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The industry after-party in the VIP lounge of the Roppongi club was a curated chaos of expensive champagne, flashing strobe lights, and high-fidelity speakers. It was an exclusive space heavily guarded by security, the kind of atmosphere where idols, actors, and executives were too busy networking and maintaining their public images to actually look closely at one another.
Nicholas leaned against the glass railing of the private terrace, the neon-lit night air of Tokyo biting at his neck. Inside the lounge, Harua was the center of a small, admiring circle of rookie idols and styling staff. He was wearing a soft, cream-colored stage knit that made him look like a literal angel. He was kind, he was loyal, and he was currently laughing at a joke Jo had made, his eyes occasionally darting to the terrace doors to make sure Nicholas was still there.
Nicholas felt nothing. No guilt and no regret just a dull, clinical acknowledgment that Harua was a good person who happened to be occupying a space in his career and his life that didn't belong to him anymore.
"You're brooding" a voice murmured.
Euijoo stepped out, sliding the heavy glass door shut with a click that sounded like a verdict, instantly muting the heavy bass from inside. He looked effortless in an oversized designer blazer straight off the runway, the wind catching his perfectly styled hair. A few paces behind the glass, Minah was deep in conversation with Fuma and one of their head managers. She was radiant, the perfect "it-girl" actress girlfriend that maintained Euijoo’s carefully crafted image of heteronormative stability for the tabloids.
"I’m bored," Nicholas said, not turning around.
"Harua wants to do a weverse livestream at that cat cafe tomorrow. Again."
Euijoo moved to the railing, his shoulder brushing Nicholas’s. The contact was electric, a jagged spark that made the rest of the glittering skyline blur into grayscale. "Minah's agency wants us to be 'accidentally' spotted getting coffee on Sunday. She’s already picked out my outfit for the paparazzi."
They stood in silence for a moment, two predators hiding in a flock of sheep, untouchable behind their celebrity status.
"We’re terrible," Euijoo said, though his tone was light, almost conversational. There was no weight in his words, no moral anchor dragging him down.
"We’re honest" Nicholas corrected, finally turning to look at him. His eyes scanned Euijoo’s face with a possessive hunger that would have terrified Harua, let alone their fanbase. "Just not with them. Why waste the energy? They wouldn't understand that some people are just built from the same jagged pieces."
Euijoo reached out, his fingers tracing the line of Nicholas’s jaw. He didn’t care if Maki or Taki walked past the window. He didn't care if the glass reflection showed exactly what they were.
"I don't feel bad, Nico. Is that a problem? When I’m holding her hand for the cameras, I’m just counting the minutes until I can feel yours."
"It's not a problem," Nicholas whispered, leaning into the touch. "It’s a Darwinian necessity. We survive the industry, we survive them, to get to each other."
Inside, the DJ shifted the track to something slower. Nicholas saw Harua look toward the terrace, a faint pout of loneliness crossing his face. Nicholas didn't flinch. He didn't feel the "wrongness" of the situation because, to him, the only thing that felt wrong was the three feet of air still between him and Euijoo.
"They're our members... our friends," Euijoo noted, watching K hand a drink to a beaming Yunah. "We love them. In a way."
"In the way you love a childhood pet," Nicholas agreed. "But I don't want to spend my life on a leash, Joo. I want the fire."
Euijoo’s hand moved from Nicholas’s jaw to the back of his neck, pulling him forward until their breaths mingled in the cold air.
"The VIP coat room," Euijoo breathed. "Security is doing a shift change in the back hallway. Everyone’s distracted by the executives. Five minutes."
"Three," Nicholas countered, his eyes dark. "I don't have the patience for five."
They re-entered the lounge separately. Nicholas stopped by Harua, pressing a lingering, performative kiss to his forehead just as a staff member walked by.
"Going to grab a water, baby. The bass in here is giving me a headache." he lied, his voice honey-sweet.
"Oh, of course, Nico! Do you want me to come with?" Harua’s eyes were wide with genuine concern.
"No, stay. Enjoy the party. I'll be right back."
Nicholas walked away without looking back. He didn't see the love in Harua’s eyes; he only saw the path past the VIP booths.
He slipped into the soundproof coat room, a narrow space crowded with heavy designer jackets, garment bags, and the faint smell of expensive perfume. A heartbeat later, the door opened and Euijoo shoved his way in, locking the deadbolt behind him.
There was no hesitation. No "should we be doing this?" or "what about our careers?"
Euijoo crashed his lips against Nicholas’s with a violence that spoke of weeks of stifled hunger and stressful schedules. Nicholas groaned into the kiss, his hands instantly finding their way under Euijoo’s blazer, gripping his waist until his knuckles turned white. This wasn't a mistake; it was a homecoming.
"You taste like her lip gloss," Nicholas hissed against his mouth, his teeth grazing Euijoo’s lower lip. "Clean it off."
"Make me," Euijoo challenged, his eyes bright with a selfish, shimmering joy. He didn't look like a top-tier idol burdened by a scandal waiting to happen. He looked like a man who had finally found the air he needed to breathe.
They were reckless. They were loud. They were two people who had found their soulmate in the wreckage of other people's hearts and reputations, and neither of them felt the slightest bit inclined to apologize for it.
"If Dispatch finds out..." Euijoo started, his voice trailing off as Nicholas bit a mark into the sensitive skin of his shoulder a mark that Yunah would surely see later, a mark Euijoo's makeup artist would have to frantically cover before their morning schedule.
"Let them," Nicholas murmured, pulling Euijoo closer, their heartbeats syncopating in the cramped, dark space. "They’re just background characters in our story, Joo. The fans, the company, the members... they don't get to decide how this ends."
Outside, the industry elites and the friends they "loved" laughed and toasted to a bright, shiny future that Nicholas and Euijoo had already set on fire. And as Nicholas pulled Euijoo back in for another kiss, he knew he’d do it all again tomorrow. Without a single second thought.
---
The emergency stairwell tucked behind Practice Room 3 in the HYBE Japan building was a notorious dead zone. It was the single camera blind spot in the entire heavily-surveilled facility a secret both nicholas and euijoo discovered back in their debut days and the air always smelled faintly of cold concrete and the ozone from the industrial air purifiers. It was supposed to be empty.
When K shoved the heavy fire door open, annoyed that they were holding up rehearsal, Fuma was right behind him, holding a clipboard.
"I swear, if they're out here smoking again, the choreographer is going to—" K’s voice died in his throat.
The clipboard slipped from Fuma’s grasp, the plastic cracking sharply against the concrete landing.
They weren't smoking.
Euijoo was backed flush against the cinderblock wall, his oversized hoodie pushed halfway up his chest. Nicholas had him entirely caged in, one hand gripping Euijoo’s waist with bruising force, the other tangled violently in his hair. They were kissing like they were trying to consume each other, a wet, breathless, savage collision of teeth and tongues.
For three agonizing seconds, the only sound in the stairwell was the echo of the clipboard hitting the floor and the ragged, wet sound of Nicholas breathing against Euijoo’s neck.
Fuma felt the blood drain from his face. "What… what are you doing?"
It was the tone of the question that was wrong. Fuma didn't sound angry; he sounded devastated.
The reaction from the two boys against the wall was what truly made K’s stomach turn into a knot of ice. There was no scramble backward. There was no panicked shoving, no stuttered excuses, no wide-eyed terror of being caught.
Nicholas simply stopped moving. He let out a low, irritated sigh, his breath fanning over the fresh, dark purple bruise blooming on Euijoo’s collarbone. Slowly, lethargically, Nicholas turned his head to look over his shoulder. His eyes were dark, dilated, and completely devoid of shame.
"You really need to learn how to clear your throat, Fuma," Nicholas drawled, his voice a gravelly rasp. He didn't step away from Euijoo. He kept his hips pressed firmly against him, a deliberate, territorial display.
Euijoo, for his part, just tilted his head back against the concrete, closing his eyes for a brief second as if mourning the loss of the moment. Then, he lazily brought his hand up, wiping a smear of saliva from his lower lip with the back of his thumb. When he opened his eyes, they were dead calm.
"Is break over?" Euijoo asked, his voice chillingly steady. He reached down, casually adjusting the hem of his hoodie.
"Are you out of your minds?" K exploded, stepping forward, his hands balling into fists. The veins in his neck stood out. "Are you absolutely insane? Harua is sitting in the lobby right now with a bento box he spent three hours making for you! And Minah is supposed to meet us for dinner!"
"Yeah, she texted me about it. She wants Italian," Euijoo said, stepping around Nicholas to lean against the handrail. He sounded like they were discussing the weather. "I told her I was craving sushi, though, so we'll see."
"Do not play games with me, Euijoo," K snarled, closing the distance. He grabbed the front of Euijoo’s hoodie, hauling him forward.
"How long has this been going on? How long have you been making fools out of them? Out of us?"
Before K could even blink, Nicholas was there. He gripped K’s wrist with a sudden, vicious strength, his fingers digging into the tendons until K let out a sharp hiss.
"Take your hands off him," Nicholas warned, his voice dropping to a demonic register. The lazy facade was gone, replaced by something feral and entirely unhinged.
"Touch him again, and I’ll break your fingers."
"Nicholas!" Fuma finally shouted, stepping between them, pushing Nicholas back by the chest. "Look at yourself! You're defending the guy you're cheating on your boyfriend with! Harua loves you! He worships the ground you walk on!"
Nicholas laughed. It was a hollow, scraping sound that bounced off the concrete walls. "Oh, Fuma. Sweet, naive Fuma. I know he does. It’s pathetic, really. He’s so desperately in love with an idea of me that doesn't exist. He wouldn't know the real me if it bit him."
"You're a monster," K breathed, staring at Nicholas as if looking at a stranger. "Both of you. You're sick."
"We're honest," Euijoo corrected calmly, stepping smoothly out from behind Nicholas. He walked right up to K, stopping mere inches away, his chin tilted up in arrogant defiance.
"We belong to each other. We always have. Harua and Minah are just… placeholders. Padding for the silence. They serve their purpose."
"Placeholders?" Fuma repeated, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Minah is talking about marrying you, Joo. She thinks you’re her forever."
"She’s delusional," Euijoo stated flatly, shrugging his shoulders. "That’s her problem, not mine."
"I'm telling them," K said, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and disgust. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I’m going out there right now, and I’m telling Harua. And I’m calling Minah."
Nicholas didn't move to stop him. He just leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, a sickening smirk playing on his lips.
"Do it," Euijoo challenged softly. The silence in the stairwell grew heavy, suffocating. Euijoo stepped even closer to K, his eyes gleaming with a sociopathic brilliance.
"Call her. Go out to the lobby and break Harua’s heart. Watch him cry. Watch him shatter right before our comeback."
K froze, his thumb hovering over the screen.
"Think about it, K," Euijoo purred, his voice dripping with venomous logic. "You're the oldest and the one members rely on the most. You carry the weight of this team. If you tell them, Harua won't be able to look at Nico. The group dynamic fractures. Maki will take Harua’s side. Jo and Taki will panic,Yuma would go crazy. The company will find out. Minah’s agency will leak a scandal. Our comeback? Our tour? Everything we’ve bled for over the last three years goes up in smoke."
Euijoo reached out, gently tapping his long, elegant index finger against K’s chest, right over his heart.
"Are you really willing to burn down the entire group just to play the moral hero? Because Nico and I? We'll survive it. We'll leave tomorrow and never look back. We have each other. But Harua? You'll be the one who pulled the pin on the grenade that destroyed his dream."
Fuma stared at Euijoo, utter horror written across his features. "You're holding the group hostage. You're blackmailing us with our own members."
"I'm just laying out the board," Euijoo smiled, an empty, beautiful curve of his lips. "You can flip the table if you want, Fuma. But you're the ones who will have to clean up the mess."
Nicholas pushed off the wall, walking over to wrap an arm around Euijoo’s waist, pulling him flush against his side. He pressed a kiss to Euijoo’s temple right in front of them, an open, brazen act of psychological warfare.
"He's right, K," Nicholas murmured, looking at the two older boys with dead, uncaring eyes. "We aren't going to stop. Ever. So you have a choice. You can blow up the group today, or you can turn around, walk back into that practice room, and pretend you didn't see a thing."
K looked from Nicholas to Euijoo, his chest heaving, his knuckles white around his phone. He looked at the bruised skin on Euijoo’s neck, the silver ring hanging from his chain, the absolute, unwavering selfishness radiating from both of them.
They weren't sorry. They were entirely, utterly unhinged, intoxicated by their own toxicity.
"Ten minutes," K forced out, his voice a choked, broken rasp. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, his eyes burning with unshed tears of frustration. "You have ten minutes to fix yourselves and get back in there. Or I swear to god, I'll kill you both myself."
K turned on his heel and slammed through the fire door, leaving Fuma standing alone.
Fuma looked at them one last time, shaking his head slowly. "You're going to destroy them," he whispered.
"Only if they find out," Nicholas replied smoothly.
"Bye, Fuma."
Fuma picked up his clipboard and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Left alone in the dim stairwell, Euijoo turned in Nicholas’s arms, a brilliant, genuine smile finally breaking across his face. He wrapped his arms around Nicholas’s neck, a victorious, wicked giggle escaping his lips.
"That," Euijoo breathed, his eyes shining with adrenaline, "was incredible."
"I love you," Nicholas growled, burying his face back into Euijoo’s neck, right over the fresh bruise, his hands already sliding back under the hoodie. "Now. Where were we?"
---
The roar of the venue was a physical entity, a wave of high-pitched screams and camera shutters that crashed against the long, pastel-draped tables. It was the third fansign of the comeback tour, and the energy was feverish.
To the hundreds of girls sitting in the rows of folding chairs, it was a dreamscape of their favorite idols wearing animal ears and signing albums. To K and Fuma, sitting at the far ends of the table, it was a brightly lit, inescapable nightmare.
In the dead center of the lineup, holding court like two corrupt kings, were Nicholas and Euijoo.
The fans didn’t know the truth. They didn't know about the stairwell, or the bruised collarbones hidden beneath Euijoo’s high-collared silk shirt, or the way Nicholas’s possessive grip felt when the cameras were off. To the public, Nicholas and Harua were just groupmates. To the public, "Nichojoo" was the ultimate, top-tier ship a beautiful friendship that has bloomed since the iland days that fans wrote thousands of words of fiction about.
If only they knew the fiction was nowhere near as twisted as the reality.
Euijoo leaned over his table, abandoning his own stack of albums to rest his chin on Nicholas’s shoulder. The crowd erupted into a deafening squeal. Euijoo smiled lazily, lifting a hand to weave his long fingers into Nicholas’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.
"They're screaming for us," Euijoo murmured, his lips brushing the shell of Nicholas’s ear. To the fans, it looked like a cute, whispered secret between best friends.
"They're screaming because they have no idea," Nicholas hummed back, leaning his weight back against Euijoo’s chest. He didn't even look up from the album he was signing. He just reached up, blindly catching Euijoo’s hand in his hair and dragging it down to press a kiss against his knuckles.
Another shockwave of screams tore through the hall. Flashbulbs went off like strobe lights.
At the end of the table, K felt a wave of nausea roll through his stomach. He gripped his black Sharpie so hard the plastic casing groaned under the pressure. He couldn't look at them. Every time he saw Nicholas drape an arm over Euijoo’s chair, or Euijoo steal a sip from Nicholas’s water bottle, his mind flashed back to the dark stairwell.
*Placeholders,* Euijoo had called them. *Padding for the silence.*
"K-kun?" a sweet voice asked. K snapped his attention back to the teenage girl standing in front of him, sliding a photocard across the table. "Are you okay? You look tired."
"I'm fine," K forced a bright, crinkling smile, signing his name with practiced ease. "Just giving it my all for you guys."
He glanced to his right. Fuma was faring no better. Fuma was staring a hole into the tablecloth, looking physically ill as he watched Nicholas casually slide a hand down to rest on Euijoo’s thigh, perfectly hidden beneath the draping of the table. They were doing it right in front of them. It was a sick, arrogant display of dominance. *You know,* their posture said, *and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.*
"Nico-oppa!" a fan near the front row yelled over the ambient noise, waving a fluffy pink bunny ear headband. "Can you and Harua do the cheek-heart pose? Please!"
K stopped breathing. Fuma stiffened.
Two seats down from Nicholas, Harua’s head snapped up. His eyes widened, a furious, adorable blush spreading across his cheeks. Because they were secretly dating, Harua was always hyper-aware of any public interactions with Nicholas. He thought they had to be careful. He thought they were protecting a precious, fragile secret from the company and the fans.
"Oh, uh," Harua stammered, looking at Nicholas with shy, sparkling eyes.
Nicholas didn't miss a beat. The sociopathic ease with which he transitioned from Euijoo’s orbit to Harua’s was terrifying. He pushed his chair back, a blinding, charming smile stretching across his face as he beckoned Harua over.
"Come here, Hua," Nicholas called out playfully into his mic.
Harua practically floated over, his smile so genuine, so blindingly pure, it made Fuma want to throw up. Harua knelt beside Nicholas’s chair, leaning in. Nicholas brought his hand up, forming a half-heart against his cheek, and Harua eagerly completed it with his own.
The crowd cooed in unison. *So cute! The maknae and his hyung!*
"You're shaking," Nicholas whispered, his tone incredibly soft, meant only for Harua’s ears. He reached out, his thumb gently swiping a stray hair from Harua’s forehead. It looked like the tenderest gesture in the world.
"I'm just happy," Harua whispered back, his eyes shining with adoration. "You look so handsome today."
"Not as pretty as you," Nicholas lied, his eyes completely dead of emotion behind the manufactured warmth.
From his seat, Euijoo watched the entire exchange. He didn't look jealous. He didn't look angry. He simply propped his elbow on the table, resting his cheek in his palm, and smiled. It was a cold, calculating smile.
"My turn," Euijoo announced into his microphone, his voice cutting through the chatter. He stood up, walking over to where Harua was still kneeling by Nicholas.
Euijoo dropped a heavy hand onto Harua’s shoulder, squeezing it in a friendly, brotherly grip, while his other hand slid directly onto the back of Nicholas’s neck. He leaned down, his face hovering right between them.
"Can we do a sandwich hug?" Euijoo asked the fan playfully.
"Yes! Yes! Oh my god!" the fan shrieked.
Euijoo leaned his weight down, effectively trapping Harua between his chest and Nicholas’s side. Harua giggled, squished in the middle, looking up at the cameras with a bright, innocent peace sign.
But behind Harua’s back, out of the camera's view, Euijoo’s fingers tightened viciously in the short hairs at the nape of Nicholas’s neck. Nicholas tilted his head just a fraction, his lips brushing against the inside of Euijoo’s wrist.
They were touching each other *through* him. Using Harua’s body as a bridge, mocking his blind devotion right to his face while the entire world took pictures.
Fuma abruptly pushed his chair back, the legs screeching against the floor, and stood up. "Bathroom break," he muttered to the manager standing behind them, not waiting for an answer before he bolted off the stage.
K felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. He watched Harua skip happily back to his seat, completely oblivious to the fact that the two men he had just hugged were looking at each other over his head with a dark, predatory amusement.
Nicholas settled back into his chair, picking up his Sharpie. Euijoo slid back into the seat beside him.
"You're terrible," Euijoo murmured, accepting a stuffed ponyo plushie from the next fan in line.
"You loved it," Nicholas countered, signing an album without looking. Under the table, his knee knocked against Euijoo’s, hooking their legs together in the dark.
"Don't pretend you didn't get a thrill out of touching me while he was right there."
Euijoo chuckled, a low, breathy sound that sent a shiver straight down Nicholas’s spine. He looked at Nicholas from the corner of his eye, his dark hair falling over his forehead.
"I'm going to ruin you when we get back to the hotel," Euijoo promised softly, a threat veiled behind a perfect idol smile directed at the crowd. "Minah’s calling me at midnight. I want you on your knees while I answer it."
Nicholas’s Sharpie paused on the paper for a fraction of a second. A dark, possessive heat flared in his chest, entirely eclipsing any rational thought. He didn't care about the cameras. He didn't care about K’s suffocating glare from the end of the table.
"Make it 11:30," Nicholas whispered back, turning his head to look Euijoo dead in the eyes, the chaotic noise of the fansign fading into static. "I don't want to wait."
---
The digital clock on the hotel nightstand glared a harsh, blood-red 11:28 PM.
The room was bathed in the heavy, suffocating shadows of the Tokyo skyline bleeding through the sheer curtains. The air conditioning hummed, a low, clinical drone that barely covered the sound of Nicholas’s jagged breathing.
He was sitting on the edge of the pristine, unmade king-sized bed, his elbows resting on his knees. He had already shed the restrictive stage clothes, wearing nothing but a pair of dark sweatpants.
Across the room, illuminated only by the faint glow of the bathroom vanity, Euijoo was methodically dismantling his idol persona.
He wiped away the heavy stage makeup with a damp towel, his movements slow, deliberate, and entirely predatory. He unbuttoned his silk shirt, letting it slide off his shoulders to pool on the carpet, leaving him in a thin, white undershirt. He caught Nicholas’s reflection in the mirror and stopped.
"You're staring," Euijoo said, his voice dropping an octave, raw and stripped of the sugar-coated tone he’d used all day.
"You told me not to wait," Nicholas replied, his voice dark, a physical weight in the quiet room. "I’m waiting."
Euijoo turned around slowly, tossing the towel onto the counter. He walked toward the bed, his footsteps completely silent on the thick carpet. The closer he got, the more the air in the room seemed to thin out, crackling with an electric, toxic anticipation.
He stopped right in front of Nicholas, standing close enough that Nicholas could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Euijoo reached down, his long fingers trailing lightly across the sharp line of Nicholas’s jaw before tangling firmly into the dark hair at the nape of his neck.
Nicholas leaned into the touch instantly, a pathetic, willing surrender that he only ever offered to one person on earth.
"Harua texted me," Nicholas murmured, his eyes fixed on the sliver of pale skin exposed at Euijoo’s waist. "Said he was wearing my t-shirt to sleep. Asked if I wanted him to sneak into my room later."
Euijoo’s grip in Nicholas’s hair tightened into a fist, pulling his head back sharply until Nicholas was forced to look up at him. Euijoo’s eyes were pitch black in the dim light, burning with a territorial fury that sent a violent thrill straight down Nicholas’s spine.
"And what did you say?" Euijoo demanded, his thumb pressing hard against the pulse point on Nicholas’s throat.
"I told him Manager was doing room checks," Nicholas answered smoothly, a wicked, defiant smirk pulling at his lips despite the bruising grip on his hair. "I told him it was too dangerous. I told him to go to sleep."
Euijoo stared down at him, searching his face for a lie, and finding only the same twisted obsession that mirrored his own. The anger melted into a dark, satisfied smirk.
"Good."
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a sharp, rhythmic buzzing.
On the nightstand, Euijoo’s phone lit up. The caller ID flashed brightly in the dark: *Minah 🤍*
The red numbers on the clock flipped to 11:30 PM.
Euijoo didn’t look at the phone. He looked down at Nicholas, his expression flattening into a mask of pure, psychological dominance. He didn't have to say a word. The command from the fansign hung heavy and unspoken in the air between them.
Nicholas didn’t hesitate. He slid off the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees on the carpet right between Euijoo’s legs.
A breathless, ragged sigh escaped Euijoo’s lips as Nicholas wrapped his arms around the back of his thighs, pulling his hips flush against his chest. It was an act of complete, damning submission, and they both thrived on the sickness of it.
Euijoo reached out blindly, grabbing the vibrating phone off the nightstand. He swiped the screen to answer, pressing the speaker to his ear.
"Hey, baby," Euijoo answered.
The sheer perfection of his voice the warm, devoted, affectionate tone made Nicholas’s stomach violently clench. It was a masterpiece of a lie.
*"Hi! Did I wake you?"* Minah’s voice drifted faintly from the earpiece, bright and bubbly. *"I know it’s late there, but I missed you so much today."*
"You didn't wake me," Euijoo said softly. He looked down. Nicholas was staring up at him, his eyes dark and hungry. Nicholas leaned forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss right over the center of Euijoo’s stomach, through the thin fabric of his undershirt.
Euijoo’s breath hitched faintly, his free hand instantly diving into Nicholas’s hair, gripping it hard enough to bruise.
"I missed you too," Euijoo continued smoothly, his thumb tracing the shell of Nicholas’s ear. "The fansign was exhausting. I’ve just been... winding down."
*"I bet. Did K buy you guys dinner at least? I saw the pictures on Twitter, Joo. You looked so handsome, but you looked tired."*
Nicholas smirked against Euijoo’s skin. He reached up, his hands slipping under the hem of Euijoo’s shirt, his cold fingertips tracing the warm, defined ridges of Euijoo’s obliques. He dragged his nails lightly upward, feeling the immediate, involuntary shudder that ripped through Euijoo’s frame.
"Yeah, K got us barbecue," Euijoo lied effortlessly, though his voice strained just a fraction. He pulled Nicholas’s head back by the hair, tilting it up so he could maintain eye contact. The look in Euijoo’s eyes was lethal a promise of absolute destruction the second this call ended.
"It was... really filling. I'm practically suffocating."
*"Well, I won't keep you long,"* Yunah chirped, completely oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend was currently holding his secret lover on his knees in a hotel room thousands of miles away. *"I just wanted to hear your voice. Oh! My cousin said she booked the restaurant for Sunday. Did you figure out what you're wearing?"*
Nicholas’s eyes flashed with a dark, jealous heat. He leaned in again, this time pulling down his pants and biting near the thighs of his exposed dick without any warning.
Euijoo let out a sharp, choked gasp, his hand spasming in Nicholas’s hair.
*"Joo? Are you okay?"*
"Yeah," Euijoo gritted out, glaring down at Nicholas with a mixture of rage and overwhelming lust. He forced a breathless laugh. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... stretched a muscle weirdly. Leg cramp."
Nicholas smiled, a slow, venomous curl of his lips. He pressed a soothing, wet kiss and lick on his dick, his hands gripping Euijoo’s hips tightly.
*"Aww, poor baby. Make sure you drink water! I'll let you sleep, okay? I love you."*
Euijoo stared dead into Nicholas’s eyes as he delivered the final, crushing blow.
"I love you too" but euijoo was looking at Nicholas while saying it.
He pulled the phone away and hit end call. The screen went dark, plunging the room back into shadows. Euijoo threw the phone carelessly over his shoulder; it hit the carpet with a dull thud somewhere near the door.
The silence roared back, ten times heavier than before.
For a second, neither of them moved. They were frozen in the adrenaline of the deception, high on the sheer audacity of what they had just done.
Then, the dam broke.
Euijoo hauled Nicholas up by the front of his sweatpants, pulling him to his feet with violent, desperate strength. He shoved Nicholas backward until the backs of Nicholas’s knees hit the mattress, sending him crashing down onto the unmade bed.
"You arrogant, selfish bastard," Euijoo hissed, climbing over him, his knee pinning Nicholas’s leg to the mattress. His hands slammed down on either side of Nicholas’s head, trapping him completely. "You almost made me break."
"But you didn't," Nicholas breathed, reaching up to wrap his hands around the back of Euijoo’s neck, pulling him down. "You lied perfectly. Like you always do."
"I hate how much I love this," Euijoo groaned, closing the final inch between them.
The kiss was catastrophic. It wasn't tender or loving today, it was a punishing, teeth-clashing collision fueled by possessiveness, adrenaline, and the toxic thrill of their shared secret. Euijoo kissed him like he was trying to devour him, to erase the very existence of Harua and Minah K, Fuma and the entire world outside this room.
Nicholas arched off the mattress, his hands desperately clutching at Euijoo’s back, tearing the undershirt upward to feel bare skin. They were drowning in each other, anchored only by the mutual, undeniable truth that they were both irredeemably ruined, and they wouldn't have it any other way.
"Make me forget her name," Euijoo demanded roughly against Nicholas's jaw, his breath hot and frantic in the dark.
"I already have," Nicholas promised, pulling him down into the shadows.
---
The sterile, fluorescent hum of the HYBE Japan corridor usually felt like home. Today, it felt like a morgue.
Yuma, Jo, and Maki were supposed to be grabbing their discarded gym bags from Practice Room 3. They had left K, Fuma, Euijoo, and Nicholas behind to go over a choreography modification for the bridge.
But as the three youngest approached the slightly ajar door, the heavy, suffocating silence bleeding out into the hallway stopped them in their tracks. It wasn't the silence of four people working. It was the silence of a hostage situation.
"I am begging you," Fuma’s voice drifted through the crack in the door, thick with an exhaustion that sounded agonizingly deep. "Minah just posted a picture of the bracelet you bought her on her story, Euijoo. And not ten minutes ago, Harua texted me asking if Nico was mad at him because he’s been so cold lately. You are tearing them apart."
In the hallway, Maki froze. The mention of Harua’s name sent a sharp, protective spike through his chest. He reached for the door handle, but Yuma’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist tightly. Yuma’s eyes were narrowed, his jaw set. Listen, his expression said.
"Tell him I'm stressed about the comeback," Nicholas’s voice replied. It was shockingly flippant, completely devoid of warmth. "Or tell him I'm tired. I don't care. Just handle it, Fuma. You're good at that."
"We are not your secretaries," K snarled, the sound of a fist slamming onto a table echoing sharply.
"And we are not covering for your sick, twisted affair anymore. It’s been three weeks since we caught you in that stairwell. You said you had it under control. This isn't under control!"
Outside the door, the world seemed to stop spinning.
Maki felt the air get punched out of his lungs. Affair. Jo’s eyes went wide, his usually stoic expression fracturing into sheer horror. Yuma’s grip on Maki’s wrist tightened to the point of bruising, his knuckles turning white.
"Control is an illusion, K," Euijoo’s voice was smooth, melodic, and terrifyingly calm. "We never said we were going to stop. We just told you to look the other way. If Harua is crying to Fuma, that sounds like a Harua problem."
"Don't talk about him like that," K warned, his voice shaking with rage.
"Why not?" Nicholas countered, his tone laced with a dark, territorial arrogance.
"He's weak. He needs constant validation. It’s exhausting to pretend to care, K. The only reason I haven't dumped him is because Euijoo isn't ready to drop Minah’s perfect PR shield. But make no mistake the second we pull the plug, Harua is going to shatter, and it will be your fault for not preparing him."
That was it. The absolute, unvarnished cruelty in Nicholas’s voice was the match that hit the gasoline.
Yuma didn't just open the door; he kicked it. The heavy wood slammed against the wall with a deafening crash that made Fuma jump violently.
Nicholas and Euijoo didn't flinch. They were sitting together on the leather sofa at the back of the room, their shoulders pressing together. Nicholas had a hand resting casually on Euijoo’s knee. They looked up at the doorway, their expressions shifting from bored to mildly irritated.
"You've got to be kidding me," Euijoo sighed, rolling his eyes as if a minor inconvenience had just walked in.
"Get your hand off him," Yuma ordered, his voice dangerously low. He marched into the room, vibrating with a rage so intense it seemed to suck the oxygen from the air. Yuma always stood on business. He had zero tolerance for disrespect, and right now, he was looking at the epitome of it. "I said, get your damn hand off him, Nicholas."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow, not moving a muscle. "Or what, Yuma? You're going to tell on us?"
"You think this is a joke?" Yuma snapped, closing the distance until he was towering over the sofa. "You think you're untouchable because you're older? You're pathetic. Both of you. You're sitting here acting like you're some tragic, misunderstood lovers, but you're just cowards."
"Watch your mouth," Euijoo warned, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.
"No, you watch yours!" Yuma shouted back, refusing to back down. "Minah is literally planning her life around you she's preparing to retire from acting to settle with you! And Harua—"
"Don't," Maki’s voice cracked like a whip.
Everyone turned. Maki stepped out from behind Jo. He was shaking from head to toe, his hands balled into fists at his sides. His face was pale, but his eyes were blazing with a heartbroken, furious fire.
Maki had always worshipped Nicholas. Nicholas was the cool older brother, the guy with the effortless swagger, the one Maki went to for fashion advice and late-night talks. And Harua... Maki had been hopelessly, quietly in love with Harua since trainee days. He had stepped back, swallowed his feelings, and smiled because he thought Harua had found his happiness with Nicholas. He thought Nicholas was worthy of him.
"Maki..." Fuma started, taking a step toward the youngest, but Maki held up a hand.
Maki walked right past K and Fuma, stopping dead in front of Nicholas. The silence in the room was deafening.
"He made you soup yesterday," Maki said, his voice trembling so violently he could barely get the words out. "He made you soup because you coughed *once* during vocal practice. He spent an hour picking the green onions out because he knows you hate the texture. He looks at you like you hung the stars, Nico.
Nicholas stared back at him, his jaw tight. For the first time, a microscopic crack appeared in his cold facade, but he quickly swallowed it down, his eyes hardening.
"Grow up, Maki. People fall out of love."
"Then *leave him!*" Maki screamed, the sound tearing out of his throat, raw and agonizing. Tears finally spilled over his eyelashes, hot and furious.
"If you don't love him, leave him! Let him go so someone who actually gives a shit about him can pick up the pieces! But you won't, will you? Because you're a selfish, sick bastard who gets off on keeping him on a leash while you screw your best friend!"
"Maki, back off," Euijoo stood up, stepping between Maki and Nicholas, his protective instincts flaring.
"Don't you dare touch him," Jo spoke up.
It was quiet, but it commanded the room instantly. Jo stepped forward, his tall frame suddenly looking incredibly imposing. Jo rarely got angry. He observed, he analyzed, and he stayed out of drama. But the look of pure, unadulterated disgust on his face right now was more lethal than Yuma’s yelling or Maki’s tears.
Jo looked at Euijoo, then at Nicholas. He didn't look angry; he looked repulsed.
"I feel sick," Jo said, his voice dropping like stones into a glass of water. "I have to stand on stage with you. I have to call you my brothers. I feel literally sick looking at you right now."
Euijoo’s jaw clenched, a muscle feathering in his cheek. The arrogant mask was slipping. It was one thing to outsmart K and Fuma; it was another entirely to have the three youngest members look at them like they were monsters.
"You don't understand," Nicholas said, standing up to stand beside Euijoo. "We didn't plan this. It just—"
"Shut up," Maki interrupted, taking a step back as if Nicholas was radioactive. He violently wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Just shut up. I don't want to hear your excuses. I wanted to be you, Nico. I thought you were the coolest person I knew. But you're just a fake. You're both fake."
Maki turned around, his chest heaving. He looked at K and Fuma, who were standing paralyzed by the door.
"If you don't tell Harua by tomorrow morning," Maki said, his voice deadening into a terrifying, icy resolve, "I will. I'll take my phone, I'll call Minah, and I'll tell her too. I don't care if it ruins the group. This group is already dead."
Maki didn't wait for a response. He stormed out of the room, shoving the door so hard it bounced off the wall.
Jo gave Nicholas and Euijoo one last, withering look. "Sleep well tonight," he muttered, turning on his heel to follow Maki.
Yuma lingered for a second longer. He looked at Nicholas, then down at the space on the sofa where they had been sitting. He let out a harsh, bitter scoff.
"You guys thought you were so smart playing a game with everyone's lives," Yuma said, his voice cold and devoid of pity. "Well, the game's over. And you both lost."
Yuma turned and walked out, leaving K and Fuma alone with the wreckage.
K rubbed his face with trembling hands, looking at the two boys in the center of the room. Nicholas was staring at the open doorway, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Euijoo looked pale, his hands clenched at his sides. The reality of the fallout had finally breached the walls of their selfish little world.
"You wanted to burn it down?" K whispered, his voice hollow. "Congratulations. It's in ashes."
---
The morning sun creeping through the blinds of the dorm living room felt too bright, too invasive for the execution that was about to take place.
Maki’s ultimatum hung over them like a guillotine.
Harua sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands folded neatly in his lap. He was wearing the oversized sweater Nicholas had bought him for his birthday. Across from him stood Nicholas and Euijoo. They weren't hiding anymore. They stood shoulder to shoulder, the physical space between them practically nonexistent.
K, Fuma, Yuma, Jo, and Maki stood by the kitchen island, a silent, grim jury watching the final act of the tragedy unfold.
"Harua," Nicholas started, his voice rough. He sounded tired, but there was a definitive lack of hesitation in his eyes. He didn't look away. "We need to talk."
Harua looked up, his large, doe eyes shifting from Nicholas to Euijoo, and finally, down to where the backs of their hands were brushing against each other.
Before Nicholas could say the words, the front door rattled and swung open. Taki tumbled in, holding two plastic bags full of convenience store snacks, humming a bright, off-key melody. He kicked his shoes off, completely blind to the suffocating tension in the room.
"I got the strawberry milk! It's from the store Nico really—" Taki announced cheerfully, walking toward the living room. He froze when he saw the arrangement of his members.
"Uh... what's going on? Is this a family meeting? Did I miss a group text?"
Nobody answered him. The silence was agonizing.
Nicholas turned his attention back to Harua, forcing himself to deliver the final blow.
"Harua. Euijoo and I... we're together. We have been for months. Behind your back. Behind Minah's back."
The plastic bags slipped from Taki’s hands, hitting the hardwood floor with a muffled crash. A carton of strawberry milk burst, pink liquid pooling around his socks, but he didn't even look down.
"What?" Taki whispered, his voice cracking. He looked at Nicholas, then at Euijoo, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for Yuma to laugh, or Maki to pull out a hidden camera. But Maki was actively crying by the counter, and Yuma looked ready to commit murder.
"Nico? What are you... what is he talking about?"
"It's true, Taki," Euijoo said quietly, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. He reached out, lacing his fingers through Nicholas’s right in front of everyone. "We're together."
Taki’s breathing hitched. The group’s happy virus, the boy who constantly preached about their unbreakable bond, looked like someone had just ripped his heart out of his chest. He looked at Harua, who was sitting perfectly still, and then back at Nicholas.
"You cheated on him," Taki said, the realization finally connecting. The shock morphed instantly into a blinding, uncharacteristic rage. "You used him! He loved you!"
Before anyone could blink, Taki lunged.
He crossed the room in two strides, his fist pulling back and colliding with the side of Nicholas’s face with a sickening *crack*.
Nicholas stumbled backward into Euijoo, his head snapping to the side. A harsh gasp ripped through the room. K shouted, Fuma lunged forward to intervene, and Euijoo immediately wrapped an arm around Nicholas’s waist, his eyes flashing with lethal fury as he shoved Taki back.
"Don't you ever touch him again!" Euijoo snarled, stepping in front of Nicholas like a shield.
Taki was crying now, chest heaving, his fists balled up as he went to swing again. "You're both dead to me! I'll kill you!"
"Taki, stop!"
The voice wasn't loud, but it froze the entire room.
Harua stood up. He didn't look like a boy whose world had just been destroyed. He looked overwhelmingly, devastatingly exhausted. He walked over, gently but firmly wrapping his hands around Taki’s trembling arm, pulling him back.
"Harua, he—they—" Taki sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at them.
"I know, Taki. Let it go," Harua said softly.
"How can you say that?!" Maki cried out from the kitchen, his voice breaking. "They made a fool out of you, Hua! They lied to you for months!"
Harua let out a hollow, bitter laugh that sounded so wrong coming from him. He reached up, wiping a tear from Taki’s cheek before turning to face Nicholas and Euijoo. Nicholas had a split lip, a drop of blood beading at the corner of his mouth, but he was staring at Harua with utter confusion.
"They didn't make a fool out of me, Maki," Harua said, his voice eerily calm. He looked Nicholas dead in the eye. "Because I already knew."
The room flatlined.
Nicholas’s breath caught in his throat. Euijoo’s defensive posture faltered.
"You... you knew?" Nicholas asked, the first genuine crack of shock appearing in his composure.
"Of course I knew, Nico," Harua smiled, a sad, broken curvature of his lips. A single tear finally slipped down his cheek. "I’m not an idiot. I smelled his cologne on your jackets. I saw the way you looked at him when you thought I wasn't paying attention. I saw the ring he was wearing on his necklace. The exact ring you were eyeing in the store when we were out on a date."
"Harua..." Fuma breathed, horrified. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Harua shrugged, wrapping his arms around his own torso. "Because I was greedy. Because I knew the second I brought it up, he would leave me for him. I thought... I thought if I just loved him a little harder, if I was just a little more perfect, maybe he’d stay. I pretended I didn't see the bruises on Euijoo’s neck so I could keep you for one more day. But I guess I ran out of days."
Nicholas felt a sharp, ugly twist of guilt in his gut. A raw twenty percent of his soul the part that loved this group, the part that remembered late-night practices and shared dreams ached. He had broken something fragile and precious, and worse, he had forced Harua to participate in his own destruction.
He looked at Euijoo. Euijoo was looking back at him, his dark eyes reflecting the same fractional remorse. They were sorry. They were genuinely sorry that they had poisoned their family.
But as Euijoo’s fingers tightened around Nicholas’s, anchoring him, the other eighty percent roared to life. They were sorry for the collateral damage, but they would never, ever be sorry for the explosion. If given the choice, they would light the match all over again.
"I'm sorry, Harua," Nicholas said. It was sincere, but it offered no closure, no promise of redemption. "I never wanted to hurt you. You didn't deserve any of this."
"We're sorry to all of you," Euijoo added, his voice regaining that cool, detached edge. He looked at the rest of the members, holding Nicholas's hand tighter. "The group is our family. We love you. We regret how we did this. But we don't regret each other. And we aren't going to stop."
Harua nodded slowly, wiping his face. He didn't look angry anymore. He just looked empty.
"I know," Harua whispered. "I'm moving my stuff into Maki’s room today."
Harua turned his back on them, guiding a sobbing Taki toward the hallway. K, Fuma, Yuma, and Jo didn't say a word. They just looked at Nicholas and Euijoo with varying degrees of disgust and sorrow, before following Harua out of the room, leaving the two of them standing alone in the center of the wreckage.
The dorm was dead silent.
Nicholas brought his thumb up, wiping the smear of blood from his split lip. Euijoo stepped into his space, gently tracing the red mark Taki’s knuckles had left behind.
"Does it hurt?" Euijoo murmured, his eyes dark, entirely focused on Nicholas. The world outside the two of them had just burned to the ground, and neither of them was looking at the ashes.
"A little," Nicholas admitted, a dark, breathy chuckle escaping his chest despite the tension. He leaned into the touch, shaking his head slightly. "I have to admit, I didn't know the kid packed such a punch."
Euijoo let out a low, huffing laugh, his thumb brushing over Nicholas’s cheekbone to wipe away a stray drop of blood. "Well, you're going to have to get used to it. We still have to do choreography with him."
"And live with him," Nicholas murmured, his eyes dropping to Euijoo's lips. "Legally binding seven-year contracts are a bitch."
"We'll survive," Euijoo whispered back, a wicked glimmer returning to his dark eyes.
Nicholas leaned down to press his bloody lip against Euijoo’s mouth, a selfish, victorious seal on the end of their war. "Yeah. We will."
They had won each other. And it had only cost them everything else. The group would still stand on stage, they would still smile for the cameras, and they would still sing the same songs. But the glass had shattered, and the jagged pieces would bleed them dry forever.