘Sannie thtinky,’ he shot back faintly, attempting a counter-accusation.

San gasped.

‘Absolutely not,’ he said, scandalized. ‘Sannie showered right after dinner. With soap.’

He held Sang’s stare for a second longer- then something in his expression shifted.

He could see it now. The crease wasn’t just stubborn on its own anymore. It was tired. Fussy. Over-it.

He slowly turned his head toward the washcloth in his hand, folding it over his fingers into a floppy little mouth and gasping at it like he’d only just discovered it there.

‘…Oh,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘You heard that?’

The cloth remained still.

San blinked at it.

Then it wiggled. Just once.

He narrowed his eyes.

‘No, no, that’s not what he said. He said that I was a stinky.’

The cloth flopped indignantly between his fingers.

‘Excuse me,’ San squeaked on its behalf, bending it sideways towards himself as if the muppet was siding him. ‘We would like to file a protest. We are here on official de-stink duty.’

The puppet turned toward Sang, bobbing with importance.

‘Are we prepared,’ it asked gravely, ‘-to assist this soon-to-not-be-a-stinky?’

Sangie blinked at it, affront loosening into curiosity.

San didn’t wait too long- just enough for the hook to land.

‘Oh dear,’ the puppet whispered, leaning close to his collarbone as though examining him carefully.

It paused- then leaned toward Sang's neck and gave an exaggerated, tiny sniff.

‘Snff… snff…’

Another, longer one.

‘Snff-snff-snff.’

'Hmm,' it pulled back slightly then. ‘We are detecting suspicious activity in the neck region.’

‘Me not thtinky,’ Sang insisted again, though he was smiling now.

‘Soon-to-not-be-a-stinky,’ the puppet corrected, far more tender this time.

Before Sang could decide whether to take offense, the warm cloth skimmed along the side of his neck- quick, gentle and efficient.

‘Sannie not there!’ The younger squeaked instantly, shoulders jumping as he twisted away. ‘Sawngie haws tiwckles!’

‘Tickles?’ the puppet gasped, scandalized. ‘We were not informed of tickle zones!’

San’s hands kept their efficiency even while he kept the voice going- a swift wipe behind the ear, down the neck, under one arm.

‘Official de-stink duty requires immediate action,’ the cloth insisted, wiggling wildly.

Sang squirmed, half-laughing now, half-offended, his cast stiffly knocking against the mattress as he tried to curl in on himself.

‘Sawngie didn’t thign up fo' thish!’ He protested through anticipative shrieks.

The puppet tilted its floppy head.

‘That is unfortunate,’ it informed him kindly. ‘But this mission was pre-approved under bedtime regulations.’

San’s voice slipped in beneath it, soft and amused. ‘Almost done, tiny.’

He wiped smoothly beneath his other arm right after, quick and thorough, the warm cloth gliding once and gone.

‘Upper limb region successfully addressed,’ the puppet declared.

That was when the younger lunged.

The movement wasn’t as swift as it once would have been- the cast pulling at his balance, heavy and still quite unfamiliar- but determination made up for speed.

With surprising coordination, he caught the floppy little mouth between both hands and yanked it down toward him, victorious.

‘Got’chu, muppeth!’ He breathed triumphantly, trying to chew on the soggy cloth from where it nearly reached close enough.

San’s eyes widened.

‘Oh no- absolutely not—’ he laughed while his eyebrows lifted, abandoning the puppet voice mid-sentence. ‘That cloth has seen things.’

Instead of reaching for his sides, his fingers darted straight to Sang’s tummy- right beneath his ribs, just enough to spark the reaction without taking chances on hurting his leg by accident.

The younger folded instantly.

‘Sannie not thwere!’ He shrieked, collapsing into himself as laughter burst out of him in bright, helpless hiccups.

The puppet slipped free in the chaos.

San rescued the washcloth swiftly, holding it safely out of reach.

‘You are not assaulting the washcloth after everything it’s been through,’ he laughed.

Sang kicked his free foot lightly, breathless and giggling, hands guarding his tummy now instead.

The laughter tapered off in small, breathless hiccups, Sang folding into Seonghwa’s chest as the last of the giggles fizzled out of him.

San gave the cloth one final dignified shake. ‘Mission complete. No further stink detected.’

That earned another squeal of scandalized laughter- softer this time, already fraying at the edges with sleep.

By the time San slipped out to rinse the cloth and busy himself with the rest of the evening, the room had quieted into something slower.

Seonghwa carried Sang to the chair in the far corner- the one tucked beneath the dim lamp where the light pooled amber against the wall.

Fresh pajamas waited folded on the armrest, the pair San had picked earlier- soft cotton, easy to slip over the cast without fuss.

Seonghwa had fetched them along with Tippy, who now rested tucked beneath his chin, one small ear pressed into Sang’s cheek as if supervising the process.

‘Look who came too,’ Seonghwa murmured right before, brushing Tippy lightly against his nose.

Sang’s lashes lifted at that, a faint smile ghosting over his mouth before sleep tried to pull it away again.

He dressed him unhurriedly, starting with the sleeves, guiding delicate hands through and tugging the soft cotton down over warm skin.

A careful lift followed, just enough to slide the waistband up and over, adjusting gently around the cast and smoothing the cotton flat with the back of his hand after.

Sang didn’t protest. He just watched.

He watched him with round, glimmering eyes, as though nothing beyond Seonghwa’s expression could possibly matter.

‘Mama,’ he breathed softly.

Seonghwa glanced down at him, lips curving.

‘Yeah?’

Sang blinked slowly, studying him like he was memorizing something.

The lamplight pooled warm around them, but Sang’s attention never drifted towards it.

It remained fixed- intrigued and intent- on the familiar shape above him.

Familiar, in the breadth of him and the soft shine in his eyes when they smiled; familiar like lamplight brushing the clean line of his jaw and the way his voice always found him first, warm and close and certain.

Seonghwa held his gaze for a breath longer, as if honoring it- that sweet, unguarded kind of love that never needed words.

‘Alright,’ he murmured softly, brushing his thumb once beneath Sang’s cheek. ‘Sleep sack time.’

He eased him down carefully, guiding him from his lap to the open sleep sack waiting on the rug.

The zipper whispered faintly as he drew it down the rest of the way.

‘Up we go,’ he hummed.

One arm slid behind Sang’s back, the other supporting beneath his thighs- mindful of the cast- lifting him just enough to nestle him properly into the lining.

The zipper of the sleep sack crinkled quietly beneath him as he settled, tippy shifting further down his neck by the action.

Sang blinked up at him, slow and trusting.

‘Sawng shack own?’ He asked, glancing at his own body being adjusted bit by bit.

‘Mm,’ Seonghwa smiled, smoothing the fabric flat across his chest. ‘Sleep sack on, love.’

He guided the casted leg first, adjusting the fabric so it didn’t pull, then drew the rest of it into place with graceful hands.

Sang’s gaze continued to loom over him.

There was something almost reverent in it- soft and open and entirely unguarded.

Seonghwa paused halfway up the zipper when he noticed.

‘What?’ He murmured fondly.

The younger blinked again, lashes dipping.

‘Mama pwetty,’ he said, as if reporting a fact.

Seonghwa let out the fondest breath of a laugh.

‘You’re biased,’ he murmured, finishing the zip and pressing it flat beneath his palm.

He leaned down, brushing his nose gently against Sang’s temple before pressing a kiss there.

Sang pressed a clumsy little kiss back to his temple, then grinned at him, cheeks lifting in pure, uncomplicated adoration.

'You should come with a warning label.’

Sang tilted his head.

‘Warnin’?’ He echoed faintly.

Seonghwa smiled, brushing his nose lightly against his.

‘Yeah. Because I genuinely don’t think I can survive this level of cutiepatootie.’

Sang blinked, then frowned faintly, cheeks puffing just a little.

‘Me ish not cute,’ he declared, as if this were a matter of record.

He tried to sit taller inside the sleep sack, shoulders lifting.

‘Me ish Dob-mwen.’

The older pressed his lips together, clearly fighting the smile threatening to betray him. His thumb traced once along Sang’s cheek before he nodded solemnly.

‘Ah. My mistake,’ the other said with exaggerated seriousness. ‘Very powerful Doberman energy, yes.’

His hand stayed warm at his hips. ‘You get to decide what you are, fluffy. I’ll back you up.’

The older then pressed his palm flat over his stomach for a moment, grounding, then let his hand drift to his hips again, thumbs working slow circles through the padded fabric.

Not big movements- just enough to ease the lingering tension from a body that couldn’t wiggle freely tonight.

Sang let out a long, melting breath.

‘Comfy?’ Seonghwa asked quietly.

A small nod.

The lamp hummed softly in the corner. The room felt closer now. Contained.

They moved to the chair tucked in the far corner, lamplight softening everything it touched.

Sang curled into him without fuss, bottle tipped carefully as Seonghwa supported the weight of his cast with his forearm.

The room was hushed but not quite silent- faint water running somewhere down the hall, a cupboard closing softly.

The younger drank with eager determination, even though his eyelids began to dip lower with each swallow.

When the bottle was done, Seonghwa guided him upright, rubbing slow circles across his back until the smallest burp escaped.

He smoothed some remnants of spilled milk from the corners of his lips with a hum, pressing a kiss into his hair before standing again.

He adjusted his hold before fully rising, one arm firm beneath Sang’s thighs, the other supporting his back.

The chair gave a faint creak as he pushed to his feet.

Yeosang barely stirred.

The sleep sack rustled faintly against Seonghwa’s chest as he carried him the short distance to the bed, lamplight trailing along their shadows across the wall.

Before lowering him, he shifted his weight slightly and used one hand to pull the blanket back from where it had been tucked halfway up the mattress by San before he left.

The purple blanket loosened with a soft whisper of fabric.

He reached beneath the material, fingers searching by memory until they curled around the warm curve of the hot water bottle.

It was still gently heated- not hot anymore, just comfortably warm.

He slid it out in one smooth motion and set it aside on the nightstand, letting the warmth it had left behind remain pooled in the hollow of the sheets.

He then lowered him with patience, guiding him down in stages rather than all at once-easing his shoulders to the mattress first, then his hips, then carefully arranging the weight of the cast so it rested comfortably.

For a moment, he kept one hand at Sang’s stomach, soothing and tender, letting him register the shift from arms to sheets.

‘Tucking you in now, tiny star,’ he breathed.

He drew the blanket up and over him in one swift motion, the fabric melting against his chest like second skin.

It fell naturally around the shape of him- sleep sack beneath, pacifier moving in content pulls.

Seonghwa adjusted the material lightly around the cast without comment, then tucked one side in beneath the mattress with practiced hands.

The other followed, smoothed flat and eased under so it held without pressing.

He stepped down toward the foot of the crib and folded the lower edge inward there too, tucking it securely along the back of the foot end before returning to Sangie's side.

Tippy rested near his shoulder.

Seonghwa gave the plush a soft pat, adjusting it a bit so it nestled properly against his neck again.

‘Guard duty,’ he whispered with a smile.

He lingered a moment longer, simply watching him.

There was a soft shine in his eyes- relief, pride, gratitude all braided together. They had made it through today. They would make it through the rest the same way.

He then let his hand rub over Sang’s stomach again, drawing idle, affectionate patterns through the blanket- circles that were meant to simply exist as they were.

Sang’s eyes followed the movement.

For a second he only watched- lashes heavy, expression open.

A faint little hum bubbled up in his chest, content and sweet, as if the sight alone delighted him.

He then reached for Hwa's hand with drowsy interest.

It hovered briefly above the blanket before drifting toward the older's fingers, clumsily brushing them once, before curling around them with certainty.

Seonghwa adjusted immediately, letting his hand turn so their fingers fit together properly.

His thumb swept across Sang’s knuckles a few times, and before long the younger’s lashes slipped shut.

The older leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Then another, lighter one just above the bridge of his nose, brushing that spot afterward with the pad of his thumb.

‘Goodnight,’ he murmured.

He reached for the nightlight and switched it on.

A mellow glow bloomed across the room, followed by the sweet melody they both knew by heart- gentle and looping, barely louder than breath.

Seonghwa stepped back from where he had been leaning over the crib rails and straightened.

He pulled the nursery door closed behind him, the latch clicking softly into place.

He had barely taken three steps down the hallway when the first sound of a pitched cry reached him.

It was a harmless unraveling that followed the closing of the door every time, the kind that moved in faltered breaths and lessened just as quickly as it began.

Hwa paused in the hallway, his hand resting briefly against the wood as he listened, though he didn't turn back inside.

He remained where he was for a few seconds longer, listening as the crying shifted and thinned.

He knew the cadence of it by heart. It would crest once more, perhaps twice, and then soften into uneven breaths.

It had always been like this with Sang. With Woo as well.

The moment the room settled and the last presence withdrew, whatever they had been holding together through the day seemed to loosen all at once.

The laughter, the effort, the bravery- it left in a few small cries that were more release than distress.

They were never panicked. Never escalating. Just a body emptying itself before sleep could claim it.

Trusting that rhythm, Hwa continued down the stairs.

By the time he reached the end of the stairs, the monitor was already waiting where Mingi'd left it on the kitchen counter, volume turned just high enough that no change upstairs would go unnoticed.

He didn’t rush to pick it up. Didn’t hover, either.

He only glanced at the screen when he passed the device- enough to see a small shape beneath blankets, shoulders hitching through the tail end of it- before moving further down the kitchen.

By the time he claimed the empty chair near the corner of the table, the house had slipped into its late-evening rhythm- plates pushed aside, sleeves rolled up, conversation loosening at the edges.

Yunho stood at the sink, stacking dishes with the kind of meticulousness that suggested he’d reorganize the entire kitchen if left unsupervised.

Ceramic touched ceramic in tidy clinks.

‘So,’ Hongjoong was saying, elbows braced on the table, animated in that particular way he got when fashion entered the chat, ‘-it’s not just any show. It’s the show. Paris. They want front row.’

San arched a brow. ‘Front row as in cameras in your pores front row?’

‘Exactly that front row,’ Hongjoong shot back, already grinning. ‘I’m thinking something structured. Sharp shoulders. Maybe silver hardware. Something that says I woke up like this but also spent three weeks planning.’

‘You absolutely spent three weeks planning,’ Yunho called over his shoulder.

Seonghwa hummed, amused. ‘You’ll pretend it was spontaneous.’

‘I will lie with confidence,’ Hongjoong confirmed solemnly.

San leaned back in his chair, one ankle hooked over the opposite knee, gaze drifting every now and then to the monitor without fully turning his head.

It appeared to be quite like a sixth sense tuned upstairs, actually- like an unseen thread tugging lightly through the floorboards.

Even as he half-smiled at something Hongjoong said or added something to the conversation himself, his body simply couldn't resist playing its reflexive tricks on him like that.

Chin lifting. Shoulders narrowing forward.

Pulled towards the continuous upset in the same instinctive way one reaches for something precious.

On screen, Yeosang shifted.

At first it was only a rustle- blankets nudged aside with quite the effort.

Then a small figure pushed upright, hair mussed, face scrunched with the remnants of tears.

He reached for the crib rail with a huff, fingers wrapping around it as he hauled himself to stand.

San’s posture changed before anyone else clocked it.

On the monitor, Yeosang wobbled.

His good foot planted flat. The other hovered awkwardly, cast knocking faintly against wood as he tried to lean without leaning.

Hongjoong followed San’s line of sight.

‘He’s up?’

‘Mm,’ San answered, not alarmed, just thinking. His gaze sharpened slightly. ‘He’s trying to balance on the wrong foot.’

On screen, Yeosang pressed his forehead briefly to the crib rail.

A soft, tired cry drifted through the monitor speaker- thinner now, less explosive, but persistent.

Yunho dried his hands and came closer, peering at the screen.

‘He looks like he’s negotiating with gravity.’

‘He’s losing,’ Seonghwa murmured under his breath, already halfway risen from where he was seated.

But San didn’t stand yet.

He watched another second- long enough to read the pattern. Yeosang shifting weight. Testing. Refusing to fully rest the broken ankle, even when exhausted.

‘He’s crying a lot tonight, huh.’

San leaned forward a little as he said it, forearms braced against the table, eyes following the uneven movement on the screen.

Hongjoong nodded, lips pressing together. ‘It’s catching up to him.’

‘Yeah.’ San tilted his head slightly, eyes still on the screen where Yeosang’s grip on the rail tightened, shoulders trembling with the effort of staying upright though definitely struggling to hold himself for much longer altogether.

Another small cry crackled through the speaker- frustrated more than frantic.

Seonghwa exhaled softly, attention angled toward the stairs. ‘I’ll go up for a minute,’ he said. ‘Just calm him down a little. Let him know we’re here.’

San’s head turned immediately, though his eyes flicked once more to the screen before he spoke.

‘Hyung,’ he started gently, leaning back from the table. ‘Do you mind if I go?’

Seonghwa paused.

San’s expression was open- not insistent, not challenging. Rather warm.

‘You’ve had him all day,’ he added with a faint smile. ‘I can handle this one. Might even steal a couple snuggles while I’m at it.’

There was something almost boyish in the offer, but beneath it sat something sincere. Eager.

Hongjoong’s mouth twitched at the corner.

Seonghwa studied him for a second longer, then huffed a small, fond breath.

‘Alright,’ he conceded. ‘Go on. He’ll like that.’

‘I know,’ San replied softly.

He was on his feet in the next breath, already moving toward the stairs before the sentence fully settled between them.

Upstairs, the crying carried clearer through the hallway.

The handle turned with a muted click.

San eased the door open just enough to slip through, closing it carefully behind him before the latch could make a sound.

‘Hi sweetheart,’ he whispered immediately, voice wholly wrapped in warmth and soothe.

Across the room, Yeosang jolted at the sound of him.

The startle only seemed to tip him further over the edge- his breath catching sharply before his crying swelled, louder and more fractured than before, tears spilling down in quick, unchecked tracks.

He was still upright somehow, fingers curled tight around the crib rail, forehead pressed near the slats from where he’d run out of energy halfway through protesting.

‘Shh…’ San breathed tenderly, voice dipping into that familiar coo when he realized he'd spooked the younger a bit.

‘Ohh, it’s alright, darling. It's okay.’

His face crumpled the second he recognized San through the dimmed lighting of his nightlight across the room.

‘M–Mou… Moun’ain…’ he hiccupped, voice thick with tears. ‘Sa-sawng… Sawngie ouchie-’

Another breath hitched, chest trembling.

‘Sawng… ou–ouch-ie…’

San’s expression softened instantly, slight concern flickering across his features- not alarmed, rather sympathetic.

His brows knit just slightly as he closed the remaining distance between them.

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he murmured, already reaching the crib. ‘I know. I know. I’m coming. I’ve got you.’

He slipped one arm beneath Sang’s arms, the other careful around his waist, mindful of the cast as he guided him up and over the crib rail.

Yeosang sagged into him instantly, legs folding awkwardly, cast knocking lightly against San’s thigh before San adjusted him higher.

‘There we go,’ the other breathed, drawing him tight against his chest. ‘No more tears, darling. Sannie's got you.’

The little buried his damp face against San’s shoulder, delicate fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

‘Mou–nain…’ he hiccupped weakly. ‘Huwt foot…’

San shifted his hold, one hand supporting beneath his thighs while the other cradled the back of his head, thumb brushing through tear-warmed hair.

‘I know,’ he soothed. ‘Your ankle’s being mean tonight, huh?’

A shaky nod against his collarbone.

‘It’s must've been painful when you tried to stand like that, mh?’

Another hiccup.

‘Wan’ up…’ he mumbled weakly. ‘Sawng wan’ up…’

San’s expression melted even further.

‘You wanted to stand on your own two feet,’ he echoed gently. ‘But your foot said no, huh, Sangie?'

Yeosang made a small, offended sound at that- half sob, half confirmation.

‘Mhm,’ the other hummed, swaying faintly now. ‘That’s frustrating. You’re allowed to be upset about that.’

He brushed his thumb lightly along Sang’s damp cheek.

‘How about we let those eyes rest a little, hm? Just close them for Sannie.’

Yeosang stiffened immediately.

‘No,’ he breathed, quick and panicked despite the exhaustion, fingers clutching tighter into San’s shirt as though the word itself needed anchoring. ‘No nigh’-nigh’.’

He gathered Yeosang higher against his chest, one broad hand spreading securely between his shoulder blades while the other slid under the casted leg to keep it fully supported.

‘Hey… hey,’ he hummed, rocking them in a quiet arc across the nursery floor. ‘Where did all this upset sneak in from, hm?’

He began to sway more deliberately now, slow and rhythmic, the kind of motion meant to reassure rather than persuade.

'You are so tired, sweetheart. Your eyes can barely stay open,'his voice dipped warmer. ‘Your body’s working really hard to fix that hurt foot of yours. It does that better when you rest.’

Sang shook his head harder, lip wobbling again.

‘No close,’ he insisted, voice climbing. ‘If close…’ A hiccup broke it apart. ‘Mou’nain put Sawng down.’

San stilled in thought.

Ah.

It wasn’t really the foot alone, after all.

‘You don’t want to sleep on your own, love?’ He asked with a hum, voice mellowing in a different way now- less coaxing, more understanding.

Sang’s breath hitched, and the way he clung answered before his words did.

‘Wan’ Mou’nain,’ he mumbled tearfully. ‘Stay.’

The other nodded, pressing his cheek against his hair, letting the small weight of that request rest fully with him instead of brushing past it.

‘Okay,’ he said after a moment, voice thoughtful rather than rushed, adjusting his plan instead of trying to bend Sang back into the original one.

‘I’ll tell you what, tiny. You can sleep in my bed tonight.’

He drew back just enough to look at him properly, making sure the promise landed.

‘But,’ he added gently, smoothing a thumb beneath damp lashes, ‘-Sannie still has to put on his pajamas and do his skincare, hm? I can’t go to bed looking like a raisin.’

A faint attempt at a hiccup-laugh trembled through Sang’s chest.

‘So,’ San continued, tone warm though preparative, ‘-we’ll put on a movie while I do that. You can stay right there on the bed, all tucked in, and Woo can come sit with you.’

He tipped his head slightly.

‘I’m pretty sure Wooyo would not forgive us if we watched The Smurfs without him. You know how serious he is about Papa Smurf.’

Sang’s brows knit in tired concentration, tears still clinging to his lashes as he processed this new arrangement.

‘Woo wath wif’ Sawng?' He asked uncertainly, voice small but curious now.

San smiled softly.

‘Yeah, I'm sure he wouldn't mind one bit,' he assured calmly, lifting his voice just slightly on the last part so it carried across the room- and, conveniently, towards the baby monitor.

‘You can start the movie together, and I’ll take a few minutes to get ready properly. After that, I’ll come to bed, and you can stay right there with me. I’m quite certain I’d sleep better with you in my arms tonight, tiny one.'

There was a brief beat of silence.

Then the monitor crackled the way San had been anticipating all along.

'La la la la la la, sing a happy song…'

San huffed softly through his nose, unable to stop the corner of his mouth from lifting.

‘Confirmed,’ he murmured down at Sang, voice warm again. ‘Woo does not mind.’

Sang’s grip shifted, tension draining into something much lighter now while blinking at the device in wonder.

‘Woo…’ he sniffled, a tiny spark of excitement cutting through the tears. ‘Woo thmurfs?’

Another crackle.

‘Papa Smurf is en route!’ Woo declared dramatically between sung notes. ‘Nobody press play without me!’

San shook his head fondly.

‘You hear that?’ He whispered to Sang. ‘We’ve summoned him.’

And faintly, the singing grew louder- not from the monitor this time, but from the hallway outside.

‘Laa la-la la-la-la-laaa-’

San lifted his voice properly now, calling down the hall, ‘Yes, Woo! We got the message! If you get any louder, you’re going to summon the entire village!’

───

That night unfolded exactly the way San had promised it would.

The movie barely made it halfway through before Sang’s body gave in, the earlier resistance dissolving into the kind of deep, unquestioning sleep that only comes after being thoroughly understood.

He lay tucked between them in San’s bed, head nestled beneath San’s chin, Woo draped shamelessly along the other side as though claiming equal custody of comfort.

Woo had absolutely refused to return to his own room once Sang’s breathing evened out.

Something about ‘quality Smurf supervision’ had been declared with great seriousness before he’d simply curled closer instead.

And so, Sang slept, held and loved and thoroughly seen- not by two arms, but by four.

───

Morning, however, belonged to someone else.

When Yeosang surfaced from that cocoon of warmth, it was gradual- the regression thinning at the edges first, awareness returning in careful layers.

The pacifier slipped free without protest this time, fingers uncurling from San’s shirt while his mind climbed back towards older ground.

He did not speak immediately. He rarely did after nights like that.

Instead, he lay there for a moment, eyes open, taking stock- of the cast against his ankle, of the mental and physical fatigue his frame seemed to hold- and of the two figures still half-asleep around him.

By the time he finally shifted, the regression had retreated fully.

And the day asked something different of him.

───

Recovery, as it turned out, did not clash most with little, regressed Sangie.

It clashed with Yeosang.

Regression softened him; it made rest easier to accept, food less negotiable, comfort something he reached for instead of argued against.

But once fully present in his older headspace, they found something sharper returned with him- that familiar insistence on being useful, capable, unbothered and most of all someone unwilling to hold them back, even for the sake of his own health.

He refused to skip what he could technically still attend.

Upper-body workouts? He was there, seated and stubborn, lifting with controlled precision as though proving something to no one and everyone at once.

Dance practice? He insisted on joining, even if it meant sitting on the bench with his cast propped awkwardly beside him, following formations with laser focus, marking movements with his hands as if the choreography might slip away without his vigilance.

He told them it was fine. That he wasn’t pushing. That he knew his limits.

And yet, if he had truly listened to those limits, he might not have been standing in a cast to begin with.

And so, the difference between knowing limits and accepting them was where the friction lived.

Concerned remarks became routine.

‘That’s enough for today.’

‘Sit down.’

‘You’re overdoing it.’

Sometimes it stayed verbal. Other times it didn’t.

The first confrontation happened at home, in the narrow stretch of time before they were due in the van, when Hongjoong told him plainly that he would not be attending rehearsal.

‘You’re not coming,’ he had said, tone level and immovable- aware that if he phrased it as a suggestion, it would become a conversation, and if it became a conversation, Yeosang would not let it end.

‘I’m not dancing,’ the younger replied, jaw already set. ‘I can sit. I’ve done it before.’

‘You won’t,’ Hongjoong said, folding his arms. ‘You’ll mark it. You’ll brace. You’ll rehearse it mentally like you’re on stage. You do it every time you sit in, Yeo. Don’t expect me to miss that.’

Yeosang’s mouth tightened.

‘I’m not fragile,’ he said quietly.

‘I know,’ Hongjoong said. ‘That’s the problem. If you were fragile, you’d stay seated like you’re supposed to instead of pretending you’re above your own limits.’

He could have phrased it differently, sure. Softer. Wrapped it in more care and less edge.

Joong is totally capable of that; he often does, for a fact.

But Yeosang had a particular way of grinding against his patience when he dug his heels in like this- that unyielding composure, that stubborn insistence that he could endure anything as long as it meant he wasn’t left out.

It wasn’t the injury that irritated him.

It was the refusal to acknowledge it.

The remark landed harder than Yeosang let on.

Hongjoong didn’t miss it- the way Yeo's teeth locked as if bracing against his own tongue, keeping heated words from breaking free.

The rest of his expression remained smooth, almost detached.

It wasn’t the correction that stung- it was the implication. Above his limits. As if he were arrogant rather than desperate to keep up.

His mouth pressed into a thin line, shoulders straightening in that restrained, almost regal way he defaulted to when wounded.

‘Fine,’ he said at last, too calm to be sincere.

And then he left. In silence.

Hongjoong would have assumed that was it- final. Conversation closed, boundary drawn.

You can imagine his surprise when, not even half an hour later, his phone buzzed with Yeosang’s name lighting up the screen.

┃ I can review formations from the bench.

Three dots. A long pause.

Then, a minute later.

┃ That doesn’t interfere with recovery.

Hongjoong stared at the screen for a few seconds longer than necessary, thumb hovering but unmoving.

The van hummed steadily beneath them as they waited at a red light, city passing in muted streaks outside the window.

Seonghwa sat at his side, half-turned toward his own phone, scrolling with absent focus, while Jongho leaned forward from the row behind, interrupting whatever overly animated story Wooyoung was telling in the front seat.

He almost rolled his eyes.

Almost.

Instead, he inhaled and released a fatigued sigh through his nose- not angered, nor surprised, just bracing himself for the part of leadership that required saying no twice.

Then he typed.

┃ I said no.
┃ That hasn’t changed.

───

He showed up anyway.

Not dramatically, not storming in as if to provoke a scene, but with the same composed posture he always carried, crutches placed carefully beneath his arms and his bag slung over one shoulder as though this were any other rehearsal day.

The studio door clicked shut behind him while music from the speakers filled the space, and for a moment no one registered it- until they did.

Hongjoong saw him first in the mirror.

The reflection told on him before his expression did.

The cast was visible even beneath loose sweats, white and unapologetic against the polished floor, and Yeosang looked more worn than he likely realized.

There were faint shadows beneath his eyes, his movements fractionally slower than usual as he maneuvered toward the wall where the bench sat.

He did not look at Hongjoong immediately.

He just lowered himself into the seat with deliberate care, setting his crutches aside as though this had been agreed upon, ridding himself of his jacket right after.

As though the text exchange had not happened.

The music cut.

Not abruptly- just enough to thin into awareness.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Joong said, voice even but unmistakably firm.

Yeosang’s gaze remained forward, focused on the mirrored wall instead of on him.

‘I’m sitting,’ he replied, tone measured. ‘That’s it. I’m not moving.’

His foot shifted slightly, a faint wince tightening his jaw before he smoothed it away.

The night had not been kind; the itching beneath the cast had woken him more than once, a restless irritation that left him exhausted and brittle by morning.

He had said nothing about it.

They found he rarely did, if at all.

‘You’re exhausted,’ Hongjoong continued, stepping closer but keeping his voice level, unwilling to give the situation an audience.

‘I’m fine,’ the younger answered, too quickly.

The word hung in the room like something rehearsed.

Yunho hovered a few feet away, concern written openly across his face, while Jongho shifted his weight uneasily near the speakers.

Even Wooyoung, who had been mid-comment seconds before, went silent.

‘I’m part of this,’ he added, finally lifting his eyes.

There was no shouting in it, no theatrics- just the same stubborn insistence he carried from the womb all the way to the studio. ‘Sitting doesn’t interfere.’

‘It does,’ Hongjoong replied. ‘You don’t know how to stop at enough.’

This time, the muscle in Yeosang’s jaw didn’t just twitch- it held.

‘At least I’m trying,’ he shot back, the words leaving before he could sand them down into something safer, something more respectful.

‘Some of us don’t get to sit back and play director.’

The room did not erupt, and no one raised their voice, but the atmosphere shifted all the same, the air thinning in that subtle, unmistakable way it does when a boundary has been breached.

His tone had not been loud, and there had been no shouting, yet the implication within it carried enough edge to slice cleanly through the music still humming faintly in the background.

It was not merely frustration that lingered in the space between them.

It was challenge. It was accusation.

It was the kind of remark that did not belong in the mouth of a younger member addressing his leader, no matter how justified the emotion behind it might have felt in the moment.

Hongjoong did not flinch, though something in his gaze hardened, focus narrowing just enough to signal that a boundary had been crossed.

He did not need to raise his voice to reclaim authority; it settled over him naturally, visible by his posture and the measured way he regarded Yeosang now.

Before Hongjoong could respond, before the silence had time to fracture into something louder, Seonghwa moved.

He did not hurry, and he did not speak.

The sound of his steps against the studio floor was unremarkable, but the intent behind them was not.

His expression had shed its usual softness entirely; there was no indulgence in it now, no coaxing warmth, only a composed severity that surfaced so rarely it felt almost foreign.

He bent to retrieve the jacket Yeosang had shrugged off earlier, lifting it with deliberate care before giving it a single, efficient shake.

Then he stepped directly into Sang's space and held the jacket open in front of him.

It was no such thing as an offer.

It was instruction.

For a moment, the younger simply stared at him.

The surprise that crossed his face was immediate and unfiltered, because Seonghwa almost never did this- not publicly, not without cushioning the demand in gentler words.

‘You’re not serious,’ Yeosang said, but there was no humor in it.

Seonghwa did not answer.

He held the jacket open, gaze neutral and unblinking, waiting.

Something defiant flared in Yeo's chest.

‘I said I’m sitting,’ he replied, chin lifting in challenge. ‘You don’t get to dress me like I’m five.’

Seonghwa’s expression did not soften.

‘Put it on, or I will.’

Yeosang didn’t move.

So Hwa did.

He stepped closer, close enough that there was no longer space to posture in, and caught his wrist with precision.

Without raising his voice or shifting his expression, he guided the younger’s arm through the waiting sleeve himself, movements efficient and practiced.

When the younger tried to pull back, he adjusted his grip and fed the second arm through as well, lifting the jacket over his shoulders and settling it into place, reaching for the zipper and managing to make ends meet.

That was when Yeosang snapped.

‘Don’t touch me,’ he bit out, jerking his shoulder away, ripping the half-zipped jacket back open before Hwa could finish.

His composure fractured now, pride spilling over into something rather harsh.

‘You all think you can just decide everything for me like I’m incapable of thinking for myself.’

‘That’s not what-’ Yunho began.

‘It is,’ Yeosang shot back, voice no longer controlled, the exhaustion underneath it making it brittle. ‘Y'all don’t get to make me the reason we fall behind.’

After that, he stopped choosing his words. They simply came.

‘You think I don’t see it?’ He continued, shoving the jacket fully off his shoulders again.

‘Every time you tell me to sit out, every time you “handle” me like this? That’s you deciding I’m a problem.’

‘You think we want you to be the problem?’ San asked, brows drawing together. ‘Or is it just easier to accuse us than admit you’re scared of becoming one?’

The jacket hit the floor with careless force.

‘Fuck off.’

Wooyoung moved instinctively, catching his arm before he could pivot away.

‘Hey- hey, stop, just-’

Yeosang shook him off, already braced on his crutches, movements uneven but determined.

‘Don’t,’ he snapped, wrenching free. ‘Don’t pretend this is about concern when it’s about control.’

Woo’s grip faltered.

Seonghwa’s voice cut through it, calm and level.

‘We’ll talk about this at home.’

Yeosang paused at the doorway, shoulders rigid, breath uneven.

‘Yeah?’ He replied without turning around. ‘Add it to the list of things you’ve already decided for me.’

And then he shoved the door open and let it slam shut behind him, the sound echoing through the studio long after his crutches had faded down the hallway.

───

Of course, they talked about it.

Not in the studio, not while adrenaline still clung to the walls and pride was sharper than reason- but that same night, when they returned to the dorm and found Yeosang exactly where they had expected him to be.

He hadn’t gone far.

He had walked home on stubborn fumes and collapsed into his bed without even changing, crutches discarded near the door, lights off, the room thick with that particular silence that follows anger spent too quickly.

They didn’t crowd him when they first stepped in. Hongjoong knocked. Seonghwa waited a beat longer than usual before entering.

The confrontation never resumed.

Seonghwa had lowered himself onto the mattress and drawn a slow, affectionate hand down Yeosang’s back, thumb tracing small arcs through the fabric of his shirt while the younger lay stiff and still, pretending to be asleep in the way only someone very awake could manage.

He didn’t call him out immediately.

He just kept that grounding touch in place, patient, familiar, the kind that had always meant you are safe even when you’ve made a mess.

Hongjoong stood near the door at first, quieter than usual, arms folded not in defense but in restraint.

It was him who finally spoke.

‘You don’t have to fake it,’ he said with a forgiving sigh. ‘We’re not here to fight you.’

The words lingered in the room.

Seonghwa’s hand moved once more down Yeosang’s spine, slower this time.

‘Sang,’ he added softly.

There was a pause- a stubborn one, at that- and then the subtlest shift.

A breath that hitched differently. Shoulders that lost their rigid precision.

Yeosang did not roll over dramatically or pretend to wake- he simply stopped pretending altogether.

They coaxed him up gradually, not with force but with presence, until he was sitting at the edge of his bed, shoulders drawn inward, the earlier fire burned down to embers.

The apology came slowly, and not in one clean sweep.

He apologized to Hongjoong for the tone, for crossing the line in front of everyone.

He apologized to Seonghwa for pulling away and for the disrespect.

But he also apologized to San. To Wooyoung, whose hand he had shaken off without thinking.

And then, more broadly, to the others who had stood there and taken the edge of his temper without deserving it.

He grew teary through it, not dramatically, but in that restrained way that made the words harder to get out, as if pride still wanted to intercept them halfway.

He admitted they had been right.

He was exhausted.

He hadn’t slept properly in days.

The cast itched at night in ways that drove him half-mad, and the ache lingered longer than he wanted to acknowledge.

He hadn’t told them because it felt small, because it sounded like complaining, because admitting it meant admitting he wasn’t handling it as well as he claimed.

‘I don’t want to hold you back,’ he said finally, voice tight but honest. ‘I just want to do what I actually can. And if I say I can do something, I need you to let me.’

That was the core of it.

They didn’t dismiss that fear.

But they drew clearer boundaries.

If he said he could sit in rehearsal, they would hear him.

But in return, they made him promise that the moment his body showed strain, he would let them step in without negotiation.

If he insisted he could handle something, he had to be transparent about the aftermath.

And if they told him to rest, it would not be a debate about worth- it would be a decision about healing.

The second check-up, however, stripped the situation of sentiment in a way that no argument ever could.

The imaging did not show disaster, and it did not show regression, but it also did not show the kind of improvement one would have hoped for by that point.

The bone was healing, technically, yet not with the cooperative progress it should have been making under proper rest.

It was the sort of plateau that didn’t look dramatic on paper, but told a story all the same.

Yeonjun didn’t need the scan alone to understand what was happening.

He could trace the strain back to its source- to the kind of profession that trained you to override fatigue, to outwork discomfort, to equate stillness with falling behind.

He knew what that mindset could cost when it turned against healing, as he is an idol himself, after all.

‘If you keep negotiating with your body instead of actually listening to it,’ he told him plainly, hands folded loosely in front of him, ‘-this is going to take longer than it needs to. You don’t get bonus points for pushing through discomfort. All you’re doing is delaying the very thing you’re trying to speed up.’

There was no anger in his voice, no edge meant to wound.

What he offered instead was clarity, from one idol to another.

Later, once Yeosang had been sent ahead, Yeonjun asked for a separate word with Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

The conversation was not accusatory; it felt more like guidance, as though Yeonjun were carefully helping them navigate the best way forward, offering his perspective not to correct them, but to support them in supporting their friend.

They were quick to acknowledge that his behavior had improved significantly after the studio incident and its talk- the outright defiance had not resurfaced, and the sharper outbursts had quieted into something more contained.

He had been making an effort. That much was clear.

But the remnants of those flare-ups had not disappeared entirely.

They had simply grown subtler.

There were still moments when frustration flickered across his face before he could mask it- a clipped remark when “rest” was mentioned one too many times, a tense shrug of his shoulders when someone offered to carry something for him or the faint roll of his eyes that he likely believed went unnoticed.

Yeonjun listened to all of it without judgment.

Then he nodded once, thoughtful.

‘You should keep him little more often,’ he said simply.

He didn’t frame it as discipline or strategy. He spoke as someone who understood the mechanics of coping.

‘Right now, his adult mindset is working against his healing. I'm sure he's constantly evaluating himself- whether he’s contributing enough, whether he’s slowing you down, whether he’s doing the resting thing correctly. That tension doesn’t switch off just because you tell him to lie down.’

He glanced between Hongjoong and Seonghwa before talking again.

‘When he’s regressed, he isn’t measuring himself. He isn’t negotiating his worth. He accepts comfort. He accepts help. His body actually relaxes.’

There was a small pause before Hongjoong said, almost to himself, ‘-he looks lighter when he does, yeah.’

The other hummed before adding to it.

‘Encourage it. Earlier in the day. Not just when he’s overwhelmed. Let him stay within that headspace a little longer. Build it into the routine so it doesn’t feel like a fallback- it feels like a normal state he’s allowed to occupy.’

He folded his hands loosely.

‘The more time he spends small, the less time he spends bracing. And right now, bracing is what’s slowing him down.’

It wasn’t about taking control away from Yeosang.

It was about taking pressure off him.

And from that point forward, they did exactly that.

───

The yard had that particular summer stillness to it- the kind that settled after lunch, when the sun had climbed high enough to bleach the edges of the sky but not yet begun its descent.

The grass was thick and unapologetically green, warm where it caught the light and cool where the fence cast a long, patient shadow across it.

Somewhere nearby, a neighbor’s sprinkler ticked in steady intervals.

A dog barked once, half-heartedly.

The air smelled faintly of cut lawn and something sweet drifting from an open kitchen window.

Yeosang sat in the middle of it all like a content, delighted little landmark.

His casted leg stretched out in front of him, stark against the grass like it had claimed its own patch of sunlight.

He wore denim overalls that sat comfortably loose over a black-and-white striped T-shirt, the fabric soft from too many washes.

One of the metal clasps glinted in the light each time he shifted.

He was barefoot, skin warm from the sun.

The toes of his good foot dug experimentally into the grass, testing the softness before curling and uncurling again, thin strands slipping between them.

He did it absentmindedly, every few seconds, wiggling as though the earth itself were something to be felt properly, thoroughly.

It was something they had learned he loved to do long before the cast- sitting cross-legged in the yard or sprawled out on a blanket when he felt especially small.

Even now, casted and angled somewhat awkwardly, he kept that little ritual in place, toes pressing into the grass as though nothing fundamental had changed after all.

The cast refused to bend, ofcourse, but the habit endured.

They all adore these habits of his- the way he carries small comforts forward no matter the circumstance, as if anchoring himself through familiarity alone.

The desire to be outside had arrived with that same unwavering resolve.

He hadn't been seated in his highchair long before he twisted toward the window, strawberry mash coating the lower half of his face in cheerful disarray.

It framed his lips, streaked across his chin, and left faint fingerprints along his jaw where he’d tried to “help.”

The tray in front of him was no better- dotted and swirled in pink evidence of a breakfast he’d clearly approached with enthusiasm.

Yunho had lifted the spoon again, only for it to be intercepted- squirmy fingers wrapping around it, redirecting it firmly toward the backyard like it was an arrow.

'Sawngie an' Yumho ouwt?'

The other blinked down at the commandeered spoon, then at the yard beyond the window.

‘We will,’ he promised patiently. ‘As soon as we finish breakfast, okay? Two more bites.’

Yeosang’s brows knit together in concentration, as if weighing the terms very seriously.

‘Awll don’!’ He declared at once, nodding firmly as though the decision had already been made.

Yunho huffed a laugh.

‘You are very much not all done,’ he replied, eyeing the strawberry-coated disaster before him.

Still, once the last bite was negotiated and the pink evidence of rebellion wiped clean, the yard had opened for him just as he’d intended.

‘You has a bawll?’ He had kindly asked, tilting his head a bit in wonder from where he peeked a glance at his friend.

Yunho reached into the corner beside the flower pots- the place it had been living lately- and lifted the ball from the grass, turning it once in his hands so it caught the sunlight.

It was a soft, rubber ball that had been bought after learning how much both Sangie and Woo liked to play with one outside.

‘Ofcourse I do, bud,’ he said, voice warm with amusement. ‘You think I came unprepared?’

The older stood a few feet away now, barefoot, jeans rolled at the ankle, pretending to assess the “field” with grave seriousness.

‘You ready?’ He asked.

‘Yeth!’ Sangie chirped, already leaning forward.

He threw his arms out to either side, stretching them so far his shoulders lifted toward his ears, as though bracing for a flying object instead of something that would barely roll.

His tongue peeked slightly between his teeth in focus.

Yunho bit back a smile and rolled the ball towards him- gently, deliberately, giving it just enough momentum to wobble across the grass.

Yeosang held his pose. Unblinking. Prepared for impact that never came.

The ball reached him without ceremony and nudged lightly against the side of his cast before losing all momentum. It simply rested there.

A long second passed.

Only then did the younger gasp, arms suddenly flapping inward in frantic correction.

‘Oh!’

He lunged forward a good three seconds too late, palms slapping down onto the grass where the ball had already settled peacefully against the inside of his leg.

His fingers scrambled, missing once before finally clutching it to his chest with pride.

‘Me gots it!’ He announced proudly, rocking forward on his hips. ‘Mine!’

Yunho’s grin broke open without restraint.

‘It is yours,’ he agreed warmly, lowering himself a little closer to the ground. ‘That was a very impressive catch.’

Yeosang beamed at the praise, fingers tightening possessively around the ball for half a second longer before Yunho extended his hands again.

‘Alright, superstar,’ he encouraged tenderly. ‘Roll it back to me.’

The younger nodded with great seriousness.

He planted both palms into the grass first, testing his balance, then began the careful process of scooting forward.

His good foot dug into the lawn to push, toes flexing, while the cast dragged stubbornly behind him.

It left a faint, curved path through the thick green- a soft line pressed into the strands where the plaster skimmed the surface.

He shuffled once.

Twice.

Each movement came with a determined little exhale.

Yunho didn’t move away- he remained exactly where he was, watching him close the distance inch by inch.

A quiet smile tugged at Yunho’s mouth as it dawned on him that Yeosang might not fully grasp the necessity of space in a rolling game.

The ball was meant to travel. Instead, its owner was traveling with it.

He didn’t interrupt the logic. He simply let it happen.

The space between them shrank quickly.

Yeosang scooted so enthusiastically that by the third push forward, their knees nearly bumped.

One more determined wiggle and their noses were almost touching, his overalls brushing against Yunho’s jeans.

He leaned forward, concentrating as though preparing something monumental, and carefully- very carefully- rolled the ball the remaining few inches.

It barely traveled before bumping gently against the older's lap.

Yeosang froze for half a second, eyes lifting to search his face.

Then his mouth curved wide.

He patted Yunho's knee lightly.

‘Dada catch da bawll good!’ He beamed, voice full of approval.

The older swallowed around the sudden warmth in his chest and nudged his forehead lightly against his.

‘Well, aren’t you generous,’ he said fondly. ‘Thank you, love.’

Yeosang grinned, cheeks round with pride, then immediately scooted forward again like the only logical next step was to eliminate all distance entirely.

Yunho watched him close in with mild confusion and dawning understanding.

Right.

We’re very little right now.

‘Okay, wait-’ he laughed softly, holding up a hand. ‘We need space, remember? The ball has to travel.’

The younger blinked at him.

‘Thwavel?’

‘Yeah. If you’re right here,' he tapped lightly at the grass between them, ‘-it can’t really roll.’

Yeosang considered this information for exactly half a second.

Then he scooted even closer.

Yunho huffed a breath through his nose, smiling.

‘Alright. I see what’s happening.’

He reached forward with a fond grin, sliding his hands beneath Yeosang’s arms.

‘Let’s move you back a little, okay? Just a little.’

The younger made a soft questioning sound but didn’t resist, letting himself be shuffled backward across the grass in small increments.

Yunho scooted him closer to the wide oak tree, careful of the cast, adjusting the angle so it rested comfortably in front of him.

‘There,’ he said, brushing a stray blade of grass off the denim of his overalls. ‘Now we’ve got a field.’

Yeosang looked down at the space between them.

Then back up at Yunho.

‘Biwg?’ He asked.

‘Big enough,’ the older nodded.

He rolled the ball toward him again- not fast, just enough to cover the distance.

The ball traveled halfway before the thick grass swallowed its momentum, slowing it to a wobble and then a complete stop, still frustratingly out of reach as Yeosang stared at it like it had personally wronged him.

A breeze skimmed through the lawn, bending the green in small waves.

The ball remained exactly where it was.

‘Not cowm to Sawngie?’ He pressed, leaning forward as if the ball simply needed clarification.

Yunho pressed his lips together to hide his smile.

‘Should I get it for you?’ He asked, already half-shifting forward. ‘Or do you want to try?’

The younger drew himself up as much as he could manage from the ground.

‘No Dada,’ he said firmly. ‘Me cawn do.’

He leaned forward at once, palms planting into the grass with determination that far outweighed his coordination.

He began his careful shuffle, hips lifting in small increments, his good foot pushing against the earth while the cast dragged behind him, carving a faint, pale arc through the thick green once more.

His shoulders tightened with the effort, chin tipping downward as he focused fiercely on the small stretch of space between himself and the ball.

The overalls tugged at his sides as he shifted again, breath coming out in generous, determined huffs.

One scoot.

The grass flattened beneath his palms.

Two.

His free toes pressed deeper into the lawn for leverage, the muscles in his calf straining with the effort of compensating for the weight he could not distribute evenly.

On the third push, his torso leaned a fraction too far forward.

The cast resisted at the wrong angle, catching against the uneven turf and halting his progress mid-motion.

His arms scrambled instinctively to correct, fingers clawing for balance that wasn’t quite there.

There was a short, suspended pause- his body hovering in that uncertain middle ground between success and surrender.

Then the balance tipped.

He rolled and then flopped onto his side with a soft ‘Oh,’ eyes wide for a heartbeat at the sudden rearranging of the world.

Yunho moved closer and dropped into a low crouch, bracing one knee in the grass as he leaned over him, curls brushing near Yeosang’s forehead.

‘Careful, explorer,’ he said softly, smiling when the younger beamed a hiccupped smile back at him.

Sang blinked once, then patted the lawn beside him with solemn confirmation.

‘Gwass.’

Yunho released a chuckle, brushing a stray blade from the denim at his hip.

‘Yeah,’ he agreed gently. ‘You fell onto the grass, mh?’

‘Gwass catch.’

Another huff of laughter escaped the older's chest, warmer this time.

‘It did, didn’t it?’ He said. ‘Very soft landing.’

Instead of lifting him upright immediately, the older adjusted his hold, sliding one arm more securely beneath him.

He lowered himself backward in one controlled movement, guiding them both down onto the lawn so Yeosang ended up sprawled comfortably across his chest.

The grass cushioned them with a faint rustle.

The cast was angled carefully off to the side, resting harmlessly against Yunho’s thigh.

Sang's hands immediately clutched at Yunho's shirt, fingers curling into the fabric with instinctive trust.

‘Gowt Sawng,’ he said, voice rather mellow now, satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with the ball.

‘I do,’ the other answered with a content sigh, one broad palm spreading across his back, rubbing slow, absent circles between his shoulder blades. ‘Always.’

Yeosang blinked once, then again, studying Yunho with open curiosity, gaze lingering on the curve of his smile before softening.

‘Us lay down?’ He asked softly.

‘Mh,’ the older hummed, fingers smoothing over the denim at his hip. 'Hyungie can't remember the last time we snuggled like this, love. Missed it.'

The younger hummed in return, seemingly deep in thought while he glanced at the fluffy clouds above that were taking different shapes every other minute.

Yunho’s gaze drifted downward after a few, landing on the cast resting beside them.

The white plaster no longer looked plain.

Glittery hearts shimmered faintly in the sunlight- pink and purple, uneven in the best way- little sparkled imprints of San’s kind hands.

Messages curved along the side in looping handwriting from all of them, squeezed between doodles and signatures.

Near the ankle, two small drawings stood side by side- the Aniteez pets, Woo’s and Sangie’s, sketched holding hands in bright marker.

Yunho tapped the edge lightly.

‘You know,’ he said softly, ‘-your cast turned out pretty cool, mh?’

Yeosang lifted his head and followed his gaze.

‘San diwd a heawrt,’ he said, tracing one glittery shape carefully with his fingertip.

‘Yeah,’ the older smiled. ‘He went all out.’

‘Woo d'aw,’ Yeosang added, pointing at the little pets.

‘Mh. He drew them yesterday, didn’t he? Said they had to keep you company while he’s off walking that fashion show today.’

The younger hummed in agreement, then shifted higher and lifted one finger to Yunho’s jaw, tracing lightly over the faint stubble there.

He blinked once.

‘Pwickwy,’ he announced.

Yunho glanced down at him, lips twitching. ‘Prickly?’

A solemn nod.

‘Tiny beawrd,’ Yeosang clarified, dragging his fingertip across it again.

The older chuckled under his breath.

‘That would be because I didn’t shave this morning.’ He tilted his head slightly to give him better access. ‘When men don’t shave, the hair grows back. That’s what you’re feeling.’

Yeosang paused, blinking in careful consideration as his small world rearranged itself around this new fact.

‘Sawngie want beawrd too,’ he decided after a moment, patting his own smooth cheek in comparison. ‘No have one.’

Yunho’s expression melted at once.

He brushed his thumb gently along the younger's cheek where the delicate hand had been.

‘That’s because you’re a baby,’ he said quietly, voice matter-of-fact though fond, fully stepping into the shape of his small world. ‘Babies don’t grow beards.’

The younger frowned faintly at this information, considering the injustice of it.

Yunho glanced at his features and leaned a little closer then, lowering his voice like it was a shared secret.

‘And, all the grown-up bits belong to us on weekends,’ he murmured. ‘We make sure you’re clean and smooth and comfy. That’s nothing for you to worry about, love.’

He tapped Yeosang’s nose lightly.

‘Your job is being our tiny, happy friend.’

Sang's brows pulled tight.

The neat little world he understood- weekdays small, weekends big, hyungies in charge of certain things- had hit something too abstract to stack properly.

His fingers curled in the air, trying to hold the logic together.

Yunho saw it right away- the way he was starting to chase a concept too layered for where he was right now.

And so, instead of answering, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against the warm skin of Yeosang’s neck, letting a playful raspberry burst there- sudden, silly, and perfectly timed.

The younger shrieked, the complicated thought shattering into breathless giggles as his shoulders shot up toward his ears.

‘Yum- mhhm— Dada’ He squealed, shoulders shooting up as he tried to scrunch into himself. ‘Tiwckles! No tiwckles!’

But he was already giggling so hard the protest held no authority.

Another raspberry followed, lower this time, the older's hands braced at his waist to keep him from folding in on himself entirely.

‘Hm, no?' Yunho hummed dramatically. ‘Hyungie was just starting to get hungry though…’

He leaned in closer, eyes glinting.

Nooo-!’ Sang gasped, breathless though anticipative. ‘Sawngie jus’- jus’— hah!

And then he attacked again, another exaggerated raspberry bursting against his neck.

The younger shrieked, laughter spilling out bright and uncontained as he twisted helplessly in Yunho’s hold.

‘No nom! No nom!’ He squealed. ‘Sawngie not a s-sna- ha! snack!’

Yunho pulled back just enough to inspect him thoughtfully, head tilted with mock wonder.

‘You're not dada's snackie?' He murmured, unconvinced. ‘Then what is this wiggly thing I'm holding?’

He gave his waist a playful squeeze.

‘It’s moving. It’s wriggling. Looks very snack-shaped to me.’

Yeosang dissolved into giggles again, kicking his legs vividly with a beaming, intrigued smile on his face.

‘Noooo! Sawngie frien’! Not snack!’

‘Friend?’ The older repeated, as if weighing it carefully. ‘Hmm.’

He leaned closer, lowering his voice into mock suspicion.

‘I don't think friends would try to wriggle away, mh? Only snackies would, don't you agree?’

Without waiting for a response, he blew another quick, mischievous raspberry.

Yeosang squealed so loudly his words came out in fragments.

‘Yumho! No! Sawngie- Ghihi! Fly! Fly!’

The older paused.

Then slowly, deliberately, he slid his hands more securely around Yeosang’s waist and lifted him clean into the air.

‘Oh~’ he breathed in exaggerated realization. ‘You’re not a snack.’

Up he went- feet leaving the ground, laughter bursting out in delighted shock.

‘You’re an airplane.’

Yeosang’s legs kicked instinctively, hands clutching at Yunho’s wrists for balance as giggles tumbled over each other.

‘Flyyyy!’ He squeaked. ‘Sawngie fly!’

Yunho held him with care, arms strong and unwavering, letting him hover there for a heartbeat before lowering him inch by inch- closer, closer- until their noses nearly brushed- Sangie's face scrunching softly at last.

‘Careful,’ Yunho murmured fondly, grin wide. ‘This airplane appears to be very ticklish.’

Yeosang squealed in anticipation, nose scrunching again.

The tickles resumed immediately after- quick bursts to his sides, a sneaky nudge beneath his chin, another playful attack to his neck whenever he tried to wriggle away.

Laughter spilled bright and breathless, the younger twisting in midair, legs kicking as though he might truly take flight if he tried hard enough.

But as delighted as Yunho was, his arms slowly began to protest.

His tiny airplane, as it turned out, was sweet- but not exactly featherlight.

With one final exaggerated lift and a soft huff of laughter, he gathered him back into his chest instead, settling him securely against his shoulder and waist.

‘Grounded for refueling,’ he declared lightly.

Yeosang sagged against him without complaint this time, cheeks flushed, giggles tapering into little hiccups as he leaned bonelessly into the familiar warmth.

They drifted towards the window together, where the sky stretched wide and pale, clouds wandering lazily overhead.

Yunho eased into a seat and balanced Sang across his lap, pressing a sippy cup of juice into his small, eager hands and setting a little bowl of cut fruit within reach.

The world quieted to something gentle then- sticky fingers, soft sipping sounds, the faint hum of wind outside.

And for a while, the only thing that needed solving was whether the next cloud looked more like a sheep… or a whale.

Yeosang tilted his head back suddenly, juice still clutched in his hands, eyes wide with new discovery.

‘Isss…’ he began, squinting up at a larger, puffier shape drifting across the blue. ‘Iss Joongie own a bik’!’

Yunho released a tender chuckle, following his finger to the sky. ‘Joong-hyungie on a bike, huh?'

Maybe rest, even when it demanded to be taken, wasn’t that bad after all.