Archive of Our Own

the quiet in the practice room always felt different after midnight.

the air conditioning would hum a little softer, the bright fluorescent lights overhead buzzing with a faint, steady vibration that keonho had long learned to tune out. three years ago, during their trainee days, those lights used to make his eyes water after sixteen-hour days of repeating the same sixteen counts of dance choreography over and over until their shoes squeaked on the scuffed wood floor.

back then, keonho was just the youngest boy in the company's sub-basement studio, quiet and clumsy with his own growing frame, constantly tripping over his own long legs.

and martin was the one who had stayed behind every single night to tie keonho’s shoelaces, hand him a cold bottle of water, and whisper, “one more time, keonho-ya. you’re doing fine.”

ever since those early days, keonho had been watching him.

it wasn't something he had planned. it just happened naturally, like turning toward a window when the sun finally came out after three straight days of rain. at first, keonho thought it was just deep admiration. martin was the anchor of their group—the leader who spoke softly but carried enough weight on his shoulders to keep all five of them grounded. martin remembered everyone’s shoe sizes, remembered who liked their coffee with oat milk, and stayed up until three in the morning negotiating with their manager so they could get an extra hour of rest on weekends.

how could anyone not look up to someone like that?

but then the feelings started blurring around the edges.

it was the way martin’s eyes crinkled at the corners whenever keonho made a silly joke during monthly evaluations. it was the brief, warm touch of martin’s hand resting on the back of keonho’s neck after a tough vocal assessment, his thumbs lightly smoothing over the short hairs there. it was the lingering scent of cedarwood and citrus that seemed to cling to martin’s oversized hoodies—hoodies that keonho would quietly steal and wear around the dorms under the pretense of "not having any clean laundry left."

is this just respect? keonho would ask himself, staring up at the top bunk while listening to martin’s even, rhythmic breathing from across the room. or is it something worse?

he couldn't put a name to it. crush felt too light, too fleeting for something that had been quietly coexisting inside his chest for three whole years. but admiration felt too cold, too distant to describe the sudden spike in his pulse every time martin rested his chin on keonho’s shoulder while checking their performance monitor.

and then came debut.

the months leading up to their official debut were a blur of teaser shoots, music video filings, and endless rehearsals. suddenly, cortis wasn't just five boys in a underground studio; they were a real team with a name, a stage, and eyes watching them from everywhere.

"keonho-ya, fix your jacket," seonghyeon called out from across the green room, leaning over a folding chair while the hair stylist sprayed his bangs into place. seonghyeon was always sharp-eyed, observing everything from his corner with that quiet, dry humor of his. "you're going to trip over the belt fringe if you leave it hanging like that."

"i've got it," martin said before keonho could even move.

martin stepped over, crouching down right in front of keonho where he sat on the couch. without waiting, martin’s long fingers worked deftly at the leather belt around keonho’s waist, tightening the strap and securing the buckle against keonho’s hip.

keonho held his breath, his eyes glued to the top of martin’s dark, styled hair. he could see the tiny silver hoop earring in martin’s left ear catching the mirror lights.

"there," martin murmured, looking up with a gentle smirk that made keonho’s chest tighten. "all neat. you ready for the recording, maknae?"

"yeah," keonho managed, his voice a little raspier than usual. "thanks, hyung."

"look at him, hogging all of martin-hyung's attention again," james chimed in from the makeup vanity, popping a piece of gum into his mouth and grinning through the mirror. james was always like that—boisterous, teasing, and entirely shameless. "hyung, help me with my tie next! keonho's old enough to tie his own clothes now."

"shut up, james," juhoon muttered from the corner couch, not looking up from his tablet where he was reviewing their stage blocking. juhoon was the quiet balance to james’ chaos, but his dry remarks always landed right on target. "if martin-hyung doesn't fix his outfit, keonho will just go on stage with his shirt backward and blame it on stylistic choice."

"hey, i wouldn't do that!" keonho protested, though his cheeks burned red.

martin just laughed, a low, quiet sound that felt warm against the chilly air-conditioned backstage area. he patted keonho’s knee before standing up. "don't tease him. he's nervous enough today. let's get ready for standby, guys."

as the rest of the group started shuffling toward the stage door, keonho stayed sitting for a fraction of a second longer, watching martin’s back.

degree by degree, the blurry feeling inside keonho was starting to take shape. it wasn't just admiration. it had never been just admiration. he was nineteen now, officially an adult, officially standing on the same stage as the person he had been leaning on for years.

he didn't want to just be the little younger brother martin looked after anymore.

he wanted to shoot his shot.

making a move when you live in a dorm with four other boys and share a schedule that leaves you with four hours of sleep a night was practically an impossible task.

for the first two weeks of music show promotions, keonho’s "shots" were painfully subtle.

he started sitting next to martin in the van whenever they traveled between schedules, quietly offering martin one side of his wired earphones so they could listen to playlists together in the dark. martin would always accept with a tired smile, resting his head against the glass window while keonho carefully curated soft, slow r&b songs he thought martin would like.

he started buying martin’s favorite iced americano—two shots, extra ice, no syrup—and setting it on the studio desk before martin even asked for it.

"you're dangerously observant lately, keonho-ya," martin noted late one evening, taking a slow sip of the coffee as they took a fifteen-minute break during a midnight practice session.

the other three members were scattered around the room. james was sprawled out on the floor, practically asleep with his phone over his face, while juhoon and seonghyeon were whispering near the sound system about a transition in the second verse.

keonho sat on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest, looking up at martin who was leaning against the mirror wall.

"i'm always observant," keonho said softly, taglish slipping naturally into his tone the way it usually did when he was too tired to filter his words properly. "mas kilala lang talaga kita kaysa sa iba." (i just know you better than the others.)

martin paused, the rim of the cup at his lips. he looked down at keonho, his gaze lingering for a long, quiet second that made keonho’s heart do an unsteady flip in his ribs.

"is that so?" martin murmured, a fond, subtle curve touching the corner of his lips. "ikaw talaga... palagi mo kitang napapansin kahit super busy tayo." (you really... i always notice you even when we're super busy.)

keonho felt his breath hitch. martin rarely spoke taglish unless he was trying to match keonho’s mood, and hearing the familiar, comfortable language coming from martin’s deep voice made the small space between them feel suddenly very narrow.

"syempre," keonho whispered, leaning his head back against the mirror. "sino pa ba mag-aalaga sa leader natin kung hindi ako?" (of course. who else is going to take care of our leader if not me?)

martin let out a soft chuckle, reaching out to lightly ruffle keonho’s hair, leaving his fingers resting in the dark locks for just a beat longer than necessary. "bata ka pa rin talaga." (you're still really a kid.)

keonho bit the inside of his cheek, staring straight ahead at their reflection in the glass. i'm not a kid, he wanted to say. i'm trying to tell you something, hyung.

the real shift happened three weeks into their debut run.

they had just finished a live broadcast show, winning a spot in the top three on the charts for the first time. the energy in the dorm was high when they got back around 1:00 am. james had immediately ordered fried chicken, and juhoon was setting up a game on the living room tv while seonghyeon complained about the volume.

"keonho-ya, drop your bag in the room and come eat," seonghyeon called out as keonho walked past the kitchen.

"i'll be right there, hyung," keonho replied.

he walked down the dim hallway toward the bedroom he shared with martin. the door was half-open, a warm sliver of yellow light spilling onto the wooden floorboards.

keonho pushed the door open gently.

martin was sitting on the edge of his bed, still dressed in his black stage pants and a loose white tank top. he was holding a cold pack against his left shoulder, his eyes closed in quiet exhaustion, his broad shoulders slightly slouched. the heavy leader persona he wore all day in front of cameras and managers seemed to melt away in the silence of their room, leaving him looking vulnerable and tired.

keonho froze in the doorway, his heart aching slightly at the sight.

"martin-hyung?" keonho called softly.

martin opened his eyes, the heavy lids lifting slowly. when he saw keonho, the tired strain on his face immediately softened into that familiar, quiet warmth. "oh. keonho-ya. pumasok ka na." (come in.)

keonho closed the door behind him, letting the noise from the living room fade into a dull background hum. he walked over to martin’s bed and slowly dropped to his knees on the rug right beside where martin sat, bringing himself level with martin’s lap.

"masakit ulit shoulder mo?" keonho asked, reaching out without thinking to take the ice pack from martin’s hand. (does your shoulder hurt again?)

"konti lang," martin replied softly, letting keonho take the ice pack. "from the lift in the second chorus. bad angle lang kanina." (just a little. bad angle earlier.)

"sabi ko naman sa'yo, 'wag mo masyadong i-force," keonho scolded gently, his thumb brushing against martin’s collarbone as he adjusted the cold compress over the tense muscle near his neck. "lagi ka na lang nagpapakapagod para sa aming lahat." (i told you not to force it too much. you're always exhausting yourself for all of us.)

martin didn't answer right away. he just watched keonho.

the bedroom was warm, smelling faintly of clean laundry and martin’s familiar citrus scent. keonho’s hand was steady as he held the ice pack in place, but his heart was hammering so loudly against his ribs that he was sure martin could hear it.

"keonho-ya," martin whispered, his voice smooth and low in the quiet room.

"hmm?"

"bakit ganyan ka makatingin?" (why are you looking at me like that?)

keonho’s fingers stiffened slightly against the cold fabric of the compress. he looked up, meeting martin’s dark eyes head-on. there was no distance between them now—no cameras, no stage makeup, no other members interrupting. just the two of them, the way it used to be in the underground studio when everyone else had gone home.

"ano bang tingin ko?" keonho asked back, his voice dropping into a breathless whisper. (how am i looking at you?)

martin stared down at him, his gaze searching keonho’s face—from his wide, solemn eyes down to his lips, and back up again. martin slowly raised his free hand, his fingers resting gently on keonho’s jaw, his thumb softly tracing the curve of keonho’s cheekbone. the touch was so tender, so deliberate, that keonho felt a shiver run down his spine.

"yung tingin na parang... may gusto kang sabihin sa akin matagal na," martin murmured, his voice laced with an emotion keonho couldn't fully decipher, but felt deeply in his chest. (the look like... you have something you've wanted to tell me for a long time.)

keonho swallowed hard, leaning just a fraction of an inch into martin’s touch on his cheek.

"matagal na nga," keonho confessed, the words spilling out before he could overthink them. "since trainee days pa, hyung. hindi ko lang alam kung ano noon... pero ngayon, alam ko na." (it really has been a long time. since trainee days. i just didn't know what it was then... but now, i know.)

martin’s thumb stilled against keonho’s cheek. "keonho..."

"gusto kita, hyung," keonho said, clear and quiet, shooting the shot he had been holding back for three entire years. "hindi lang bilang leader. hindi lang bilang hyung. i really, really like you."

the room went completely silent. outside, the faint muffled sounds of james laughing at the tv echoed down the hall, but inside the bedroom, time felt frozen.

martin didn't pull his hand away. instead, his eyes softened, a quiet, bittersweet expression touching his face. he let out a low breath, his fingers smoothing down to the side of keonho’s neck, warm and grounding.

"alam mo ba..." martin began softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "akala ko, ako lang yung nag-iisip nang ganito." (do you know... i thought i was the only one thinking like this.)

keonho’s eyes widened slightly. "what?"

martin gave a small, gentle smile, his fingers lingering on keonho’s neck. "nu'ng trainee pa lang tayo, nung gabi-gabi kitang tinuturuan mag-dance... akala ko admiration lang din nararamdaman mo. so i tried to stay in my lane. leader mo ako, hyung mo ako. I had to protect you, not confuse you." (when we were still trainees, when i was teaching you to dance every night... i thought you only felt admiration too. so i tried to stay in my lane...)

keonho felt the air leave his lungs. "hyung..."

"pero lalong lumalalim, keonho-ya," martin whispered, leaning down slightly so his forehead almost touched keonho’s. "every time you sit next to me in the van, every time you bring me coffee, every time you look at me like I'm the only person in the room... mas nahihirapan akong maging hyung lang sa'yo." (but it kept getting deeper... every time... it got harder for me to just be your hyung.)

keonho’s breath hitched, a sudden, warm wave of relief and disbelief washing over him. all those years of wondering, of questioning his own heart late at night, melted away under the warmth of martin’s quiet admission.

"di ka naman kailangang maging hyung lang," keonho whispered, his hand leaving the ice pack to wrap around martin’s wrist, holding martin’s hand firmly against his own jaw. "ayoko nang hyung lang." (you don't have to just be a hyung. i don't want just a hyung anymore.)

martin smiled—a real, unfiltered smile that keonho rarely got to see in public. martin leaned in just a tiny bit closer, his nose softly brushing against keonho’s.

"slow down, maknae," martin murmured fondly, though his breath was uneven against keonho’s lips. "we have a lot of time now. we made it here together."

"matagal na akong naghintay," keonho muttered, a small, triumphant grin tugging at his lips despite the fluttering in his chest. "i'm not waiting anymore." (i've waited for a long time.)

"hey! are you guys coming out or what—"

the bedroom door burst open, and james stood in the doorway holding a drumstick, with juhoon leaning over his shoulder.

"the chicken is getting cold and—oh," james stopped mid-sentence, his eyes darting from keonho kneeling on the floor to martin’s hand still holding keonho’s neck, their faces mere inches apart.

juhoon quietly pulled james back by his collar, raising an eyebrow with a dry, knowing smirk. "told you we shouldn't interrupt," juhoon said calmly. " let's go back to the living room, james."

"wait, but—are they—" james spluttered as juhoon pulled the door closed again, shutting out the noise once more.

in the quiet room, martin stared at the closed door for a second before bursting into a soft, melodic laugh, hiding his face in his hands. keonho couldn't help but laugh too, leaning his head against martin’s knee as the tension completely broke into warm, effortless comfort.

martin lowered his hands, reaching down to pull keonho up onto the bed beside him. keonho didn't hesitate, shifting close until his shoulder rested against martin’s, their fingers tangling together naturally in the space between them.

"shoot your shot, huh?" martin teased softly, lacing his fingers tight with keonho’s.

"pasok naman, 'di ba?" keonho replied with a quiet smile, looking at their joined hands. (it went in, didn't it?)

martin tightened his grip, resting his head softly against keonho’s hair.

"swish," martin whispered.

the week that followed the confession felt like living inside a pressure cooker.

their comeback preparations had been pushed into overdrive, and the schedule was relentless. sixteen-hour dance practices became the bare minimum. every single day was a blur of blaring music, squeaking shoes against the polished floor, and the suffocating smell of sweat and deep heat spray. by the time they finished their late-night practice runs, every muscle in keonho’s body felt like it was on the verge of snapping.

the exhaustion was physical, but for keonho, the mental strain was even heavier.

ever since that night in their bedroom—the night james had walked in on them and juhoon had dragged him away—things between keonho and martin had taken on a strange, fragile tension. on stage and in front of the cameras, martin was still the immaculate, reliable leader of cortis. he guided their formations, spoke clearly into the microphones, and made sure everyone had water during their brief three-minute breaks. but when the cameras turned off, the space between them felt loaded with unspoken words.

martin was still gentle with him. he still handed keonho his water bottle first, still checked if his ankles were holding up during heavy choreo, but there was a subtle boundary martin had quietly drawn around himself. it was as if martin was deliberately holding his breath, terrified of letting whatever was blossoming between them spill out into the open.

it was nearly two in the morning when they finally stumbled back into the dorm.

james and seonghyeon had collapsed onto the living room floor the second they walked through the door, too tired to even kick off their socks. juhoon had headed straight for the shower, leaving the faint sound of running water echoing down the hall.

keonho didn't go to sleep. his body was exhausted, but his mind was racing, completely unable to settle down.

he quietly slid open the glass door to the small balcony at the back of the dorm, stepping out into the cool night air. the city below was quiet, the distant streetlights glowing softly through the thin midnight fog. keonho leaned his arms against the cold metal railing, letting out a long, heavy breath that he felt like he’d been holding in all week. he closed his eyes, letting the chill breeze bite against his heated skin, just trying to clear his head.

the soft, rhythmic click of the sliding door announced someone else’s presence behind him.

keonho didn't need to turn around to know who it was. that gentle, steady presence, accompanied by the subtle scent of citrus and cedarwood, was unmistakably martin.

martin walked up beside him, resting his forearms on the balcony railing just a few inches away. he was wearing a loose gray hoodie with the sleeves pulled down over his hands, his dark hair damp from a quick face wash. for a long moment, neither of them said anything. they just stood there side by side, watching the quiet street below while the night breeze rustled the leaves of the trees outside their building.

"hindi ka pa natutulog?" martin asked softly, breaking the silence. his voice was low, carrying the deep rasp of pure exhaustion. (you're not sleeping yet?)

keonho kept his eyes on the horizon, a faint, tired smile tugging at his lips. "di pa kaya ng utak ko, hyung. sobrang gulo pa." (my brain can't do it yet, hyung. it's still too messy.)

martin let out a soft sigh, turning his head slightly to look at keonho’s profile. "about practice?"

"about everything," keonho murmured taglish slipping out effortlessly. "about us. tungkol doon sa pinag-usapan natin nung isang araw." (about what we talked about the other day.)

the air between them shifted instantly. martin’s posture stiffened just a fraction, his fingers tightening slightly over the metal rail.

keonho turned his head, finally looking martin in the eye. the leader’s face was pale under the dim yellow light of the balcony, dark circles smudged under his soft eyes. he looked so tired—not just physically from the endless rehearsals, but burdened, like he was carrying something far too heavy all by himself.

keonho took a deep, steadying breath. he had been playing this scene over and over in his head for the last seven days, through every dance count, every vocal run, and every quiet night lying awake on his bunk.

"martin-hyung," keonho spoke softly, his tone clear and steady despite the nervous thump in his chest. "alam kong busy tayo, at alam kong madaming nangyayari... pero gusto lang kitang tanungin nang maayos." (i know we're busy, and i know a lot is happening... but i just want to ask you properly.)

martin watched him silently, his dark eyes wide and unblinking.

"can you be my boyfriend?" keonho asked outright.

the question hung in the cool air between them, plain and honest, without any room for misinterpretation. keonho didn't want vague hints anymore. he wanted to build something real with the person he had loved for three years.

for a second, time seemed to stop on that small balcony. martin didn't blink. his breath hitched, and a flicker of intense pain flashed across his expression—so brief that keonho almost missed it.

then, martin looked away, staring down at his knuckles resting against the metal railing.

"keonho-ya..." martin began, his voice barely a breath.

"hyung?"

martin bit his lower lip hard, his shoulders slumping under the weight of whatever he was about to say. when he looked back at keonho, his eyes were full of a quiet, devastating sadness.

"i can't," martin whispered.

keonho felt like the air had been knocked right out of his chest. the cool night breeze suddenly felt freezing against his skin. "what?"

"i can't be your boyfriend, keonho," martin repeated, his voice cracking slightly before he quickly forced it to remain steady.

"bakit?" keonho’s voice betrayed a small shake, though he tried his best to keep it grounded. "sinabi mo sa akin nung isang araw... sinabi mo gusto mo rin ako. you said you felt the exact same way. hindi ba totoo 'yun?" (why? you told me the other day... you said you liked me too. wasn't that true?)

"totoo 'yun!" martin said quickly, stepping closer, his hands reaching out as if to grab keonho’s arms before he hesitated and pulled them back, curling his fingers into tight fists at his sides. "totoo lahat 'yun, keonho. sobra. matagal na kitang gusto. that hasn't changed." (that was true! all of it was true, keonho. so much. i've liked you for a long time.)

"then why?" keonho pressed, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of the giant wall martin was suddenly putting up between them. "kung gusto natin ang isa't isa, kung pareho tayo ng nararamdaman, bakit hindi?" (if we like each other, if we feel the same way, why not?)

martin let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his damp hair. he looked away toward the empty street, his jaw working as he searched for the words.

"dahil tayo ang cortis, keonho-ya," martin said softly, his voice heavy with a weight that made keonho’s heart ache. "ikaw ang pinakabata. ako ang leader. kakadebut lang natin. we just worked our asses off for three years in that damn basement just to get to where we are right now." (because we are cortis, keonho. you're the youngest. i'm the leader. we just debuted.)

"alam ko 'yun—"

"no, listen to me," martin interrupted gently, his gaze returning to keonho, filled with intense, raw sincerity. "james, seonghyeon, juhoon... silang tatlo, binigay nila lahat para sa grupong 'to. ikaw din. ako rin. we are finally starting to make our dreams happen. kung pumasok tayo sa ganitong relasyon ngayon... what happens if something goes wrong? what if we get caught? what if the pressure gets too much and it affects the team?"

keonho opened his mouth to argue, to tell him that they could hide it, that they could be careful, that nothing would ever ruin what they built—but martin kept speaking, his voice dipping into a heartbreaking softness.

"ayaw kong masira ang grupo natin, keonho," martin whispered, looking at keonho like he was trying to memorize every line of his face. "at higit sa lahat... ayaw kong masira ka. if things get ruined because of us, the company, the public, the fans—lahat sila isisi sa'yo o sa akin. i am the leader. my main job is to protect all four of you, especially you. i can't risk your future just because of what I feel." (i don't want our group to get ruined, keonho. and most of all... i don't want you to get ruined...)

keonho stood completely still.

he looked at martin—really looked at him. he saw the genuine, overwhelming love in martin’s eyes, mixed with a crushing sense of responsibility that martin had been forced to carry ever since he was appointed leader. martin wasn't rejecting him. martin was rejecting the idea of letting his own selfish happiness compromise the safety of the five people he cared about most in the world.

it was so typical of martin. always putting everyone else first. always acting as the shield, even if it meant breaking his own heart in the process.

a heavy silence settled over the balcony once more.

keonho looked down at his own shoes, processing the rejection. it stung. it hurt in a deep, dull way that made his ribs ache, but looking at martin’s tortured expression, keonho realized he couldn't even be mad at him.

after a long pause, keonho let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking his head.

"sus," keonho muttered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his eyes as he looked up with an easy, casual smile—a mask he pulled on so quickly it almost felt real. "dami mong sinasabi, hyung. okay lang. naintindihan ko." (you say so much, hyung. it's fine. i understand.)

martin blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in keonho’s tone. "keonho-ya..."

"seryoso, hyung. it's fine," keonho said, nonchalantly leaning back against the balcony railing and folding his arms across his chest. he shrugged his broad shoulders as if the entire confession had just been a passing thought. "sinubukan ko lang naman mag-tanong. reloaded shot lang, kumbaga. if it's not the right time, then it's not the right time." (seriously, hyung... i just tried asking. a reloaded shot, so to speak...)

"are you... are you really okay?" martin asked hesitantly, searching keonho’s face for any sign of tears or anger.

"oo naman," keonho lied smoothly, giving martin a light, playful shoulder nudge. "mas importante pa rin ang cortis. tsaka baka ma-distract ka lang sa akin kapag naging tayo, tapos pumakla 'yung dance execution mo." (of course. cortis is still more important. besides, you might get distracted by me if we became a couple, and then your dance execution would turn bad.)

martin let out a small, breathless laugh, though his eyes remained guarded and concerned. "gago. di kaya." (idiot. no way.)

"pumasok na tayo sa loob," keonho said, tapping martin’s arm casually as he turned toward the glass door. "malamig na dito, tsaka kailangan pa natin gumising nang maaga bukas para sa dry run." (let me go inside. it's cold out here, plus we need to wake up early tomorrow for the dry run.)

"keonho," martin called out softly just as keonho reached for the door handle.

keonho paused, his hand resting on the frame, but he didn't turn around. "hmm?"

"sorry," martin whispered behind him.

keonho felt a sharp squeeze in his chest, but he kept his smile intact, keeping his voice light as he looked back over his shoulder.

"huwag ka mag-sorry, hyung," keonho said, his eyes warm despite the dull ache inside him. "leader ka namin, 'di ba? you're just doing your job. matulog ka na." (don't say sorry, hyung. you're our leader, right?... go to sleep.)

without waiting for martin to answer, keonho slid the door open and stepped back into the warm, quiet hallway of the dorm.

he walked back into their shared bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. he climbed up to his bunk in the dark, pulling the heavy blanket up to his chin. lying there in the silence, listening to the distant hum of the city outside, keonho stared at the ceiling.

he had brushed it off easily in front of martin. he had pretended it didn't hurt.

but as he heard martin’s quiet footsteps finally come inside the room a few minutes later, keonho closed his eyes tight, holding his breath in the dark. he had waited three years to shoot his shot. he could wait a little longer.

the morning sun was barely bleeding through the tall blinds of the dorm balcony, casting long, dusty streaks of pale orange across the hardwood floor.

it was six in the morning. the rest of the dorm was completely swallowed by silence—the kind of heavy, fragile quiet that only existed before five tired idols were forced to wake up and transform into their perfectly curated camera-ready selves.

keonho sat on the floor in the corner of the dining area, his back pressed flat against the cool wall. his long legs were stretched out in front of him, clad in an oversized gray sweatpants set that smelled faintly of cheap laundry detergent. he was staring blankly at the tiny scratch on the side of the wooden dining table, his mind completely blank, operating on autopilot.

plugged into his ears was his old wired earphones. the familiar, melodic intro of umaasa by calein was humming softly through the tiny speakers, the slow, bitter-sweet OPM rhythm wrapping around his head like a foggy haze.

Magbabalik ang nakaraan

Ibabalik ang pinagmulan

Umaasa, umaasa

Magbabalik ang nakaraan

Ibabalik ang pinagmulan

Umaasa, umaasa

keonho closed his eyes, letting his head tilt back against the wall.

umaasa. hoping. praying.

it was a pathetic word, really, but it was the only word keonho had left in his vocabulary. ever since that cold, suffocating night on the balcony a few days ago—when martin had gently, painstakingly shattered his heart into a million tiny pieces under the guise of "protecting the team"—keonho had been living in a constant state of hoping.

he hoped that every time martin rested a hand on his shoulder during group rehearsals, it wasn't just a leader checking on his center. he prayed that every time their eyes met across a crowded makeup room, martin felt that same agonizing twist in his gut. he hoped that one day, when the group was finally stable enough, when the world wasn't watching them so closely, martin would stop hiding behind his leader persona and finally step across that line.

he was clinging to breadcrumbs. he knew it. but umaasa pa rin siya. (he was still hoping.) because if he stopped hoping, then the last three years of loving martin in the dark would mean absolutely nothing.

the guitar bridge in the song swelled softly in his ears, drowned out only by the faint sound of socks sliding against the kitchen floor.

keonho slowly blinked his eyes open, pulling one earphone down so it dangled loosely over his collarbone.

juhoon had walked into the kitchen.

he was still half-asleep, his dark hair messy and sticking up in three different directions, wearing an oversized black t-shirt that hung loosely off his sharp shoulders. juhoon was always the first to wake up alongside martin. he moved around the quiet kitchen with a smooth, silent efficiency, opening the fridge door with barely a sound.

keonho watched him silently from his spot on the floor.

juhoon pulled out a loaf of sliced bread, a jar of mayonnaise, a block of cheddar cheese, and a pack of smoked ham. he set them down on the marble counter, his long fingers working methodically. he pulled out four slices of white bread, placing them neatly side by side on a large cutting board.

keonho’s chest tightened with a sudden, warm swell of simple appreciation.

nag-eeffort talaga si juhoon-hyung mag-almusal, keonho thought to himself, a tiny, tired smile trying to form on his face. juhoon was usually low-maintenance, but whenever he cooked, he always made enough for whoever was awake. keonho was the only one up right now.

he watched as juhoon carefully layered the ham, slathered a generous amount of mayonnaise over the top, and topped each sandwich with a thick slice of cheese. then, juhoon placed two slices onto a flat pan, turning the stove burner on low heat to toast the bread until the cheese melted completely around the edges.

the mouthwatering scent of toasted butter and grilled ham filled the dim kitchen. keonho’s stomach gave a quiet rumble. he hadn't eaten anything proper since yesterday's quick lunch break at the studio.

ako siguro 'yung isa, keonho thought quietly, pulling his legs closer to his chest. sweet naman ni hyung. (i'm probably the other one... hyung is so sweet.)

the stove clicked off. juhoon used a spatula to slide the two perfectly golden-brown, cut-in-half sandwiches onto two separate small plates. he wiped down the counter with a damp rag, picked up both plates—one in each hand—and turned around.

keonho lifted his head slightly, preparing to offer a quiet, raspy "salamat, hyung" as juhoon walked toward the dining area.

but juhoon didn't even look toward the dining floor.

he walked straight past keonho without stopping, stepping softly down the hallway toward the master bedroom—the room martin was currently sleeping in.

keonho froze, his words dying instantly in his throat.

from where he sat, keonho could see juhoon push open the bedroom door with his hip. through the narrow gap, keonho saw martin groggily sitting up on his bed, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hand, his dark hair a messy nest against his forehead.

juhoon walked in, setting one of the plates directly on martin’s bedside table, followed by a glass of cold water he had grabbed earlier.

"martin-ya, gising na. kain ka muna," juhoon’s low, soft voice drifted out into the hallway, warm and entirely familiar.

martin squinted up at juhoon, a sleepy, genuine grin slowly spreading across his face—the kind of completely relaxed, unguarded smile that martin almost never showed anyone else. martin reached out, playfully tugging at the hem of juhoon’s shirt before taking a quarter of the sandwich. "salamat, juhoon-ah. ikaw talaga."

"dami mong drama, bilisan mo na dyan," juhoon muttered back, but there was a distinct, affectionate curve at the edge of his lips as he sat down on the edge of martin’s mattress, taking a bite out of his own sandwich right beside him.

the bedroom door swung half-shut again, blocking the rest of the scene from view, but the quiet sound of their soft laughter and low morning murmurs continued to echo down the hallway.

keonho sat completely frozen against the wall.

the wire of his earphone slipped from his hand, the tiny speaker buzzing against his neck as umaasa reached its final, lingering chord.

ang sakit. (it hurts.)

a sudden, sharp knot formed right in the middle of keonho’s throat, making it almost impossible to swallow. he stared at the empty space in the hallway where juhoon had walked past him just seconds ago.

it wasn't just about the sandwich. keonho knew that. it was a stupid, trivial thing to feel upset about, and if anyone asked, he would look utterly ridiculous for getting hurt over a slice of toasted bread and ham.

it was about what that sandwich represented.

juhoon and martin were '02 liners. the twinski dynamic. the two oldest, most grounded members of cortis who had entered the company around the exact same time, endured the same grueling evaluations side-by-side, and shared a bond that didn't need words to be understood. juhoon didn't need to ask martin if he was hungry—he just knew. martin didn't need to put up his tough, protective "leader" wall around juhoon—he could just be vulnerable, tired, and soft.

juhoon could give martin the quiet, effortless domesticity that keonho was practically begging for.

and keonho? keonho was still just the youngest. the maknae who needed to be looked after. the boy martin had to "protect" from ruin.

jealousy—hot, ugly, and suffocating—surged through keonho’s chest, making his hands shake slightly where they rested on his knees. he hated how petty he felt. he loved juhoon; juhoon was an amazing hyung who spent hours helping keonho fix his vocal tones. but sitting there on the cold floor, listening to martin laugh so easily with juhoon in the other room while keonho was left with nothing but a rejected confession and a song about hoping... it was too much.

umaasa ka kasi masyado, keonho, he bitterly told himself, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. sino ka ba naman para asahan na ikaw 'yung ipagluluto? (you're hoping too much, keonho... who are you to expect that you'd be the one cooked for?)

the quiet chatter from the bedroom continued.

a few minutes later, the door creaked open fully. juhoon walked back out, holding his empty plate. he looked relaxed, his shoulders low, looking like someone who had just comfortably shared a quiet morning moment with his best friend.

as juhoon walked into the kitchen to place his plate in the sink, his eyes finally landed on keonho still sitting on the floor.

juhoon paused, blinking in slight surprise as if he was only now realizing keonho was awake.

"oh. keonho-ya," juhoon said casually, turning on the tap to rinse his plate. "gising ka pala. may tinapay pa sa pantry kung gusto mong mag-toast." (oh. keonho. you're awake. there's still bread in the pantry if you want to make toast.)

keonho didn't move.

he didn't look up at juhoon’s face. he kept his eyes glued straight ahead at the leg of the dining table, his expression completely blank, his jaw set into a hard, rigid line.

he jammed his earphone back into his ear, pushing the tiny plastic speaker deep into his ear canal until juhoon’s voice was completely blocked out.

juhoon waited for a second, standing by the sink with the water running, staring at keonho with a slightly confused expression. "keonho? narinig mo 'ko?" (keonho? did you hear me?)

keonho reached down to his phone screen, aggressively hitting the replay button on umaasa.

the intro music blasted straight into his eardrums, loud, heavy, and completely drowning out the kitchen. keonho pulled his hoodie blanket up over his head, leaning his side against the cold wall and turning his back entirely toward juhoon and the direction of martin’s room.

he ignored him completely.

juhoon stood there for another moment, watching the younger boy’s cold, defensive posture. juhoon let out a small, silent sigh, turning off the tap. he didn't press further, assuming keonho was just in one of his usual grumpy, half-awake morning moods, and quietly walked back toward his own room.

left alone in the dim dining space, keonho pulled his knees up so tight against his chest that it almost hurt.

the song kept playing on loop in his ears, the bittersweet lyrics mocking him in the quiet morning light. he closed his eyes tight, hiding his face in his arms, wrapping himself in a cold, silent armor as he waited for the rest of the world to wake up.

the dorm was unusually quiet for a thursday afternoon.

they had been given a rare four-hour break before their evening vocal lesson and photoshoot schedule. usually, a break like this meant chaos in the living room—james playing video games on maximum volume, seonghyeon practicing his solo rap lines in front of the mirror, and juhoon tinkering with his audio interface in the corner. but today, james and seonghyeon had snuck out to a nearby convenience store, and juhoon was out meeting one of their producers.

that left the apartment wrapped in a heavy, peaceful stillness.

martin walked down the dim hallway, his socks gliding quietly over the polished wood floor. his shoulder was still slightly stiff from their early morning choreography run, but the short nap he had taken on the living room sofa had cleared some of the fog from his head.

he pushed open the door to his and keonho’s shared bedroom, intending to grab a fresh sweatshirt.

the thick blackout curtains were pulled tight across the window, blocking out the harsh afternoon sun and casting the room in a hazy, deep blue gloom. the cool air from the unit mounted on the wall hummed continuously, making the room feel like an isolated sanctuary from the outside world.

martin paused near the doorway.

there, on the lower bunk, keonho was curled up under the heavy gray duvet. he was lying on his side, his face turned away toward the wall, his broad shoulders unusually small under the oversized blanket.

martin checked his watch. it was already almost three in the afternoon. keonho had gone into the room right after they got back at eleven in the morning, meaning he had been lying there, undisturbed, for nearly four straight hours.

masyado nang matagal 'to, martin thought, a faint trace of worry nudging at his chest. keonho was a growing nineteen-year-old with a massive appetite; even on rest days, he rarely skipped lunch or slept this long without waking up to hunt for snacks in the fridge. (this is too long already...)

martin walked softly across the room, stopping right beside the low mattress. he crouched down on his knees, bringing himself level with the sleeping boy.

"keonho-ya," martin called out softly, his deep voice carrying a raspy, tender warmth in the quiet room. "gising na, bunso. three o'clock na. need na natin mag-prepare later." (wake up, maknae. it's already three o'clock. we need to prepare later.)

keonho didn't move. the only sign of life was the slow, slightly shallow rise and fall of his chest under the blanket.

"keonho..." martin murmured again, reaching out to gently shake keonho’s shoulder.

the fabric of keonho’s oversized t-shirt felt warm under martin’s touch. keonho shifted slightly, letting out a small, faint whimpering breath deep in his throat as he slowly rolled onto his back, his head falling toward martin’s side of the bed.

martin reached up to brush away the messy, dark strands of hair clinging to keonho’s forehead—and froze.

the sight made martin’s heart drop straight into his stomach.

keonho wasn't just sleeping; he was trapped in a quiet, painful state of heartbreak even in his rest. his eyelids were tightly shut, his thick dark lashes completely drenched and clumped together. tiny, unshed tears were pooled heavily in the corners of his eyes, glistening like crushed glass in the dim blue light of the bedroom. a few stray droplets had already trickled down his temples, dampening the pillow fabric beneath his cheek.

his lower lip was slightly bruised from where he had clearly been biting it in his sleep, holding back the quiet sobs he hadn't allowed anyone to hear while he was awake.

martin felt a sharp, suffocating ache twist right in the center of his chest.

he knew why those tears were there.

he knew it was the weight of the rejection on the balcony. he knew it was the cold distance keonho had been putting up all week—the way keonho had started wearing his earphones non-stop, the way he had ignored juhoon at the kitchen counter that morning, the way he pretended to be perfectly okay while slowly pulling away into his own dark corner.

keonho was hurting, and martin was the sole reason for it.

"axt," martin breathed out, his voice cracking slightly in the silence.

he didn't hesitate. martin shifted closer, leaning over the edge of the mattress. he gently raised his hand, his long, warm fingers softly cupping the side of keonho’s jaw. with the pad of his thumb, martin carefully, painstakingly wiped away the wetness pooled under keonho’s eyelashes, his skin moving with agonizing gentleness so as not to startle him.

he smoothed away the tear tracks on keonho’s high cheekbones, feeling the faint, hot feverish heat clinging to the younger boy’s skin.

"sorry..." martin whispered into the quiet space between them, his chest tight with an unbearable weight of love and guilt. "sorry, keonho-ya."

martin leaned down further. he closed his eyes and pressed his lips softly against keonho’s warm forehead, right over his furrowed brow.

it wasn't a quick, dismissive touch. it was a lingering, deep kiss—full of all the unspoken words, the hidden affection, and the agonizing restraint martin forced upon himself every single day just to keep them safe. he held his lips there for several long seconds, letting his breath warm keonho’s skin, praying silently that the gesture would somehow wash away the bitterness he had caused.

underneath the soft press of martin’s lips, keonho’s eyelashes fluttered.

a soft, trembling intake of air escaped keonho’s lips. his brow unknotted slowly as the familiar, comforting scent of cedarwood and citrus enveloped his senses, pulling him out of the foggy dark haze of his heavy sleep.

when martin slowly pulled his face back, keonho’s eyes opened.

they were dark, glassy, and heavy with unshed moisture, blinking up slowly at the blurry figure hovering right above him. for a second, keonho looked disoriented, his wide, tear-stained eyes searching martin’s face as if trying to figure out if he was still dreaming.

"martin... hyung?" keonho rasped, his voice thick and rough from hours of silence and quiet crying.

"hi," martin whispered, offering a small, infinitely soft smile. his thumb was still resting gently on keonho’s cheek, refusing to let go just yet. "gising ka na?" (are you awake now?)

keonho swallowed hard, feeling the lingering warmth on his forehead where martin’s lips had been just moments ago. the cold, defensive wall he had spent the last few days building around himself threatened to crumble right then and there under the sheer gentleness of martin’s eyes.

"bakit..." keonho whispered, his Taglish slipping out in a fragile, tired breath. "bakit ka nandito?" (why... why are you here?)

"chineck lang kita," martin murmured, his fingers softly stroking keonho’s cheekbone, wiping away the very last trace of moisture near his temple. "you've been sleeping for so long. tsaka... umiiyak ka habang tulog." (i just checked on you... also, you were crying in your sleep.)

keonho quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing a faint, embarrassed pink as he tried to lift his arm to cover his face. "hindi ah. panaginip lang 'yun." (i wasn't. it was just a dream.)

martin caught keonho’s wrist before he could hide his face. he didn't pull hard—just held it loosely, his warm hand wrapping entirely around keonho’s larger wrist, holding it down against the mattress.

"huwag mo nang itago sa akin," martin said softly, his dark eyes locking onto keonho’s with an intensity that made keonho’s breath catch. "nakita ko, keonho. at alam kong dahil sa akin 'yan." (don't hide it from me anymore... i saw it, keonho. and i know it's because of me.)

keonho lay there on the bed, staring up at the leader he had spent three years adoring. the room was dim and quiet, the distant hum of the air conditioner the only sound keeping them anchored to reality.

"kung dahil sa'yo..." keonho whispered, his lips trembling slightly despite his best efforts to stay composed, "bakit mo pa ako ginigising nang ganito? bakit mo pa ako hinahalikan sa noo?" (if it's because of you... why do you still wake me up like this? why do you still kiss my forehead?)

martin let out a low, shaky breath. he didn't let go of keonho’s wrist. instead, he leaned down again, resting his forehead lightly against keonho’s shoulder, hiding his face in the soft cotton of keonho’s shirt.

"kasi hindi ko rin kaya, keonho-ya," martin confessed, his voice muffled and thick with quiet emotion. "i told you I can't be your boyfriend right now... pero hindi ibig sabihin 'to na hindi kita mahal. matagal na. sobrang tagal na." (because i can't handle it either, keonho... i told you i can't be your boyfriend right now... but that doesn't mean i don't love you. it's been a long time. a really long time.)

keonho felt the heavy thrum of martin’s pulse right against his skin. the anger, the petty jealousy over the sandwich, the bitter sting of the rejection—all of it slowly dissolved into a quiet, aching understanding.

keonho lifted his free hand, his long fingers hesitating for a split second before sinking into the soft, dark hair at the back of martin’s head, holding him close.

"duwag ka pa rin, hyung," keonho murmured softly, a tiny, bittersweet smile finally touching his lips in the dark room. (you're still a coward, hyung.)

martin let out a wet, breathless laugh against keonho’s shoulder, nodding slightly. "oo. duwag ako. pero para sa'yo 'to. para sa atin." (yeah. i'm a coward. but this is for you. for us.)

"okay," keonho whispered, closing his eyes as he held martin’s head gently against his chest. "hihintayin kita. kahit gaano katagal, hyung. hihintayin kita." (okay. i'll wait for you. no matter how long, hyung. i'll wait for you.)

martin didn't answer with words. he just shifted closer, climbing slightly onto the edge of the low mattress to wrap his arm firmly around keonho’s waist, holding his young center tight in the quiet gloom of their bedroom, letting the rest of the world blur away for just a little while longer.

a year had a way of smoothing out sharp edges until you barely remembered how deeply they used to cut.

in twelve months, cortis had transformed from promising rookies into an absolute powerhouse. their schedules became a relentless cycle of international tours, late-night music video shootings, back-to-back award show performances, and endless endorsement deals. the baseline volume of their lives had turned up so high that there was simply no quiet space left for quiet heartbreaks.

somewhere along the way, the heavy, suffocating weight between martin and keonho had softened.

that midnight promise made in the dim blue gloom of their bedroom—the soft, tear-stained "hihintayin kita, kahit gaano katagal"—didn't end with a dramatic conversation or a definitive breakup. it just quietly diluted into the background noise of their rising careers. time moved too fast, and the pressure of keeping the group at the top demanded every single ounce of their energy.

organically, the painful tension just vanished.

they went back to their natural flow. keonho grew taller, broader, and more confident on stage, no longer the clumsy, quiet trainee who tripped over his own feet. martin remained the anchor—reliable, protective, and deeply devoted to his members. they laughed together in green rooms, shared meals during long flights, and exchanged comfortable, easy banter in front of cameras. to anyone watching, they were the perfect picture of a leader and his youngest member, bound by an unbreakable brotherhood.

martin had convinced himself that this was the right outcome. he had successfully protected the group. he had protected keonho’s blooming career. he believed he had buried his feelings so deep beneath his leader responsibilities that they were practically dead.

until a random tuesday midnight shattered that lie completely.

the practice room was silent, the faint hum of the air conditioner the only sound filling the mirror-lined space. practice had ended two hours ago, but seonghyeon and martin had stayed behind to re-check the light cue blocking for their upcoming dome tour.

seonghyeon was sitting on the floor with his back against the mirror wall, mindlessly scrolling through his phone with a towel draped over his head. martin was near the sound system, unplugging his laptop and wiping down his water bottle.

"martin-hyung," seonghyeon called out, his voice dragging slightly with exhaustion.

"hmm?" martin answered without turning around, zip-closing his gym bag.

"nakauwi na ba sina james and juhoon?" seonghyeon asked, dropping his phone onto his lap and leaning his head back against the glass. (did james and juhoon get home already?)

"oo, kanina pa. keonho went back early too," martin replied casually, pulling his dark cap down over his forehead. "sabi niya masakit dawulo niya." (yeah, a while ago... he said his head hurt.)

seonghyeon let out a low, thoughtful breath, quiet for a second before speaking again. "speaking of keonho... narinig mo ba 'yung tsismis sa 4th floor management kanina?" (did you hear the rumor from 4th floor management earlier?)

martin stopped. his fingers hovered over the zipper of his bag. he turned his head slowly, looking over at seonghyeon. "anong tsismis?" (what rumor?)

"yung tungkol kay keonho," seonghyeon murmured, his tone casually curious, entirely unaware of the sudden freeze in martin’s blood. "sabi nung staff galing sa artist development department, keonho’s been hanging out a lot with one of the girls from the new group. 'yung sa same label natin." (the staff from artist dev said keonho's been hanging out a lot... from the same label as us.)

martin felt a strange, sudden coldness creep into his fingertips. "sino?" (who?)

"di ko nakuha 'yung name, pero 'yung main vocal yata," seonghyeon shrugged, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "sabi nila pabalik-balik daw si keonho sa 3rd floor lounge lately. holding coffee cups, waiting for her after their practice. mukhang nanliligaw na nga daw." (i didn't catch the name, but i think the main vocal... they said keonho's been going back and forth to the 3rd floor lounge lately... looks like he's courting her already.)

seonghyeon let out a faint, amused chuckle. "matanda na talaga 'yung maknae natin. marunong na magpalipad-hangin." (our maknae is really grown up now. he knows how to make moves.)

the words seemed to echo off the high ceilings of the practice studio, bouncing inside martin’s head like a physical blow.

nanliligaw na. courting someone.

martin’s throat went completely dry. he stood frozen beside the sound system, his hand still gripping his gym bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. he tried to form a normal, casual response—a small chuckle, a leader-like joke about keeping keonho focused on the dome tour—but his vocal cords felt entirely paralyzed.

"martin-hyung?" seonghyeon looked up, noticing the long silence. "okay ka lang?" (are you okay?)

martin forced his hands to relax. he swallowed down the lump forming in his throat, pulling on his safest, most practiced leader smile, though his heart was hammering violently against his ribs.

"ah, oo. nagulat lang ako," martin managed to say, his voice steady enough to pass. "ikaw talaga, tsismoso. 'wag ka masyadong naniniwala sa rumor ng staff. tsaka keonho knows his priorities." (ah, yeah. i was just surprised... you really are a gossip. don't believe staff rumors too much. besides, keonho knows his priorities.)

"sabagay," seonghyeon agreed easily, standing up and grabbing his coat. "uwi na tayo, hyung. pagod na 'ko." (fair enough. let's go home, hyung. i'm tired.)

"mauna ka na, seonghyeon-ah," martin said quickly, turning his back to grab his coat from the rack. "may kakausapin lang akong manager sa lobby." (go ahead first... i just have to talk to a manager in the lobby.)

"sige, hyung. don't stay up too late."

martin didn't talk to any manager.

he walked out of the company building alone, taking the quiet back exit. the night air was freezing, biting harsh against his exposed skin, but he barely registered the cold.

he walked back to the dorm slowly, every step feeling heavier than the last. his mind was a chaotic, toxic loop of images he didn't want to see: keonho waiting by the 3rd floor lounge with two coffee cups. keonho smiling at a girl the way he used to smile at martin in the practice room after midnight. keonho leaning in close, offering his warmth, his time, his heart to someone else.

organically vanished.

that was the lie martin had fed himself for an entire year. he had convinced himself that because they stopped talking about it, the feeling had died. he had convinced himself that he was totally fine being just keonho’s hyung, just his leader, just the person who kept him safe.

but as he pushed open the front door of the quiet, dark dorm at 1:30 in the morning, the ugly, unbearable truth slammed straight into his chest.

the feelings hadn't vanished. they had never left.

they had just been buried alive under a year of silence, waiting for the slightest trigger to claw their way back up and destroy him.

martin walked down the dark hallway, his shoes silent against the floor. he passed by the living room, where the faint light of a charging phone cast soft shadows across the wall. he stopped outside their bedroom door.

it was pushed slightly open.

martin looked through the narrow crack. keonho was asleep in his lower bunk, his broad chest rising and falling evenly under the dark duvet. on his bedside table sat a small paper cup from the 3rd floor company cafe, a little handwritten note sticking out from underneath it.

martin couldn't read what was written on the note, but the sight of it felt like a knife plunging straight between his ribs, twisting slowly and agonizingly.

a terrible, suffocating ache expanded inside martin’s chest, making it impossible to breathe.

he backed away from the door silently, stepping into the tiny, dark bathroom down the hall and locking the door behind him with a quiet click.

he didn't turn on the light. he couldn't bear to see his own face in the mirror right now.

martin slid down the back of the cold bathroom door until he was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up tightly to his chest, his head buried deep in his arms.

and there, in the pitch-black, suffocating quiet of the bathroom, the leader of cortis completely broke down.

he didn't make a sound. he couldn't let james, or juhoon, or seonghyeon—and especially not keonho—hear him. he pressed his face hard into his sleeves, stifling the heavy, violent sobs that racked his broad shoulders. continuous, burning tears spilled from his eyes, hot and unstoppable, soaking through the thick cotton of his hoodie.

it hurt. it hurt so badly that martin felt like his chest was being physically torn open.

for a whole year, he had sacrificed his own feelings for the sake of the team. he had rejected the only person he had ever truly loved because he wanted to keep keonho safe, because he wanted to build a future where keonho could shine without any scandal, without any ruin.

he had been so noble. so responsible. such a perfect leader.

and now, keonho was moving on.

keonho was giving all the love, the devotion, and the softness that martin had denied himself to someone else. keonho was doing exactly what any normal nineteen-year-old was supposed to do—leaving the past behind, letting go of a promise that had expired, and falling in love with someone he didn't have to hide in the shadows for.

ako 'yung nagsabi na 'wag, martin thought bitterly, his chest heaving as he gasped quietly for air in the dark room, tears dripping down his jaw. ako 'yung nagtaboy sa kanya. ako 'yung gumawa nito sa sarili ko. (i was the one who said no... i was the one who pushed him away. i did this to myself.)

he was drowning in his own regret, suffocating under the reality that his selflessness had cost him the only thing he actually wanted.

martin curled into a tighter ball on the cold tile floor, clutching at the fabric over his heart, weeping silently into the dark midnight air. he cried for the three years they spent in the sub-basement studio, tied together by shoelaces and shared earphones. he cried for the balcony night where he had broken keonho’s heart. he cried for the forehead kiss in the dim bedroom that had meant everything and nothing all at once.

out in the hallway, everything was still and silent.

inside the dark bathroom, martin wept alone, realizing far too late that protecting keonho’s future had completely destroyed his own.

the morning after was harsh and bright.

the sun poured ruthlessly through the living room windows, exposing every stray dust mote in the air and highlighting the deep, dark smudges under martin’s eyes. he sat at the head of the long wooden dining table, his tall frame slightly slouched, his chin resting low against his chest as he stared fixatedly at the grainy wood grain of the tabletop.

his eyes were dry, swollen, and raw from crying silently into his sleeves until four in the morning. his whole head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that made every sound magnified tenfold.

around him, the dorm was a chaotic storm of morning energy.

"yah, james! 'wag mo namang uminom direkta sa carton ng gatas, nakakadiri ka!" seonghyeon shouted from across the kitchen island, swatting at james’ arm with a rolled-up magazine. (yah, james! don't drink directly from the milk carton, you're disgusting!)

"mainit kaya! tsaka kaunti na lang 'to, aawayin mo pa 'ko," james whined, ducking out of the way and slamming the refrigerator door shut before sliding into the chair beside juhoon. (it's hot! plus there's barely any left, you're still gonna fight me?)

"pareho kayong maingay," juhoon grumbled, methodically spreading butter over a piece of toast, not even looking up as james tried to steal a sausage from his plate with a fork. "martin-ya, what time is our hair appointment later? ten or ten-thirty?"

martin didn't lift his head. he just kept his eyes glued to the surface of the table, his fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of cold water.

"ten-thirty," martin murmured, his voice sounding scraped-raw and unnaturally flat, devoid of its usual warm, gentle leader cadence. "be ready by ten."

juhoon glanced at him briefly, frowning at how pale and drained martin looked, but before he could ask anything, seonghyeon walked over to the table holding his bowl of cereal.

seonghyeon pulled out the chair directly opposite keonho, who had just walked into the dining area wearing an oversized black hoodie, his damp dark hair hanging loosely over his forehead. keonho sat down quietly, reaching for a slice of bread, completely unaware of the shift in the room's atmosphere.

"oh, by the way," seonghyeon began, a sly, mischievous grin spreading across his face as he leaned his elbows on the table, looking straight at keonho. "since complete naman tayo ngayon... keonho-ya, kailan mo balak ipakilala sa 'min si minji?" (since we're complete right now... keonho, when do you plan to introduce minji to us?)

the table instantly went quiet for a fraction of a second.

keonho’s hand froze mid-air, his fingers hovering right over the bread basket. a sudden, intense heat flushed up his neck, spreading rapidly across his cheeks until his ears turned a bright, betraying shade of crimson.

"a-anong sinasabi mo, hyung?" keonho stammered out, quickly pulling his hand back and trying to pull his hoodie strings to hide his face. "sino namang minji?" (w-what are you saying, hyung? who even is minji?)

"weh! kunwari ka pa!" james burst out laughing, slamming his hand onto the table so hard the utensils rattled. "narinig ko rin 'yan kagabi kila manager-hyung! 'yung main vocal ng bagong girl group, 'di ba? 'yung lagi mong binibilhan ng iced matcha latte sa 3rd floor lounge!" (liar! you're pretending! i heard about that last night from manager-hyung too! the main vocal of the new girl group, right? the one you always buy iced matcha latte for in the 3rd floor lounge!)

"hindi ah!" keonho argued, his voice pitching higher than usual as he desperately tried to maintain a straight face. "bumibili lang ako ng kape doon kasi 'yun lang 'yung tahimik na lounge! tsaka nakikipag-friends lang 'yung tao, ano bang masama doon?" (i don't! i just buy coffee there because it's the only quiet lounge! plus the person is just being friendly, what's wrong with that?)

"nakikipag-friends pero may pa-handwritten note sa tabi ng kape?" seonghyeon teased ruthlessly, wiggling his eyebrows. "nakita ko 'yung note sa bedside table mo kanina nung kumuha ako ng charger, keonho-ya. 'wag ka nang magkaila. huli ka na." (friendly, but with a handwritten note next to the coffee? i saw the note on your bedside table earlier when i grabbed a charger, keonho. don't deny it. you're caught.)

"hyungs, seriously, stop it!" keonho groaned, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders twitched with embarrassed laughter. but even through his fingers, everyone at the table could see the helpless, smitten grin stretching across his lips, the faint dimple pressing into his cheek—the unmistakable look of a boy who was falling in love. "wala nga 'yun! nakikipag-usap lang!" (there's really nothing! just talking!)

"reloaded shot na ba 'to, maknae?" james cackled, throwing a grape at keonho’s forehead. "tinuturuan ka na bang mag-flirt ni juhoon-hyung? spout the secrets!" (is this a reloaded shot, maknae? is juhoon-hyung teaching you how to flirt?)

"shakhet naman, binata na 'yung bunso natin!" juhoon joined in with a rare chuckle, shaking his head. "dalhan mo rin kami ng matcha latte bukas, ha?" (ouch, our youngest is a grown man now! bring us matcha latte tomorrow too, okay?)

the bickering erupted into full-blown laughter and teasing. james was leaning across the table trying to poke keonho’s glowing red cheeks, seonghyeon was making dramatically fake kissy noises, and keonho was swatting their hands away, his bashful smile growing wider as he tried and failed to defend himself.

it was a normal, happy morning for cortis. a moment of lighthearted brotherhood among five boys who had survived the absolute worst together.

except for one person.

at the head of the table, martin felt as if he was being burned alive from the inside out.

every bark of laughter from james sounded like glass shattering inside his ears. every playful dodge from keonho, every bright blush on keonho’s skin, was a horrific, undeniable confirmation of everything martin had sobbed about in the dark just hours ago.

he really likes her.

he's really looking at someone else the way he used to look at me.

martin’s jaw clenched so tight he felt the muscle strain near his temple. his dark eyes were hollow, fixed entirely on the glass of water in his hand. he felt a wave of icy nausea roll through his stomach, choking off his air supply. the room felt tiny, suffocating, completely devoid of oxygen.

he couldn't breathe. he couldn't listen to this for another single second.

without warning, martin lifted the heavy glass to his lips, gulping down the freezing water in three harsh, desperate swallows.

and then—

CLANG!

a sharp, violent shockwave echoed through the dining room as martin slammed the glass down onto the hard wooden table with terrifying force.

the thick glass base hit the surface so hard that water splashed over the rim, spraying across the table mat, and a faint, high-pitched ping rang out as a hairline crack spider-webbed across the bottom of the tumbler, dangerously close to shattering into pieces.

the entire room went dead, terrifyingly silent.

james froze mid-poke, his hand suspended in the air. seonghyeon’s laughter died instantly in his throat. juhoon dropped his toast back onto his plate, his eyes widening in complete shock.

even keonho’s bashful grin vanished in less than a second, replaced by a sudden, pale flash of panic as everyone turned their heads to stare at their leader.

martin didn't look at any of them.

his face was a rigid, unreadable mask of ice, his knuckles white as he slowly let go of the cracked glass. he scraped his chair back from the table—the legs grinding harshly against the floorboards with a sound that made everyone wince.

"lost my appetite," martin spat out, his voice low, gravelly, and icy cold.

he didn't wait for a reply. martin stood up, turning his back on the table and walking away toward the dark hallway, his tall shoulders broad and unyielding.

"m-martin-hyung!" keonho reacted instantly, sliding out of his chair so fast he nearly knocked over his own juice glass.

a sharp, agonizing panic surged through keonho’s chest. he had never—not once in the four years he had known martin—seen the elder lash out like that. martin was always the gentle mediator, the quiet anchor who smiled through exhaustion and held them together. seeing him snap, seeing the raw, cold fury radiating from his back, made keonho’s heart drop into a pit of sheer terror.

"hyung, wait!" keonho called out, his long stride quickly eating up the distance down the hallway as martin reached the bedroom door. "martin-hyung, hold on—nakikinig ka ba?" (are you listening?)

keonho reached out, his hand inches away from grabbing the sleeve of martin’s hoodie. "hyung, nasaktan ka ba? galit ka ba sa 'min? kung tungkol 'to sa—" (hyung, did you get hurt? are you mad at us? if this is about—)

martin didn't stop. he didn't even turn his head.

he pretended he didn't hear a single word.

with a smooth, cold motion, martin stepped inside the bedroom, grabbed the edge of the door, and pulled it shut directly in keonho’s face.

CLICK.

the heavy lock turned from the inside.

keonho’s hand stopped mid-air, hovering just an inch from the dark wood paneling. he stood completely frozen in the dim hallway, the sound of his own heavy, panicked breathing echoing in his ears.

behind him, in the dining room, james and seonghyeon were exchanging hushed, bewildered glances, while juhoon quietly stood up to go check on the cracked glass.

but keonho couldn't move. he stared at the shut bedroom door, his chest tight with a sudden, suffocating realization that something was deeply, terribly wrong—and for the first time in his life, martin wasn't going to open the door to fix it.

the rest of the day had been an exercise in agonizing endurance.

throughout their ten-thirty hair and makeup appointment, the group photo shoot, and the late-afternoon vocal rehearsals, martin had wrapped himself in an impenetrable wall of silence. he answered the managers with brief, polite nods, gave precise instructions for stage blocking, and executed every vocal run with cold, mechanical perfection. but the second the cameras stopped flashing or the vocal coach stepped out of the room, martin’s eyes would go completely hollow, staring straight ahead as if he were entirely somewhere else.

and he hadn't looked at keonho once.

not when they were sitting in the salon chairs side by side. not when they were handed their outfits for the photoshoot. not even when keonho had deliberately moved to sit next to him in the company van on the ride back to the dorm. martin had simply turned his face toward the dark, tinted window, plugging in his noise-canceling headphones and shutting the world out completely.

it was nearly nine in the evening when they finally returned to the dorm.

the moment they stepped through the front door, martin had walked straight into their shared bedroom, closed the door, and locked it behind him without offering a single word to anyone.

the remaining four members had stood awkwardly in the living room. james and seonghyeon had quietly retreated to their own room, rattled by the suffocating aura their leader had been radiating all day, while juhoon had given keonho a long, heavy look before walking into the kitchen.

keonho couldn't take it anymore. the silent treatment was suffocating him, wrapping around his throat like a tightening wire.

he walked into the quiet kitchen, his hands trembling slightly as he opened the pantry. he pulled out a loaf of fresh white bread, a block of soft butter, smoked ham, and a slab of cheddar cheese—the exact same ingredients juhoon had used a year ago.

with painstaking care, keonho assembled a sandwich. he toasted the bread on low heat until the edges turned a perfect, delicate golden brown and the cheese melted into a rich, warm center. he cut it diagonally into two neat triangles, placing them carefully on a small ceramic plate.

he didn't make one for himself. he just made it for martin.

keonho stared at the plate in his hands, his heart hammering against his ribs. magpapaliwanag ako, he told himself, taking a slow, shaky breath. kailangan kong sabihin sa kanya na walang ibig sabihin 'yung sinasabi nila james. galit lang siya kasi akala niya hindi ako nakatutok sa trabaho. (i'll explain... i need to tell him what james and the others said meant nothing. he's just mad because he thinks i'm not focused on work.)

carrying the plate with both hands, keonho walked down the dim, quiet hallway.

he stopped in front of their bedroom door. the faint yellow glow of a reading lamp was visible through the thin crack beneath the frame. keonho swallowed the dry lump in his throat and raised his hand.

knock. knock. knock.

the sound echoed loudly in the quiet corridor.

for a long, agonizing ten seconds, there was no response from inside. keonho held his breath, his knuckles whitening around the edge of the plate. just as he was about to knock again, he heard slow, heavy footsteps approaching the door from the inside.

the brass handle turned with a dull click.

the door swung open a few inches. martin stood in the doorway, framed by the warm, dim light of the bedroom. he had already stripped down to an old, faded white t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants, his dark hair falling messy over his forehead. but his eyes—those soft, expressive eyes that keonho used to look for whenever he felt lost—were entirely cold. rimmed with a faint red haze of exhaustion and hidden tears, they glared back at keonho with a sharp, guarded distance.

the moment martin saw keonho standing there, holding the little ceramic plate, his expression darkened instantly.

without saying a word, martin lifted his hand, grabbed the edge of the door, and began to push it shut directly in keonho’s face once again.

"h-wait—martin-hyung!" keonho panicked.

before the latch could catch, keonho reacted on instinct. he thrust his foot forward, wedging his black sneaker firmly between the door and the wooden frame, while shoving his free hand against the heavy wood paneling to force the door back open.

"martin-hyung, please! huwag mo muna isara!" keonho pleaded, his voice cracking slightly with desperate urgency. (martin-hyung, please! don't close it yet!)

martin stopped pushing, but he didn't pull the door back open either. he stood on the other side, his broad frame blocking the entry, staring down at keonho’s shoe wedged in the threshold with a look of pure, unadulterated irritation.

"alisin mo 'yang paa mo," martin said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy whisper that made the blood run cold in keonho’s veins. (remove your foot.)

"hindi, hyung, please... listen to me first," keonho rushed out, holding the warm plate up slightly, his arms trembling under the weight of his anxiety. "pinag-toast kita ng sandwich... hindi ka kasi kumain nung almusal, tapos buong araw ka ring walang kinain sa studio. pakiusap, kainin mo muna 'to..." (no, hyung, please... listen to me first... i toasted a sandwich for you... you didn't eat breakfast, and you didn't eat all day at the studio. please, eat this first...)

martin’s eyes flicked briefly down to the plate in keonho’s hands.

the golden-brown toasted bread, the melted cheese, the simple, quiet effort of a late-night meal—it was a brutal, twisted mirror of the exact scene from a year ago. but instead of bringing warmth, the sight of the sandwich felt like a cruel mockery to martin’s aching heart.

bakit ngayon ka pa nagkakaganito? martin thought bitterly, his chest twisting in agony. bakit kung kailan may iba ka na, tsaka ka pa lalapit sa akin na parang ako pa rin ang mahal mo? (why are you acting like this now? why, when you already have someone else, are you coming to me like i'm still the one you love?)

"ayoko niyan," martin spat out, his voice utterly flat. "kainin mo 'yan mag-isa mo." (i don't want that. eat it yourself.)

"hyung, please..." keonho begged, stepping an inch closer, his dark eyes wide and pleading as he looked up into martin’s face. "magpapaliwanag ako tungkol kaninang umaga. 'yung tungkol sa sinabi ni seonghyeon-hyung... 'yung tungkol kay minji—" (hyung, please... i'll explain about this morning. about what seonghyeon-hyung said... about minji—)

"i don't care, keonho," martin interrupted coldly, wrapping his fingers tighter around the door handle.

"no, hyung, listen!" keonho pressed, desperation choking his lungs. he wanted to scream. he wanted to tell martin that there was no romance, that he wasn't courting anyone, that the coffee was just a casual favor for a former trainee classmate, that the handwritten note was just a simple thank-you for vocal tips. he wanted to tell martin that he had never, not for a single second in the last four years, looked at anyone else the way he looked at him.

the words were right there, burning on the tip of his tongue. ikaw pa rin, hyung. ikaw lang naman talaga. (it's still you, hyung. it's only ever been you.)

but as keonho opened his mouth to speak, his throat suddenly seized up.

the sheer, crushing weight of martin’s cold, disgusted gaze pressed down on him so hard that no sound came out. he stood there with his lips parted, his jaw trembling, struggling to draw air into his lungs, but his vocal cords completely betrayed him. no words slipped into his mouth. only a quiet, pathetic gasp escaped his lips.

keonho blinked desperately, his mind going entirely blank under the pressure. he looked like a terrified child, trapped in the narrow space of the hallway, holding a plate of food while his voice completely died in his throat.

martin watched him struggle for a few agonizing seconds.

to martin, keonho’s silence didn't look like panic. it looked like hesitation. it looked like guilt. it looked like a boy who had been caught red-handed and simply didn't know how to lie his way out of it.

a bitter, exhausted sigh escaped martin’s nose. he looked at keonho with an expression of sheer boredom and indifference—a cruel, artificial mask martin forced onto his face to hide the fact that he was breaking apart inside.

"tapos ka na?" martin asked, his tone dripping with cold apathy. (are you done?)

keonho’s eyes widened slightly, a faint, helpless tremble running through his broad shoulders. "h-hyung..."

"nakakapagod ka, keonho-ya," martin muttered, shaking his head slowly as if he were looking at an annoying inconvenience rather than the person he loved. "wala akong interes sa mga kwento mo. i'm tired, and I want to sleep. umalis ka na dyan at iwan mo 'ko." (you're exhausting, keonho... i have no interest in your stories. i'm tired, and i want to sleep. go away and leave me alone.)

the words hit keonho like a physical slap across the face.

nakakapagod ka.

umalis ka na dyan at iwan mo 'ko.

before keonho could even register the sharp, blinding sting in his chest, martin raised his foot and forcefully nudged keonho’s sneaker out of the doorway. before keonho could step back in, martin slammed the bedroom door shut with a heavy, final BANG.

CLICK.

the metallic sound of the lock turning from the inside echoed through the hallway like a gunshot.

keonho stood completely still in the dark.

the hallway was dead silent again. the warmth of the plate in his hands was already fading, the smell of the toasted bread turning heavy and sickening in the cool air-conditioned night.

keonho stared blankly at the dark wood of the door, his chest heaving up and down in rapid, shallow breaths. his mind was spinning in chaotic, terrifying circles, unable to process what had just happened.

what did i do?

the thought echoed in his head, over and over again, louder and louder until it was screaming in his ears.

anong kasalanan ko? bakit siya nagkakaganito? (what did i do wrong? why is he being like this?)

was it really just because of the bickering at breakfast? was martin really this furious over a stupid rumor about a girl group member? did martin hate him now? had keonho finally pushed him too far, ruined their dynamic, ruined the quiet, comfortable flow they had carefully built over the past year?

a single, heavy tear broke free from keonho’s lower lash line, spilling over his cheek and dripping down to land directly on the golden surface of the untouched sandwich.

then another followed. and another.

quiet, helpless tears slipped rapidly from keonho’s eyes, trailing down his pale cheeks in hot, continuous streams. his shoulders shook violently, but he didn't make a sound, pressing his lips together so hard they bled, terrified that james or juhoon would walk out into the hallway and see him like this.

he didn't understand. he genuinely, painfully didn't understand.

he had spent three years waiting for martin. he had accepted the rejection on the balcony without a fight. he had swallowed his pride, acted like everything was fine, and stepped back into the role of the loyal, obedient maknae just so martin wouldn't feel burdened. he had done everything martin had asked of him.

so why was martin looking at him with so much hatred? why was martin driving a knife into his chest and asking him to leave him alone?

keonho stood alone outside the locked door for a long time, weeping silently into the dark, clutching the cold plate of food against his chest, completely shattered by a fury he couldn't comprehend—and a leader who had finally shut him out for good.

it had been two agonizing days since the night the bedroom door was slammed shut, and the dorm felt less like a home and more like a abandoned house waiting for a storm to hit.

the air was heavy, thick with an unspoken tension that none of the members knew how to break. keonho had spent the last forty-eight hours practically acting like a ghost. he didn't join them for meals, didn't lounge in the living room, and barely spoke two words during their dance practice. whenever martin walked into a room, keonho would quietly, deliberately walk out—not with anger, but with a quiet, hollow defeat that hurt far worse than any argument.

and martin? martin had sunk deeper into his shell, his face an unreadable mask of ice, radiating a cold aura that kept everyone at a distance.

it was nearly eleven on a saturday night when james and seonghyeon were standing by the kitchen sink, bickering in hushed tones over whose turn it was to dry the leftover dinner dishes.

"sabi ko sa'yo, ako na nag-hugas kahapon!" james complained, shaking his wet hands over the sink and splashing water onto seonghyeon’s hoodie. (i told you, i washed them yesterday!)

"yah! 'wag mo 'kong wisikan!" seonghyeon snapped, swatting james’ hand away with a dish towel. "tsaka anong kahapon? si juhoon-hyung kaya nag-hugas kahapon!" (yah! don't spray me! and what do you mean yesterday? juhoon-hyung washed them yesterday!)

juhoon walked into the kitchen, holding an empty mug. he set it down on the counter and looked around the quiet, dimly lit apartment. his eyes drifted down the dark hallway toward the bedroom area before turning back to the two younger boys.

"nasaan si keonho?" juhoon asked, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. (where's keonho?)

james paused, a plate still in his hands. "a, baka nasa kwarto nila? 'di pa lumalabas mula nung umuwi tayo a." (ah, maybe in their room? he hasn't come out since we got home.)

"wala sa kwarto," juhoon replied, his tone growing cautious. "i just came from the hallway. open 'yung door, tapos patay 'yung ilaw." (he's not in the room...)

right at that moment, the bedroom door clicked open, and martin stepped out into the hallway. he looked completely worn out, dressed in an oversized black long-sleeve tee and sweatpants, his hair falling messily over his tired eyes.

juhoon turned his head. "martin-ya, kasama mo ba si keonho?" (martin, is keonho with you?)

martin stilled in the doorway. he looked up, his dark eyes instantly sweeping across the empty living room before landing on juhoon. a tiny, involuntary twitch of anxiety tugged at his chest, though he forced his face to stay blank.

"hindi," martin said, his deep voice rough and dry. "akala ko nasa sala." (no... i thought he was in the living room.)

"wala sa sala, wala sa kwarto, wala rin sa banyo," seonghyeon pointed out, setting down his dish towel as a sudden realization hit him. "wait... umalis ba 'yung batang 'yon?" (he's not in the living room, not in the room, not in the bathroom either... wait, did that kid leave?)

"impossible," james blurted out, his eyes wide. "past eleven na! tsaka strict si manager-hyung! hindi basta-basta makakalabas si keonho nang walang nagpa-permit!" (it's past eleven already! plus manager-hyung is strict! keonho can't just leave without permission!)

"tumakas 'yon," juhoon said grimly, rubbing his temples as a headache began to form. "tangina, kapag nalaman 'to ng company—" (he sneaked out... fuck, if the company finds out about this—)

while juhoon and james began pacing the kitchen island in a blind panic, seonghyeon suddenly snapped his fingers, a lightbulb going off in his head.

"wait!" seonghyeon pulled his phone out of his sweatpants pocket, rapidly tapping on the screen. "na-alala niyo ba nung nag-set up tayo ng family location tracking app para sa group chat nung trip natin sa japan last month?" (wait! do you remember when we set up the family location tracking app for our group chat during our japan trip last month?)

"oo, bakit?" james asked.

"si keonho, tanga 'yan sa tech," seonghyeon said, a small, hopeful grin tugging at his mouth as he loaded the map interface. "palagi niyang nakakalimutang i-off 'yung location settings niya sa phone. lazily leaves it on background." (keonho is an idiot with tech... he always forgets to turn off his phone's location settings...)

the three boys—and martin, who had quietly stepped closer, his jaw locked in a rigid line—clustered around seonghyeon’s phone screen.

a blue loading circle spun for three excruciating seconds before a small green dot popped up on the map. it was about twenty minutes away from their dorm, tucked deep into a maze of narrow alleyways near an underground district.

seonghyeon zoomed in on the icon.

"nandito siya..." seonghyeon read the name of the pinned venue out loud, his eyebrows pulling together in utter disbelief. "'the cellar'. holy shit, bar 'to a." (he's here... holy shit, this is a bar.)

"a bar?!" james gasped, his hands flying to his head. "seryoso ba?! bakit pupunta si keonho sa bar nang mag-isa?!" (is he serious?! why would keonho go to a bar alone?)

martin stared at the tiny green flashing dot on the screen.

a sudden, violent surge of panic and burning possessiveness slammed into his heart so hard it took his breath away. keonho—their nineteen-year-old center, his sweet, gentle maknae who usually stayed home playing video games or listening to sad OPM songs—was out at an underground bar in the middle of the night.

"kunin niyo 'yung mga jackets niyo," martin ordered sharply, his leader voice cutting through the panic in the room like a blade. the cold, indifferent mask he had been wearing for days completely shattered into pure, desperate urgency. "susuot tayo ng caps and masks. puntahan natin siya ngayon din." (grab your jackets... we're wearing caps and masks. we're going to get him right now.)

twenty minutes later, a black van pulled into a dim, quiet side street far away from the main idol nightlife districts.

the location seonghyeon had tracked was hidden down a flight of concrete stairs leading underground, illuminated only by a faint, flickering red neon sign that simply read CELLAR. it was an exclusive, low-key underground club—the kind of secluded, word-of-mouth spot tucked away from paparazzi, main streets, and fan culture. a place where nobody cared who you were, what label you belonged to, or what expectations were strapped to your back.

the four of them rushed down the stairs, their caps pulled low and black masks covering their faces.

when juhoon pushed open the heavy velvet curtain at the entrance, the deep, bass-heavy thrum of house music vibrated straight through their chests. smoke and purple-blue ambient lights filled the air, thick with the scent of expensive spirits, sweet vape fog, and sweat.

the place was packed with young people, but there were no cameras, no flashbulbs, no whisperings of "di ba idol 'yan?"—just pure, unadulterated, chaotic freedom.

"nasaan siya?" juhoon muttered over the loud bass, his eyes scanning the crowded dance floor.

"sa gitna, yata—wait, putangina, si keonho ba 'yon?!" seonghyeon gasped, pointing a shaking finger toward the center of the flashing strobe lights.

martin’s eyes followed seonghyeon’s finger—and his entire world stopped dead in its tracks.

there, right in the middle of the crowded dance floor, was keonho.

he had completely discarded his usual baggy, protective hoodies. instead, he was wearing a thin, body-hugging black silk shirt with the top three buttons casually undone, exposing his collarbones and the line of his chest. his dark hair was slightly damp with sweat, pushed back wildly off his forehead.

and he wasn't sitting in a dark corner crying.

he was dancing.

keonho was surrounded by a loose circle of attractive, well-dressed guys, moving effortlessly to the heavy rhythm of the music. he had a wide, breathless, uninhibited grin stretched across his face—a look of pure, raw euphoria that martin hadn't seen on him in over a year. he was laughing loudly, tossing his head back as one of the guys beside him handed him a shot glass, which keonho downed without hesitation, letting out a wild, victorious cheer.

for keonho, this hidden, dark basement was a sanctuary.

for four long years, he had been suffocating under the weight of expectations—the youngest member who had to be protected, the idol who had to keep his image pristine, the boy who had spent three years pining after a leader who ultimately slammed the door in his face and told him he was exhausting.

here, under the dark purple lights where nobody knew his name, keonho smelled absolute, intoxicating freedom. he didn't have to be cortis's maknae. he didn't have to be the heartbroken boy waiting outside a locked bedroom door with a cold plate of toast. he was just a nineteen-year-old boy, alive, desired, and finally letting go.

" tangina," james whispered, his mouth hanging wide open under his mask. "si keonho ba talaga 'yan? kailan pa natutong sumayaw nang ganiyan 'yan sa labas?!" (fuck... is that really keonho? since when did he learn to dance like that outside?!)

"he's drunk," juhoon noted, his brow furrowing as he watched keonho sway rhythmically, a tall guy in a leather jacket leaning in close to whisper something into keonho’s ear, making keonho burst into another bright, flushed laugh. "sobrang lasing na 'yan." (he's really drunk.)

standing beside them, martin couldn't move.

he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out. a blinding, suffocating rage—mixed with a terrifying, agonizing wave of jealousy—surged through every vein in his body, making his blood run scalding hot.

seeing keonho like that—so free, so dangerously beautiful, glowing under the dim lights while other men circled around him, touching his shoulders, laughing with him, breathing the same air as him—was a vision straight out of martin’s worst nightmares.

akin 'yan, a dark, possessive voice screamed inside martin’s head, drowning out all logic, all leader responsibility, and every rule he had built to keep them apart. akin si keonho. (he's mine. keonho is mine.)

he saw the guy in the leather jacket reach out, his hand sliding casually down to rest on the curve of keonho’s waist as they danced closer together. keonho didn't pull away; he just laughed, leaning his head back, completely lost in the music.

that was the final thread snapping inside martin’s sanity.

"martin, wait—" juhoon tried to grab his arm, but martin ripped himself free with terrifying force.

without a word, martin shoved his way through the crowded floor, recklessly knocking past partying strangers, his dark eyes locked entirely on the tall boy glowing under the purple strobe lights.

the distance between them dissolved in seconds.

before the guy in the leather jacket could pull keonho any closer, a large, warm hand shot out of the dark, gripping keonho’s wrist with an iron, unyielding hold.

keonho stumbled slightly, his dizzy, alcohol-hazed eyes blinking in surprise as he was suddenly yanked backward. "ha? ano ba—"

keonho looked up, his flushed, glowing smile freezing in an instant.

standing right in front of him, pulling off his black mask with a trembling, white-knuckled hand, was martin.

martin’s face was paler than ever, his dark eyes burning with a terrifying, raw intensity that keonho had never seen before—a mix of wild fury, desperate heartbreak, and an overwhelming, dangerous possessiveness that blew straight through the loud, pulsing music of the bar.

"umuwi tayo," martin growled out, his voice low, shaking, and utterly undeniable, his grip tightening around keonho’s wrist like a band of steel. "umuwi na tayo ngayon din." (we're going home. we're going home right now.)

the heavy bass of the underground bar vibrated right through the soles of keonho’s shoes, but the loud music felt suddenly muffled against the deafening thrum of his own pulse.

his fingers were still wrapped tightly in martin’s grip, the iron-clad hold burning against his skin. for a split second, time seemed to stutter. the dizzy, alcohol-fueled haze clouding keonho’s brain cleared just enough for him to look up and process the terrifying, raw intensity burning in martin’s dark eyes.

this wasn't the cold, indifferent leader who had slammed the bedroom door in his face two nights ago. this was a martin stripped bare—furious, desperate, and utterly undone.

but the memory of those slammed doors, the cold silence, and the crushing rejection still ached fresh and raw in keonho’s chest. a stubborn, reckless wave of defiance rose up from the bottom of his stomach, fueled by cheap alcohol and months of accumulated heartbreak.

ayaw niya akong kausapin sa dorm? ayaw niya akong pansinin? tapos ngayon hihilahin niya ako rito? keonho thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. (he didn't want to talk to me at the dorm? he ignored me? and now he's dragging me out here?)

instead of following, keonho dug his heels hard into the sticky floor and yanked his arm back with a sharp, sudden jerk.

"bitawan mo nga ako, hyung!" keonho snapped over the music, his voice sharp and laced with a defensive edge. (let go of me, hyung!)

martin stumbled slightly from the unexpected resistance, his grip slipping from keonho’s wrist. martin’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief, the dark pupils dilating as he stared down at the younger boy.

"keonho," martin warned, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble that should have made anyone back down. "sabi ko, uwi na tayo. huwag mo nang subukan ang pasensya ko." (i said, we're going home. don't test my patience.)

"bakit ba?!" keonho fired back, tossing his head back with a reckless, defensive laugh, his eyes flashing with stubborn rebellion. "kailan ka pa natutong maging utusero sa akin, ha? nandoon pa ako sa gitna, nag-a-enjoy ako! bakit ba lagi mo na lang dinidiktahan kung anong dapat kong gawin?!" (since when did you learn to order me around, huh? i was still in the middle enjoying myself! why do you always dictate what i should do?)

martin’s breath hitched. the muscles along his jawline worked furiously, the skin turning stark white as he clenched his teeth so hard it looked like they might crack. every single boundary he had spent years constructing—every rule, every noble sacrifice to protect the group, every ounce of self-control—was being ripped to shreds right in front of him by the only person in the world who had the power to do it.

before martin could snap and pull keonho away by force, the tall guy in the leather jacket—the same one who had been dancing close to keonho earlier—suddenly slid in through the flashing lights.

he stepped right into the space between them, leaning down casually until his lips were inches from keonho’s ear.

"hey," the guy whispered smoothly, his hand brushing familiarly against the small of keonho’s back. "don't mind him, cutie. let's go outside for some fresh air, yeah? get away from the drama."

keonho blinked, a dizzy, flushed giggle bubbling up past his lips. the alcohol was doing a magnificent job of numbing his common sense, making him lean slightly into the stranger's touch just to spite the tall, intimidating figure standing right in front of him.

"yeah," keonho smiled brightly at the guy, his voice dripping with playful defiance as he deliberately kept his eyes locked on martin. "sounds fun."

martin saw red.

the hand hanging loosely at his side curled into a fist so tight his fingernails bit sharply into his palm, drawing faint crescents of blood. his chest heaved violently under his dark jacket. he watched the stranger's hand resting on keonho’s back, heard keonho’s carefree giggle, and felt the absolute, agonizing collapse of everything he was holding onto.

fine.

a cold, devastating numbness suddenly washed over martin’s rage, replacing it with a hollow, crushing defeat.

if keonho wanted this so badly—if keonho was willing to look at someone else, to laugh with someone else, to throw away everything they had built just to escape the suffocation martin had put him through—then who was martin to stop him? he was just the leader. he was the one who said no. he was the coward who had pushed him away first.

martin’s jaw unclasped. his shoulders slowly dropped.

he didn't yell. he didn't grab keonho’s arm again. instead, martin simply stared at keonho one last time—his eyes swimming with a quiet, bottomless devastation that keonho was too drunk to fully read—before turning his back entirely.

without another word, martin pushed his way through the dense crowd, disappearing back toward the exit.

keonho, who had been bracing himself for another argument, blinked in utter confusion.

huh?

he stood frozen on the spot, his smile faltering. his heart gave a sharp, agonizing lurch in his chest.

martin didn't fight him. martin didn't force him to come home. martin didn't even yell. he had just... surrendered. he had walked away immediately, giving up on keonho the second things got difficult, proving once and for all that keonho’s stubbornness was just an annoying burden to him.

sumuko agad siya? keonho thought, a sudden, blinding wave of hot tears stinging the back of his eyes, completely overriding the alcohol in his veins. ganon ba talaga ako kadaling talikuran? hindi man lang niya ako ipinaglaban... (he gave up right away? am i really that easy to turn your back on? he didn't even fight for me...)

"hey, are we going or what?" the guy beside him asked, snapping keonho out of his trance.

"get away from me," keonho suddenly hissed, shoving the guy’s hand off his back with unexpected force.

before the stranger could blink, juhoon and seonghyeon suddenly materialized out of the flashing strobe lights, looking frantic and exhausted. james was right behind them, his face pale with panic.

"tama na 'yan, gagong 'to," juhoon muttered darkly, grabbing the back of keonho’s silk shirt with a firm, ungentle grip. "uwi na tayo. sumobra ka na." (that's enough, you idiot... let's go home. you've gone too far.)

"ayoko! bitawan niyo nga ako!" keonho protested, thrashing weakly as his hyungs didn't bother listening to his excuses. (i don't want to! let go of me!)

juhoon and seonghyeon didn't care about his dramatics. they hooked their arms under keonho’s shoulders, effectively half-dragging, half-carrying the heavily intoxicated, sobbing-at-the-seams maknae out of the underground bar, while james cleared the path ahead of them.

outside, the chilly night air hit them like a slap in the face.

the black van was parked waiting by the curb, its side door sliding open to reveal the dark, cramped interior.

juhoon pushed keonho inside the van. keonho stumbled clumsily over the footwell, falling heavily onto the back bench seat. the door remained wide open, letting the streetlights spill across the leather seats.

sitting in the front passenger seat, staring straight ahead through the windshield with his hands locked tightly between his knees, was martin. he hadn't turned around. he didn't look back to check if they had successfully retrieved him. he just sat there like a statue carved out of ice, though his broad shoulders were trembling with an almost imperceptible, violent tremor.

keonho sat hunched over in the back row, his knees pulled up to his chest, his hair sticking to his damp forehead.

the alcohol, the adrenaline, and the overwhelming heartbreak crashed down on him all at once in a chaotic, catastrophic wave.

"martin-hyung..." keonho whispered, his voice cracking horribly.

he started laughing—a high, unhinged, hysterical sound that echoed loudly inside the quiet van. his shoulders shook violently as tears streamed down his flushed cheeks in hot, endless torrents.

"sori na..." keonho muttered, wiping frantically at his face with the sleeve of his silk shirt, alternating between a manic laugh and a broken sob. "sorry kung matigas ang ulo ko... sorry kung hindi na ako sumusunod... hahahaha... tangina, ang tanga ko, 'di ba? sorry na, hyung!" (i'm sorry... sorry if i'm stubborn... sorry if i don't obey anymore... fuck, i'm so stupid, right? sorry, hyung!)

up in the front seat, martin didn't move an inch. his eyes remained locked on the dark dashboard ahead of him. he didn't turn his head. he didn't look at keonho’s tear-stained face through the rearview mirror.

but every single ragged breath, every manic laugh, and every shattered sob echoed directly into martin’s ears. he was listening. he was soaking in every agonizing second of it, feeling every drop of keonho’s tears tear through his own soul like jagged glass.

keonho couldn't stop laughing. the hysterical sound bubbled up his throat, mixing with the raw, suffocating pain in his chest until he couldn't tell where the laughter ended and the crying began.

and then, all the walls completely crumbled.

keonho stopped laughing. he slumped forward against the back seat, burying his face in his hands as a long, wailing sob tore straight out of his lungs.

"miss na kita, e..." keonho cried out, his voice cracking into a pathetic, desperate plea that broke the hearts of the three members standing outside the van. "bakit ba ayaw mo sa akin, hyung? miss na miss na kita... ang tagal ko nang naghihintay..." (i miss you so much... why don't you want me, hyung? i miss you so much... i've been waiting for so long...)

juhoon, seonghyeon, and james—who had just climbed into the middle rows of the van—froze completely.

the air inside the vehicle instantly sucked out. the three of them stared back at keonho with wide, horrified eyes, their jaws dropping in absolute shock.

what?

miss na kita? waiting for so long?

even through their haze of panic, the sudden, staggering realization hit them like a freight train. keonho wasn't just acting out because of a rebellious phase. keonho wasn't just throwing a random tantrum.

he was in love with martin.

he had been in love with him for a long, agonizingly long time.

"keonho..." seonghyeon started, turning around in his seat with a pale, stunned expression. "ano namang sinasabi mo—" (what are you saying—)

"mahal na mahal kita, martin-hyung," keonho sobbed openly, completely past the point of caring who heard him, his voice echoing raw and broken in the enclosed space of the van. "kahit ilang beses mo akong itaboy... kahit ilang beses mo akong saktan... kahit sabihin mong nakakapagod ako... bakit hindi ko magawang ibaling sa iba? bakit ikaw pa rin?" (i love you so much, martin-hyung... even if you push me away a hundred times... even if you hurt me... why can't i love someone else? why is it still you?)

up in the front seat, martin’s breath hitched violently.

the rigid mask shattered. a single, heavy tear finally broke free from martin’s eye, spilling over his lower lash line and dropping down to shatter against his knuckles. his hands gripped the edge of the dashboard so hard the plastic creaked.

he wanted to turn around. he wanted to launch himself into the back seat, pull keonho into his arms, bury his face in his hair, and tell him that he loved him too—that he loved him so much it was slowly killing him.

but before martin could force his paralyzed body to move—

keonho’s voice suddenly hitched.

the frantic, weeping words caught in his throat, turning into a low, breathless gasp. his eyes rolled back slightly, the heavy weight of the alcohol and forty-eight hours of pure emotional exhaustion finally pulling the rug out from under him.

"keonho?" james called out, his voice pitching high with terror as he spun around in his seat.

before anyone could react, keonho’s body went completely limp. his eyes slipped shut, and he slumped sideways off the bench seat, collapsing softly onto the floor of the van.

"keonho-ya!" juhoon yelled, instantly scrambling over the middle console.

panic exploded inside the van. martin whipped his head around, his breath catching in his throat as he threw open his door and lunged into the back.

"juhoon, buksan mo 'yung bintana!" martin barked, his voice losing all its cool leader composure, cracking with raw, unfiltered terror as he dropped to his knees on the van floor beside keonho.

james didn't wait for instructions. he pushed past juhoon, sliding his arms under keonho’s limp shoulders and knees. with a strength born of pure adrenaline, james hoisted the unconscious younger boy up into a bridal carry, cradling keonho’s pale, tear-streaked face against his chest.

james’ chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes wide and panicked as he looked straight at martin.

"hyung," james gasped, his voice trembling as he held keonho’s unconscious body. "bilis, sabihin mo sa driver! umuwi na tayo! iuwi na natin siya ngayon na!" (hurry, tell the driver! let's go home! let's take him home right now!)

martin stared down at keonho’s pale, peaceful face resting against james’ chest, the tear tracks still glistening wet on his flushed skin. the confession was still ringing loudly in the silence of the night air.

martin’s heart shattered completely into dust.

he scrambled up from the floor, leaning over the driver's seat and banging his fist against the partition window.

"uwi na tayo," martin ordered the driver, his voice thick, broken, and desperate, his eyes never leaving the pale face of the boy in the back. "bilisan mo. iuwi mo na kami." (let's go home. hurry up. take us home.)

the morning light filtering through the sheer curtains of their bedroom was pale, sharp, and entirely too bright.

keonho groaned softly, his hand flying up instinctively to press against his forehead. his head felt like it was splitting right down the middle, a dull, pounding throb echoing inside his skull with every single beat of his pulse. his mouth tasted like dry ash, and his throat burned as if he had swallowed a handful of sand.

slowly, painstakingly, keonho peeled his heavy eyelids open.

the blurry shapes in front of him gradually resolved into focus. clustered around his lower bunk were three familiar faces, all looking down at him with varying expressions of intense worry, exhaustion, and cautious curiosity.

seonghyeon was sitting on the edge of the mattress, holding a warm mug of water with honey. james was pacing nervously near the foot of the bed, while juhoon stood quietly beside him with his arms crossed over his chest.

"gising na," seonghyeon murmured softly, his voice gentle as he reached out to steady keonho’s shoulder. "easy lang, keonho-ya. dahan-dahan kang bumangon. uminom ka muna." (he's awake... take it easy, keonho. sit up slowly. drink this first.)

keonho let out a weak, raspy sigh, allowing seonghyeon to help him prop his back up against the wooden headboard. he took the mug with trembling hands, sipping the warm honey water slowly as the soothing liquid coated his scorched throat.

for a long moment, nobody spoke. the only sound in the room was the low hum of the air conditioner and keonho’s ragged breathing.

then, juhoon stepped closer, his dark eyes studying keonho’s pale face with a heavy, searching intensity.

"kumusta na pakiramdam mo?" juhoon asked quietly. "may masakit ba sa katawan mo? pinag-alala mo kaming lahat kagabi, alam mo ba 'yun?" (how are you feeling? does anything hurt? you worried all of us last night, do you know that?)

"masakit... ulo ko," keonho whispered, his voice cracking horribly. he swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the small, dim bedroom as a sudden, frantic wave of anxiety suddenly pierced through his hangover headache.

he looked at seonghyeon, then at james, and finally back to juhoon.

something was missing. someone was missing.

the air in the room felt different—heavy, guarded, and suffocatingly quiet.

keonho’s chest tightened, a cold panic gripping his heart as his gaze frantically scanned every corner of the room. "nasaan... nasaan si martin-hyung?" (where... where is martin-hyung?)

the question hung in the air like a lead weight.

seonghyeon stopped holding the edge of the blanket, his expression dropping into a mournful, heavy look. james looked away, nervously rubbing the back of his neck and staring down at the floorboards.

only juhoon remained standing firm, looking straight into keonho’s wide, terrified eyes.

"nasa studio siya," juhoon answered, his voice completely flat, carrying a quiet finality that made keonho’s breath catch in his throat. (he's at the studio.)

keonho blinked, a sickening wave of dizziness washing over him. "sa studio? kailan pa? ba't siya umalis? diba... diba rest day natin ngayon?" (at the studio? since when? why did he leave? aren't... aren't we supposed to have a rest day today?)

"maagang umalis," juhoon said softly, pausing for a second before delivering the words that felt like a physical blow. "umalis siya bago pa man sumikat ang araw. sabi niya, kailangan niyang tapusin 'yung production para sa next track natin. nag-iwan lang siya ng mensahe kay manager-hyung na huwag na raw siyang abalahin doon." (he left early... before sunrise. he said he needed to finish production for our next track. he just left a message for manager-hyung not to disturb him there.)

keonho sat completely frozen.

the mug in his hands shook so violently that a few drops of honey water spilled over the rim, splashing onto his blanket.

he left.

after everything that happened last night—after keonho broke down in the back of the van, after the raw, desperate confessions echoing in the dark—martin hadn't stayed. martin hadn't waited for him to wake up. martin hadn't even bothered to look at him, to talk to him, to give him a single word of comfort.

instead, martin had run away. he had escaped to the studio, burying himself in work, hiding behind his duties, and putting as much physical and emotional distance between them as humanly possible.

a sharp, crushing pain exploded behind keonho’s ribs, so intense it felt like his heart was literally tearing in half. his vision blurred again, not from the hangover, but from the sudden, hot rush of tears flooding his eyes.

he had done it. he had finally crossed the line he swore he wouldn't. he had stripped away all his pride, bared his bleeding soul to the entire group, and proved every single fear martin had ever had.

he was exhausting. he was too much. and now, martin couldn't even bear to breathe the same air as him.

keonho bit his lower lip so hard it bled, trying desperately to swallow the heavy, choking sob rising in his throat, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably as he stared blankly at his lap.

seeing the devastation written all over keonho’s pale, broken face, james finally stepped forward. he sat down on the edge of the mattress opposite seonghyeon, his usual playful, boisterous energy completely gone, replaced by a quiet, raw concern.

"keonho-ya," james started softly, his voice hesitant. "look at me."

keonho didn't look up. he kept his eyes glued to his hands, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

"kagabi..." james continued, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper. "kagabi sa loob ng van... narinig namin lahat ng sinabi mo." (last night... inside the van... we heard everything you said.)

the world inside the bedroom seemed to stop spinning.

keonho’s breath caught permanently in his lungs. every muscle in his body locked up tight. the cold sweat on the back of his neck turned freezing.

he remembered.

he remembered every single word. he remembered the manic laughter, the hot tears streaming down his face, the pathetic begging, and the absolute, unmasked truth he had screamed out into the dark space of the van.

“miss na kita, e... bakit ba ayaw mo sa hin, hyung? mahal na mahal kita, martin-hyung... kahit ilang beses mo akong itaboy... bakit ikaw pa rin?”

he hadn't been dreaming. it hadn't been a drunken hallucination. they had heard it all. juhoon, james, seonghyeon—and martin. they had all sat there and listened to him expose his most pathetic, desperate secrets in broad daylight.

"keonho," seonghyeon chimed in gently, reaching out to place a warm, steady hand over keonho’s clenched fists. "totoo ba 'yun? totoo ba lahat ng sinabi mo kagabi?" (is that true? is everything you said last night true?)

keonho remained completely silent.

he couldn't speak. his vocal cords felt permanently fused shut. if he opened his mouth, he knew he would shatter into a million irreparable pieces right in front of his hyungs.

he didn't deny it. he didn't make up a lie about being too drunk to know what he was saying. he didn't laugh it off as a joke.

the heavy, suffocating silence in the room served as the loudest, most undeniable confirmation possible.

juhoon let out a long, slow breath, running a hand over his short dark hair. there was no anger in juhoon’s eyes—only a profound, aching sadness as he looked at the youngest member they had all raised and protected like a little brother.

"tangina, keonho..." juhoon murmured, his voice laced with a heavy, sympathetic grief. "matagal na ba? kaya ba... kaya ba ganito kalala?" (fuck, keonho... has it been long? is that why... is that why it's this bad?)

keonho finally closed his eyes, letting the hot, heavy tears slip freely over his lower lashes. a single, broken whimper escaped his lips as he nodded slowly, giving them the answer they already knew.

seonghyeon sighed softly, sliding closer and wrapping his arm around keonho’s shaking shoulders, pulling the younger boy into a tight, grounding embrace. james reached out too, resting a warm hand on keonho’s knee, offering whatever small piece of comfort they could give in the middle of a disaster they didn't know how to fix.

they didn't judge him. they didn't lecture him about idols, or rules, or public image. they were just three older brothers watching their youngest fall apart over a leader who had locked himself away in a studio.

sitting there in the dim bedroom, wrapped in his hyungs' quiet support, keonho clutched the warm mug in his hands, crying silently into the dark, knowing that his heart had finally broken beyond any hope of repair.

the living room of the dorm was bathed in the dim, flickering blue light of the television.

it was nearly ten at night. the four of them—keonho, seonghyeon, james, and juhoon—were scattered across the large sectional sofa, half-heartedly watching a late-night football match playing on the screen. a bowl of half-eaten chips sat untouched on the coffee table, and the general atmosphere was thick, heavy, and drenched in an uncomfortable, fragile exhaustion. nobody was really paying attention to the game. they were all just waiting.

waiting for the front door to open.

waiting for the person who had spent the last twenty-four hours hiding away in the studio to finally come back.

around ten-fifteen, the distinct sound of keys rattling against the door lock echoed through the quiet apartment.

every single head in the living room snapped toward the entryway.

the front door swung open, and martin stepped inside. he looked like a ghost of the leader they all knew. his dark hair was disheveled, sticking slightly to his damp forehead, and dark, purple-black bruises of sheer exhaustion were heavily smudged beneath his hollow eyes. his shoulders were slumped forward under a heavy black jacket, and he was dragging his feet as if every step required a monumental amount of physical effort.

he looked starved of sleep, starved of food, and completely broken from the inside out.

martin kicked off his shoes near the door without looking up, his hand reaching for the wall to steady himself.

keonho stood up from the sofa so fast his knees nearly buckled. the memory of the night before—the tears, the confession, the cold realization that martin had fled to avoid him—was still burning fresh and raw in his chest. but seeing martin looking this utterly destroyed wiped away every ounce of anger, leaving only a desperate, aching worry.

keonho rushed across the living room floor, stopping a few feet away from martin.

"martin-hyung," keonho called out softly, his voice trembling slightly. "kumusta... kumusta 'yung sa studio? nakakain ka na ba?" (how was the studio? have you eaten yet?)

martin stopped. slowly, sluggishly, he lifted his heavy eyelids.

he didn't look keonho in the eye. his gaze flicked briefly toward keonho’s chest before staring blankly at the floorboards beside keonho’s shoes.

"ayos lang," martin answered. two words. cold, flat, and hollow. (it's fine.)

keonho’s heart gave a painful twist. "kumain ka na ba?" he asked again, his voice cracking with quiet concern. "kahit sandali lang... nag-order kasi si juhoon-hyung ng pagkain kanina, meron pa roon sa kusina—"

"oo," martin lied smoothly, his voice devoid of any emotion. "kumain na ako." (yeah, i already ate.)

it was a blatant, obvious lie. martin hadn't eaten anything since the morning of the day before. anyone looking at his hollow cheeks and pale, trembling lips could see right through it.

frustration—sharp, hot, and suffocating—suddenly surged up through keonho’s throat, violently mixing with the lingering heartbreak from the night before.

"bakit ba kailangan mo pang magsinungaling?" keonho pressed, taking a step closer, his voice rising just a fraction. "kahit sandali lang, martin-hyung! tinatanong lang naman kita nang maayos tungkol sa ginagawa mo sa studio, tungkol sa kalagayan mo—"

martin suddenly flinched as if he had been struck. a flash of pure, agonizing pain crossed his exhausted face, but he quickly swallowed it down behind a wall of cold irritation.

"pagod ako, keonho," martin interrupted harshly, his voice cutting through the living room like a knife. "tigilan mo na ako. huwag mo na akong tanungin tungkol sa track, huwag mo na akong tanungin kung kumain ako. just... stop."

the words hit keonho like a physical blow.

stop.

always pushing him away. always shutting him out. always treating his care, his worry, and his love like an annoying burden that martin couldn't wait to shake off.

after everything keonho had felt, after baring his soul in the back of the van, after crying himself to sleep while martin hid away in a studio to escape him—this was all he got? more coldness? more lies? more walls?

something inside keonho finally, completely snapped.

all the restraint he had bottled up for four long years—all the patience, all the waiting, all the silent agonizing nights—evaporated in a single, blinding second.

"no! hindi ako titigil!" keonho yelled, his voice cracking with a raw, explosive fury that echoed off the high living room walls.

on the sofa, juhoon, seonghyeon, and james jolted upright, their eyes widening in sheer shock at the sudden escalation.

keonho took another step forward, his chest heaving, hot tears of pure frustration instantly springing to his eyes and spilling over his lashes.

"sobrang galit na galit na ako sa ugali mo, martin-hyung!" keonho shouted, pointing a shaking finger straight at the older boy, his voice breaking into a jagged sob. "ang tagal-tagal ko nang nagtitiis! ang tagal ko nang nagpapakatanga sa'yo! nag-aabang ako kahit sa pinakamaliit na crumbs ng atensyon mo, pero anong ibinibigay mo sa akin? puro pagtataboy! puro pag-iiwas!" (i'm so, so mad at your attitude, martin-hyung! i've been enduring this for so long! i've been acting like a fool for you for so long!)

"keonho, tama na—" juhoon started, quickly standing up from the sofa and stepping forward.

"hindi, juhoon-hyung, hayaan niyo akong magsalita!" keonho cried out, shaking his head wildly as fresh tears streamed down his pale face, his eyes locked entirely on martin’s rigid, unmoving frame. "pagod na pagod na akong intindihin ka! pagod na akong maging 'maknae' lang na dapat mong protektahan habang dinudurog mo naman ang puso ko araw-araw!" (no, juhoon-hyung, let me speak! i'm so exhausted trying to understand you!)

seonghyeon and james scrambled to their feet as well, both of them looking panicked as they tried to reach for keonho’s arms. "keonho, kumalma ka muna, pakinggan mo kami—" james pleaded, his voice shaking.

"hindi na ako makikinig!" keonho yelled, pulling his arm away from james with a sharp jerk.

he took one final, desperate step right up to martin, looking straight into the older boy’s evasive, exhausted face. keonho’s voice dropped from a furious scream into a broken, devastating whisper that tore straight through the quiet air of the living room.

"pagod na akong maghintay sa wala," keonho whispered, his lower lip trembling violently as the final, absolute truth slipped past his lips. "sobrang pagod na ako... kaya simula ngayon, sumusuko na ako. titigilan na kita. hinding-hindi na kita mamahalin, martin-hyung." (i'm so tired of waiting for nothing... so starting today, i'm giving up. i'm going to stop. i will never love you again, martin-hyung.)

the living room fell into a dead, terrifying silence.

those words—hinding-hindi na kita mamahalin—dropped like a nuclear bomb into the space between them.

seonghyeon, james, and juhoon froze completely, their breaths catching in their throats. they stared at keonho in horror, realizing the catastrophic, irreversible weight of what he had just declared.

and martin?

martin felt as if the floor had literally dropped out from beneath his feet.

the exhaustion, the cold armor, the defensive walls, the noble leader responsibilities—everything he had used to protect himself for years was instantly obliterated by a single sentence.

his breath hitched permanently in his lungs. a sharp, agonizing spasm twisted through his chest, so violent and physical that martin swayed slightly on his feet, his hand instinctively gripping the wall to keep from collapsing.

he had wanted this, hadn't he?

for a whole year, he had told himself that this was the safest outcome. he had pushed keonho away to protect the group, to protect keonho's future, to prevent any ruin. he had prayed for the day keonho would finally move on, find someone else, and stop looking at him with those devastatingly loving eyes.

so why did hearing keonho say it feel like his soul was being ripped straight out of his body?

martin’s lower lip began to tremble uncontrollably. he bit down on it hard—so hard that the skin broke, and a tiny bead of dark red blood welled up against his teeth. he squeezed his eyes shut for a split second, desperately fighting a losing war against the heavy, burning torrent of tears pressing frantically behind his eyelids, forcing every ounce of his remaining willpower to suppress them from falling.

slowly, martin opened his eyes.

for the first time in two days—for the first time since the night in the van—martin stopped looking away.

he lifted his head, and finally, directly, met keonho’s tear-filled, heartbroken eyes.

the mask was completely gone. in martin’s dark, bloodshot eyes was an ocean of raw, unfiltered agony—a silent, desperate plea of a man who had finally realized, with terrifying clarity, that his own stubborn cowardice had just cost him everything he ever loved.

a month slipped by like water leaking through closed fingers.

the physical transition happened slowly at first, and then all at once. true to his word, keonho had become a man of his own words. the heavy, suffocating silence that had choked the dorm for weeks dissolved into a strange, functional sort of peace. keonho stopped looking at martin with those desperate, lingering gazes. he stopped lingering by the doorway after practice, stopped buying martin’s favorite iced americano without being asked, and stopped waiting up late for him to finish production work in the studio.

instead, keonho bounced back with a terrifying, blinding resilience.

he was once again the bright, endlessly energetic younger brother martin had met in the sub-basement studio four years ago. during dance practices, keonho laughed loudly with james, joked around with seonghyeon, and traded easy banter with juhoon. he was back to his playful, glowing self—smiling with his whole face, the cute dimple pressing deep into his cheek, radiating a youthful vibrance that made every room he entered feel lighter.

on the surface, cortis was finally okay. they were back to normal. the group dynamics clicked smoothly into place, schedules ran like clockwork, and the awkward tension between the leader and his maknae vanished into thin air.

to anyone outside looking in, it was a total victory. martin had successfully protected the group. he had kept their careers safe, preserved their public image, and ensured that nothing would ever threaten the foundation of cortis.

but sitting quietly on the other side of that victory, martin felt like a ghost haunting his own life.

the normalization came at a devastating cost. because the moment keonho stopped loving him, the world didn't stop turning—and keonho actually, genuinely moved on.

it started small. a casual conversation in the 3rd floor company lounge. a shared playlist recommendation. a box of pastries left on the breakroom table with a tiny smiley face drawn on the sticky note.

within a few weeks, it had escalated into a full-blown pursuit. keonho—with all his natural charm, tall frame, and easy laugh—started actively courting minji, the stunning main vocal of the rookie girl group under their same label.

because they were both idols navigating the rigid, unforgiving ecosystem of the entertainment industry, their budding relationship was kept strictly under wraps. it was a secret whispered only among the inner circles—known exclusively by the close-knit idols and trusted staff members within their company building. nobody outside knew. there were no Dispatch headlines, no public scandals, no fan theories.

just the quiet, agonizing reality playing out right in front of martin’s eyes every single day.

it was a Tuesday afternoon when the reality of it finally carved its way straight into martin’s chest.

they were taking a brief twenty-minute break inside the second-floor waiting room after wrapping up a live radio broadcast. seonghyeon and james were sprawled across the leather sofa arguing over a mobile game, while juhoon was quietly tuning his in-ear monitors in the corner.

martin was sitting at the low glass table, staring blankly at a script in his hands, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the paper edges.

the door swung open, and keonho walked in.

keonho wasn't wearing his usual oversized practice hoodie. instead, he wore a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly up to his forearms, a silver chain glinting against his collarbone. his dark hair was styled into soft, fluffy waves, and he was holding two plastic cups filled with iced matcha lattes—complete with a little hand-drawn heart on the side of one of the cups.

"oh, sorry, nandito na pala kayo," keonho said cheerfully as he stepped inside, stopping short when he saw his members. (oh, sorry, you guys are already here...)

"ano 'yan, maknae? parang pamilyar 'yang matcha na 'yan ah," james teased instantly, peeking over the back of the sofa with a mischievous grin. "para kanino naman 'yan? pang-ilang delivery mo na 'yan sa 3rd floor ngayong linggo?" (what's that, maknae? looks familiar... who's that for? how many times are you delivering to the 3rd floor this week?)

keonho’s cheeks flushed a soft, healthy pink, but he didn't look flustered the way he used to. instead, a bright, deeply smitten smile spread across his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"may pinapaabot lang si manager-nim," keonho lied smoothly, though everyone in the room—including james and seonghyeon—knew it was a blatant, playful excuse. "sige, guys, labas muna ako saglit. baka nag-aantay na." (manager-nim just asked me to pass something along... okay, guys, i'll step outside for a bit. she might be waiting.)

"sige na, 'wag kang magpahuli sa curfew, romeo!" seonghyeon laughed, throwing a crumpled script at keonho’s back.

keonho just chuckled, dodging the paper with a light step, and slipped out of the waiting room, closing the door softly behind him.

the room grew quiet.

juhoon paused his in-ear tuning, looking over toward the door before shifting his dark gaze slowly toward the head of the table.

martin hadn't moved an inch.

he was still staring down at the script in his hands. the printed words blurred together into a meaningless smudge of black ink. he had heard every single word. he had seen the soft, genuine, unrestrained smile on keonho’s face—the exact same smile keonho used to reserve exclusively for him back in the underground trainee days.

now, that smile belonged to someone else.

a heavy, suffocating lump formed in martin’s throat, choking off his air supply. his chest felt hollow, carved out by a dull, relentless ache that never went away anymore.

this was what he had asked for. this was what he had fought for. he had told keonho to stop. he had slammed the door in his face, pushed him away, and demanded that he move on for the sake of the group, for the sake of safety, for the sake of being a "good leader."

keonho had listened. keonho had followed every single instruction.

he had stopped loving martin. and in return, martin was left standing in the wreckage of his own noble choices, drowning in a silence he had engineered with his own hands.

martin slowly closed the script, his hand trembling so badly he had to press it flat against the table to keep the other members from noticing. he stared blindly at the reflection of the ceiling lights on the glass surface, swallowing the bitter, metallic taste of regret, realizing with terrifying certainty that he had won the war—and lost everything that mattered.

the cool autumn breeze sweeping across the concrete rooftop of the company building carried the faint, distant hum of city traffic below.

it was nearly midnight. the sky above was a vast, inky expanse of dark blue, dotted with a few pale, stubborn stars trying to pierce through the city’s thick light pollution. the rooftop was quiet, serving as an isolated sanctuary away from the blinding cameras, the rigid schedules, and the suffocating expectations of the idol world.

sitting alone on a low wooden crate near the edge of the parapet was martin.

he held his battered acoustic guitar resting across his knees, his fingers loosely wrapped around the wooden neck. he hadn't been playing. for the last half hour, he had just been sitting there in the dark, staring out at the glowing skyline, trying to swallow the fresh night air that felt too thin, too sharp, and entirely incapable of filling the suffocating hollow in his chest.

the metallic ting of the heavy metal rooftop door unlatching echoed quietly across the concrete.

martin didn't turn around immediately, assuming it was just a staff member taking a smoke break. but the familiar, heavy tread of footsteps approaching him told him otherwise.

james walked into the dim perimeter of the rooftop light. he wasn't wearing his usual bright, boisterous expression. instead, james’ face was unusually solemn, his dark eyes carrying a heavy, mature weight that martin rarely ever saw on the younger boy. james shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his oversized bomber jacket, stopping a few feet away from martin.

"ang lamig dito sa taas, hyung. mapapanis ulit 'yang boses mo," james broke the silence first, his voice uncharacteristically soft. (it's cold up here, hyung. your voice is going to get raspy again.)

martin offered a weak, ghost of a smile, finally looking up. "ayos lang. kailangan ko lang ng sariwang hangin." (it's fine. i just needed some fresh air.)

"talaga ba?" james asked, tilting his head slightly as he stepped closer, leaning his hip against the concrete ledge beside martin. "ayos ka lang ba talaga, martin-hyung? o sinasabi mo lang 'yan kasi 'yun ang trabaho ng leader?" (really? are you really okay? or are you just saying that because that's the leader's job?)

martin’s fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the guitar. he looked back down at the strings, avoiding james’ piercing gaze. "ayos lang ako, james. pinag-uusapan ba natin 'to ulit?" (i'm fine, james. are we talking about this again?)

"oo, pag-uusapan natin," james said firmly, dropping all pretense of casual banter. his voice didn't waver. "kasi pagod na kaming tatlo na panoorin ka pang magpakatanga rito." (yeah, we're talking about it... because the three of us are tired of watching you play the fool here.)

martin stiffened. "james—"

"no, hyung, ikaw ang makinig sa akin ngayon," james interrupted, stepping right into martin’s line of sight, his face tightening with a mixture of frustration and profound sadness. "isang buwan na. isang buwan na naming pinapanood kang magpanggap na parang walang nangyayari. akala mo ba hindi namin napapansin? akala mo ba hindi namin nakikita kung paano ka tuluyang mamatay sa loob habang pinapanood mong lumakad palayo si keonho?" (no, hyung, you listen to me... we've been watching you pretend like nothing is happening for a month...)

martin’s throat went dry. he opened his mouth to defend himself, to pull out his usual shield of leader responsibility, but no words came out.

james let out a harsh, bitter breath, shaking his head as he looked out at the dark city skyline.

"fuck idolhood, hyung," james muttered, the curse word dropping into the quiet rooftop air with absolute, unapologetic clarity. "fuck the kpop industry, fuck the company rules, and fuck whatever image we're supposed to maintain to keep strangers happy. tao ka lang din, martin. ikaw 'yung nagbuhat sa aming lahat nang apat na taon, pero bakit kailangan mong maging martir sa sarili mong kaligayahan?" (fuck idolhood... you're human too, martin. you carried all of us for four years, but why do you have to be a martyr for your own happiness?)

martin felt a hot, burning prickle behind his eyelids. he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ached, fighting desperately to hold back the sudden wave of emotion threatening to shatter his composure right in front of the youngest member.

"hindi mo naiintindihan, james," martin whispered, his voice cracking raw and low. "kung gagawa ako ng hakbang... kung babawiin ko lahat ng sinabi ko... si keonho ang masisira. ang grupo ang masisira. lahat ng pinaghirapan natin—" (you don't understand, james. if i make a move... keonho gets ruined. the group gets ruined.)

"si keonho na ba ang tinutukoy mo, o takot ka lang masaktan ulit?" james cut him off sharply, his eyes locking onto martin’s with unflinching honesty. "dahil kung iisipin mo... hindi si keonho ang nag-give up sa inyo noon. ikaw. ikaw ang nagtulak sa kanya palayo, tapos ngayon na lumalaban na siya para sa iba, nagrereklamo ka kung bakit hindi na ikaw ang pinipili niya." (is it keonho you're talking about, or are you just scared of getting hurt again?)

martin sat completely paralyzed. every single word james spoke landed like a heavy, undeniable truth, slicing straight through the defensive armor he had spent months building.

james watched martin absorb the blow, his expression softening just a fraction. he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, before looking back down at martin with a knowing, gentle look.

"pinapapunta ka niya," james said quietly.

martin blinked, looking up in sheer confusion. "sino?" (who?)

"si keonho," james replied, stepping back and slipping his hands back into his jacket. "kanina pa niya ako kinukulit bago kami umakyat dito. sabi niya, alam niyang nasa rooftop ka. sabi niya... kung totoo raw na may natitira pang tapang sa dibdib mo, puntahan mo siya." (keonho... he's been bugging me before we came up here...)

martin’s heart leaped violently against his ribs, a sudden, terrifying surge of adrenaline flooding his veins. "saan?" (where?)

"dun sa maliit na seaside bay sa likod ng company building," james said, offering a small, encouraging nod. "alam mo kung nasaan 'yun. nanduon siya ngayon. naghihintay." (that small seaside bay behind the company building... you know where that is. he's there right now. waiting.)

james didn't wait for martin to process the words. without another syllable, james turned around on his heel and began walking toward the heavy metal rooftop door.

just before pushing it open, james glanced back over his shoulder one last time.

"huwag mo nang sayangin ang oras mo rito, hyung," james said softly. "bago pa mahuli ang lahat." (don't waste your time here anymore, hyung. before it's too late.)

the heavy door swung shut with a dull thud, leaving martin completely alone on the rooftop once again.

for three seconds, martin sat frozen. the wind whipped his dark hair across his forehead, and the acoustic guitar slid dangerously across his knees, nearly falling to the concrete.

then, all the rules, all the caution, all the suffocating weight of being the perfect leader suddenly evaporated into thin air.

martin dropped the guitar carelessly onto the wooden crate, standing up so fast his chair screeched loudly against the floor.

he didn't walk.

martin turned around and ran.

he sprinted toward the rooftop door, throwing it open with a loud crash, and bounded down the concrete stairwell three steps at a time. his sneakers pounded heavily against the steps as he rushed through the back corridors of the company building, pushing past bewildered staff members, ignoring every single protocol, every camera, and every rule he had sworn to uphold.

he burst through the back exit doors into the cool night air, his chest heaving, his legs carrying him at full speed down the familiar path leading toward the quiet, secluded seaside bay just a few blocks behind the building.

back on the dark, empty rooftop, james stood alone near the heavy metal door.

he had quietly slipped back inside, watching martin’s frantic retreat from the glass panel of the stairwell window. a wide, genuine, victorious grin spread across james’ face, a soft chuckle bubbling up past his lips.

james turned around, walking slowly back to where martin had left his acoustic guitar resting on the wooden crate.

he reached out, picking up the wooden instrument by its neck, settling it comfortably across his own broad shoulders. he pulled a folding chair closer, sat down under the pale city lights, and let his fingers strum across the steel strings.

a smooth, warm melody drifted softly into the empty night air as james played a quiet, triumphant tune, letting the rooftop—and the entire world—fade away.

the path leading down to the secluded seaside bay behind the company building was shrouded in deep shadows, illuminated only by the faint, silver glow of the moon reflecting off the dark, restless ripples of the ocean.

the air smelled sharply of salt water, damp concrete, and cool autumn wind. it was the exact same spot where, three years ago, the five of them used to sneak out during their grueling trainee days just to catch their breath and talk about their impossible dreams of debuting.

martin’s sneakers pounded frantically against the pavement, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps as he rounded the final corner of the concrete seawall. his chest was heaving, his dark hair soaked with sweat from the sprint, but he didn't care. every muscle in his body burned, fueled entirely by a desperate, pounding panic that if he stopped running for even a second, he might lose everything forever.

and then, he saw him.

standing near the very edge of the stone barrier, looking out toward the dark horizon, was keonho.

he wasn't wearing his stage clothes or his heavy performance jacket. he was wearing an oversized black hoodie—the same one with the soft sleeves he used to pull over his hands during late-night practice sessions—and dark sweatpants. his hands were shoved deep into his front pocket, his broad shoulders slightly hunched against the chilly sea breeze.

martin skidded to a halt a few feet away, his hands gripping his knees as he fought to drag oxygen into his burning lungs.

the sound of his heavy, frantic breathing shattered the quiet rhythm of the crashing waves.

keonho slowly turned around.

when he saw martin standing there—disheveled, chest heaving, his face pale and eyes wide with a terrifying, raw urgency—keonho’s expression didn't show surprise. there was no shock, no sarcastic remark, and no defensive wall. there was only a quiet, fathomless depth in his dark eyes as he watched the leader he had loved for four long years slowly straighten up.

"dumating ka," keonho whispered, his voice carrying clearly over the sound of the ocean waves. (you came.)

martin couldn't speak immediately. his throat was completely constricted, tight with an overwhelming rush of emotions that threatened to tear him apart from the inside. he took a slow, unsteady step forward, closing the distance between them until they were only a few feet apart.

"paano..." martin finally managed to choke out, his voice cracking horribly, thick with unshed tears. "paano mo nagawang papuntahin ako ni james dito? paano mo nasabing... na kung may tapang pa ako, puntahan kita rito?" (how... how did you get james to send me? how could you say that...)

keonho didn't look away. he pulled his hands out of his pockets, taking a slow step toward martin, closing the gap even further until the space between them felt dangerously narrow.

"kasi alam ko na pagod ka na rin, hyung," keonho said, his tone soft, steady, and utterly heartbreaking. "pagod na akong maging duwag. at pagod na rin akong panuorin kang magtago sa likod ng pagiging leader mo para lang huwag mo akong mahalin." (because i knew you were tired too, hyung. i was tired of being a coward. and i was tired of watching you hide behind being a leader just so you wouldn't love me.)

martin’s breath hitched. a hot, heavy tear broke free from his lower lash line, spilling over his cheek without him even trying to stop it.

"hindi ako duwag dahil sa'yo, keonho," martin whispered, his voice trembling violently as he reached out, his long fingers hovering just an inch away from keonho’s face as if he were too afraid to actually touch him. "lahat ng ginawa ko... lahat ng pagtataboy ko sa'yo... para sa'yo 'yun. para sa inyo. takot na takot akong masira ka. takot na takot akong makita kang mawala sa mundong pinaghirapan nating abutin." (everything i did... all my pushing you away... it was for you. for all of you. i was so scared of seeing you ruined.)

"alam ko," keonho murmured, a gentle, bittersweet smile touching the corners of his lips as he reached up, placing his warm hand directly over martin’s trembling fingers, guiding martin’s hand forward until it rested flat against his cheek. "alam ko lahat ng 'yun, hyung. naintindihan ko naman noon pa man. pero napagod na akong maghintay sa isang bukas na walang tayo." (i know all of that, hyung. i understood it all along. but i got tired of waiting for a tomorrow without us.)

martin’s hand shook against keonho’s skin, feeling the soft heat radiating from the younger boy’s face. the realization of how close he had come to losing him—how close he was to watching keonho build a real life with someone else, smiling that bright, beautiful smile for another person—sent a wave of agonizing terror through martin’s soul.

"pinakawalan kita," martin choked out, his voice breaking into a ragged sob as the dam finally burst, tears streaming freely down his face. "ibinigay ko sa iba 'yung dapat ay sa akin... dahil akala ko iyon ang tama. pero ang sakit-sakit, keonho. araw-araw, parang pinapatay ako nang paulit-ulit." (i let you go. i gave what should have been mine to someone else... because i thought it was right. but it hurts so much, keonho. every day, it felt like i was dying over and over.)

keonho’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked up at the man who had been his anchor, his muse, and his entire world since the sub-basement trainee days.

"wala kang ibinigay sa iba, hyung," keonho whispered, his thumb lightly stroking the back of martin’s hand, wiping away the tear tracks on martin’s jaw. "si minji? kaibigan lang 'yun. nagpatulong lang siya sa akin tungkol sa vocal arrangement niya, at sinasakyan ko lang 'yung mga tukso nina james para lang makita ko kung... kung magseselos ka." (you didn't give anything to anyone, hyung. minji? she's just a friend. she just asked for help with vocal arrangements, and i just played along with james's teasing to see if... if you'd get jealous.)

martin blinked, taken completely aback. "anong... anong sinabi mo?" (what... what did you say?)

"ginawa ko lang 'yun para maramdaman mo naman kung gaano kasakit 'yung ginawa mo sa akin nung iniiwasan mo ako," keonho confessed, a soft, self-deprecating chuckle slipping past his lips, though his eyes were heavy with sincerity. "pero kahit anong gawing pagpapanggap ko... hindi ko kayang magmahal ng iba. ikaw pa rin, martin-hyung. ikaw lang naman ang laman ng mga kanta ko mula noon hanggang ngayon." (i only did that so you'd feel how much it hurt when you avoided me... but no matter how much i pretended, i couldn't love anyone else.)

martin stood completely frozen, the waves crashing against the seawall below sounding like a distant, roaring applause.

there were no more rules left to follow. no more corporate image to protect. no more noble lies to hide behind.

the four-year wait, the bitter rejections, the silent midnight tears, the crushing jealousy, and the agonizing months of forced separation—all of it boiled down to this exact moment on the dark, windy seaside.

martin didn't hesitate anymore.

with a sharp, desperate gasp, martin dropped all his remaining restraint. his hand slid from keonho’s cheek down to the back of his neck, tangling fiercely into his dark, soft hair, while his other arm wrapped entirely around keonho’s waist, yanking the younger boy flush against his chest with absolute, possessive desperation.

keonho let out a breathless, startled laugh that was instantly smothered as martin closed the remaining space between them and pressed his lips hard against keonho’s.

it wasn't a gentle, hesitant touch. it was a deep, searing, fiercely passionate kiss born from years of pent-up longing, hidden confessions, and agonizing restraint. martin kissed him like a man dying of thirst who had finally found water, pouring every ounce of his soul, his apologies, and his unending love into the press of their lips.

keonho’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft sigh of pure relief escaping his throat as his arms instinctively flew up, wrapping tightly around martin’s broad shoulders, pulling him even closer, matching the desperate rhythm of the kiss.

the cold autumn wind whipped around them, the dark ocean spray misted against their skin, and the distant city lights blurred into a wash of glowing colors, but neither of them cared about the world anymore.

for the first time in four years, there were no cameras watching them. no managers timing their schedule. no leader responsibilities holding them back.

just martin and keonho, standing together at the edge of the world, finally claiming what had always belonged to each other.

when martin finally pulled back just a fraction of an inch to let them both catch their breath, his forehead rested gently against keonho’s, their noses brushing softly, both of them breathing heavily in the cool night air. martin’s dark eyes were shining with a profound, radiant joy that keonho had never seen on him before.

"hindi na kita pakakawalan," martin whispered, his voice thick with emotion, a soft, crooked smile finally gracing his lips. "kahit anong mangyari... hindi na kita kailanman itataboy, keonho." (i will never let you go again... no matter what happens... i will never push you away again.)

keonho smiled—a wide, breathtaking, completely unmasked smile that made the dimple on his cheek press deep into his skin. he reached up, his fingers gently tracing the warm line of martin’s jaw, completely at peace.

"dapat lang, hyung," keonho murmured softly, leaning in to press one last, lingering kiss against martin’s lips. "kasi hinding-hindi na rin ako aalis." (you better not, hyung... because i'm never leaving either.)

and under the quiet, endless expanse of the night sky, hand in hand, they finally stepped into their happily ever after.