derin

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⊹₊⟡⋆Yeosang

⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡

⊹₊⟡⋆Jongho

⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡

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Droplets raced down the window, reflecting in the street lights as you watched the rain. Your heart was heavy, the suitcase you packed days ago mocking you from the hall closet. It called out for you, urging you to get on the next flight to your parents home and leave Riki in the dark about everything. It called as a siren's song to force Riki to see how little he seemed to care. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to leave—not yet at least.

Every day passed and he seemed to become more and more distant, pulling away any time he had the day off so he could be alone and the moment he would get home he would be in his own little world.

A world seeming to be devoid of you.

Your eyes tear away from the window, looking around the apartment you once knew as a sanctuary for you and Riki. It was a place he didn't have to be anything but yours, but months of him brushing your attempts at communication away had made it seem like he wasn't even that. You initially feared he was cheating, but confirmation from Yudai of where Riki had been held that theory. After the confirmation he picked a fight, claiming you didn't trust him or his friends. It had been the first time he actually spoke you in a month by that point.

After that night, he wasn't home. Riki would stay at the dorm or be out until he had practice the next day. Your only solace was seeing him on variety shows and interviews, smiling more than he had at home since before the argument.

Four months had passed without properly talking to your boyfriend. As you looked around that time finally weighed on your soul, tears finally falling from where they gathered in your eyes. You slowly pulled your phone from the pocket of Riki's hoodie you stole to sleep in when you first moved, he used to love seeing you walk around in it after you got home from work. You didn't think about the price as you booked a ticket for the first flight back to your parents, pulling the suitcase from the closet as you do so.

You looked down at the hoodie, opting to pull it off and fold it on the dining table. "I can't do this anymore." Your voice hoarse as you mumble to yourself, placing a note you wrote when you packed the suitcase, onto the hoodie as a guarantee Riki would see it. You sigh, walking to the door with the bag and your heart broken.

"Maybe he'll wake up from whatever this is..."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you sure Y/N is okay with you being gone so much? She hasn't said anything about it in a few months." Nicholas tagged along with Maki to get some clothes from the apartment, worried because you hadn't been following Maki to hang outs with the rest of the group. You hadn't seemed to exist for the last 6 months and he was worried.

"She hasn't yelled at me about it so it's gotta be fine." Maki didn't seem worried, not having even seen how far away you had drifted. "Plus even if she wasn't okay with it, I doubt she would say anything. She told me few weeks ago she wanted more alone time."

The door clicked open, revealing a near staged apartment. Nothing out of place and dark. Maki flipped the light switch, his eyes finding the hoodie without hesitation. "Y/N? Baby?" For the first time in months Maki called out your name, a deep fear pooling in his stomach when met with silence. "Where is she?" Nicholas's eyes were centered on the note as his friend began looking around the apartment for you. "Y/N? C'mon this isn't funny. I know I haven't been home but this is fucked up."

"Dude." Maki followed Nicholas' voice, snatching the now open note as he saw his friend holding the paper. Maki's eyes frantically read through the words, his throat tightening as tears gather.

"Riki, I can't do this anymore. I love you and I won't stop, but it hurts me to stay here when all I have anymore is silence." Maki's voice held the tone of a whisper, as if saying the note any louder would make it too real. "I'll be somewhere safe and I'll be back in a few weeks to get the rest of my stuff. Until then don't worry about the apartment, I'll break the lease after I get everything I need. I'll tell the guys everything when I come back." Nicholas took the paper back as Maki stubbled over his words, disbelief fogging his vision.

Nicholas finishes reading the note, reading the last lines with anger in his voice. "Just think about how you've acted and decide where I fit in your life. I'm supposed to be your partner, never thought I would have to ask who I was to the one person I could lean on. Goodbye Riki."

"I- I didn't-" Maki couldn't form a coherent thought, sinking to his knees on the dining room floor. His stomach in knots and his body like lead as your words echo in his mind.

Three months. Three whole months since everything fell apart. Three months since Minho looked you in the eyes and said words you still heard at night when your room got too quiet.

Three months since you found her lipstick in his apartment. Since you sat in your car afterward crying so hard you almost threw up. Since you kept asking yourself what she had that you didn’t.

And the worst part? Even after all of it, part of you still loved him, and you hated yourself for that. At first, moving on felt impossible. You stopped answering texts. Stopped going out unless someone forced you to. Some nights you’d just lay in bed staring at old pictures of him until sunrise, crying over someone who probably wasn’t even thinking about you anymore.

But eventually, the crying became less frequent. Then one day, somehow, you met Chan.

It wasn’t dramatic. No movie moment. No love-at-first-sight bullshit. You met him because your friend dragged you out for coffee after weeks of isolating yourself. And Chan was just… there. Quiet, easy to talk to, gentle. The kind of person that never made you feel pressured to fill silence.

At first you kept your distance. You expected him to lose patience eventually. Everybody did, but he never pushed. When you took hours to answer texts, he didn’t complain. When you cancelled plans because your anxiety got bad, he just told you to rest well. When you zoned out mid conversation, he noticed immediately.

“You okay?” he asked softly one night. You blinked, realizing you’d completely stopped listening.

“Sorry”

“Don’t apologize” He smiled a little. “You looked overwhelmed”

That almost ruined you. Because Minho used to get awkward or frustrated whenever you shut down. Chan just noticed, and that was the difference.

However, the scary part was how careful he was with you, like he knew you’d been hurt before. And maybe he did. Not because you told him every detail. You didn’t. But one night, while sitting in his car outside your apartment, he looked at you quietly and said,

“You don’t have to talk about your ex if you don’t want to.” You froze. Chan kept his eyes on the steering wheel.

“But whoever he was,” he continued softly, “he clearly hurt you pretty badly” Something in your chest tightened painfully. Because he said it so gently, no judgment, no irritation, no jealousy, just pure softness and understanding. And god, you almost cried right there.

—

The first time Minho saw you again was at a café. You were laughing, actually laughing after weeks, maybe even months. You weren't forcing a smile, neither pretending. You were laughing so hard your eyes disappeared the way they used to around him.

Except now it wasn’t him sitting across from you, It was another guy. Minho felt sick instantly. He stood frozen outside the café window, staring at the sight in front of him like it physically hurt.

Then he noticed the hoodie. Gray oversized hoodie, obviously not his. Some other guy’s hoodie hanging off your shoulders while you smiled at someone that wasn’t him. And suddenly he couldn’t breathe properly, because you looked lighter. That was the worst part.

You looked okay without him, maybe even happy.

Chan reached over the table and wiped whipped cream from the corner of your mouth with a laugh. You shoved his shoulder jokingly, smiling so brightly that Minho’s chest genuinely ached. You used to smile at him like that, and the realization hit harder than he expected. He ruined the best thing he ever had, and now someone else was getting the version of you he destroyed.

—

After that, Minho couldn’t stop thinking about you. He noticed everything. Your Instagram profile picture changed, the necklace he bought you disappeared, your captions stopped sounding sad and you stopped posting late night songs that reminded him of you.

And the thing that hurt most? you stopped reaching out. no drunk texts, no missed calls, no nothing. It was like you were finally learning how to live without him, meanwhile Minho was losing his mind. He started replaying your last argument over and over again at night.

“I wish I never fucking met you.” He didn’t mean it. God, he didn’t mean any of it. But he still said it, and now he’d do anything to take it back.

—

It was raining the night he finally confronted you. Of course it was raining, the universe loved dramatic timing. You had just gotten out of Chan’s car when you saw Minho standing outside your apartment building.

Your stomach dropped instantly. He looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, hair messy, hoodie soaked from the rain and looking more depressed than ever.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Then his eyes landed on the hoodie you were wearing. Again, not his. Chan noticed the tension immediately. “You want me to stay?” he asked quietly, standing beside you, giving Minho a quick glare.

Minho heard that, and it killed him even more because Chan didn’t sound possessive or angry. Just concerned. You shook your head slowly. “I’ll be okay.” you gave him a faint smile. Chan hesitated before nodding. “Call me if you need anything.”

Minho noticed that too. The way Chan looked at you carefully before he went inside the building, like he genuinely cared, which he of course did.

The second Chan disappeared in the apartment building, silence filled the space between you. Then Minho finally spoke, his voice low, “So this is it?” You frowned slightly. “What?”

“You moved on that fast?”

You actually laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was unbelievable. “Fast?” you repeated quietly, “Are you serious?”

Minho clenched his jaw. “You’re already with someone else.”

“And you fucked my ex best friend.”

That shut him up immediately. Rain poured around both of you while your breathing grew uneven. “You don’t get to do this,” you said shakily. “You don’t get to act hurt now.”

“I am hurt.”

“Good.” you muttered, looking into his eyes, not giving a damn about his feelings now. His expression faltered. Good. Maybe now he understood what it felt like.

“You know what’s crazy?” your voice cracked. “I spent weeks crying in parking lots over you. Weeks wondering why I wasn’t enough for you.”

Minho looked down. “And now suddenly you can’t handle seeing me happy?” your voice cracked again.

“I never wanted to lose you.”

“You should’ve thought about that before cheating on me”

“I know.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I really don’t think you do”. His frustration started showing then. “Can you stop acting like I don’t regret it?”.

Your eyes burned. “Regret doesn’t erase what you did”. Minho ran a hand through his wet hair aggressively. “I said I’m sorry!”

The second his voice raised slightly, you instinctively stepped back. Tiny movement, barely noticeable, but Minho noticed and immediately went silent. Because suddenly he remembered everything.

The screaming. The shouting. The fear in your face during your last fight.

You used to feel safe around him. Now you flinched when he got too loud. His face completely fell.

“…fuck”. You looked away quickly, embarrassed by your own reaction, but Minho looked destroyed, like something inside him genuinely snapped.

“I did that to you,” he whispered. Neither of you spoke for a few seconds. Rain soaked through your clothes while tears mixed with raindrops on your cheeks. Finally, Minho spoke again, quieter this time.

“I hate myself for what I did to you.” Your throat tightened painfully. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I fucking hated myself for loving you.”

He looked like you slapped him. And maybe part of you wanted him to be hurt like the way you were before. “You only miss me now that someone else loves me right?”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is.”

Minho shook his head desperately. “I loved you before him.”

“Then why did you destroy me?”. He had no answer, because there wasn’t one. You wiped your face angrily. “You know what the difference is between you and Chan?” you asked quietly.

Minho’s expression tightened instantly. “He doesn’t make me feel hard to love."

That one nearly killed him. You could literally see it happen. His eyes watered immediately while he stood there looking completely shattered. “He’s patient with me,” you continued. “When I get quiet, he waits. He doesn’t yell, and he doesn’t make me feel crazy for being hurt.”

Every word hit Minho like a knife, because that used to be his place. And he ruined it himself. He ruined that place himself.

“I still love you.” The confession came out broken, raw and real. And shit, that hurt. Because part of you still loved him too. Not quite romantically, but in a way even you couldn't describe it either. It was complicated. But love wasn’t enough anymore. Not after this, not after everything.

Your lips trembled slightly. “I loved you so much that I let you destroy me”

Minho started crying then, actually crying. Right there in front of you. Somehow that hurt even worse because months ago, this was all you wanted, for him to understand your pain. For him to regret it, and now he finally did.

Too late.

You took a shaky step backward. Minho looked terrified immediately, like he already knew. which he did.

“I can’t do this again,” you whispered.

Then you turned around and walked toward your apartment building. This time, Minho didn’t stop you. He just stood there in the rain crying while the girl he loved walked away from him for the second time.

And this one, this one hurt the most.

taglist: @hanadulsetaad @justjxnniie @cutieleeknow @lovesunshinefelix @slayyparkjimin @canlovesstraykids @lynlyndoll @milf-ivy @mae-is-cute98 @onlyycb97wife @hearts4leeknow @coco-1997 @felixoasis @atinyniki

Jeonghan had always believed laughter fixed things.

Silences? Fill them with jokes. Tension? Dissolve it with a prank. Sadness? Distract it.

That’s how he survived trainee days. That’s how he survived pressure. That’s how he loved.

And you had always loved that about him.

He wasn’t just mischievous for cameras. He was like that at home too hiding your phone and pretending he didn’t see it, changing your ringtone to something ridiculous, swapping your sugar with salt just enough for you to notice but not hate him. It was never cruel. Never mean. Just… playful. At first, it made your long days easier.

But that was before work started swallowing you whole.

The Office

You were the youngest in your team.

Which meant:

Extra work.

Extra blame.

Zero credit.

Your senior, Mrs. Kim, had a habit of sighing dramatically every time you spoke.

“You’re still not careful enough.” “This formatting is slightly off.” “I don’t understand why this took you so long.”

It was never catastrophic mistakes. Never something huge. Just tiny things. Tiny things repeated until they felt massive. And no matter how much overtime you did staying until the office lights dimmed automatically no one acknowledged it.

One afternoon, you stayed three hours late finishing a report your senior had dumped on you five minutes before clock-out. The next morning? Mrs. Kim skimmed it and said, “You could have done better.”

No thank you. No recognition.

Just that, by Wednesday, the headaches started.

A tight band around your temples. Like someone was pressing their thumbs into your skull and refusing to let go. You started keeping painkillers in your bag,you smiled at work.

You cried in the bathroom once. You didn’t tell Jeonghan. Because he had rehearsals. Schedules. Recording. And you didn’t want to be “another thing” weighing on him.

The Pranks — Week One

The first time that week, he hid your house keys.

You were already running late.

“Han, where are my keys?”

He blinked innocently from the couch. “Keys?”

You narrowed your eyes.

He laughed and pulled them from behind his back.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

But you smiled. He kissed your forehead. “You love it.” You did.

Week Two

The pranks became more frequent.

He replaced your phone wallpaper with an edited photo of himself crying dramatically with sparkles.

He pretended to be upset because you “forgot” your anniversary which wasn’t even that day. He once hid behind the door and scared you so badly you dropped your bag.

You forced a laugh.

But that headache was still there.

And your senior had just sent you an email at 11:47 PM correcting a minor spacing issue in a document.

Jeonghan noticed you were quieter.

“Are you okay?” he asked one night.

“Just tired,” you replied.

He nodded.

He nodded.

He knew something was off. He also knew he’d been overdoing it.

He told himself that night: Tomorrow I’ll stop.

The Day It Broke

You had barely slept.

Mrs. Kim had publicly corrected you in a meeting for “lacking attention to detail” because you had written 2025 instead of 2026 in one corner of a slide.

One corner.

You apologized in front of everyone.

After the meeting, your colleague whispered, “She does that to everyone.” But it didn’t make it sting less. By the time you reached home, your head felt like it might split open.

You just wanted quiet. Silence.

Maybe Jeonghan’s arms. You unlocked the door.

The lights were off.

You frowned.

“Han?”

Silence.

You stepped inside.

Suddenly—

“BOO!”

He jumped from behind the couch, laughing.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder.Your heart slammed against your ribs. Something inside you snapped.

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t laugh. You just stood there, breathing heavily. His smile faltered slightly. “Y/N?” And then it came out.

“What is wrong with you?!”

Your voice was louder than you meant it to be.

Jeonghan blinked.

“I—I was just—”

“Just what? Just trying to scare me again? Just another joke? Is everything a joke to you?!”

His expression changed. Confusion first. Then concern.

“Hey, I didn’t mean—”

“You never mean it! You never mean anything! You just keep doing it!”

Tears were already forming.

Your head throbbed violently.

“At work they treat me like I’m stupid. They dump everything on me. They scold me in front of everyone. And I come home and I can’t even get five minutes of peace!”

Jeonghan froze.

You had never talked about work like this.

“And you think it’s funny?! I’m tired, Han! I’m so tired!”

He stepped closer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to add to your stress! You’re busy! You have your own problems! I didn’t want to be a burden!”

“You’re not—”

“I feel like I’m failing everywhere!” you cried. “I try so hard and no one sees it. No one appreciates it. I make one small mistake and suddenly I’m careless and incompetent!”

Your voice broke. “And I just wanted to come home and feel safe.”

That last word came out barely audible. Safe. Jeonghan’s chest tightened painfully.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

But you weren’t done.

“You knew you were overdoing it! I can see it on your face every time! But you still do it! Why? Why does everything have to be entertainment?!”

His eyes filled with guilt.

Because you were right.

He had noticed.

He had told himself it would be the last time.

And then did it again.

You suddenly covered your face with your hands.

“I love you,” you sobbed. “I love you so much. I just—I can’t handle it right now.”

And then you broke.

Not pretty crying.

Not silent tears.

Ugly, shaking sobs that made your shoulders tremble.

Jeonghan didn’t hesitate.

He pulled you into his chest.

And this time, there was no teasing. No laughter.

Just his arms wrapping tightly around you. You clutched his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you kept repeating. “I didn’t mean to shout. I’m just so tired. I’m sick of trying so hard. I feel like I’m drowning.”

“Shh,” he murmured, holding the back of your head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I yelled at you.”

“You needed to.”

You cried harder at that.

Because you expected him to be hurt.

Defensive.

Instead, he was just… steady. He pressed his cheek against your hair.

“I didn’t realize how bad it was,” he said quietly. “And I should have stopped. I knew I was pushing it. I’m sorry.” You shook your head against him. “I love your pranks. I just… not when everything else feels like an attack.” That word hit him.

Attack.

He felt sick.

He was supposed to be your safe place. Not another source of tension.

He gently guided you to the couch, sitting down and pulling you into his lap like you were something fragile. He wiped your tears with his thumb. “Look at me,” he whispered.

You did, eyes red and swollen. “You are not incompetent.”

Your lip trembled. “You are not careless.” His voice was firm now. “And you are not a burden. Not to me. Not ever.”

Fresh tears slid down your cheeks.

He leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

“From now on,” he said softly, “home is quiet if you need quiet. No pranks. No surprises. Just… us.”

You sniffled. “You’ll get bored.”

He huffed faintly. “I’ll survive. I’ve survived worse things than not scaring my girlfriend.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped you.

There it was.

That sound. But this time it wasn’t forced, he brushed your hair away from your face.

“Tell me everything,” he said. “About work. About the headaches. About Mrs. Kim and her dramatic sighing.”

You blinked. “How did you know she sighs?”

“I can just tell she’s the type.”

You leaned into him, exhausted.

And for the next hour, you talked.

About the meeting.

About the email at midnight.

About how hard you tried.

Jeonghan listened.

Not interrupting.

Not joking. Just listening.At some point, your crying softened into quiet hiccups. Your body relaxed against him.

“I’m sorry I ruined the mood,” you murmured weakly.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he replied immediately. “You trusted me.”

That made your chest ache in a different way.

He tilted your chin up gently.

“Sometimes,” he said, voice low and honest, “I use jokes to avoid serious things. It’s easier to laugh than to face how someone I love is hurting.”

You stared at him.

He rarely admitted things like that.

“I don’t want to be the person you endure,” he continued. “I want to be the place you rest.”

That was it.

You broke again.

But this time it wasn’t sharp.

It was soft.

You buried your face into his chest and whispered, “Thank you.”

He held you tighter.

“No more pranks for a while,” he murmured into your hair. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Doctor?”

“Dr. Jeonghan. Specialist in Girlfriend Care.”

You rolled your eyes weakly. But you felt… lighter.

That night, he made you tea. Massaged your temples gently. Turned off all the lights except one soft lamp. He lay beside you, pulling you into him.

No teasing.

No sudden movements.

Just warmth.

As you drifted toward sleep, you whispered, “I still love your pranks.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“And I still love making you laugh,” he said. “I just love you more.”

And this time, laughter wasn’t used to fix something.

“What?” you ask, forcing a small laugh, trying to brush off the tension crawling up your spine. “Why are you all—”

“Where were you last night?” Chan’s voice cuts through you. It’s calm—frighteningly so—and it hits you with a coldness that makes your heart stutter.

You blink confused by the sudden interrogation. “Dorm. Why?”

Then Minho scoffs under his breath, a sharp, bitter sound that makes you flinch.

“You actually expect us to believe that?” he mutters, his gaze fixed on the wall behind you as if looking at you is beneath him.

Your chest tightens. “Believe what?”

Hyunjin tosses his phone onto the table. It slides toward you, stopping just short of your hand.

You look down, and your heart doesn’t just drop—it feels like it stops entirely.

Clips. Snippets. Audio files.

Unreleased tracks.

Your tracks.

They are the unreleased tracks from the album you’ve all been pouring your souls into for months. You see the titles of songs that came from hours of sleepless nights, heated arguments, desperate rewrites, and shared tears. All of it—the culmination of your hard work—was out there.

Leaked.

“No…” your fingers trembling as you scroll through the social media threads and the links. “No, this—this isn’t—”

“You were the last one using the studio computer,” Jisung says flatly.

You freeze, the phone nearly slipping from your hand. “I—yeah, I was, but that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with this!”

“Then what does it mean?” Changbin snaps, voice sharp. “Because that’s the same computer the files were pulled from.”

You feel like the ground has suddenly disappeared beneath your feet, leaving you suspended in a void where your own brothers are looking at you like a criminal.

“I didn’t do this,” you say, quieter now. “You have to believe me.”

Felix looks away, his jaw tight. Jeongin refuses to meet your eyes. Jisung is staring intently at his own shoes. Hyunjin just crosses his arms, his face a mask of hurt and anger.

And Chan… Chan just watches you like he’s trying to read something you’re not saying.

But there’s doubt there. You see it, and seeing it hurts more than any of the accusations.

“You’re the only one who had access at that time,” Seungmin adds, his tone cold, calculated. “It’s not exactly a stretch.”

“That’s insane,” you whisper. “Why would I leak our own album?”

“For attention?” Minho says with a shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time idols did something stupid for buzz.”

Your head snaps toward him like he slapped you.

“What?”

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t take it back. He just stares at you with a chilling indifference.

“Or money,” Changbin adds. “God knows how much those clips are worth.”

“That’s not funny,” you choke out. “That’s not even—do you hear yourselves?”

But they don’t soften. Not a single one of them offers a hand or a kind word.

“I didn’t do this,” you repeat, voice cracking now. “I swear, I didn’t.”

Chan exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“We’ll let management handle it,” he says finally. “Until then, just…stay out of the studio.”

The words hit you harder than if he had screamed at you.

Stay out.

Like you don’t belong there. Like you’re a threat to the very thing you helped build. Like you’re the problem they need to contain.

“…okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible.

No one stops you when you turn around and walk out the door.

The next few days feel like a blur of quiet cruelty.

It’s the little things that hurt the most.

No one sits next to you at the kitchen table anymore; they leave a conspicuous, empty gap as if your presence is contagious. No one calls your name when they’re ordering food or headed to the convenience store.

The group chats, once a constant stream of memes and chaotic energy, go silent the moment you reply to something.

Minho brushes past you in the hallway like you’re a piece of furniture, not even bothering to acknowledge your existence. Hyunjin doesn’t even try to hide his glares when you accidentally catch his eye.

Changbin mutters things just loud enough for you to hear—“unbelievable,” “can’t trust anyone.”

Even Felix… sweet, kind-hearted Felix, who usually hugs everyone until they can’t breathe… avoids you like you’re made of glass that’s already shattered.

And Chan? Chan doesn’t look at you at all. He stays buried in his work, eyes fixed on his screens or his feet, treating you like a ghost haunting the dorm.

That hurts the most of all.

Eventually, you stop trying. You stop going to practice because the atmosphere is too toxic to breathe. You stop hanging around the common areas of the dorm because the silence is too loud.

Because every time you do, it feels like you’re begging for scraps of trust they’ve already decided you don’t deserve.

One night, you hear them all laughing in the living room—a genuine, loud sound that used to include you. For a split second, habit almost pulls you out of your room to join them.

Almost.

Then you remember the way they looked at you.

Like you betrayed them.

Like you ruined everything.

You turn back to your bed instead, burying your face in your pillow to cry where no one can hear you.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It’s a week later when everything breaks.

Management calls a mandatory meeting for everyone. All nine of you are ushered into a sterile conference room. You sit at the very end of the long table.

The room is thick with an uncomfortable energy until one of the head managers clears their throat and opens a laptop.

“We’ve concluded the investigation.”

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure everyone can hear it.

Chan straightens up in his chair, his hands clenched into fists on the table.

“So?” he asks.

The manager slides a thick folder onto the table, the sound of paper hitting wood echoing in the quiet room.

“Evidence shows that the leak did not come from any of you.”

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

You don’t move. You don't even think you’re breathing.

“It was one of the new interns,” they continue. “They accessed the files after hours. We have CCTV footage and email records—communication with external media outlets. They were paid to leak the tracks.”

A sharp intake of breath echoes somewhere down the table.

You continue to stare at your hands. They’re shaking, but it’s not from fear anymore. It’s from a hollow, crushing realization.

“What?” Changbin whispers.

Seungmin leans back slowly, looking like he’s just been punched in the gut. Hyunjin’s face goes deathly pale, his gaze dropping to the floor. Felix looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown, his eyes welling with tears.

And Chan finally looks at you. He really looks at you for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

“…you didn’t…” he starts, voice unsteady.

You let out a short, hollow laugh that has no humor in it. Of course you didn’t. You had told them that. You had told them until your voice was hoarse and your heart was broken.

“I said I didn’t,” you murmur, still refusing to look up from the table.

No one speaks. There’s nothing left to say that can undo the last seven days. No apology can take back the cold shoulders, the venomous whispers, or the way they looked at you like you were a stranger. They didn't just doubt you; they abandoned you when you needed them to be your family the most.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor breaks the silence.

Footsteps approach you, hesitant and slow.

“Hey,” Chan says softly, standing right in front of you. He reaches out a hand as if to touch your shoulder. “I—we—I’m so sorry, I—”

You stand up before he can finish. You don’t do it violently, and you don’t make a scene. You just move enough to make him retract his hand, creating a physical boundary between you and the leader you used to trust implicitly.

“I need some air. Excuse me.” you say.

Your voice is calm. The kind of calm that comes after the storm has already leveled the house.

It makes Chan’s expression twist with a fresh wave of pain.

“Can we please talk about this?” he pleads, his voice cracking.

“Later,” you cut in, though you aren't sure if 'later' will ever actually come.

You don’t wait for permission or for them to explain themselves. You just turn and walk out of the room, the door clicking shut behind you.

They don’t go after you right away when the door clicks shut.

It isn't because they don’t want to—it’s because none of them actually know how.

The room feels different now. Heavy in a way that makes breathing feel like work. The truth sits on the table between them like something alive, something ugly.

They were wrong.

Not just factually incorrect, but fundamentally cruel.

Chan drags both hands down his face, the skin stretching under the pressure. He paces the length of the room once, then twice, before stopping abruptly.

“We fucked up,” he says, his voice sounding hollow, like it's echoing from the bottom of a well.

No one argues with him. Because there is absolutely nothing left to argue.

“I told you,” Felix whispers, voice trembling. “She kept saying she didn’t do it…”

“And we didn’t listen,” Hyunjin finishes quietly, his usual composure completely gone.

Jisung leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “We accused her like it was already proven.”

That breaks something.

Because they all remember it now—the details they chose to ignore in their anger. They remember the way your voice shook when you pleaded with them. They remember the way your hands trembled when you held Hyunjin’s phone.

The way you kept saying I didn’t do this—over and over, like if you said it enough times, they’d finally believe you.

But they didn’t.

Chan exhales sharply. “We fix this.”

Jeongin shakes his head slowly. “You can’t just ‘fix’ something like that, Hyung. You don't just glue that kind of trust back together.”

“I know,” Chan says, quieter now. “But we have to try.”

Because now, they finally understand. It was never about whether you were innocent or guilty. It was about the fact that when things got hard, they didn't believe you.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You don’t come back that night.

Or the next night.

Or the one after that.

Every single day that passes without your presence in the dorm feels like a punishment. Your bedroom door stays closed, a silent barrier that none of them dare to cross. Your things remain untouched on the shelves—your favorite mug in the cupboard, your shoes by the door—and your absence becomes a physical thing, louder and more intrusive than any noise you ever made.

It’s four days later when the front door finally clicks open.

You step inside cautiously, moving like a stranger in a house you've lived in for years. You’re careful, quiet, keeping your shoulders hunched as if you’re trying to take up as little space as possible.

It’s the movement of someone who doesn't quite feel like they belong anymore.

Eight heads turn immediately.

The tension is instant.

“Hey,” Chan says, standing up too quickly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t move fast enough.

You give a small nod. “Hi.”

That’s it. No smile. No warmth. Just a polite, distant greeting that hurts more than if you had walked in screaming at them.

Felix is the first one to bridge the gap. He walks toward you slowly, his hands held out slightly as if he’s approaching something fragile that might shatter at the slightest vibration.

“You’re back…”

“Just to grab some things,” you reply softly.

The words land like a physical punch to the gut of everyone in the room.

“Things?” Changbin repeats, panic flickering in his voice. “You’re… leaving?”

You hesitate for a second, and that hesitation says more than a thousand words ever could.

“No,” Chan says quickly, stepping closer. “No, you’re not—we’re not letting it end like that. Please… just talk to us.”

Your grip tightens on your bag.

“I don’t really know what there is to talk about.”

Minho flinches at the coldness in your tone. Seungmin looks down at his hands, unable to face you. Hyunjin finally finds his feet and steps forward, his voice quieter and more broken than they’ve ever heard it.

“We’re sorry.”

You don’t respond, so he keeps going, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked at you like that. We shouldn’t have assumed the worst. You didn’t deserve that.”

Jisung runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated—with himself. “I said things I didn’t mean. I was angry and I took it out on you, and that’s not—there’s no excuse for that.”

“I avoided you,” Felix adds, his voice breaking. “Even when I knew something felt off. I’m so sorry…”

Jeongin steps closer, eyes glossy. “I didn’t defend you. I just stayed quiet. That’s on me too.”

Seungmin exhales shakily. “I pride myself on being rational, but I wasn’t. I hurt you.”

Minho finally looks at you—really looks at you. There’s something raw and bleeding in his expression now.

“I said you just wanted attention,” he mutters, the words tasting like ash. “That was… messed up. You’ve never been that person. I knew that in my heart, and I just… I chose to ignore it.”

All of them owning every look, every word, and every silence.

No excuses about the stress of the comeback. No deflecting onto the intern.

Just pure, unadulterated guilt.

And Chan steps in front of you last. His voice is the quietest of all. “I should’ve believed you. More than anyone else in this world, I should have been the one standing in front of you.”

That’s the one that cracks something in your chest.

Because he’s right.

Out of all of them—the leader, the one who calls you family more than anyone—he should have known.

“I trusted evidence more than I trusted you,” he continues, eyes shining. “And that’s not what a leader does. That’s not what someone who cares about you does.”

A heavy silence settles over the dorm. All eyes are on you, waiting. You swallow hard, feeling the lump in your throat.

“…I get why you were upset,” you say slowly. “The situation was bad. I understand that.”

Relief flickers across a few faces but it fades just as quickly when you continue.

“But you didn’t just get upset,” you add, voice tightening. “You decided it was me. Immediately.”

No one interrupts. Because they can’t.

“You didn’t even hesitate.”

Your hands tremble slightly, but you keep going.

“I kept telling you I didn’t do it. I was right there, and none of you believed me.”

You don’t stop.

“I felt like I was begging just to be trusted. And that’s…” you shake your head. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Chan looks like he’s about to reach out, to say something, but you take a small step back. Just a few inches. That tiny movement says everything.

“I forgive you,” you say.

They all freeze.

“But I don’t feel okay yet.”

The words are soft and painfully honest. They’re somehow heavier than anger.

“I don’t think I can just… go back to normal like nothing happened.”

Minho clenches his jaw, his eyes dropping to the floor. Hyunjin looks away, his shoulders shaking. Changbin nods slowly, accepting the weight of your words even though it clearly hurts him to hear them.

“That’s fair,” Chan says. “You don’t have to.”

You shift your bag on your shoulder.

“I’m not leaving the group,” you add quietly. “But… I need time.”

No one argues. They don’t have the right to demand anything from you anymore.

“Take all the time you need,” Seungmin says gently.

Felix wipes his tears. “We’ll wait.”

Changbin nods. “We’ll do better.”

Jeongin gives you a small, shaky smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Minho just mutters, “We’ll prove we’re worth trusting again.”

Chan steps back, giving you space this time.

“We’re not giving up on you,” he says softly. “Even if you need distance… we’ll be here.”

You nod, but you don’t move closer to them. Not yet.

And they notice that too.

The way you linger near the edges.

The way your voice stays careful and guarded.

The way you look at them like you’re measuring every word, every action like you’re walking on eggshells around people who were once your safest place.

It hurts.

But they don’t rush you.

They don’t demand hugs or smiles or forgiveness.

They just—try.

Small things at first.

Gentler voices when they speak to you. Softer approaches when they enter a room you're in. They check in without pushing for an answer. They give you all the space in the world, while making sure you never actually feel alone.

Because they know now that trust isn’t something you say sorry for.

It’s something you rebuild, brick by brick, day by day.

And this time, they’re not letting it break again.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

⤷ ゛ TAGLIST ˎˊ˗

Lee Felix

Kim Seungmin

Yang Jeongin

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