Work Text:
The living room of Jaehyun’s apartment always held onto heat, even as the open windows brought in the crisp late evening air from outside.
The lights were turned low—just the warm, amber glow of a floor lamp in the corner and the soft, shifting light from the TV. On the screen, a karaoke playlist ran quietly in the background, echoing instrumental covers of old pop tracks that nobody was actually singing along to. At least not anymore. It had been Sungho's idea, grabbing Jaehyun's battered and taped-up remote control to play his current favourite IU song—because of course, it was always changing—and subsequently using it as a makeshift microphone as he hit unnecessarily high notes with the opposite of ease. He'd managed to get a round out of everyone, with Woonhak's rendition of Come Back Home getting moderate claps and laughs. Now, it served simply as an anchor for the room, a low hum of melody underneath the soft taps of feet on wood floorboards and the occasional clink of glass.
The coffee table had been cleared of takeout boxes some time ago, and was now littered with sweating drinks.
Sungho, Jaehyun, and Dongmin sat around the table with cold bottles of beer, the glass dark against the polished wood, leaving a puddle in its wake. Donghyun leaned against the couch armrest, lazily swirling a can of grapefruit seltzer in one hand. Next to him, Sanghyeok was nursing a highball glass filled with a Shirley Temple, courtesy of Jaehyun—who had been a bit too heavy-handed with the grenadine, leaving a dark, syrupy crimson pool sitting heavy at the very bottom of the ice. He hadn't minded it. According to him, this was the 'second best mocktail' Jaehyun's ever made for him, which didn't mean much once Woonhak found out that he'd only ever made a grand total of four mixed drinks.
Woonhak himself sat slightly back on his floor cushion, his palm wrapped around a cold, sweating can of Diet Pepsi. Jaehyun had offered to make him a drink too, but seeing the amount of sugar in Sanghyeok's glass had made him politely refuse.
In the center of the table, a fresh deck of Uno cards lay split into two neat stacks. Dongmin picked them up, his thumbs catching the edges of the cardstock.
"Watch," Dongmin murmured, a fond, predictable smirk touching his mouth. "The King is at work."
He riffled the two halves together with a quick, crisp snap-snap-snap, the cards cascading into a perfect weave before he arced them into a smooth bridge. He said it every single time he shuffled—the same title, delivered with the exact same theatrics.
Woonhak’s thumb drifted over the pull-tab of his soda can.
He remembered sitting on this exact same floor cushion, knees drawn up to his chin, his eyes wide with open, earnest fascination during the first house party of Jaehyun's he’d ever been invited to. Though 'party' was a stretch—it had just been the five of them, the boys who had already known each other for years, being kind enough to include the new kid. He could still hear Dongmin declaring, "Watch the King work," puffing his chest out with exaggerated pride as he fanned out a deck of poker cards with a theatrical flourish.
When a wide-eyed Woonhak had leaned forward, chin resting on the wooden edge of the table to ask where Dongmin had even learned to do that, the reaction had been instantaneous. Donghyun had immediately snorted into the rim of his soda can, knocking his knuckles against Dongmin's knee with a smirk. "Oh, ask him about the summer in Busan."
In a fraction of a second, Dongmin’s neck and cheeks had flushed a dark, violent red before he hurled a throw pillow straight at Donghyun’s head, knocking him sideways into Jaehyun. The entire room had erupted into chaos—Jaehyun screeching in pain as the metal handle of the TV cabinet bit into his shoulder blades, Sanghyeok doubling over and clutching his stomach in breathless laughter, and Sungho shaking his head with a fond, knowing grin behind his drink.
It was a complete story to the five of them—a whole universe packed into three words and a city name.
Woonhak had sat there with his hands wrapped around his glass of ice water, chuckling along as Jaehyun pointed an accusing finger at Dongmin. He had quietly waited for someone to enlighten him, to fill him in on the joke. But no one ever added onto the story, and eventually, Woonhak had just brushed it off, telling himself he’d learn what happened in Busan soon enough.
He'd been friends with them for three years now, but no one had ever told him anything. The summer in Busan remained an unmapped territory, one of a hundred quiet rooms in their collective past that he simply didn't have a key to.
The sharp, dry thump of the deck hitting the wooden tabletop pulled Woonhak out of the memory.
"Seven each," Dongmin announced, flicking the cards across the wood with practiced speed.
The black logo-printed backs of the cards slid smoothly over the dark grain, stopping right at the edge of Woonhak’s floor cushion. He reached out, his thumb catching the slick plastic surface of the top card. He gathered them one by one, keeping the coloured backs facing outward, fanning them into a tight, neat stack against his palm so no one across the table could peek at his hand. Sungho and Jaehyun had a habit of peaking over when he was distracted. Some hyungs they were.
Around him, the game fell into an easy, unthinking rhythm.
Sungho dropped a blue four. Jaehyun matched it with a blue eight, his laugh quiet as he took a slow sip of his beer. Donghyun played a skip card against Sanghyeok, prompting a soft, dramatic groan that made Jaehyun almost spill his drink. It was effortless. They didn't need to overthink their turns or calculate the room; they existed inside the space like water filling a familiar container.
Woonhak adjusted his grip, his thumb pressing hard against the hidden face of his bottom card. A few rounds had bled seamlessly into one another, the card pile growing thick in the center of the dark wood table. He was sitting on just three cards now—his smallest hand of the night. He kept them tightly fanned, his index finger tracing the slick edge of a blue seven. For four turns straight, the top card had been a stubborn, bright green. He just needed a blue. Anything to drop a card, finish his hand, and slide out of the game without drawing attention to himself. ( He had seen a black wild card in both Sanghyeok's and Dongmin's hands and wasn't interested in finding out what they meant. )
Dongmin slapped down a green reverse card. Woonhak sighed, reaching over and grabbing another card from the deck. A red four.
Sanghyeok didn't hesitate. With a quiet, wicked little smirk, he laid a draw four right onto the green stack. "Sorry, Donghyun."
"You're unbelievable," Donghyun muttered, but his hand was already moving. He slapped a second +4 onto Sanghyeok’s. "Pass it along."
Jaehyun wheezed, slamming a third one down. "Oh, man, Sungho. Can you pass it on?"
Sungho slams his hand down, throwing an accusatory glance at all the laughing boys, his face a picture of pure, exaggerated betrayal. "Twelve cards? Are you actually kidding me right now?"
"Hold on," Dongmin cut in, shuffling through his cards. "Why didn't anyone call out a plus four chain? I have one too!" He paused, his eyes darting toward Woonhak's floor cushion. "You have one too right, Woonhak?"
Woonhak shook his head, holding his, now four, cards a little closer to his chest. "No, hyung. There's only four in the deck and all of you four had them."
Dongmin blinked, looking down at his hand, then at the pile, then back at Woonhak. "Ah, you're right, you're right...math isn't mathing tonight."
Before Dongmin could even finish his chuckle, Sungho cut him off completely, throwing his hands up in full-blown outrage and dramatically peeling twelve separate cards from the draw pile. "I knew it! You rigged this deck, Dongmin! You used to pull this exact same stacked-deck trick back in the third-floor dorm!"
"Don't blame my talent for your terrible hand, hyung," Dongmin smirked, taking a sip of his beer.
"Talent?" Jaehyun laughed, knocking his shoulder against Sungho's as the eldest struggled to hold his newly ballooned hand. "Remember when we played at Sanghyeokie's old apartment and you added six card to his deck while he was in the bathroom, just to see how long it would take him to notice?"
"I was testing him!" Dongmin protested, grinning. "And for the record, he didn't notice until two turns later!"
"Because I trusted you!" Sungho shot back, though he was fighting off a smile as he tried to fan out his massive hand without dropping half of it onto the rug.
It was an old game within the game—targeting Sungho had been a group tradition long before Woonhak came around. Despite being the oldest, Sungho was always the easiest to tease, the one who reacted with the most theatrical, soft-hearted outrage, and the five of them had built years' worth of inside jokes around catching him off guard.
More rounds of laughter peeled out across the group as Sungho fumbled, his hands struggling to manage the ridiculous stack. Three cards slipped from his grip, fluttering face-down onto the floorboards near Woonhak’s floor cushion.
"Red eight! Green skip! Blue draw two!" Jaehyun yelled out at the top of his lungs, clapping his hands together and calling out completely random numbers and colours regardless of whether they were even remotely right.
"Shut up! I haven't even looked at them yet!" Sungho yelled back, leaning over to scramble for the loose cards on the floor. But the sheer volume of his hand was working against him—every time he reached down to scoop one up, two more slipped out from under his chin, sending the rest of the table into helpless giggles.
Woonhak laughed loudly alongside the rest of them, his eyes crinkling into that soft, familiar shape as he leaned forward to help gather the ones that had rolled closest to his rug. He handed them back up to Sungho, who gave him a quick, grateful pat on the shoulder before returning to his loud, affectionate argument with Jaehyun and Dongmin.
The smile stayed present on his lips as he lifted his Diet Pepsi to take a slow, steady sip while the noise surged around him.
"This is just like freshman year," Sanghyeok chuckled, leaning his head back against the couch cushions, his voice warm with nostalgia. "Remember that storm when the power went out for six hours? We literally played cards by phone flashlights until three in the morning."
"Donghyun fell asleep on the kitchen floor!" Jaehyun wheezed, clapping his hands together.
"I was resting my eyes," Donghyun shot back instantly, though he was grinning so wide his cheeks bunched up. "And Sungho hyung lost three games in a row because he couldn't see the colours properly in the dark!"
"It was pitch black!" Sungho protested over the fresh chorus of laughter that erupted across the table.
Woonhak held the rim of the aluminum can against his bottom lip, the cold metal biting softly into his skin.
Freshman year. The blackout. Three in the morning.
He hadn't been there. He hadn't even met them yet. Back then, he was still in high school, wearing a uniform, studying for entrance exams while the five of them were already living this—building the foundation of a house he was only ever invited to visit.
He swallowed.
The dark, fizzy liquid hit the back of his throat, but instead of the crisp, refreshing sweetness he expected, the taste suddenly felt off—flat, harsh, and strangely metallic.
As he set the can back down on the dark wood, a heavy, sour discomfort settled deep in the pit of his stomach. It felt as if he had swallowed pure carbonation, a cold, acidic weight expanding behind his ribs that made his chest feel tight and his skin clammy under the warm glow of the floor lamp. The laughter in the room started to sound just a little too loud, the edges of it sharp.
They were all post-grads now, moving into real jobs and adult routines—except for Donghyun, who was stretching out his final year to finish his co-op, and Woonhak himself, who was still stuck in the thick of lectures, assignments, and exams. Another gap. Another invisible line separating where they were in life from where he was still struggling to catch up.
Woonhak looked down at his cards, his thumb tracing the slick plastic edge of his blue seven.
Across the wood, no one was really looking at their hand anymore. Sungho had given up entirely, fanning his mountain of twelve cards face-down on the table like a ruined house of cards, while Jaehyun and Dongmin leaned back against the couch, their attention completely pulled into the blackout story. The Uno game had simply stalled out, left sitting between them like an afterthought while the five of them seamlessly drifted into another wave of laughter.
Woonhak lowered his hand, letting his three cards rest flat against his knee, out of sight.
No one called for the next turn. No one asked what colour was on top. The momentum of their history was just louder than the game, filling the living room until the dark wooden table felt less like a playing field and more like an anchor for their memories.
Unnoticed in the shadow of the couch, the boy let his gaze drift past the half-empty beer bottles and the sweating glasses, looking past Dongmin’s shoulder toward the far corner of the room.
Over by the wall, the dark TV screen was still running that silent karaoke playlist. Sitting on the dark wood right beneath the screen was the taped-up remote.
It had been sitting there untouched for over an hour—ever since Woonhak had handed it back after Come Back Home. He remembered the moderate claps, the polite chuckles, the affectionate pat Jaehyun had given his knee. But no one had taken the remote from him. No one had queued up another one of their guilty pleasures. The singing had simply stopped with his turn, smoothly transitioning into clearing takeout containers and opening beer cans.
A sharp, sour knot pulled tight in the pit of his stomach.
Did I ruin the mood? the thought whispered, quiet and poisonous, cutting right through the sound of Dongmin and Jaehyun still laughing about the blackout. Did they just let me have my turn to be sweet to the kid, and then wait for me to finish so they could move on to what they actually wanted to do?
He swallowed hard, the sharp, metallic taste of Diet Pepsi clinging to the back of his tongue. Woonhak pressed his arm tightly against his ribs, trying to squeeze away the uncomfortable, bloated ache blooming inside him.
He pulled his knees up a little higher, tucking his hands—and his three unused cards—into the shadow between his thighs. Across the table, Jaehyun was now mimicking the face Donghyun had made when the power cut out, distorting his features under the floor lamp while Sanghyeok wheezed into his drink.
Woonhak forced his mouth to stay curved upward, but his jaw was beginning to ache from holding the mask in place. His skin felt strangely cold, the open window’s late-evening breeze suddenly cutting right through his hoodie.
Trapped right in the middle of their circle, he watched the conversation flow over and around him. It was an effortless, unthinking shorthand: Dongmin and Donghyun swapping drinks after talking strictly through their eyes and gestures, while the three eldest leaned into a shared foundation built long before even the aformentioned had even entered the picture.
They looked so complete together. Woonhak knew every expression on their faces. He had memorized their habits, spent the past three years pouring his whole heart into every gesture—studying until his eyes burned just to earn a fond, proud nod, mastering the exact right moment to crack a joke, matching their energy so seamlessly that he hoped no one would notice the gap between them. He gave everything, loving them with a quiet, desperate intensity that always left him wondering why he was the only one holding his breath.
The loud, chaotic energy of the blackout story gradually softened, settling into the comfortable lull of late evening as the conversation drifted toward quieter things.
The empty cans and drained glasses cluttering the table were finally taking their toll. A warm, heavy haze had settled over the room, the alcohol smoothly taking the edge off everyone—everyone except Sanghyeok, who was sipping his mocktail, and Woonhak, who was stuck completely sober behind his metallic-tasting Diet Pepsi.
They were mellowing out, bodies slumping back into floor cushions and couch cushions alike.
"That's how I feel about you guys, honestly," Donghyun offered, his voice dropping softer, thick with that gentle, heavy-lidded honesty that always crept up on him after a few drinks. The alcohol had completely stripped away his usual quiet filter, spilling his thoughts out raw. "Like...I just really like us. I really love you guys."
The entire table seemed to pull into a sudden, quiet halt. Jaehyun stopped mid-gesticulate, Sungho’s loud giggles vanished, and even Dongmin turned his head, giving Donghyun his undivided, warm attention. When Donghyun spoke, people listened. Because he was usually the quiet one, his words carried an immediate weight—a gravity that made the whole room pause just to catch what he had to say. It was the kind of complete, magnetic silence that only Donghyun could pull from them. When he spoke, the whole room paused just to adore him.
Sanghyeok chuckled softly beside Woonhak, shaking his head with a fond, knowing smile. "And there he goes," he murmured, his tone dripping with quiet affection as he watched Donghyun. "Every single time."
Jaehyun cooed dramatically, breaking the beat as he reached across the table to playfully ruffle Donghyun’s hair, and the rest of the circle dissolved right back into easy, melting laughter.
Woonhak swallowed against the dry lump in his throat, the sound of their affection ringing loud in his ears as his thoughts began to spiral downward.
Should I try being quiet like that? he wondered, a petty, desperate thought flickering through his mind. But the realization hit him with a dull ache: he couldn't pull it off even if he tried. He loved talking too much; he was bright, loud, and hopelessly open, completely incapable of keeping his heart tucked away or holding back a story he was excited about. If he went quiet, they’d just ask if he was sick.
And next to Jaehyun, who moved through the world with an effortless charm that made everyone feel like his best friend within five minutes, Woonhak just felt exhausting. Friends came to Jaehyun like gravity. Woonhak had to study for his place, had to work for every fond nod, had to match their energy step-for-step so no one would notice how easily he could slip away.
"Shut up," Donghyun laughed, swatting Jaehyun’s hand away, but the warmth in the room remained thick and heavy.
Sungho was smiling at Donghyun with that soft, tender look he saved for the others—the kind Woonhak caught him giving Sanghyeok or Jaehyun, but rarely himself. Sungho gave so much of his heart to everyone in this room, yet Woonhak always felt like he was catching the leftover light.
"Well," Sanghyeok chimed in, leaning back against the couch, his voice smooth and grounding as he looked at Donghyun. "I love you too, Donghyun. But I’d love you a lot more if you actually replied in the main group chat from time to time and helped us finalize plans."
"He never reads the messages," Sungho snorted, shaking his head.
"I do!" Donghyun protested, though his heavy eyelids betrayed him. "I just...think the reply in my head and forget to type it out."
Woonhak blinked, his brain momentarily stalling. Messages? His thumb twitched over the edge of his blue seven card. He’d checked his phone twenty minutes ago when the Uno game started, and the main chat had been dead silent since five in the afternoon. There hadn't been a single notification about plans or headcounts.
And then the cold, heavy reality settled over him like a coat of wet cement.
Another chat.
A sudden, sharp sting pricked behind his eyes, followed immediately by another sick wave of nausea that made his throat tighten. Of course there was another chat. He knew, logically, that the five of them had years of history before he came along; when they’d added him to the group two years ago, they’d created a shiny, new chat room. He had just stupidly, naively assumed that over time, as he integrated into the friend group, the old chat had naturally faded away. He’d rationalized that he was part of the circle now—an actual, permanent fixture, not just an add-on.
He was wrong. They still used it. They talked there, planned things there, lived entire moments together in a quiet space where his name didn't exist.
Am I annoying? the thought whispered, cutting straight through his ribs like a blade. Is it because I talk too much? Do I send too many messages? Do they have a space without me because I’m just...too much to deal with?
His mind didn't stop—it tore open, wild and unforgiving. Do they talk about me in there? The thought hit him like a physical blow, making his breath catch in his throat. Do they send screenshots of my texts to complain about how clingy I am? Do they laugh at how hard I try, or trade exhausted messages about how they wish I’d just stop leeching onto them?
Now that they’d all graduated and moved on into the real world, maybe his presence wasn't fond anymore. Maybe it was just an obligation. They were adults with real lives, real careers, real histories, and he was still just...the kid clinging to the coattails of a group that had outgrown him. Maybe they sat in that hidden chat, quietly waiting for him to finally take the hint and let go.
"Okay, okay, fine," Donghyun grumbled, rubbing his face with both hands, blissfully unaware of the silent execution happening right next to him. "So what's the update then? What did I miss?"
"Jaehyun snagged those VIP passes," Sungho said, pointing a card at Jaehyun.
"Oh, right," Jaehyun said, setting his glass down and turning toward Dongmin. "Hey, Dongmin, remind me to hand those over to you before Saturday. I left them in my coat."
Dongmin’s head snapped up, his posture instantly straightening as his eyes widened. "Wait, seriously? You're giving them to me?"
"Yeah, of course," Jaehyun smiled, leaning his back comfortably against the couch. "My media relations internship got me two access passes for that interactive music museum down in Seongsu—the one with the high-end mixing consoles, full soundboards, and the private guided studio tour. I'm not really a gearhead, but I knew you'd appreciate it way more than I would. You’re the real audio guy here, so they’re yours. Take whoever you want."
"Hyung, are you serious? This is insane," Dongmin breathed, a genuine, bright grin breaking across his face. "I’ve been trying to get onto that guided tour for months."
Woonhak’s eyes stayed fixed on the two of them, his heart giving a painful, hollow thud.
Music.
Music was Woonhak's entire soul. Growing up, his house had been loud with it—sheet music covering the coffee table, his sister singing harmonies while he tried to figure out chord progressions, both of them staying up until three in the morning passionately dreaming of becoming the next sibling act like AKMU. He had poured those exact memories into late-night talks with Jaehyun and Dongmin, gushing about arrangement, acoustic mixing, and production gear until his voice went raspy.
Yet Jaehyun hadn't even hesitated. Woonhak’s years of lifelong passion hadn't even registered. Dongmin was the serious one. Dongmin was the real audio guy. Woonhak was just the enthusiastic kid who rambled when he got excited—the annoying younger brother who wouldn't stop talking.
It wasn't malice. It was never malice, and that was the part that made his stomach turn inside out. It was just an innocent, complete oversight. He shared these deep, foundational passions with them, but he was completely invisible when it actually counted.
A hot, poisonous jealousy flared up in his chest, followed instantly by a wave of sickening self-loathing. Why are you like this? he chastised himself bitterly, pressing his arm tightly against his stomach to suppress the churning ache. Dongmin deserves it. Jaehyun was just being nice. Why do you always have to make yourself the victim? Why are you so pathetic?
He sat right there between Sanghyeok and Dongmin, holding his breath while the five of them carried on—completely full, completely content, completely fine without him adding a single thing to the room.
As the conversation between Dongmin and Jaehyun drifted deeper into technical jargon—debating frequency responses and signal-to-noise ratios—Sungho idly scraped his own massive hand of cards together. He didn't bother keeping them hidden anymore, casually fanning the coloured numbers out toward the ceiling while organizing them first by colour, then meticulously by number.
Beside Woonhak, Sanghyeok shifted, his eyes dropping to Woonhak’s lap. "Do you plan on keeping those forever, or are we playing?" Sanghyeok asked softly, a light, teasing tilt to his voice.
Woonhak flinched, pulling back sharply. "What?"
His voice came out far too small, thin and visibly trembling, cracking right on the vowel. Heat rushed to his face in a burning wave. He cleared his throat hurriedly, the sound raspy in his dry chest, and jerkily tossed the three cards onto the carpet. His fingers recoiled instantly, tucking back into the safety of his hoodie sleeves the second he realized his hand was noticeably shaking.
Sanghyeok’s light expression softened, a quiet flicker of concern washing over his features. He leaned in a fraction closer, lowering his voice beneath the hum of Dongmin and Jaehyun’s technical chatter. "Hey...you've been really quiet. You alright?"
It was so typical of Sanghyeok. Out of everyone, he and Sanghyeok were the only ones still fully sober, and Sanghyeok had always cared like this—quietly, attentively, without making a scene. Woonhak still remembered the day they met during his freshman orientation, Sanghyeok standing behind a cluttered club booth, smiling warmly and convincing a wide-eyed Woonhak to join. Sanghyeok had been his doorway into this entire world; he was the one who had brought Woonhak into the apartment, introduced him to the older guys, and pulled him into their inner orbit.
Woonhak knew Sanghyeok genuinely cared about him. He knew they were real friends. But looking at Sanghyeok now, a fresh, dull ache settled deep in Woonhak’s ribs.
Even as the closest bridge Woonhak had to this circle, Sanghyeok was still miles further away than he pretended. Woonhak was just another younger friend in Sanghyeok’s wide, generous social network—someone to check in on, someone to look after. But the other four sitting across the table? They were the real deal. When Sanghyeok looked at Sungho, or laughed with Jaehyun, or shared a look with Donghyun and Dongmin, it was an effortless, equal bond. They held Sanghyeok’s attention completely, grounded in years of weight and history that Woonhak couldn't touch no matter how hard he tried.
Maybe he should just stop trying. Maybe he wasn't built to fit here, and squeezing himself into their spaces was only making him bleed.
"I'm fine, hyung," Woonhak managed to say, forcing a tiny, weak smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just a bit tired."
Sanghyeok held his gaze for a second longer, the warm amber light of the floor lamp catching the dark, quiet concern in his eyes. He didn't push, but he didn't entirely let it go either, giving Woonhak’s shoulder a single, grounding squeeze.
"Mm, okay," Sanghyeok murmured softly, his thumb resting briefly against the fabric of Woonhak's hoodie before pulling back. "But you let me know if you're not feeling too hot, alright? Or if you just want to get some air."
Don't do that, Woonhak thought bitterly, his jaw tightening as he stared fixedly at the scatter of cards on the carpet. Please don't be nice to me.
He hated it. He hated how genuinely sweet Sanghyeok was, and he hated even more that he couldn't stop the dark, toxic resentment from crawling up his throat. He wished Sanghyeok would just ignore him like the rest of them. It would be so much easier if Sanghyeok were mean, or distant, or careless—then Woonhak could justify the venom burning behind his ribs.
Instead, he was stuck wishing he could hate the very person who had given him a home here.
Why had Sanghyeok reached out to him that afternoon at the club table in the first place? Why had he smiled so warmly, taken Woonhak under his wing, and dragged him into this apartment, introducing him to these four incredible, larger-than-life people? Why open the door to a house that was already full? Sanghyeok had to have known. He had to have seen that their circle was already unbroken, sealed tight by years of history, shared ages, and unshakeable bonds.
If there was never going to be any real space for one more, why invite him in just to leave him standing on the edge? Why make him fall in love with a family he could only ever watch through a window?
"Yeah," Woonhak rasped, the lie tasting like ash in his mouth as he forced his gaze away from Sanghyeok's watchful eyes. "I know. Thanks, hyung."
Across the table, Sungho was still absorbed in his own little world, blissfully oblivious as he lined up his Uno cards into neat, perfectly colour-coded rows on the carpet. He let out a loud, theatrical whine when a card slipped from his fingers, pouting dramatically until Jaehyun laughed and helped him scoop it back up.
Woonhak watched the interaction with a dull, hollow ache blooming behind his sternum.
Sungho was the oldest out of all six of them—twenty-three, with the weight of being the eldest theoretically resting on his shoulders. But in his actual family, Sungho was the youngest brother, and it showed in the effortless, childish warmth he carried. He could be ridiculous, throw dramatic tantrums over card games, whine for the last drink, and act completely helpless, and the room would bend toward him with indulgent, fiercely protective affection.
They babied Sungho constantly. But it was the kind of babying reserved for an equal—an adored, foundational pillar of the group whose silly antics only made them love and respect him more. Sungho was allowed to be soft and young because his place at the table was already unshakeable.
Woonhak, on the other hand, was just the kid.
When Woonhak acted young or cracked a joke, it didn't earn him a place as their peer; it just solidified the rigid, patronizing frame they had built around him. They treated Sungho like a precious brother who was allowed to play, but they treated Woonhak like a child who had been allowed to sit at the adults' table out of courtesy. Sungho got the affection and the respect. Woonhak only got the soft, harmless buffer—the gentle pat on the head before they turned back to the real conversations, the real bonds, the real friendship.
And it wasn't even an issue of age or being stuck in university—because Donghyun was still in school too. Jaehyun babied Donghyun constantly, teasing him, cooing over his rare bursts of affection, and treating him like the quiet younger brother of the apartment. But at the end of the day, Donghyun was still fundamentally vital. When Donghyun spoke, the room went quiet to listen. When plans were drawn up, Donghyun was inherently factored into the foundation. Jaehyun’s coddling of Donghyun came from a place of deep, unquestioned respect.
With Woonhak, it felt like babying out of polite tolerance. It was the soft, gentle handling of someone who was tagging along, not someone who truly belonged. The younger brother your mother forced you to bring along to your hangouts lest you wanted to be grounded.
Seeing the sheer contrast in how they cherished Sungho and Donghyun versus how they treated him, a bitter, icy realization settled heavy in Woonhak's chest. They just don't like me as much. It was as simple and as painful as that. They didn't see him as an equal partner in this group, and a dark, suffocating voice whispered that no matter how much he grew up or tried to fit in, they never would.
I'm just the extra, Woonhak thought bitterly, pressing his arm tightly against his churning stomach as the stale bitterness settled on his tongue. They love each other. They just tolerate me.
He pulled his knees up a fraction closer to his chest, shrinking into his oversized hoodie as the five voices around him merged back into a warm, seamless chorus—a circle that was right in front of him, yet felt a million miles out of reach.
The easy, rhythmic back-and-forth of the room continued to carry on over his head, but Woonhak couldn't process the words anymore. The technical talk about mixing boards and Seongsu passes faded into a dull, roaring static in his ears. His throat felt completely locked up, a thick, suffocating lump swelling at the base of his neck. A cold, prickling rush swept over his face and down his arms, leaving his skin clammy and his fingers trembling violently beneath the fabric of his hoodie. Every breath felt thin, like he was trying to inhale underwater.
His stomach churned violently, a sudden wave of heat washing up his esophagus. The warm, metallic Diet Pepsi he’d been nursing all night sat heavy and poisonous in his stomach, threatening to come right back up. He had to hard-swallow, biting back the bitter taste of acid and bile rising in the back of his throat, his jaw aching from how tightly he clamped his teeth together.
He couldn't sit here. He couldn't keep sitting here watching them exist so easily without him, acting as if his silent collapse wasn't happening six inches away.
Beside him, Sanghyeok didn't miss the sharp, erratic hitch in Woonhak’s chest. The older boy leaned in closer, his eyebrows pulling together in genuine, sharp concern, ignoring the card game entirely now.
"Woonhak," Sanghyeok said, his voice lower this time, firm enough to cut through the noise of the room. He reached out, his hand gently resting on Woonhak’s forearm. "Hey, look at me. You're completely pale. What's wrong?"
The touch almost made Woonhak snap. A fresh wave of panic hit him—hot and suffocating. If Sanghyeok kept pushing, if anyone else turned around and looked at him right now, he was going to throw up or break down completely, and he couldn't survive the humiliation of them pitying him even more. He needed air. He needed to get out of this apartment, away from the warmth, away from the laughter, away from the suffocating weight of being the only outsider.
"I...I think that food from earlier isn't settling right," Woonhak stammered out, forcing himself to swallow down another sour swell of nausea. His voice was thin and dangerously unsteady, but he pushed past it, scrubbing a cold, slick palm over his forehead to hide the sweat. "Seriously, I don't think they cooked that spicy pork right."
"Ah, Woonhak," Sungho piped up from across the carpet, shaking his head with a sympathetic but playful sigh. "We literally told you not to try the new menu items. You always do this to your stomach."
"Yeah, that place is notoriously hit-or-miss with their chili oil," Jaehyun added smoothly, leaning back. "You gotta stick to the regular bibimbap next time, kiddo."
The casual, easy chorus of advice sent a sharp spike of white-hot irritation straight through Woonhak’s chest. The petty jealousy in his veins boiled over into a suffocating mix of anger and sheer panic. He hated it. He hated how easily they dismissed it, how effortlessly they slipped back into playing the wiser, older brothers who knew better. Every word felt like a tiny, unbearable prick against his raw nerves, and his mind screamed at him that if he stayed in this room for another thirty seconds, he was going to lose his mind, scream at them, or burst into embarrassing, pathetic tears.
"Yeah," Woonhak rasped, avoiding their eyes entirely as he began moving frantically around the living room. "Lesson learned."
He snatched his phone off the low coffee table, nearly knocking over an empty soda can in his haste, and shoved it deep into his hoodie pocket. He swung his backpack over his shoulder with a jerky, uncoordinated motion, his clammy hands slipping against the strap.
"Wait, hold on," Sanghyeok said, pushing himself up from the floor with a fluid grace, his sharp eyes tracking Woonhak's erratic movements. "Donghyun drove you here, but he's in no condition to take you back. I'll drive you home."
Woonhak’s heart dropped straight into his shoes. No. God, no.
If he got into Sanghyeok’s car—into that tiny, quiet, enclosed space with the dim dashboard lights and Sanghyeok’s gentle, pressing concern—he would break. The fragile dam holding back his humiliation, his jealousy, and his toxic self-loathing would shatter completely. He would end up sobbing on the passenger seat, spilling every ugly, pathetic thought about the hidden group chat, the tickets, and feeling unloved.
And then what? He would force Sanghyeok to choose. He would put Sanghyeok in an impossible, agonizing position between him and the rest of his oldest friends, effectively ruining the group dynamic forever. Woonhak couldn't be the reason everything fell apart. He couldn't bear the weight of being that destructive.
"No, hyung, don't worry about it," Woonhak said quickly, his voice tight and breathless as he backed toward the entryway, stepping blindly into his sneakers. "Seriously, I'm fully sober. It's only a twenty-minute walk, and the cool air will actually help my stomach."
"Woonhak, it's after midnight," Sanghyeok pressed, stepping closer with his keys already jingling softly in his hand. "It's no trouble—"
"I really just want to walk!" Woonhak blurted out, a little too loud, a little too sharp. He flinched at his own tone, clearing his throat hurriedly to soften the edge before forcing another strained, breathless smile. "I just...I really need the fresh air, hyung. Please."
Sanghyeok hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around the key fob in his hand. He bit his lip, his dark eyes scanning Woonhak’s pale face with a heavy, unspoken worry, clearly wanting to push further. But seeing the raw, frantic strain in the younger boy's posture, he finally gave a small, reluctant nod.
"Okay," Sanghyeok said softly, his voice gentle. "If you really want to walk...fine. But text me the second you get through your door, Woonhak. I mean it. Even if it's late."
"I will. Promise," Woonhak lied, his chest aching as he gave one last jerky nod.
From the floor, the rest of the room chimed in with a chorus of scattered, loose goodbyes.
"Feel better, Woonhak!" Sungho called out warmly, waving a green Uno card blindly over his shoulder.
"Get some sleep, kiddo, don't miss your morning lecture," Jaehyun added with a sleepy grin.
"Text the groupchat when you get back," Donghyun murmured, his head resting heavily against the back of the sofa, eyes already half-closed.
Dongmin gave him a wave, eyes narrowing at the way Woonhak was closed in on himself.
"Yeah. Goodnight, everyone," Woonhak managed to choke out, not daring to look back at any of them. He slid the front door open, stepped out into the cool night air, and pulled it shut until the latch clicked into place.
The quiet of the hallway was deafening. He practically ran down the steps, his shoes squeaking against the concrete as he burst through the building’s main glass doors and out onto the street. He kept moving, taking fast, rigid strides, dragging himself past the streetlamps until he finally cut around the corner into a dark, narrow alleyway—completely hidden from the apartment windows above.
The moment he was out of sight, Woonhak stopped.
"Fuck," he choked out, the word breaking in his throat.
His knees buckled, sending him crashing down into a crouch against the brick wall of a closed storefront. He slammed the heels of his palms hard into his eyes, pressing down so fiercely he saw white bursts of light behind his eyelids, trying with every ounce of strength left in his body to physically shove the burning, pathetic tears back inside. He curled inward, shrinking down into his oversized hoodie, his shoulders shaking in the cold street air as the violent, suffocating waves of jealousy, self-loathing, and complete isolation finally tore him apart in the dark.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
The word tore out of his throat in a jagged, violent sob, repeating over and over until it lost all meaning—a desperate, frantic mantra squeezed out of him in varying hitches of breath. He stayed curled against the brick wall, the rough stone biting into his shoulder through his hoodie, his chest heaving as the cold night air burned his lungs. He pressed the heels of his palms harder into his eyes, trying to force the sharp, embarrassing heat back, but the dam had already shattered.
It was no use. The tears leaked past his trembling wrists anyway, hot and relentless, dripping down his jaw and soaking into the collar of his sweater.
Get up, he told himself bitterly, his stomach twisting into a fresh, sick knot. Get up, you idiot. Someone’s going to see you.
He forced his lungs to expand, drawing in a long, shuddering drag of air. He held it until his ribs throbbed, then let it out slowly, swallowing down the thick lump of humiliation lodged in his windpipe. One. Two. Three. He repeated the motion two more times, waiting for his legs to stop trembling before he finally pushed himself off the concrete.
His body felt heavy, hollowed out and completely drained, as if the panic had consumed whatever energy he had left. Woonhak wiped his wet face roughly on his sleeve and forced his feet to move, stepping out of the alley and continuing down the quiet, deserted sidewalk toward his dorm.
The quiet street was suffocating. Every step felt like a drag, the steady clack-clack of his sneakers against the pavement echoing off the dark storefronts. Even as he tried to keep his head down, silent tears kept slipping unbidden down his cheeks, cold wind biting at his skin wherever they tracked.
His mind refused to stop spinning. The image of Sungho’s colour-coded cards, Jaehyun’s casual offer of the VIP passes to Dongmin, Donghyun’s quiet inclusion, and Sanghyeok’s pitying eyes played on an endless, torturous loop. He had snapped at Sanghyeok. He had practically run out of the apartment like a lunatic, leaving a trail of tense, weird energy behind him that they were probably dissecting right now in that hidden group chat.
You fucked it up, he thought, a fresh tear spilling over his eyelashes as he tucked his chin into his hoodie. You've really done it now.
He had let his ugly, jealous monster slip through the cracks. He had shown them just how pathetic and out of place he truly was, and as he walked alone under the lonely amber glare of the streetlights, Woonhak knew there was no fixing it. He had finally pushed himself right off the edge of their circle.
He reached his dorm room on autopilot, the key turning in the lock with a heavy, lonely click that echoed into the dark hallway. He didn't bother turning on the light. Dropping his bag onto the floor, he collapsed onto the edge of his narrow bed, staring blankly at the shadows stretching across his ceiling as the quiet settled in—stark, absolute, and completely devoid of the warmth he’d left behind.
In the dark, his phone buzzed softly in his hoodie pocket.
Woonhak didn't reach for it. He just closed his eyes, rolled onto his side, and let the silence wash over him.