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"You go get some rest too. Let’s catch up another time."
It was the third time Choi Seungcheol had turned down Yoon Jeonghan.
The first time, Jeonghan brushed it off. The second, he just smiled and texted back, All good. Next time then. But the third time, he found himself staring at his phone screen for a long, quiet moment.
Seungcheol really had been busy lately. Though, to be fair, everyone was. Some of the guys were prepping for enlistment, some were filming, others were locked in recording studios, and the rest were out on tour. Even Jeonghan could barely catch his breath. So he kept telling himself it was nothing. Seungcheol just needed a break.
Still, a subtle wrongness hung in the air. None of the other members had seen him either.
During a quick group meal, Dino had casually looked up and asked, "Hyung, have you seen Seungcheol hyung lately?"
Jeonghan paused, his chopsticks hovering. "No."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Dino looked genuinely caught off guard. "That’s weird. I figured if he was seeing anyone, it’d be you."
Jeonghan let out a faint smile. "Why?"
"Because it’s you."
For some reason, the smile faded from Jeonghan’s face.
He suddenly remembered something Seungcheol had said the last time they played pool together.
“For the first time in ten years, I feel like I’m actually enjoying myself.”
At the time, Jeonghan had just teased him: “You’re only learning how to enjoy life now?”
“I enjoyed it before, too.”
“Like when?”
Seungcheol had gone quiet for a second, then smiled—a genuine, unhurried thing. “I used to think taking a break was just wasting time,” he said, resting his cue against his shoulder. “But now? What’s so bad about taking a breath? I deserve to live for myself a little bit, don’t I?”
It had sounded like a casual throwaway line back then. But recalling it now, a quiet weight settled in Jeonghan’s chest.
A few days later, on the afternoon of Seungcheol’s birthday livestream, Jeonghan found himself with a rare sliver of free time. Lounging on the couch, he opened the stream just to see how his friend was holding up.
Halfway through, Seungcheol offhandedly mentioned that none of the members were around that day. Not a single one.
Jeonghan stared at the screen. Seungcheol was smiling brightly—looking freer than he had in months. Yet, something felt off. That wasn’t the expression of someone happily soaking in their solitude. It looked more like the relief of someone thinking: Finally, no one needs anything from me. For a little while, I don’t have to play a role.
Jeonghan dragged the scrubber back and rewound the video, watching the segment again.
“I’ve been really happy lately,” Seungcheol was saying on screen. “I get to do whatever I want. Sleep in, play pool, eat alone. For the first time in ten years… I feel like I’m living.”
Jeonghan’s thumb froze against the glass. His chest tightened, a cold knot forming deep inside.
When Jeonghan dropped by Dino’s solo concert a few days later, he spotted Seungcheol in the crowd. Their eyes met across the room, and Seungcheol offered that familiar, easy smile first.
"You made it?"
"Yeah," Jeonghan said, weaving his way over. "How’ve you been?"
"Good."
The response came a beat too fast—practically rehearsed. Jeonghan didn’t push. He just stood beside him, watching the stage.
Before the show had even wrapped, Seungcheol leaned in. "I’m heading out early."
"Where to?"
"Home."
"No other schedules today?"
"Nope."
"Then let’s grab a bite."
Seungcheol gave a small, apologetic smile. "Another time. You finally have a free evening, go get some proper rest."
Jeonghan held his gaze. "...Seungcheol."
"Yeah?"
"Are you really doing okay lately?"
"Of course."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." Seungcheol reached out, giving Jeonghan’s shoulder an affectionate pat. "Don’t worry about me."
He turned and slipped into the crowd. Jeonghan stayed put, making no move to follow. He knew better. If he chased him down now and demanded answers, Seungcheol would just put that gentle armor back on, smile, say he was fine, and retreat even further into himself.
Jeonghan knew Seungcheol better than almost anyone. He knew the difference between a real smile and a reflexive one. And he knew that when Seungcheol was truly struggling, he didn't make noise—he grew quiet.
At the recording studio another day, Seungcheol hadn't seemed out of the ordinary to anyone else. But Jeonghan had noticed how he lingered in his chair long after his takes were done. How his thumb absently rubbed the center of his palm—a unconscious grounding technique. How he took long, slow breaths when he thought no one was looking.
If they hadn't spent a decade growing up together, Jeonghan might have missed it. But he did know. And that knowledge brought a quiet, gnawing fear back into his chest.
He was worried about the one thing none of them liked to put into words: Seungcheol’s panic attacks.
Seungcheol hated being a burden, especially to the group. Everyone was stretched thin—prepping for enlistment, drowning in solo work, running on two hours of sleep. Seungcheol would sooner swallow glass than admit, I think I’m losing my grip again.
Suddenly, the picture became crystal clear. Seungcheol wasn't avoiding him. He was retreating from everyone. Maybe because he’d finally tasted what it felt like to have time that belonged only to him. Or maybe because he was trying to learn how to endure the quiet on his own.
And that scared Jeonghan more than any brush-off ever could.
It was just past eleven at night when Jeonghan stood outside Seungcheol’s apartment door, a warm drink cupped in each hand.
He hadn't texted ahead. He knew if he’d asked, Can I come over? the answer would have been the usual script: You don't have to. I'm fine. Let's hang out another time.
So he just showed up.
He pressed the buzzer. Silence. He pressed it again.
After a long pause, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. Seungcheol stood there in an oversized black T-shirt, his hair artfully disheveled. He blinked, visibly stunned.
"...Jeonghan?"
"Hey." Jeonghan held up the carrier. "I was in the neighborhood."
Seungcheol gave him a flat look. "You live on the other side of town."
"I moved today."
Seungcheol cracked a reluctant laugh, shaking his head as he stepped back. "Come on in."
The apartment was hushed, almost sterile, too pristine for a place someone actually lived in. The only sign of life was a half-empty glass of water on the coffee table.
Jeonghan slid his shoes off and didn't offer a single word of interrogation. He walked straight to the living room and sank into the couch. "Got you one."
Seungcheol took the cup, settling into the cushion beside him. "Thanks."
They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks. No small talk. No heavy questions.
"How’d you know I was home?" Seungcheol finally asked, staring into his cup.
"Lucky guess."
"Riiight. Aren't you slammed with work right now?"
"Yeah."
"Then why’d you drag yourself all the way out here?"
Jeonghan turned his head to look at him dead-on. "Because I missed you."
Seungcheol caught his breath, stunned for a fraction of a second before letting out a dry laugh. "You play dirty."
"I know."
Silence reclaimed the room, softer this time. Seungcheol stared down at the steam rising from his cup. "I really am doing fine, Jeonghan."
"I know."
"It's just..." He trailed off.
Jeonghan didn't fill the space. He just waited.
"...It's just the first time in my life that being alone hasn't felt terrible," Seungcheol confessed softly. "I wanted to hold onto that for a bit."
"Makes sense."
"But..." His voice dropped to a murmur. "Sometimes, when everything goes dead quiet, my head starts going places I don't want it to."
Jeonghan stayed still, listening with every part of himself.
Seungcheol leaned his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes. "I’ve been forcing myself to rest lately. Sleeping, excersing, watching movies. Just... existing." He let out a weak, self-deprecating laugh. "Maybe I overcorrected."
Jeonghan looked at the sharp line of his jaw. "Did you have an episode?"
The air in the room instantly went still.
Seungcheol didn't deny it. He didn't say a word. He just lowered his head, his knuckles turning white around his cup.
"...A small one," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "A few nights ago."
Jeonghan’s stomach dropped, but he kept his expression perfectly steady. Without a word, he reached across the space between them and wrapped his fingers gently around Seungcheol’s wrist, grounding him.
"Okay," Jeonghan said softly. "You don't have to explain."
Seungcheol looked up, his eyes defensive and raw.
Jeonghan offered a small, reassuring smile. "And you don't have to worry about managing me, either. I'm just here to keep you company. No questions asked."
Seungcheol searched his face for a long, silent moment. Then, his defenses crumbled. His head dropped, his shoulders shuddering with a single, suppressed breath.
Jeonghan shifted closer. "I just... I don't want you carrying everything by yourself anymore."
Seungcheol didn't answer. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned over and rested his forehead against Jeonghan’s shoulder. Just a feather-light touch, as if testing whether it was really okay to lean.
Jeonghan didn't move an inch.
They sat together in the dim light. Outside, the city sparkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows. No cameras. No managers. No schedules. No expectations.
"I think..." Seungcheol’s voice was muffled against his shirt. "I think I'm finally learning how to live for myself."
"That's a good thing."
"Yeah. But sometimes..."
"Hmm?"
"...I still want someone around."
Jeonghan smiled, threading his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, gently smoothing it down.
"Then I'll be around. You don't have to ask, and you don't have to make formal plans. When you want space, I'll back off. But when the quiet gets too loud..." He squeezed Seungcheol’s hand. "...I'll be right here."
Seungcheol closed his eyes. This time, he didn't say You don't have to.
Instead, he let out a long, shuddering breath and whispered, "Okay."
A beat passed. "Don't go home tonight."
Jeonghan’s smile widened. “I planned to stay.”
"Don't you have full schedule tomorrow?"
"I'm completely free for you.”
Seungcheol burst into a soft, genuine laugh. And for the first time in weeks, the warmth reached his eyes.
—-End—-
I am a bit upset seeing S.coups lose too much weight lately. So I just wanted to write something to make myself cry.