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The lights of the practice room buzzed overhead, a sharp contrast to the dim, heavy atmosphere of the post-rehearsal cooldown. Hongjoong sat with his back against the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, his chest still heaving slightly from the final run-through of their new choreography. Beside him, his phone sat face-up, glowing with a notification from a family group chat that he had only half-read.
His eyes drifted over to the only other man in the room, Yunho, who’s gracefully draped over a bench while re-tying his laces. Yunho looked tired, but he still had that steady, reliable aura that Hongjoong had come to lean on far more than he’d ever admit.
A sudden, mischievous spark ignited in Hongjoong’s mind. Lately, the group had been in a cycle of harmless pranks—Mingi hiding San’s plushies, Wooyoung "borrowing" Yeosang’s vitamins. Hongjoong, usually the serious leader, felt an impulsive urge to join in. He wanted to see Yunho’s reaction—specifically, he wanted to see that playful pout, the way Yunho would whine, "Hyung, that's not funny!" before tackling him into a hug. He wanted to feel needed, to hear Yunho tell him that the group couldn't function without their captain.
He began to craft the lie in his head, his thumb tracing the edge of his phone. He’d make it sound official, something tied to his family so it felt serious. He imagined Yunho’s eyes widening, the dramatic gasp, and then the inevitable relief when Hongjoong revealed it was all a lie. The thought made a small, private smirk play at the corners of Hongjoong’s mouth. He felt a rush of adrenaline that had nothing to do with dancing. This is going to be perfect, he thought. He’ll be so clingy for the rest of the night.
He took a breath, schooled his face into a mask of carefully curated nonchalance, and waited for the room to quiet down just enough for his voice to carry.
Hongjoong leaned his head back against the mirror, the cool glass biting into his heated skin, and took a slow, measured breath. He had been practicing this internal script for the last twenty minutes, ever since the idea had taken root. He knew Yunho—knew how smart he was, how quickly he could sniff out a lie if Hongjoong’s tone wavered even a fraction. To pull this off, he couldn't just casually tell a joke; he had to sell it.
He let his shoulders slump, the picture of a man carrying a heavy burden. He stared at his phone with a glazed, distant expression, as if the news on the screen was too heavy to process.
“Hey, Yunho,” he called out. His voice wasn't just flat; it was quiet, drained of its usual lead-vocalist resonance. He didn't look up. He kept his eyes fixed on a random paragraph of a news article, feigning a deep, somber interest in words he wasn't even reading.
He let out a long, weary sigh, the kind that came from a week of sleepless nights.
“My dad finally got that overseas transfer,” he started, his voice trailing off slightly at the end, dragging the words out as if they were difficult to say. “The one he’s been chasing for years. It... it actually got confirmed yesterday. The paperwork came through while we were practicing.”
He paused, a masterful, heavy silence that stretched just a second too long. He bit his lower lip, a subtle tell of "distress" he knew Yunho would pick up on.
“Looks like the whole family is emigrating next month,” he continued, finally looking up, but not at Yunho. He looked at the far corner of the room, his gaze misty and unfocused. “We’re moving to Dubai. It’s all happening so fast.”
He let his hands drop to his lap, his phone sliding onto the floor as if he no longer had the strength to hold it. He looked like a leader who had just lost his compass.
“Guess you’ll be stuck with the rest of these troublemakers without me,” he added. He tried to inject a bit of his signature dry humor, but he purposely made it fall flat—a hollow, forced attempt at a joke that clearly masked a deep sadness. He gave a small, sad shake of his head. “Try not to let them burn the dorm down in my absence, okay? I don’t know who’s going to keep them in line once I’m... once I’m gone.”
He let the last word hang in the humid, sweat-scented air. He’d committed fully; he’d dragged the vowels, lowered his pitch, and even managed to make his eyes look a little glassy under the harsh fluorescent lights. He was giving an Oscar-worthy performance, tucked into the corner of a practice room.
He counted to three in his head, his heart racing with the thrill of the prank. He was waiting for the scoff, the immediate "Hyung, your acting is getting too good, stop it," or the inevitable playful tackle. He expected Yunho to see through the "sad leader" act and call his bluff with a laugh.
He waited. One second. Two.
The silence that followed didn't just feel physical; it felt suffocating. The hum of the AC seemed to amplify, filling the vacuum where Yunho’s voice should have been.
Hongjoong finally shifted his gaze, the secret, triumphant smirk already beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth, ready to shout "Pranked!" and celebrate his victory.
But the expression froze on his face. The air in his lungs turned to ice.
Yunho wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even moving. He was standing near the center of the room, his entire body locked in a state of sudden, violent paralysis. His white towel slipped from his shoulders, sliding down his damp skin and hitting the floor with a soft, final thud that sounded like a gavel in the silence.
The color had drained from Yunho’s face with a terrifying, unnatural speed, leaving him a stark, ghostly white that made his dark eyes look like hollow pits of despair. His mouth was slightly open, but no sound came out, just a shallow, hitching breath that suggested he was on the verge of choking.
“What?” Yunho’s voice was barely a whisper, a sound so broken and fragile that Hongjoong felt his own heart crack in response.
Hongjoong’s heart hammered a triumphant rhythm against his ribs. He bought it. Seeing Yunho’s frozen posture and that wide-eyed, haunted look, Hongjoong felt a rush of adrenaline. The prank was working better than he had even dreamed. He had Yunho hook, line, and sinker.
Instead of folding and revealing the truth, Hongjoong decided to lean in. If he could just push it a little further, the payoff when he finally shouted "Prank!" would be legendary. He wanted Yunho to be so relieved that he’d never forget this moment.
He lowered his head, letting his bangs shadow his eyes, and bit his lip hard enough to make it look like he was fighting back tears. He let his voice drop to a ragged, barely-audible tremor.
“I didn’t want to tell you guys like this,” Hongjoong whispered, his hands picking aimlessly at a loose thread on his sweatpants. “I’ve been trying to find the right words for days. My dad... he’s already started looking at houses. He’s so excited, Yunho. I can’t tell him no. I can’t be the reason he misses this chance.”
He let out a shaky, stuttering exhale, a masterclass in simulated heartbreak. He risked a glance up, keeping his expression carefully devastated. “The company... they’re still figuring out the official statement. But it’s happening. I’m leaving. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. I don't know how I'm supposed to just... start over.”
He let a single, heavy tear—thankfully forced out by the sheer intensity of his focus—track down his cheek. He looked like a man who was watching his entire future evaporate. He was fully committed now, pouring every ounce of his acting ability into the lie, relishing the way the silence in the room seemed to vibrate with Yunho's shock.
For a moment, he expected Yunho to burst out with a "No, you're not!" or a frantic argument. He waited for the explosion of emotion that he could then gently diffuse.
But Yunho didn't explode.
He didn't move. He didn't even seem to be blinking. The only sign of life was the way his chest was hitching in short, shallow bursts, like a bird trapped in a cage. The ghostly pallor of his skin was now tinged with a faint, sickly gray.
“Dubai... Dubai,” Yunho repeated, the word sounding like broken glass in his mouth.
Hongjoong nodded solemnly, looking back down at the floor. “I’m going tomorrow morning. It’s... it’s all moving so fast.”
The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with the weight of the lie. Hongjoong felt a flicker of unease, a tiny voice in the back of his mind telling him to stop, but the thrill of the "success" was still too high. He was winning.
Suddenly, Yunho took a step back, his foot dragging clumsily against the practice room floor. The sound was harsh and jarring in the quiet room.
“I...” Yunho’s voice cracked, a raw, jagged sound that made Hongjoong’s stomach do a slow, nauseating flip.
Yunho didn't look at him. He couldn't. His gaze was fixed on a random spot on the wall, his eyes glazed and unfocused, shimmering with a sudden, violent influx of tears that he seemed to be fighting with everything he had left. His hands were fisted so tightly at his sides that his knuckles were stark white.
“I need...” Yunho swallowed hard, his throat working convulsively. “I need the bathroom. I... I have to go.”
Hongjoong sat frozen on the polished floor, the coldness of the mirrors at his back finally seeping into his skin. The silence Yunho left behind was louder than any of the music they had practiced to for the last six hours.
He’s just overwhelmed, Hongjoong tried to tell himself. He’ll come back in five minutes, and I’ll hug him and tell him it was a joke, and we’ll laugh about how good my acting was.
But the nausea in his stomach wasn't going away. He looked down at his hands; they were shaking. The triumph he’d felt just moments ago had curdled into something bitter and acidic. He had wanted to see Yunho clingy; he hadn't wanted to see him look like he’d been struck by a physical blow.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Hongjoong reached for his water bottle, his throat suddenly bone-dry. He was about to stand up to go find him when his phone, lying forgotten on the floor, began to buzz. The vibration felt like an electric shock against the tile.
Yunho.
Hongjoong swiped to answer so fast he almost dropped the device. "Yunho? Hey, are you okay? I was just about to—"
He was cut off not by words, but by a sound that made his breath stop. It was a soft, wet sob, the kind that sounded like it was being muffled by a palm or a jacket sleeve. It was small and fragile, but it carried the weight of a total collapse.
"Hyung..." Yunho’s voice came through the speaker, thin and jagged. He sounded like he was gasping for air between the tears.
"Yunho, wait, I need to tell you—"
"How could you... how could you just tell me like that?" Yunho’s voice broke completely, a raw, wounded sound that vibrated through the phone and straight into Hongjoong’s chest. "Just now? After we practiced all day like nothing was wrong? After we... we talked about our future as a group? You knew... you knew you were leaving me, and you didn't say anything until the last second?"
"Yunho, listen to me, please—"
"It hurts," Yunho whispered, a fresh wave of sobbing taking over. It was a pathetic, honest sound. "My chest... it hurts so much, Hyung. I thought we were... I thought I was more than just someone you’d leave a message for. Did you even plan on telling me, or were you just going to get on the plane?"
Hongjoong felt the world tilt. The prank wasn't a prank anymore. It was a crime. Hearing the sheer, unadulterated pain in Yunho’s voice, the betrayal of a trust Hongjoong hadn't realized was so vital, shattered his composure. He scrambled to his feet, his legs nearly giving out.
"Where are you?" Hongjoong demanded, his voice cracking with a sudden, violent influx of his own tears. "Yunho, tell me where you are right now. I’m coming to you. Don't you dare hang up."
"I can't... I can't look at you yet," Yunho choked out, the sound of a bathroom stall lock clicking shut echoing through the line. "Please... I just... I need to know why you waited so long to break my heart."
Hongjoong was already out the door, sprinting down the hallway, the phone pressed so hard to his ear he could hear his own pulse thudding against the plastic. "I'm not breaking your heart, Yunho! I'm an idiot! I'm a stupid, reckless idiot! Just stay on the phone, okay? Just keep breathing. I'm coming."
Hongjoong burst into the bathroom, the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off the white tiles in a way that felt blinding. He didn't have to look far. The soft, rhythmic sound of gasping sobs was coming from the very last stall. The door was slightly ajar, casting a long, narrow shadow across the floor.
He pushed it open slowly, his breath hitching in his throat.
Yunho was a wreck. He was curled into a ball on the floor, his long limbs tucked in as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. His face was buried in his knees, but his entire frame was convulsing with the force of his crying. It wasn't the quiet, pretty crying of a drama; it was the raw, ugly, soul-shaking sobbing of someone who had just lost their entire world.
“Yunho-ya,” Hongjoong whispered, his own voice breaking.
He dropped to his knees immediately, ignoring the sharp bite of the hard tile against his skin. He reached out, wrapping his arms around Yunho’s broad shoulders, trying to pull him into a protective embrace.
Yunho flinched violently. It was a jagged, reflexive movement of someone who had been burned. He tried to shove Hongjoong’s chest, his hands trembling and weak.
“Don’t—hik—don't touch me,” Yunho choked out, his voice thick and wet. He tried to scramble further into the corner of the stall, away from Hongjoong’s warmth. “How could you? How could you just stand there and tell me you’re leaving? Did you think I’d just be fine? Did you think I’d just wave you goodbye at the airport?”
“Yunho, please, just listen to me—”
“I can’t do this without you!” Yunho suddenly wailed, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls with a haunting resonance. He stopped fighting and collapsed forward, his forehead thumping against Hongjoong’s shoulder. He fisted his hands into the back of Hongjoong’s damp rehearsal shirt, clutching the fabric so tightly his knuckles turned white. “How am I supposed to wake up? How am I supposed to dance? You’re my person. You’re the one who keeps me grounded. If you go... if you leave...”
The weight of the confession, the raw, naked dependency in Yunho’s voice, hit Hongjoong like a physical blow. He felt like the worst human being on the planet. He squeezed Yunho tighter, burying his face in the younger man’s neck, his own hot tears finally spilling over.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Hongjoong blurted out, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “Yunho, stop. Look at me. I’m sorry. It was a prank. A stupid, horrible, dumb prank. My dad didn't get a transfer. I’m not emigrating. I’m staying right here. I’m never leaving you. I’m sorry”
The effect was instantaneous.
Yunho’s body went completely rigid. The sobbing stopped mid-breath, replaced by a silence so sudden it was deafening. He stayed tucked into Hongjoong’s shoulder for several long seconds, his brain seemingly short-circuiting as the information tried to process through the haze of grief.
Slowly, Yunho pulled back. His face was a mess, eyes swollen and bloodshot, cheeks streaked with tears and red from the heat of his crying. He looked at Hongjoong with a dazed, uncomprehending expression, his mouth slightly open.
“A... a prank?” Yunho repeated. His voice was hollow, utterly flat.
“Yes,” Hongjoong whispered, reaching up to cup Yunho’s face. “I’m so sorry. I thought it would be funny. I thought you’d just pout and I’d tell you the truth. I didn’t know... I didn’t realize it would hurt you like this.”
Yunho blinked, his eyes scanning Hongjoong’s face for any sign of a lie. For a moment, he just stared, his chest heaving as he tried to find his footing. Then, his face crumpled.
The short-circuit ended, and a fresh wave of tears, different this time, born of a violent mix of relief and lingering trauma, broke over him. He let out a loud, frustrated sob and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking harder than before.
“You’re such a jerk!” Yunho cried, the words muffled by his palms. “I hate you! I hate you so much! I thought you were gone! I felt my heart literally stop beating, Hyung!”
“I know, I know,” Hongjoong murmured, pulling him back into a tight hug, letting Yunho hit his shoulder with a weak, frustrated fist. “I’m a jerk. I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I’m so sorry, Yunnie. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
Yunho didn't pull away this time. He clung to Hongjoong, crying into his neck until he was completely spent, the cold bathroom floor the only witness to a prank that had turned into the most honest moment of their lives.
“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong murmured into Yunho’s hair, his own eyes burning with hot, guilty tears.
Yunho’s face stayed buried in Hongjoong’s neck, his voice muffled by the fabric. “You scared me,” he whispered, the words broken and small. “I felt my whole world just... crashing down. I thought you were really going to leave me behind.”
“I know. And I hate myself for it.” Hongjoong pulled back just enough to cup Yunho’s face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that refused to stop falling. Yunho’s eyes were red and swollen, his expression so vulnerable it made Hongjoong ache. “Forgive me? Please. I’ll spend every single day making sure you never have to feel that way again.”
Yunho searched Hongjoong’s face, his breath still uneven and hitching. “You promise? No more jokes about going away?”
“I promise.” Hongjoong’s voice dropped, becoming steady and certain.
The air in the narrow bathroom stall felt heavy, charged with a sudden, suffocating honesty. Hongjoong looked at Yunho, really looked at him, and realized that the fear of losing each other wasn't just part of a prank gone wrong. It was the fundamental truth of his existence. He realized that the reason he had chosen this specific lie was because it was his own greatest unspoken nightmare.
“But it’s not just a promise,” Hongjoong continued, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. “It’s the absolute truth. I’m not leaving because… I can’t. Not when you’re here. Not when you’re the reason I even want to stay in this industry some days.”
Yunho’s breath hitched again, but this time it wasn't a sob. “What?”
Hongjoong swallowed hard, the confession sitting heavy and bright on his tongue for months. He’d meant to say it properly, maybe on a rooftop under a blanket of stars, or after a long, quiet talk by the Han River. Not on the floor of a company bathroom after a disastrous prank. But Yunho’s tears had cracked something open in him, a fault line in his heart that had finally given way.
“I like you, Yunho,” Hongjoong said softly, his gaze locked on Yunho’s, refusing to let him look away. “More than I’ve ever liked anyone. The thought of being halfway across the world without you… it doesn't just scare me, it paralyzes me. That’s why the joke was so stupid. Because I’m not going anywhere. I’m exactly where I want to be. I’m with you.”
Yunho stared at him, the last remnants of anger melting away, replaced by something fragile and shimmering with hope. A fresh tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn't wipe it away.
“You… really?”
“Really.” Hongjoong leaned forward, his hands trembling as he cradled Yunho’s damp face. He pressed his forehead against Yunho’s, closing his eyes as he felt the younger man's shaky exhale against his lips. “I’m staying. And if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay as yours. Officially.”
Yunho let out a shaky, relieved breath, a small, tearful smile finally breaking through the gloom. “Okay. Okay, yes. Please.”
Hongjoong didn't wait. He tilted his head, closing the final few inches between them. When their lips met, it was tentative at first—tasting of salt from the tears and the lingering chill of the bathroom floor—but it quickly deepened into something desperate and certain. It was a kiss that spoke of every unspoken "I love you" hidden in shared coffee runs and late-night choreography sessions.
Yunho hummed into the kiss, his hands moving from Hongjoong's shirt to find the back of his neck, pulling him closer as if trying to merge their very souls. When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, foreheads still pressed together as the reality of their new world settled over them.
Hongjoong pulled him back into his arms, holding him like he was the only solid thing in a world made of shadows. Yunho buried his face in Hongjoong’s neck, arms wrapping tightly around Hongjoong’s waist, clinging to him like he was afraid he’d vanish.
“I’m sorry I made you cry,” Hongjoong whispered after a long time.
“Just… don’t joke about leaving again,” Yunho mumbled, his voice finally regaining some of its familiar, warm depth. “I don't think my heart can take it.”
“Never again,” Hongjoong promised, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Yunho’s temple. “I’m not leaving. I’m right here. And I’m staying as long as you’ll have me.”
For a few minutes, they just sat there, anchored to each other on the cold tile. But as the adrenaline began to fade, Yunho’s dramatic streak—the one that had just nearly given Hongjoong a heart attack—began to resurface, though this time it was dipped in affection.
Yunho pulled back slightly, his lower lip jutting out in a familiar, exaggerated pout. He looked around the small, cramped bathroom stall, then back at Hongjoong with an accusatory squint.
“Hyung,” Yunho whined, his voice rising in that melodic way that always signaled a long-winded complaint was coming. “This is literally the worst. You’re ATEEZ’s Captain! You’re supposed to be romantic!”
Hongjoong blinked, a bit caught off guard by the sudden shift. “W-what? I just told you I’m staying forever!”
“Yeah, but here?” Yunho gestured wildly at the toilet and the rolls of company-grade paper. “A bathroom stall? On the second floor? My first official confession and it happens next to a vocal room while I’m covered in snot and floor germs? I had a vision, Hyung! There were supposed to be flowers! Or at least a nice view of the city!”
Hongjoong let out a startled, breathless giggle, the tension of the last hour finally breaking. “I’m sorry! I didn’t exactly plan for you to run away to the bathroom!”
“You started it!” Yunho grumbled, though he didn't pull away. He leaned his weight back into Hongjoong, his eyes still red but sparking with life. “You’re so unromantic. I’m going to tell everyone our 'how we got together' story involves a fake visa and a public restroom. It’s a tragedy.”
Hongjoong laughed, a bright, genuine sound that echoed off the white tiles. He reached out, cupping Yunho’s face again, and placed a sweet, lingering peck on his tear-stained cheek.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Hongjoong whispered, placing another peck on the other cheek, making Yunho’s pout falter into a grin. “I’ll give you so many romantic dates you’ll get bored of them. I promise.”
“Better start now,” Yunho mumbled, though he finally let his head rest back on Hongjoong’s shoulder, a contented purr replacing the sobs. “Carry me back to the dorm? My legs are still 'Dubai' weak.”
“Anything for you, drama king.”