LJR

So I almost forgot to post this, but thank you all for being patient with me. Also yes this is another multi-part series. If somone could actually help me to create a master list, I WOULD LOVE YOU.

W/C: 2.5K

Themes: Slow AF burn...

The sky was the color of an old bruise, and London was doing that thing where the rain commits but the people don’t. Umbrellas half-open, shoulders hunched, eyes on screens. I was balanced between two lives and two cardboard trays of milk, trying to keep both from tipping.

I’d told Yasmina’s pastry chef I could grab last-minute supplies for tomorrow’s pop-up. “It’ll be easy, Y/N,” she’d said. “Ten minutes. In and out.” Ten minutes, my arse. I’d added oat, almond, a stack of compostable lids, and a second tray of semi-skim because I can’t not overprepare. The bar codes weren’t scanning, my phone died at checkout, and the rain was now biblical. Classic.

I cut under a low awning and nearly collided with a glass door plastered with a discreet sign: NORTH BANK STUDIOS — AFTER HOURS ENTRY. Warm light pooled inside. Music bled through the walls, a heartbeat I could feel in my wrists.

The tray slipped. I saved the milk, sacrificed my dignity, and thunked my head softly against the door, laughing at how ridiculous I must look: drowning rat, dead phone, armful of dairy.

The door clicked.

“Careful.”

His voice was smoke and gravel, the kind of gentle that makes you exhale. A palm appeared, steadying the edge of the tray. I looked up into eyes that held too many midnights.

“Thanks.” I wobbled a smile. “Sorry. I’m fine. Mostly. This is just… heavier than it looks.”

He held the door open, rain dots jeweled on his hoodie. There was a familiar curve to his mouth, a kindness that felt like déjà vu. I knew him the way you know a song you’ve played to hold yourself together.

“You’re soaked,” he said. Not accusing, just observing, like he collected details the way other people collected receipts. “You can wait inside. Dry off.”

“It’s okay—” I started, which is what you say when it’s not okay. The rain flung another sheet at the pavement, and the city answered with a hiss. “Okay. Maybe a minute.”

The lobby was warm, humming with the kind of sleepy electricity that belongs to places that invent things at unreasonable hours. He shook his hood back. Brown curls clung to his forehead. Those eyes again, careful and bright.

“Do you work here?” I asked.

He smiled like he chose his smiles. “Sometimes.” The word had a dozen rooms inside it. “Got a session upstairs. Do you need a towel or—”

“I’ll drip respectfully in this corner,” I said, and he laughed, and it felt like finding a light switch in a strange room.

We shuffled an awkward dance with the trays and a lopsided umbrella. He shrugged off his hoodie and handed it to me without thinking it through. I took it without pretending I would refuse.

“I’m Y/N,” I said into the fabric, which smelled like laundry and rain and something warm that had a beat.

“Chan,” he said.

The name hit me like a soft shock I had been expecting. Of course it’s you. I didn’t say it. I didn’t say I had worked entire morning shifts to a playlist that knew his voice better than I knew half my coworkers. I didn’t say I had once steadied my breathing to a song he’d produced in a Tesco queue when the world was loud. I just nodded. “Nice to meet you, sometimes-works-here Chan.”

“Nice to meet you, armful-of-dairy Y/N.” His grin tilted. “Do you need help carrying this somewhere?”

I did. Pride is a funny shape. “I’m dropping it at a café two blocks over,” I said. “But I’ll wait for the rain to lose interest.”

He glanced at the glass, where water streaked like melted graphite. “It won’t,” he said softly, like a prophecy.

We stood in the lobby with the rain as a metronome. Somewhere above us, a bass line kicked and retreated. He shifted, like he was fighting the gravity of upstairs and the gravity of here.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Depends on the something.”

He nodded at the trays. “Why do you look like someone gave you a list and a deadline and a dare?”

“Because they did.” I peeled his hoodie off my damp shoulders, folding it like reverence. “New café-gallery hybrid. We open early, close late. We’re either a brilliant idea or a very shiny car crash. Tonight I’m in-charge-of-milk-girl.”

“I’ve been in-charge-of-milk-boy,” he said, sincerity under the joke. “It’s a sacred duty.”

We fell into the kind of conversation that feels like you’re both reaching for the same shelf. He asked good questions and listened to the answers like they mattered. He didn’t offer solutions. He didn’t fill the silence with facts about himself. He was the kind of quiet that opens doors.

My phone, long dead, sat like a useless pebble in my pocket. His buzzed on the lobby desk, cruel timing. He glanced at the screen, thumb paused, jaw tightens-neutral. Then he looked back at me like he’d decided what to choose and would regret either.

“You should go,” I said gently. “The studio will start sending search parties.”

“They’ll live.” He leaned his forearms on the desk, eyes a warm, steady thing. “You remind me of—” He cut himself off, shook his head. “Never mind.”

“I’ll take the compliment I’m pretending that was,” I said, and he huffed a laugh.

Outside, the rain slackened to merely malicious.

“I can carry one tray,” he offered, already moving like it was decided.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.” He picked up the heavier one, easy. “Come on, in-charge-of-milk-girl. Let’s outrun the weather.”

We did our ridiculous jog-walk down the street, both laughing when a taxi sent a tidal wave over our trainers. The café was sleeping behind its shutters, but the side door took my key and the alarm accepted my code on the second try. We slipped inside, the quiet stretching around us, a skeletal city of chairs on tables.

I set the tray down in the walk-in and came back to find him tracing the chalkboard menu with his eyes, cataloguing. He didn’t touch anything. He didn’t have to.

“You’re good at pretending to belong everywhere,” I said, leaning against the counter to keep my heart from doing something reckless.

He tilted his head. “And you’re good at making everywhere feel like it belongs to you.”

The compliment landed low and warm and terrifying. I looked down. The minute stretched; the air changed shape. Thunder rolled somewhere distant, like a reminder.

He cleared his throat first. “I should… get back.”

“Right.” The word tasted like too many things. I folded his hoodie again, palms smoothing fabric I didn’t want to give back. “Thank you. For rescuing me from my poor life choices.”

“Anytime.” He took the hoodie, thumb brushing the seam my hand had just left. My skin remembered it. “If you ever need—” He stopped, and the sentence hung like a bridge over a canyon. “Never mind. You’ll be fine.”

The door chime was too bright when he left. I watched him through the narrow pane as he pulled his hood up and melted into the midnight city like a secret.

I told myself that was the end, which is exactly how beginnings like to be treated.

—

Chan

He didn’t believe in omens. He believed in drafts and deadlines and the way songs hide under the floorboards until you learn how to listen. Still, he wore the memory of her like a fresh bruise on the inside of his elbow—a place no one sees unless you roll up your sleeves.

Back upstairs, the studio air was warm with stale hope and coffee. The boys were fussing with a synth patch that wouldn’t behave. He slid his headphones on, eyes on the screen, ears on the room, mind on the lobby.

“Where’d you disappear to?” Jisung asked around a mouthful of crisps.

“Lobby,” Chan said, which was true and not enough.

Minho squinted. “You get rained on?”

“Hydrated,” Chan said, because he could dodge like anyone raised on schedules and expectations. “What’ve you got?”

They had a chorus that wanted to be bigger and a verse that didn’t know how to get out of its own way. He stretched the session open on the monitor, fingers already moving. Work is a good lie, a holy delay.

But then he heard it—the cadence of the way she’d said I’ll drip respectfully in this corner. The dry humor of it. The way she carved a pocket of warmth out of a fluorescent lobby. He imagined that voice on a late-night interlude, unadorned, holding up the scaffolding of a song. He shook his head like you shake off a dream.

“Hyung,” Felix said softly from the couch. “You’re somewhere else.”

“I’m exactly where I should be,” Chan said. He focused. He found the bass line’s spine and straightened it, coaxed the drums until they tucked under like a heartbeat. The room shifted from fussing to nodding. There it was—proof that you could make order from static if you were stubborn and tired enough.

Still, the rain kept tapping the window, like a question that wouldn’t leave.

On his break he texted the group chat about logistics and ate a protein bar he didn’t taste. He opened Notes, typed armful-of-dairy girl and deleted it. He typed Louize and deleted it faster. He closed his eyes and let the city’s steam blur into a pad that might one day be a song.

In the reflection on the dark monitor he saw himself looking like someone who had almost said If we were different people and swallowed it.

He didn’t believe in omens. He believed in choices. He told himself he had made one.

—

At home, I hung his presence beside my door like a coat I couldn’t quite put away. I brewed tea too strong, put it down, forgot where, found it beside my keys only when the kettle started a second time. My playlist shuffled itself into a memory palace I wasn’t ready to wander.

Sleep was a polite idea that never arrived. I lay in the quiet and counted reasons to forget him:

He was busy enough on a Tuesday night to hold a building’s heartbeat.

I didn’t belong in that world.

I didn’t have room for something that would ask more of me than I could give right now.

I added a fourth—He didn’t ask—and ignored the way my chest pushed back against it.

By 3 a.m. I gave up and did what I do when I don’t know what to do: I cleaned. The small flat softened under lamplight and lemon spray. I wiped down the kitchen tiles like confession. I pressed my palm to the window and felt the city purr.

On the counter, my dead phone was a dark coin. I plugged it in. When it blinked back to life, the screen filled with the ordinary chaos of work threads and delivery updates and a message from Michelle that said, u alive or swimming? I typed, met a man made of storm and studio lighting and didn’t send it.

I didn’t take selfies, not of this, but I caught my reflection in the black glass of the microwave: hair frizzed into a halo by the rain, eyes too awake, mouth a secret.

“I am not doing this,” I told the reflection. It looked unconvinced.

When I finally folded myself into bed, sleep came like a delivery driver who’d gotten the address wrong and decided to drop it off anyway. In that thin space right before dreams, I heard the door chime and saw a hoodie on a countertop, folded like a promise.

—

Chan

Morning makes decisions on your behalf. He ran, like he did when words were too loud, the city yawning into daylight around him. He tried to leave the lobby in the lane, on the bridge, at the traffic light. It trotted obediently at his heel.

At the studio, he opened a blank session and named it NBS_LateLobby_01 because you don’t name the thing after a person. That’s how you lose it. That’s how you risk it.

He built a bed of soft percussion like rain against glass, let synths bloom and recede like passing headlights. He kept the drums close to the chest. He left space—negative, aching space—for a voice that might never arrive.

Halfway through the morning, he paused and looked at the hoodie draped over the back of his chair. He hadn’t worn it back; he hadn’t needed it. He checked the pocket—habit—and found nothing but the clean shape of absence.

The boys trickled in, faces in varying stages of awake. Coffee appeared. The room took its breath.

“Hey,” Seungmin said, casual, fatal. “Who’s NBS_LateLobby_01?”

“No one,” Chan said too quickly. He tried again. “Something.”

“Ohhh, something,” Jisung sing-songed, because friends can smell blood in the water. “Is something five foot seven, rain-slick, and in possession of very large milk responsibilities?”

Chan didn’t look up from the screen. “Finish the bridge.”

They did, because work is church and he was still the one holding the keys. But under the chords there was a ghost of a laugh that sounded like a woman choosing joy while soaked to the skin.

He didn’t believe in omens.

He looped the track. He listened to the empty space and thought, unhelpfully, about a chalkboard menu and a pair of eyes that looked like staying and leaving at the same time.

There are a thousand ways to not call a person. He picked all of them.

—

Daylight turned the café into a living thing. We lifted chairs, rolled pastry into patience, set out saucers like a ceremony. I wrote today’s special: maple toast, extra napkins for your feelings on the chalkboard because it made us smile. Because some days you have to admit what the food is for.

Mid-morning, a courier dropped a small box at the back door—no return label, no sender. Inside, wrapped in tissue, was a neat stack of compostable cup sleeves printed with the words borrowed quiet and a tiny waveform, like the outline of a heartbeat.

No note.

I ran my finger along the waveform, felt silly, felt seen. I set the sleeves on the counter and told the team, “a friend made these.” The lie tasted sweet and careful.

When the lull hit, the room went soft around the edges. I wiped the counter, then wiped it again. In the thick of nothing, the bell over the door shivered. I turned with a smile I hadn’t decided to wear yet.

It wasn’t him.

Of course it wasn’t. My heart learned something about gravity, and my mouth learned something about customer service.

But half an hour later, when I went to restock the milk, I found a folded hoodie on the shelf I never used, a note tucked into the cuff like a secret.

Thanks for the shelter. — C

I pressed the paper to my palm and felt it like a pulse.

“Okay,” I said to the stainless steel, to the humming fridge, to the quiet that wasn’t empty anymore. “Okay.”

I didn’t believe in omens either. I believed in openings.

I'm afraid this isn't the Bang Chan fic.... It's still in the works, but I wanted to share this little one-shot, that I literally sent over whatsapp to a mutual. Let me know your thoughts.

W/C : Unknown...

It is a Y/N fic but reader is female, no other descriptions given

Warnings: Fluff, Chaos, Smut between the lines.

It started with tequila. It always started with tequila. Y/N and Cait had promised each other: just one drink. But by 10 p.m. Y/N was at the bar, slamming her card down with a grin that could light up the club. “FOUR TEQUILAS. NOW. No arguments!” Cait groaned but knocked hers back anyway, giggling into Y/N’s shoulder as the music thumped through the floor. The two of them laughed so loud half the bar turned to look — including two men who hadn’t taken their eyes off them since they walked in.

Sharp smiles. Dark hair. A confidence that parted the crowd as they crossed the floor. “You celebrating something?” one asked, voice smooth. “Life,” Y/N shot back, shoving a shot glass into his hand. “Drink.” And just like that, they weren’t strangers anymore.

The taller one stuck to Y/N like a magnet. His gaze never wavered, sharp but warm, and he matched her shot for shot, smirk tugging at his lips every time she demanded another round. Cait clicked instantly with the younger one — shy at first, then grinning, tugging her onto the dance floor where they melted into each other, bodies pressed tight.

From there, everything blurred.

Hands on hips. Mouths against throats. A cab ride where Y/N ended up straddling her guy’s lap, kissing him like oxygen. Cait tangled up in the other’s arms, laughing into his hair.

And then the hotel. Between the lines.

Y/N slammed against the wall, dress tugged up her thighs, his mouth hot and demanding against hers. She gasped as fabric tore — her dress ripped in his hands. “You’re—” she cursed against his lips, but his teeth grazed her neck and her complaint dissolved into a moan.

They tumbled onto the bed. Skin against skin, nails dragging down backs, breathless curses swallowed into messy kisses. He moved with a surety that had her arching, gasping his name into the dark. Again, again, again until she was ruined, laughter breaking between gasps when he teased her for trying to out-drink him.

Cait was muffled laughter and tangled limbs in the next room, her voice rising and falling with Jeongin’s deeper tones.

By the time exhaustion pulled Y/N under, she was tangled in his arms, sweaty and sore, his lips still pressed lazily against her temple.

Morning.

Her head throbbed. Her mouth was dry. Y/N groaned, rolling over — and hit warm skin. Her eyes fluttered open. And her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t a stranger beside her. It was Seungmin. Kim. Freaking. Seungmin.

Her blood turned to ice. He stirred, lids heavy, lips tugging into a lazy smile. “Morning.”

Y/N bolted upright, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Oh my god.” Her phone buzzed on the carpet. She scrambled for it, unlocking with shaky hands.

Cait [8:02am]: Y/N. holy sh*t. it’s I.N. Cait [8:03am]: I woke up next to JEONGIN. Cait [8:04am]: what do we do??

Y/N froze. Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the phone. She looked at the man now smirking at her from the bed, eyes dark with amusement. “You’re—you’re—” she stammered. “Kim Seungmin,” he supplied easily, stretching. His gaze dragged down to where her ruined dress lay in shreds on the floor. “Good morning.” “This can’t—this isn’t—” He smirked, leaning forward, tugging her gently back onto the mattress. His lips brushed her temple, deliberately slow. “You weren’t saying that last night.”

Her cheeks flamed.

The adjoining door creaked. Cait stumbled in, pale, swimming in a hoodie that wasn’t hers. Jeongin trailed behind, looking smug as ever.

The four of them froze. Then Y/N hissed, “We need to leave. Now.” “Wearing what?” Seungmin’s smirk widened. He nodded at the shredded dress. “Not that.”

Panic surged. Cait tugged her sleeves down. “We can’t wear their clothes either — fans know everything. Every hoodie, every cap, every sneaker. If we step out in their stuff, we’re caught.” For once, even Jeongin didn’t have a comeback.

That was when the door burst open. Chan. Minho. Han. Felix. Hyunjin. Changbin. All of them.

They froze in the doorway. Y/N in sheets, Cait in a hoodie, Seungmin bare-chested, Jeongin grinning like an idiot. “NO WAY,” Han screamed, doubling over. Hyunjin collapsed instantly, shrieking. Felix gasped so hard it sounded painful. Minho’s grin turned feral. “Ohhh, this is too good.” Chan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do I even try.”

“Stop staring!” Y/N yelped, cheeks blazing, clutching the sheets tighter. Then Minho’s eyes flicked to Cait’s wrist. The neon-green concert wristband.

He pointed like a detective cracking the case. “They’re fans. THEY’RE FANS.”

The room exploded. “With FANS?!” “IN A HOTEL ROOM?!” “SEUNGMIN, DID YOU RIP HER DRESS?!” “JEONGIN, YOU?!”

The shouting was deafening.

Seungmin, infuriatingly calm, slipped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, tugging her into him. He kissed her hair with a smug grin. The boys screamed louder.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, Minho pulled a phone from his pocket. Y/N’s phone. “Looking for this?” he teased. Her blood ran cold. “No. Give it back.”

He unlocked it with ease. “Pattern lock? Child’s play.” Before she could snatch it, the first video lit up the TV.

Y/N at the bar, slamming her card down. “FOUR TEQUILAS, NOW!” The boys howled. Seungmin chuckled.

Next clip: Cait and Jeongin on the dance floor, messy, kissing and laughing. Han screamed, “OUR MAKNAE?!” Then: Y/N dragging Seungmin into a cab, climbing into his lap, his hands gripping her like he’d never let go.

Felix screamed into a cushion. Hyunjin was on the carpet again. Chan muttered something about quitting. Y/N lunged for the phone. “DELETE IT!” Minho dodged, grinning. “No way. This is blackmail forever.”

Finally, Y/N snapped. “Listen! It was a mistake. A one-time thing. That’s it.” Cait nodded fiercely. “One time only.”

The room fell quiet. Every eye swung to Seungmin and Jeongin. Seungmin leaned back, gaze fixed on Y/N. His voice was steady, sure. “Not one time.” Jeongin’s grin sharpened, arm snaking casually around Cait’s shoulders again. “Definitely not.”

The girls’ protests caught in their throats. The boys roared, chaos exploding all over again.

The hotel room looked like a backstage wardrobe exploded. Hoodies, caps, scarves, and masks piled high while the boys bickered. “She should wear staff sweats,” Felix said, rifling through a bag. “Fans know staff fits too,” Chan argued. “Bedsheet couture,” Hyunjin announced, holding up a duvet. “Denied,” Y/N shot back. “Laundry cart,” Minho offered, smug. “Over my dead body,” Cait muttered.

Y/N sighed, glaring at the ripped dress on the carpet. “We’ll make this easy. I’ll wear whatever, and Cait and I will walk out on our own. Nobody will care about two random girls.” “Exactly,” Cait agreed. “Head down, masks up, done.”

Seungmin tossed a folded hoodie and joggers into Y/N’s lap. “Mine.” The room gasped. Han screamed. Felix went pink. “She’s not—” Y/N began, but Cait cut her off with a smirk. “It’s fine. She already owns the Giants jersey anyway.”

The noise doubled. “She WHAT?!” “HOW LONG HAS—” “Y/N IN HIS CLOTHES?!”

“Enough!” Y/N yanked the hoodie over her head, the joggers cinched at her waist. Cap, mask, sliders. Invisible. Cait matched her in shapeless black layers, both of them unrecognisable. “We’re leaving,” Y/N said firmly. “Alone.”

“Updates,” Chan demanded. “Constant updates.”

A buzz lit up Y/N’s phone.

NO SCANDALS 🔕 (please try) Minho added you. Minho added Cait.

Y/N groaned. “You didn’t.” Cait muttered, “We’re doomed.”

The chat blew instantly. Han: live feed starts NOW 📡 Hyunjin: fugitives on the run 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ Felix: pls pls be safe 🥺 Changbin: eat carbs when u get back. Jeongin: Cait :) Seungmin: Y/N. mine looks better on you. Y/N: leaving. normal. no one cares. Cait: told you. invisible.

The girls slipped through the lobby unnoticed, then out into the cool morning air. The van with the boys inside peeled away in the opposite direction.

From then on, the boys were blind.

At the station, Y/N typed quickly. Y/N: just walked past 3 girls in skz hoodies w/ bubble tea. none of them looked twice. Felix: oh thank god 😭 Han: RANDOM STAYS IN THE WILD Hyunjin: what flavour bubble tea?? 👀 Minho: focus.

Cait added: Cait: guy at Pret had skz ringtone. he dropped his sandwich when it rang. The chat detonated. Han: HAHAHA NO WAY Changbin: which song?? Cait: thunderous. nearly dropped myself laughing.

On the train, Y/N leaned into the window, typing as two uni students scrolled SKZ edits across the aisle. Y/N: across from us—stays watching ur tiktoks. Hyunjin: STOP 😭😭😭 Han: do they look happy? are they laughing? Y/N: crying at the slowmo fancams. Felix: 🥺 tell them thank you?? Cait: yes bc “hi we’re undercover fugitives” will go great.

By the time they changed trains, dusk was falling. Y/N tapped into the chat again. Y/N: station billboard w/ ur faces. Cait nearly walked into it. Cait: sabotage. Han: LMAO SHE WOULD Hyunjin: pls send pics 😏 Y/N: absolutely not. Seungmin: …but you’re looking.

Y/N shoved her phone back into her pocket, cheeks hot.

Finally, the door to Y/N’s flat clicked shut behind them. Safe. No screaming fans, no photos, no chase. Just silence.

Their phones buzzed one last time. Felix: made it?? 🥺 Cait: safe. sofa. tea on. Y/N: told you. 2 random girls. invisible. Han: BORING. wanted scandal. Hyunjin: still cinematic tho Chan: I can breathe again. Minho: archived all msgs btw. Jeongin: Cait text me. Seungmin: Y/N. mine next time too.

So as some of you know, I based my first fic off a dream I had a few months ago, that being said I HAVE SO MANY MORE IDEAS..... but I wanna know who you wanna read for. So heres a poll for the next fic..

SS: 8

Here we go guys, @skzusos I'm sorry.......

Anyway, this is the finale, and the heartbreak, I actually cried writing this.....

Themes: Angst, Mental Health, Spirals, Sadness

W/C : 12K

The hallway felt like a tightrope, with every step you took threatening to send you spiraling. The air was cold now, suffocatingly so, despite the warmth of the building, and each breath you took felt like it was being ripped from your lungs. You couldn’t even look at Seungmin anymore, not with the truth hanging between you like a shadow, and the realization that everything had changed.

He stood there, his face pale, lips trembling, but it wasn’t anger that twisted his expression. It was disbelief. Pain. A grief that was raw and unfiltered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was hoarse, shaking as though he was struggling to keep his composure. His fists clenched at his sides, his body rigid, but you could see the pain in his eyes. It was like everything had just crumbled around him, and all he could do was stand there, staring at the reality that had been hidden from him for so long.

The words cut through you like a knife, sharper than anything he could have said before. You had prepared yourself for anger, for accusations, but not this. Not the way his voice cracked with raw emotion, the way he was looking at you as though you had just destroyed him with the truth.

“I... I didn’t want this,” you whispered, feeling your chest tighten. The tears you had been holding back for so long finally began to fall, unstoppable. “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

He looked at you like you had just shattered everything he thought he knew. His eyes flicked to the ground, fists still trembling, but there was no rage anymore. Just heartbreak.

“I didn’t even know you were pregnant,” he said, his voice trembling, though his words were quieter now. He stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “We... we barely knew each other. That night was... a mistake. I didn’t even know you after that. And now... now I find out you’ve been carrying my child for months?”

You flinched, the sting of his words cutting deeper than you had expected. But he wasn’t wrong. The truth had come out in the most unexpected, painful way possible.

“I didn’t want to drag you into this,” you said, your voice breaking. “I didn’t want you to have to carry this... this burden. I thought if I kept it hidden, if I kept it to myself, maybe it wouldn’t have to be your problem.” You swallowed, tears blurring your vision. “I never expected you to come back into my life, Seungmin. I never thought you'd be... here.”

His gaze softened for a moment, but then it hardened again. He took a step closer, his face inches from yours now, the pain so evident in his eyes that it made your heart ache.

“You should have told me,” he said, his voice trembling. “You should have told me then. I would’ve been there. I would’ve... I could’ve helped you, both of you. I could’ve been there, but now... now it’s like everything’s too late.”

He looked away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The tears that had been building up in his eyes finally fell, but they didn’t have the relief of release—only the sorrow of regret. “I should’ve known. I should’ve been there for you, for him, from the beginning.”

You stepped back, your heart breaking all over again as you watched him crumble, just like you had. But there was no going back now. There was no rewind to undo the damage, no way to unhear the things that had been said.

“I thought I could protect you,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I thought if I carried this alone, maybe it would be easier. For you. For everyone.”

Seungmin’s hands balled into fists at his sides again, his body trembling with the force of it. “You think that protects me? Keeping me in the dark like this? You think I’m some kind of stranger?” His voice broke, and this time, he didn’t try to hide it. His eyes were red-rimmed, the pain and betrayal raw on his face. “You’ve stolen everything from me. Eleven months. Eleven months I could’ve been there for him. Eleven months I could’ve been a father... and you’ve stolen that. You’ve taken my time away from me.”

Each word hit you harder than the last. You wanted to tell him that you never meant for this to happen. You wanted to explain that it wasn’t about hiding him, about keeping him away from Seungmin. It was about protecting him from the fallout of your choices, of your mistakes. But in the end, you had failed in every way possible.

“I was terrified, Seungmin,” you said, the words coming out in gasps. “Terrified of losing you. Terrified of what this could do to you, to me. To us. I thought if I kept him hidden, kept the truth hidden, I could keep you safe. I could keep him safe.” Your voice broke on the last word.

But Seungmin wasn’t listening anymore. He shook his head, backing away from you, his face a mask of anguish and disbelief. “And now, I’m the one who’s been kept in the dark. You thought you were protecting me, but all you’ve done is ruin everything. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. It wasn’t the anger anymore, not really—it was the realization that he could never look at you the same way again. That everything you had built, even this fragile connection, had been shattered beyond repair.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words escaping from you like air leaking from a balloon. “I’m so sorry.”

But Seungmin didn’t hear you. Or maybe he couldn’t. He was already backing away, his hands raised in defeat. “I can’t do this, (Y/N). I can’t do this with you. Not after everything. Not after what you’ve kept from me.” He turned toward the door, his voice softer now, but the hurt still there. “I can’t be a part of this. Not anymore.”

And with that, he was gone. The door slammed behind him, leaving you alone in the silence of your own making, with the broken pieces of what could have been.

And you knew, in that moment, it was over.

There was no going back.

The silence that followed Seungmin’s departure was almost suffocating. The weight of his words lingered in the air, suffocating every breath you tried to take. You stood there in the dim light of the hallway, your hands shaking, your chest tight with the heavy burden of everything that had just been said.

You barely heard the door to the apartment open, the shuffle of footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. It wasn’t until a voice, low and careful, cut through the stillness that you finally lifted your head.

“(Y/N)?”

It was Chan. His voice, usually so steady, was now laced with the same confusion and grief that seemed to hang in the air. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to see you like this.

Chan stepped closer, his presence a quiet comfort, but his cautious steps revealed that even he didn’t know how to approach you anymore. He was still processing the storm of revelations, still trying to make sense of everything that had just unfolded. But he wasn’t leaving you alone. Not like Seungmin.

“You okay?” His words were soft, tentative. But you could hear the weight of them—he wasn’t asking if you were fine anymore. He was asking if you could even breathe.

You shook your head, but the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat, lodged in the back of your mouth, too heavy to escape. Instead, you just took a shuddering breath, unwilling to face him, unwilling to face anyone right now.

Chan didn’t press. He just stood there, waiting, like he always did. But this time, there was a hesitation in his stance that wasn’t there before. He was waiting for you to say something, to let him in, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t let anyone in. Not now. Not after everything that had just happened.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Chan took a careful step forward, his voice softer than before. “I’m here if you want to talk.”

You flinched at the offer. The softness of it, the understanding, it was too much. It was too much to accept, too much to bear. You didn’t want anyone’s comfort. Not now. Not when you could barely stand the weight of your own guilt.

“I don’t want your comfort,” you said, the words harsh, more biting than you intended. You didn’t look at him, couldn’t. “I don’t want anyone’s pity. I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me.”

Chan didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. He just stood there in the quiet, waiting, his eyes searching the back of your head, the rigid way you held yourself. His jaw tightened, like he was holding something back, and his voice, when it came, was quiet, almost defeated.

“I’m not pitying you,” he said, his words slow, careful. “I’m not trying to make you feel like this isn’t your fault, because I know it is. But... (Y/N), I know you’re breaking right now. I know you’re hurting. And I’m not leaving you to do it alone.”

You wanted to scream at him, to tell him that he didn’t know the depth of the pain you were feeling, the guilt that was eating you alive. But you couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. They were too tangled up in the shame you couldn’t escape, in the fear that had haunted you for so long.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you whispered, your voice breaking at the edges. “I don’t want to feel this anymore. I don’t want to feel anything.”

Chan stayed silent for a long moment. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the way he was taking everything in, everything you were trying so desperately to push away.

Then, gently, he took a step closer, his voice low. “You don’t have to talk. But you don’t have to do this by yourself. You don’t have to shut everyone out.”

You could hear the plea in his voice, the quiet desperation to reach you, to pull you out of the dark place you were retreating to. But it was too late. You had already dug yourself too deep into that hole. You didn’t want help. You didn’t deserve it.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice flat, detached. “Just leave me alone.”

Chan didn’t move. His face tightened, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. But there was no anger. No frustration. Just... sadness. He took one more step toward you, until he was standing just a few inches away, but he didn’t touch you. He didn’t try to pull you out of the shell you’d closed yourself into.

“I won’t leave,” he said softly, his voice steady, like it was a promise. “I’m not leaving you like this. No matter what you say, I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The words hung between you, heavy and real, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You felt the tears starting to well up again, but you didn’t want them to fall. Not now. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.

“Just go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Please. I need to be alone.”

Chan hesitated, his chest rising and falling in a heavy sigh. You could see the fight in his eyes, the struggle to give you what you needed, even if it tore him apart to leave you in this state. But after a moment, he stepped back, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll be right here if you change your mind,” he said, his voice a soft promise.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t turn to watch him walk away. You just stood there in the hallway, in the silence that felt like it was swallowing you whole.

And as he left, you finally let the tears fall, not caring anymore. They didn’t bring relief, didn’t take away the weight of the guilt, but for the first time in months, you allowed yourself to feel something other than the suffocating numbness you had built around yourself.

The truth had torn everything apart. And now, all you could do was wait for the pieces to fall into place—if they ever would.

The weight of the past few days had collapsed on you in a way you didn’t know how to fight. Every step felt heavier than the last, like you were trudging through quicksand, sinking deeper into a place you couldn’t escape. You hadn’t spoken to anyone since Seungmin left the apartment, and now the silence between you and the world seemed almost unbearable. But you couldn’t face them. Not yet. Not after everything that had been said.

Your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, the flashing notifications mocking you. Work, texts, missed calls, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart around you.

The one message you had to send was to Cait.

You stared at the screen for a long time before finally typing out a message that felt like the last thread of any connection to the outside world.

"Cait, I need you to watch Juni and Peter for a few days. I... I just need some time. I’m not okay. Please, can you take them?"

You hit send, and then turned the phone face down. It felt wrong, like you were abandoning everything and everyone you had fought so hard to protect. But you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything except the crushing weight of the truth you couldn’t escape.

You didn't wait for her reply.

You left. Completely. You turned off your phone, ignored the calls, and retreated from everything. From Stray Kids. From Cait. From your life. The spiral had started long before, but now it was consuming you whole.

You didn’t go to work, didn’t show up for any of your responsibilities. The days blurred together, a hazy, disconnected fog where nothing felt real. All that mattered was the noise in your head; the guilt, the fear, the confusion. Everything felt like it was collapsing, and you couldn’t stop it. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Seungmin’s face, the pain in his eyes when he realized the truth. And you couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear the shame.

Meanwhile, Cait was losing sleep, trying to figure out what was going on. She had agreed to take the kids, of course, but she hadn’t expected this. It was unlike you to just drop off the radar. To disappear without explanation.

Days passed, and still, there was no word. Juni and Peter were safe with her, but the questions mounted, where were you? Why weren’t you answering her calls or texts? She knew something had to have happened, something big, but she couldn’t figure out what. And when the news started trickling back to the dorm, she couldn’t help but wonder if the truth had finally broken you.

Stray Kids were starting to worry. They hadn’t seen or heard from you either. They hadn’t known anything was wrong until Chan had shown up at the dorm, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Cait,” he said, his voice tired, but steady. “We need to talk.”

She had been preparing dinner for the kids when he came in. Her smile faltered when she saw the look in his eyes, like he knew something she didn’t. Something that had clearly taken a toll on him too.

“What happened, Chan?” Cait asked, her voice a little shaky. “What’s going on? Why hasn’t (Y/N) shown up for work? Why hasn’t she... why hasn’t she contacted me?”

Chan ran a hand through his hair, his eyes heavy. “Cait, it’s... it’s about Seungmin.”

She stopped, her breath catching. “What about him?”

“Seungmin’s Peter’s dad,” Chan said quietly, his voice tight with the weight of the news. “The night in London. It wasn’t just a one-night stand. They... they’ve been hiding it all this time. (Y/N) didn’t want him to know, didn’t want anyone to know. She signed an NDA, tried to keep everything from blowing up, but now... now, Seungmin knows. And it’s breaking him.”

Cait’s heart stopped. “What?” she whispered, her hands shaking as she gripped the edge of the counter. “Seungmin... Peter’s dad?”

Chan nodded, his face drawn. “She hasn’t been okay, Cait. She’s spiraling. She hasn’t been to work. She hasn’t answered anyone. She’s gone off the grid. I’m worried about her.”

Cait’s breath hitched, her mind racing. Why wouldn’t she tell me? She had no idea how to process this, how to help when it felt like the ground was slipping out from under her too. She was supposed to be the one supporting you, but now... now everything felt like it was unraveling.

“Where is she?” Cait asked, her voice sharp with concern.

“I don’t know. I’ve tried calling, texting, but nothing. And Seungmin... He’s spitting venom about the news. He’s furious. But deep down, it’s clear that... he’s hurt. He’s hurt more than he’s letting on.”

“I don’t know how to help her,” Cait admitted, the tears brimming in her eyes. “She’s been holding all of this in for so long, and now she’s gone completely silent.”

“She’s not going to come back until she’s ready,” Chan said softly, his gaze distant. “But we can’t leave her like this. We can’t just sit back and let her sink further.”

Cait nodded, her mind racing, trying to piece together what had happened, what she could do. But all she knew was that you were slipping through her fingers, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

Back in the dorm, the others were grappling with the same heavy weight. The truth about Peter’s paternity was no longer a secret. They had all heard the news, and Seungmin’s venomous words still rang in their ears.

“He’s mine?” Seungmin had shouted in disbelief when he first learned, his hands shaking with anger and betrayal. “How the hell could she keep this from me? Why didn’t she tell me? Why was I kept in the dark?”

He had stormed off after that, but the rest of the members remained, each of them processing the news in their own way, each of them wondering how they could have missed something so significant. How could they have been so blind to the truth?

Seungmin, with his guilt and his rage, wasn’t making it any easier for anyone to help. He was angry—furious, even—but beneath that was a raw pain. The pain of lost time. Of knowing he could’ve been there for you, for Peter, but had never known. That kind of regret had no easy answers.

“Do you think she’ll come back?” Han asked, his voice a little quieter than usual. “Do you think she’ll ever let us in?”

“I don’t know,” Chan replied, his voice heavy. “But we can’t let her go through this alone.”

And as Cait stood in her kitchen, staring at her phone, the tears finally spilled over. You were still out there, slipping away from everyone who cared. And the fear of losing you, of not being able to pull you back, was growing with every passing moment.

She had to find a way to get through to you. Because if she didn’t, she feared you might never return.

Cait sat at the kitchen table, her phone pressed against her ear as she listened to Seungmin’s voice on the other end. His words were sharp, each one dripping with venom, and she could feel the anger radiating from him even through the phone.

“I can’t believe she did this,” Seungmin spat, his voice cold and bitter. “She kept this from me, from all of us. How could she hide something like this? I’ve spent months being the fool, thinking everything was fine—and now I find out that Peter—my son—is a secret she’s been carrying all along?”

Cait felt her stomach churn as she leaned back against the chair, trying to steady herself. Seungmin’s words were like daggers aimed straight at the heart, but she wasn’t going to let him continue like this. She wouldn’t let him tear down someone she considered family, even if it meant confronting the fury in his voice.

“Seungmin,” Cait said, her voice sharp, cutting through his tirade. “That’s enough. You don’t get to talk about her like that. You don’t get to tear her apart just because you’re angry and hurt. Yes, she kept the truth from you. But you have no idea what she’s been through. You have no idea what she’s had to carry for the past year.”

There was a long silence on the other end, and Cait could hear Seungmin’s sharp breaths as he processed her words. She could almost feel the tension building, the silent storm brewing before it erupted again. But Cait wouldn’t back down. Not now. Not when Seungmin’s anger was clouding his ability to see the bigger picture.

“I know you’re hurt, Seungmin,” Cait continued, her voice softening slightly, “but you have to understand something. You were never supposed to know. And I—” Cait paused, her throat tightening with the words she knew she had to say. “I didn’t even know you were Peter’s father until now. No one did. She kept it to herself for a reason.”

Seungmin scoffed, his voice dripping with disbelief. “What are you talking about? You didn’t know?”

“No,” Cait said firmly. “I didn’t know. She never told anyone, Seungmin. Not even me.” She took a deep breath before continuing, feeling the weight of her next words. “You have to understand. She’s not some... cold-hearted woman who wanted to hurt you. She did this to protect you. To protect Peter. And herself.”

Seungmin’s voice faltered for just a moment, but the anger was still there, simmering under the surface. “She should’ve trusted me. She should’ve told me. I would’ve been there for them.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Cait snapped, her patience wearing thin. “She was protecting you. You think this was easy for her? You think I wanted to push her into this? I pushed her to move to Seoul because I thought it would be better for her—better for all of us. But look at what happened.” Cait’s voice dropped to a whisper, filled with guilt. “I didn’t know what she’d been carrying. I didn’t know she was hiding Peter from everyone—especially you.”

Seungmin was silent for a long time, and Cait could almost feel the weight of her words sinking in. But she wasn’t done. She needed to make him understand. She needed him to see that everything that had happened wasn’t just about betrayal—it was about survival.

“You’re not the only one who’s been hurt in this,” Cait said quietly, her voice shaking with emotion. “You think this is just about you? She’s been carrying this guilt for months, not knowing how to tell you. Not knowing what to do. But you want to tear her down? You want to blame her for everything? She’s been living with this weight for so long, Seungmin. And now you want to add more guilt to it? It’s not fair.”

Another long pause. Cait could feel Seungmin on the other end, the tension palpable as he processed her words.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” Seungmin admitted, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know what to do with all of this. It’s too much.”

Cait leaned her forehead against the cool surface of the table, letting out a long breath. “I know it is. But you need to understand something. She’s not just some... random woman who lied to you. She’s someone who’s been through more than you know. You are not the only one who’s suffering from this, Seungmin.”

She paused, her thoughts swirling with the burden of everything she knew. She had pushed you to take the leap to Seoul, to start fresh, to leave behind the life you had been stuck in. But she never realized how deep the fear ran, how much you had been carrying all on your own.

“I didn’t know what she was going through,” Cait said softly, almost to herself. “I didn’t know how hard it was for her to hide Peter from you... from everyone. But I pushed her. I told her it would be okay to take this step, to be part of something bigger. And now I see what I’ve done... how I contributed to everything falling apart.”

Seungmin’s voice came through, softer now, but filled with the weight of his confusion. “So, you’re saying I’m supposed to... just understand? Just forget everything and let it go?”

“No,” Cait said, her voice firm again. “I’m not saying that. But I’m asking you to understand the why behind everything. I’m asking you to understand that this wasn’t about hurting you. This was about survival. And I... I think we all need to stop and look at everything that’s happened here before we start blaming each other.”

She let the silence linger for a moment before she finally spoke again. “I just wanted you to know. That’s all. She doesn’t deserve the venom you’re throwing at her, Seungmin. Not now.”

Seungmin was silent for a long time, the weight of her words still settling. But Cait knew that things couldn’t go back to the way they were. Not yet. There was too much pain, too much broken trust, and too many unspoken words to fix overnight. But maybe... maybe, just maybe, understanding could be the first step.

“You should talk to her,” Cait said quietly. “She’s not as strong as you think she is. She’s barely holding it together.”

Seungmin’s voice was barely a whisper, but it still carried the weight of everything he was feeling. “I’ll try. I don’t know if she’ll let me... but I’ll try.”

Cait ended the call, her heart heavy. She knew that the road ahead would be painful, for all of them—but she couldn’t fix it for them. She could only hope that somewhere along the way, there would be a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

But for now, all she could do was watch over the kids, waiting, hoping, and praying that somehow, someway, you would find your way back.

Seungmin had spent the past few days in a haze of frustration and disbelief. The weight of the truth, the anger, the betrayal, it had all swirled into a mess he couldn’t escape. But something else, too, gnawed at him. The realization that you were missing, that you had gone off the grid, didn’t sit right with him.

He couldn’t stay still. Not when you were out there, somewhere, drowning in whatever it was that had pushed you to shut everyone out. His heart twisted at the thought. He knew how much you hated the idea of being alone, how much you fought to protect your walls, but even then, this, this was different.

Every time he tried calling, you didn’t answer. Every text he sent was met with silence. Even the others had given up trying to get through. So, he did what he had to do. He searched.

The night he left the dorm, he didn’t say where he was going. He didn’t need to. He had a plan in his mind—he would search every street, every place you could possibly be. He started with the apartment complex, the place where you’d lived before everything fell apart. No one had seen you. No one knew where you had gone. The manager had confirmed you hadn’t checked out or moved out, but there was no sign of you.

Next, he searched through the cafes you used to frequent, the little bookstores you liked to wander through. He even went to the grocery store where he remembered you picking up your favorite brand of tea, hoping to see a trace of you. But it was the same story everywhere—empty, desolate. No one knew where you were.

Hours turned into days, and his frustration grew with each dead end. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t quiet the nagging fear that gnawed at his gut. Where had you gone? What had happened to make you disappear like this?

Back at the dorm, the boys were starting to get worried, too. They had all seen how the situation was affecting Seungmin, and though they had tried to reach out to you in their own ways, none of them had been able to make contact. Chan had called Cait, who was doing everything she could to keep the kids grounded, but even she was starting to crack under the strain.

“It’s been days, man,” Han said softly, breaking the silence one evening as the group gathered in the dorm. “She’s not answering. She’s gone off the grid. Have you tried calling her family? Maybe they know something.”

Seungmin shook his head, exhaustion evident in every line of his face. “I can’t. No one knows anything. I’ve checked everywhere. All the places she used to go... nothing. She’s gone.”

“I don’t think she’s even in Seoul anymore,” Felix added, his voice gentle but filled with uncertainty. “Maybe... maybe she left the country? It’s possible, right? Maybe she’s with family?”

Seungmin clenched his fists, the thought of you being that far away, completely unreachable, tearing at his insides. “No,” he said quietly, his voice filled with something deep, a quiet certainty he didn’t understand himself. “She wouldn’t leave the kids. Not for something like this. She wouldn’t go that far.”

The others exchanged confused glances, but none of them spoke up. Seungmin’s mind was racing, and deep down, he knew you weren’t that far away. He knew you wouldn’t run off to some distant place, away from Peter and Juni. The one thing that kept you tethered to this world, the one thing you had never let go of, was them.

“Where would she go then?” Chan asked, his voice hesitant. “She hasn’t contacted anyone. She hasn’t shown up for work. We’re running out of options.”

Seungmin shook his head, feeling the weight of the worry pressing against him. “I don’t care if she’s out of the country or if she’s hiding in some dark corner of Seoul. I know she’s not too far. She wouldn’t leave the kids.”

Felix gave him a quiet, understanding look. “So what are you going to do now?”

“I’m not stopping until I find her,” Seungmin said firmly, determination flooding his veins. “She’s out there somewhere, and I’m going to find her.”

The others didn’t argue. They all knew how deeply Seungmin cared, how much he had already sacrificed for the truth to come to light, even if it hurt. But now, with the weight of the past few days pushing him to the edge, it was clear he wasn’t going to stop until you were found.

“I’m going to start from scratch,” he added, his voice steely. “I’m going to hit every place again. Every street, every place she could be hiding. I’ll find her.”

As Seungmin left the dorm once again, his heart raced with determination. He wasn’t going to let you slip through the cracks. He wasn’t going to let this broken silence define what had been what could still be between you.

There was still so much that needed to be said, so much to untangle. But before any of that could happen, he had to find you.

Seungmin hadn’t stopped searching. Days blurred into nights, and the exhaustion was starting to weigh on him more heavily than he would admit. He couldn’t sit still. He couldn’t rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you, saw the pain in your eyes when the truth was revealed. It haunted him, the idea that you were somewhere, hurting alone, trying to make sense of the same mess they were all trapped in.

That night, after another round of failed searches another day of hitting dead ends, Seungmin returned to the dorm. His body felt heavy, like it was made of stone, but his mind wouldn’t let him rest. He had been to every place he thought you might be, asked everyone who might have seen you, and still, there was no sign. It was like you had vanished into thin air.

When he opened the door, the sound of a deep, ominous voice greeted him. The others were gathered in the living room, but he couldn’t tell exactly what was happening at first. It wasn’t until he got closer that he saw Han and Changbin sitting on the couch, their attention fixed on the screen.

“True crime?” Seungmin muttered, standing in the doorway.

Changbin glanced up, his eyes a little wide. “Yeah, it's actually pretty interesting. You should join us, Seungmin. It's about people vanishing without a trace...”

“Not in the mood,” Seungmin muttered, tossing his jacket on the chair as he flopped down on the couch. His eyes briefly flicked to the TV, catching a glimpse of the woman on screen—a missing person, her story being told in dramatic detail. The investigative tone of the documentary struck a chord, but not in the way he expected.

It hit him like a wave.

He hadn’t even considered hospitals.

His chest tightened as the realization set in. You had been under such immense stress, and with everything falling apart so quickly, he could see it now. If you had hurt yourself in any way, if you had sought refuge somewhere... there was a chance, just a chance, that you’d ended up at a hospital.

Seungmin’s heart pounded in his chest, the thought of you in pain pushing everything else aside. Without a word, he stood up abruptly, startling the others.

“I need to check the hospitals,” he said, his voice taut with urgency. “I’ll be back.”

Without waiting for any response, he grabbed his jacket again and was out the door, determination flooding his every step.

Back at Cait’s apartment, things weren’t any better. Peter and Juni were settled into a routine, but the air was thick with unanswered questions. Juni had become increasingly curious about where you were. They missed you—no one could deny that.

Every day, Juni would tug at Cait’s sleeve, asking the same question.

“When is mummy coming home?”

Each time, Cait would force a smile, crouch down to their level, and try to distract them with something else. But inside, the weight of the situation was starting to suffocate her.

She had pushed you to come to Seoul. She had encouraged you to take a fresh start, to leave behind the pain of the past and step into something better. But now, everything felt broken. The truth had come out, and Seungmin was furious. You were lost. And Cait... Cait didn’t know how to fix it. She hadn’t known the full extent of the pain you were carrying. She hadn’t realized the burden of the secret you were hiding, of the guilt that weighed you down.

Juni tugged at her arm again, looking up at her with big, innocent eyes. “Why doesn’t mummy come back, Cait? I miss her.”

Cait’s heart cracked as she held back tears. “I know, sweetie,” she said, her voice wavering. “We all miss her. But... she just needs some time to feel better. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

But even as she said the words, Cait knew they were a lie. You weren’t just taking time for yourself. You were lost; physically, emotionally, mentally. You were drowning in it, and Cait had no idea how to pull you back from the depths.

The guilt, the weight of her role in all of this, was suffocating her. She should’ve seen it, should’ve realized that pushing you into this new life, without giving you a chance to heal from everything that had come before, was more than you could handle. She had only made things worse. And now, every time she saw the kids' faces, especially Juni’s, she could feel that weight bearing down on her.

“Cait?” I.N’s voice from the doorway pulled her from her thoughts.

She turned to him, her eyes filled with silent apologies. “I don’t know what to do, I.N. I don’t know where she is, and I’m failing them both. I can’t even give them the answers they need.”

I.N moved into the room, his presence steady and grounding. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at her with understanding. He knew how much Cait carried how much she cared for you, for the kids. But there was no easy way to take away her guilt.

“I think we should try talking to Seungmin,” I.N suggested. “Maybe we can help him, and he can help us figure out where (Y/N) is. We’re all in this together.”

Cait nodded, the exhaustion clear in her eyes. She wasn’t ready to admit that she had no idea where to even start looking for you. But maybe together, they could at least give it a shot.

Seungmin drove from hospital to hospital, his hands tight on the wheel. He had been to all the major ones in Seoul by now, checking every name, every possible lead. But the hours stretched on, and still, no sign of you.

He felt like he was running in circles, chasing something that kept slipping out of his reach.

His phone buzzed as he sat in the parking lot of the last hospital on his list. It was a message from Chan.

“Still no luck?”

Seungmin sighed deeply, his thumb hovering over the phone for a long moment before typing back.

“Nothing. I’m running out of places to look.”

His finger hovered over the keyboard as another thought struck him, one that made his heart stop for a beat. What if you hadn’t gone to a hospital? What if you were still out there, hiding in plain sight, just waiting for him to find you?

But a part of him knew, you wouldn’t leave the kids. You wouldn’t go that far. He had to hold on to that hope, because if he didn’t, he didn’t know what was left.

Seungmin sat in the hospital parking lot, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes flickered from his phone to the glowing lights of the building in front of him. It felt like he was running out of options, like the world was closing in on him, and there was no escape from the suffocating weight of his search.

He had been to nearly every hospital in Seoul. The feeling of disappointment was starting to carve deep lines into his resolve. But he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t. You needed him, whether you knew it or not.

As he pulled his car into a spot near the entrance of the last hospital on his list, he hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath. He was exhausted, mentally and physically drained from days of searching. The lack of sleep, the lack of answers, it was all taking its toll.

But he had to keep moving forward. For you.

His phone buzzed again, and it was a message from Cait.

"Still nothing? We’re all worried. Please let us know what’s going on."

Seungmin stared at the message, his heart sinking. I will find her, he typed back, trying to steady his shaking hands. I won’t stop. I promise.

With a final glance at the message, he turned off the engine, locking the car behind him and walking toward the entrance of the hospital. The sterile scent of antiseptic hit him as he stepped inside. The warm buzz of fluorescent lights overhead did nothing to comfort him. The reception desk was unmanned, and a brief glance at the quiet halls only intensified the gnawing sense of despair inside him.

He walked from room to room, checking names on the hospital boards, hoping that someone, anyone, had seen you.

You had come here for one reason: to escape. To disappear from the world you had failed to protect. You didn’t want to be found, didn’t want to face the wreckage of your life. But even now, as the weight of your mind threatened to crush you, the one thing you couldn’t escape was the image of Peter’s face, the soft, trusting look in his eyes. And Juni, their innocent questions, their constant need to understand where you had gone.

You had never wanted this. Never wanted to fall so deeply into yourself that you couldn’t claw your way out.

The hospital room felt suffocatingly sterile. You barely registered the IV drip in your arm or the faint beeping of the machines around you. You weren’t supposed to be here. You should’ve been somewhere else, somewhere that wasn’t wrapped in shame and guilt. But your body, your mind—they couldn’t keep going.

You clutched the plush bunny in your hands tightly, a gift from Juni, one of the soft, comforting toys they refused to sleep without. You hadn’t let go of it since you found it under your bed, the fur worn with time but still familiar. Holding it felt like holding onto something you had lost something that felt like home.

A knock at the door startled you from your thoughts, and your heart skipped a beat as you caught a glimpse of the figure standing in the doorway.

Seungmin.

Your breath caught in your throat. He was here. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected anyone to find you.

You stared at him, your mind a blur of conflicting emotions. You wanted to pull away, to hide further into the shadows. But you couldn’t. Something in his eyes something broken, something familiar told you that he wasn’t going to leave, not this time.

Seungmin stood in the doorway, eyes wide, searching for something in your face, something that would tell him you were okay. But he could see the brokenness there, the emptiness in your eyes, the haunted look that had replaced the warmth that once filled you.

“(Y/N),” he whispered, his voice rough, raw. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair tousled from days of searching. He took a cautious step forward, but you flinched back, clutching the bunny to your chest tighter as if it could shield you from everything.

“Seungmin... please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, shaking. “You... shouldn’t be here.”

The words broke something inside him. He had always been able to read you, always been able to see past the walls you built, but now? Now you were so far removed from the person he once knew, from the woman he had wanted to understand, that he didn’t know where to begin.

“I had to find you,” he said, taking another step, his heart racing. “You disappeared. I thought—I thought I’d lost you.”

You shook your head, still not looking at him, your eyes glued to the plush bunny. “I’m... I’m not who you think I am,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to fix anything anymore.”

Seungmin’s heart broke at the words. He could see it the way your body was coiled in on itself, the way you trembled with the weight of your own sorrow. He didn’t understand it all, but he understood enough to know that the woman in front of him wasn’t the one he had seen so full of life just months ago.

He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, trying not to startle you. “You don’t have to fix anything, (Y/N). Not right now. We can take it one step at a time. But please, don’t do this alone.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I’m so sorry, Seungmin. I’m so sorry for everything. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

He reached out, his fingers trembling as he gently touched your hand, the plush bunny still gripped tightly between your fingers. His voice softened as he spoke. “You didn’t hurt me, (Y/N). You didn’t hurt anyone. We just... we got lost. All of us.”

You finally looked up at him, the emptiness in your eyes flickering with something, a glimmer of the person you once were. But it was fleeting, swallowed up quickly by the weight of everything you had been running from.

“I’m so sorry, Seungmin. I thought... I thought I was protecting you. But I’ve only made everything worse.”

He shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening. “You didn’t make anything worse. We’re here now. Together. And we’ll figure this out, one step at a time.”

You closed your eyes, the tears falling freely now as he gently wiped them away. The brokenness was still there, the fear, the guilt. But for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely alone.

You didn’t know what would happen next, didn’t know if you could ever make things right. But as Seungmin sat there beside you, you realized that maybe—just maybe—there was a chance. A chance to heal, to rebuild.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe you weren’t too far gone.

Seungmin’s heart pounded with a mixture of relief and exhaustion as he stepped into the dorm. It had been days of searching, every moment consumed with the thought of finding you—his mind and body had been running on fumes. But now, he had found you, and though you were broken, at least you were safe.

He made his way into the living room, his eyes locking with Chan’s. The others were all there, Han, Minho, Felix, sitting together, their faces filled with concern. Seungmin’s own expression was tired, drawn, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes. He had news, and it wasn’t a moment longer he could wait to share it.

“Seungmin,” Chan said softly, standing to approach him. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

Seungmin let out a deep breath, finally allowing himself to speak. “She’s been found,” he said, his voice low but steady. “(Y/N) is safe. She’s at the hospital. But it’s bad. She’s... not okay. Mentally, emotionally—she’s shattered.”

The boys all exchanged glances. Han was the first to speak, his voice tentative. “What happened? What’s going on with her? Is she—”

“She’s not herself,” Seungmin interrupted, his voice heavy. “I don’t even know where to begin. But... Peter, he’s been crying for her. He doesn’t understand where she’s gone. And Juni... Juni keeps asking when ‘mummy’ will come back. (Y/N)’s carrying all of this guilt and fear. But... I’m stepping up. I’m going to be there for Peter, and for Juni, too. She’s not doing this alone anymore.”

Minho stepped forward, his face full of concern. “What do you need from us, Seungmin? How can we help?”

“I’m making sure Peter’s okay,” Seungmin said firmly. “But I need to get her therapy. She’s not going to heal if she tries to go through this on her own. I need her to get the help she deserves.” He paused, looking each of them in the eye, his voice hardening with conviction. “She’s not going through this alone. I won’t let her.”

Chan, who had been silent until now, nodded slowly. “I’ll call Cait,” he said, his voice steady but filled with concern. “We need to make sure she knows what’s going on. (Y/N) needs us now. We’ll all help however we can.”

“Whatever it takes,” Minho said, his voice firm. “We’re all here for her. And for you, Seungmin.”

Han nodded, looking at Seungmin with a mix of sadness and support. “You’re not alone in this, man. We’re family. We’ve got this.”

Seungmin looked around at his friends, his heart swelling with gratitude. For the first time in days, he felt a flicker of hope, they weren’t going to let (Y/N) go through this alone.

Cait sat at her kitchen table, the weight of the past days pressing down on her chest. She hadn’t heard from Seungmin since he went looking for you, and the gnawing anxiety in her gut was only getting worse. She kept thinking about how she had pushed you to start fresh in Seoul—pushed you to move on from everything, without knowing how much pain you had been hiding.

She looked at Juni, who was playing quietly in the corner with a toy, but even the little girl’s innocence couldn’t distract her from the questions that kept circling in her mind. Juni had been asking the same question every day.

“When’s mummy coming back, Cait?”

It broke Cait’s heart each time. She didn’t know how to explain to the child that you weren’t just gone, you were broken, lost in a spiral of guilt and pain, somewhere between needing help and feeling like you couldn’t reach out. She couldn’t explain it in a way that would make sense to a four-year-old.

Juni walked up to her, her eyes wide with hope. “Mummy’s coming back soon, right?”

Cait crouched down, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. She wanted to tell Juni everything would be fine, that you would be back and everything would return to normal. But she couldn’t lie to her. Not anymore.

“Yeah, sweetie,” Cait said softly, her voice shaking. “She’s just... she’s taking a little time to rest. She’ll be back soon. We just have to be patient.”

But Cait could feel the weight of the lie in her words. She had no idea when, or if, you would come back. And she hated herself for not seeing the signs sooner.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she saw Seungmin’s name flash across the screen. She quickly answered.

“Seungmin,” she said, her voice trembling. “Is she okay? Where is she? What’s going on?”

“She’s been found,” Seungmin said, his voice low and filled with both relief and concern. “She’s at the hospital. She’s alive. But she’s... mentally and emotionally broken, Cait. I don’t even know how to explain it. I’ve made sure Peter’s okay, but she’s—” He paused, taking a deep breath. “She’s not doing this alone anymore. I’m stepping up for Peter. And for Juni, too. I’m going to make sure (Y/N) gets the therapy she needs. I’m not letting her carry this burden anymore. We’ll get her through this.”

Cait’s heart ached, a mixture of relief and guilt flooding through her. “Seungmin, I didn’t— I didn’t know how much she was carrying. I pushed her to move here. I thought it would be better for her, but I didn’t see how much she was hiding... how much she was trying to carry alone.” Her voice cracked. “I should’ve known. I should’ve done more.”

“You weren’t the only one, Cait,” Seungmin said softly. “We all missed the signs. But right now, we need to focus on getting her the help she needs. We’re all in this together, okay?”

Cait nodded, her tears falling freely now. “You’re right. I’ll do whatever I can to help her.”

Seungmin stood at the door of the hospital room, looking in at you, curled on the bed, clutching the plush bunny Juni had given you, as if it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Your eyes were hollow, your face pale, but there was a flicker of recognition when you saw him.

Peter, in his tiny bassinet by the window, let out a small cry, but it wasn’t as loud or desperate as it had been earlier. Seungmin’s heart tightened at the thought of the pain you must have been in to leave him behind, to shut yourself off from everything.

He stepped into the room cautiously, sitting beside the bed, his presence gentle but unwavering.

“I’m here,” he said softly, his voice just above a whisper. “And I’m not leaving. You’re not alone anymore.”

You didn’t respond at first, still clutching the bunny, your fingers shaking as you held onto it for dear life. The silence was suffocating, but Seungmin didn’t pull away. He let the silence hang between you, allowing you the space to process.

“I’m going to be here for Peter,” Seungmin said after a moment. “And for Juni. I’m going to be the father they need. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. We’re going to get through this together. But you need therapy. You need help. I can’t make you do it, but I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Your eyes flickered to his, and for the briefest moment, he saw something behind your gaze something faintly hopeful. It was enough to make him push forward, even when the weight of the situation threatened to crush him.

He reached out and gently touched your hand. “Please, (Y/N), let us help you.”

You didn’t speak, but you didn’t pull away either. And for Seungmin, that was the first step, the first real step toward healing.

Days had passed since Seungmin found you at the hospital. The first few days had been filled with tension, confusion, and raw emotion. You had barely spoken, your body trapped in a haze of fear and guilt. But Seungmin hadn’t given up on you, not once.

He had been there every day, sitting beside you in the quiet hours, never forcing you to speak, but always present. He had stayed with Peter when you couldn’t, making sure your baby boy felt loved and cared for. He had taken charge of everything; therapy appointments, managing Peter’s care, even making sure Juni felt secure, even though she still asked where her mummy was every day.

The first time you had spoken clearly to him had been after your second therapy session. You were still tentative, your voice raw and unsteady, but you had whispered a simple question: “What now?”

It had been enough. You were ready to begin the long, painful process of healing. But you wouldn’t do it alone.

It was the weekend, and you had spent most of the week adjusting to a new rhythm, with Seungmin taking the lead. He had been a rock, steady and unwavering, even when you pulled away.

The boys, Chan, Minho, Han, and the others, had been nothing but understanding, treating you like family from the moment they knew the truth. They showed up at your apartment every evening, bringing takeout, playing with Juni, and keeping the atmosphere light, but never forcing anything on you. They respected your space, your silence, and your process. Their quiet support was a balm to your broken heart.

This Saturday, you had agreed to join them for dinner. It was the first time you had left the apartment since your last therapy session. You still felt fragile, but with Seungmin beside you, and the boys gathering around, you felt a sense of safety you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a long time.

Seungmin helped you get ready, choosing a simple sweater for you, one that made you feel comfortable. His gentle guidance in these small moments had become a lifeline. You weren’t sure when it happened, but his presence was no longer something you feared. It felt... natural. Right.

As you walked into the living room, Juni ran up to you, her small arms wrapping around your legs. “Mummy!” she squealed with delight, pulling you down to her level. You felt tears prick at your eyes, the simple act of her affection unraveling something deep inside you.

"Hey, sweet girl," you whispered, hugging her tightly.

Seungmin stood in the doorway, watching the moment with a small smile on his face. You hadn’t noticed at first, but his eyes softened as he watched you with Juni. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you—something protective, something tender—but you didn’t know if you were ready to acknowledge it yet.

A month had passed since you first began therapy. The process wasn’t linear—there were good days and bad days. You still had moments of overwhelming sadness, where the weight of everything felt unbearable. But there were more days where you felt like you could breathe, more days when you felt hope in your heart. Seungmin had kept his promise. He hadn’t let you slip back into isolation.

The therapy sessions were helping. You had started to confront the past, the guilt, and the fear that had buried you for so long. But there was still a long road ahead. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, but with Seungmin by your side and the boys who had become like brothers there was a new sense of possibility.

Today, Seungmin was taking you to a small cafe down the street from your apartment. It was a quiet morning, and for once, you didn’t feel overwhelmed by the thought of stepping outside. You had your therapy session earlier in the day, and now, you were simply trying to enjoy the small joys in life again.

Seungmin had insisted on taking you out to breakfast just the two of you. No distractions. Just a moment of peace.

“I thought we could take Peter to the park later,” Seungmin said, his voice casual but warm as he passed you a coffee. “Get him out in the fresh air. Juni’s been asking to see him play again.”

You smiled softly, taking the coffee from him. It was a simple act, but it felt like a gesture that meant more than words. “That sounds nice,” you said, your fingers brushing his as you took the cup.

There was a small silence, comfortable, like the two of you had built something that was starting to feel more like a foundation. You glanced at him, the way he looked at you protective, caring, but with a tenderness that made your heart skip. He was always looking out for you, always keeping an eye on Peter, on Juni. It had been months since your world had fallen apart, and yet, there he was, always there.

His gaze softened as he looked at you, and you felt the weight of his unspoken words. “(Y/N),” he began, his voice low and steady, “I just... I’m glad you’re here. And I’m proud of how far you’ve come.”

You swallowed hard, the emotions swirling in your chest. You didn’t know what it was his sincerity, his unwavering support but it made your heart ache in a way that was both painful and... comforting.

“I’m trying,” you said quietly, your voice cracking. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely okay, but... I’m trying. With you and the others... I’m not doing it alone anymore.”

Seungmin’s lips curved upward in a soft, understanding smile. He didn’t press for more, didn’t try to fix it all with a perfect answer. Instead, he simply said, “And you don’t have to. You never have to be alone again.”

Three months had passed, and your world had slowly started to shift. The healing was gradual, but it was real. You and Seungmin had found a new rhythm, co-parenting with him had become something you never expected, something that felt like it was meant to be. Peter and Juni had become a bundle of joy in your life, and the boys were always there to support, always coming together like brothers, always providing laughter and warmth.

One evening, as the sun set and the apartment grew quiet, you found yourself on the couch with Seungmin. Juni had fallen asleep, tucked into bed, and Peter was settled beside you. You were watching a movie, but your attention kept drifting to Seungmin. There was something different in the way he looked at you now, something unspoken but real. The tenderness, the care—it was undeniable.

As the credits rolled, Seungmin shifted closer to you, his hand brushing yours on the couch. The contact was soft at first, just a gentle touch, but you felt the heat of his hand against yours. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned to face him.

“Seungmin,” you whispered, the distance between you narrowing. There was a weight in the air something that had been building between the two of you over time.

He looked at you, his eyes soft with something you couldn’t quite place. “(Y/N),” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never... I’ve never stopped caring for you. I know things haven’t been easy, but... I want you to know that I’m here. For you. Always.”

You didn’t know what to say, but in that moment, there was nothing more that needed to be said. You reached out, your fingers brushing his hand before intertwining with his. And in that simple touch, there was a promise. A promise that no matter how far you had come, no matter how broken you had been, you didn’t have to walk this journey alone anymore.

For the first time in months, you felt the weight of everything you had been carrying begin to ease, just a little. And with Seungmin beside you, you knew there was more healing to come slowly, but surely. And for the first time in a long time, you could finally imagine what hope might feel like again.

It had been a year since everything had changed. A year since you thought you were too broken to move forward, too lost in your own guilt to even think about the future. A year since Seungmin stepped into your life with the unwavering support you hadn’t known you needed and since you found your strength again, slowly but surely.

A lot had changed since that first month. You were no longer the person you once were, hiding behind your pain, too scared to face the world. Now, the laughter of your children, Juni and Peter, filled your home every day, and with each passing moment, you felt yourself becoming whole again.

Peter was 14 months old now, a curious, bright-eyed toddler who had a mischievous smile and a knack for getting into everything. His small hands tugged at your shirt, and his wide grin lit up his face every time he saw you. His presence, a living reminder of how far you had come, filled your heart with pride and love.

Juni, now four, had blossomed into a bubbly and joyful little girl. She had spent so many months asking where "mummy" had gone, but now, she had you back. She had never once wavered in her love for you, and seeing her run through the apartment, playing with Peter, reminded you of everything you had fought for.

Seungmin had been your steady pillar through it all. He had stepped into the role of father with grace and determination, but it was more than just about Peter. It was about everything the connection that had slowly built between the two of you, the unspoken bond that had grown with time. Though you hadn’t defined anything between you two, there was no need. You knew what you had, and it was enough.

The apartment was filled with life once again. The boys; Seungmin, Chan, Minho, Han, Felix, I.N, Changbin, and Hyunjin, had all become more than just friends; they were family. They had been there for you in ways you hadn’t expected, supporting you when you couldn’t support yourself, loving your children as if they were their own. They had become the brothers you never had.

Tonight, like most weekends, they were all gathered in your living room, enjoying dinner together. Juni was running in circles, playing with Peter, while Cait sat beside you, the two of you chatting about the future, and the boys joked around. It was a picture of normalcy, a life you hadn’t thought possible.

Seungmin, sitting across from you, caught your eye and smiled. His expression had softened over time, and though there was still that quiet intensity in him, there was also a warmth, a tenderness that made your heart flutter every time he looked at you. He had been the one to pull you out of the darkness when you needed it most. And now, you could see the shift, the unspoken understanding between the two of you. Maybe it didn’t need to be said aloud yet maybe it never would but it was there. You didn’t need more than that.

"Seungmin," Cait said, interrupting your thoughts, a playful grin on her face, "how’s it feel, huh? You're practically a full-time dad now. Never thought I’d see the day."

Seungmin chuckled, a sound that was deeper than the awkward laugh you’d once heard from him months ago. "It's a lot, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Peter's grown up so fast," he said, glancing at the baby who was happily clutching one of his toys. "I never realized how much a kid could change you until I became a father."

Juni, overhearing the conversation, came running up with Peter in her arms, her face serious as she addressed Seungmin. "Daddy, look! Peter says 'mummy' now."

Seungmin’s face lit up, pride in his eyes. "Does he now?" He reached for Peter, lifting him into his arms as the little one giggled. "That’s my boy."

You watched them, a soft smile tugging at your lips. The image of Seungmin with Peter so natural, so protective, filled you with a warmth you couldn’t put into words. But it was more than just a father with his son; it was the connection between the two of you, the way you had both grown into this new chapter of your lives, silently and without expectation.

Changbin and Hyunjin, who had been hanging out in the kitchen, came back into the living room, laughing at something that had just happened. They had both become regulars at your home, spending time with the kids, and offering support in their own ways.

"Hey, you two, get over here!" Minho called out, gesturing to them. "This is family time. No more hiding out in the kitchen."

Changbin grinned, slinging an arm around Hyunjin’s shoulders as they joined the circle of the boys, who had become more like brothers to you, and more like uncles to Juni and Peter. The easy laughter, the shared stories of days gone by, and the gentle teasing that went back and forth—it all made you feel like you had finally found your place, surrounded by people who understood, who cared.

Hyunjin sat next to you, looking at Peter with a soft smile. "I can't believe how fast he's growing," he said, ruffling Peter's hair. "It feels like just yesterday that you were holding him in your arms at the hospital."

You chuckled softly. "I know. Time really flies."

Changbin, with his usual playful energy, turned to Seungmin. "You know, man, you’ve done good. You’ve really stepped up for (Y/N) and the kids. I respect that."

Seungmin gave him a small, almost shy smile. "It wasn’t just me. Everyone here has been there for her, for Peter and Juni. We’ve all done it together."

Minho leaned back in his chair, looking between you and Seungmin. "You two make a great team," he said, his voice casual but filled with something deeper. "You’re doing what’s best for the kids, and that’s what matters. But it’s not just about that—it’s about everything you’ve been through. It’s... it’s about the family you’ve built."

The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of Minho’s words settling in. You looked over at Seungmin, his gaze steady as he met your eyes. There was something unspoken between you two, something that had been there for months now but had never needed to be defined.

Over the past year, things had changed between you and Seungmin. There had been moments those small, quiet ones when you’d catch his gaze a little too long, or when his hand would brush yours in a crowd, or when he would hold Peter with that softness that made your heart ache.

But you hadn’t spoken about it. There was no need to rush. There were no expectations. You had both been through so much, and the idea of rushing into something new didn’t seem necessary. What mattered was the unspoken understanding between you two.

And as you sat there, surrounded by the boys who had become your support system, and Seungmin by your side, you realized that this was enough. The quiet connection, the slow growth, the gentle support, it was everything.

"Family," Chan said, his voice carrying over the table, breaking the silence. "That’s what we’ve all become. You, (Y/N), Seungmin, the kids, everyone in this room. We’re family."

You smiled, your heart full as you looked around at the people who had become your lifeline. You had finally found a place where you belonged, surrounded by people who loved you; not just for who you were, but for the journey you had taken.

So here we go guys, the finale.... I decided to post the happier version first. So when the next version is posted, you can come straight back. Also I'm not gonna lie, I'm feeling a bit like Chan here, creating two versions of the same story. Anyhoo enjoy

Themes: Chaos, Slight Angst

W/C - 6K

The question hangs between you like smoke.

“Where do we go from here?”

The dorm door clicks shut behind you, leaving only the hush of the apartment hallway. It smells faintly of laundry detergent and the ramen someone boiled in a neighbor’s kitchen. A single light hums above you, buzzing softly.

You drop onto the narrow bench along the wall, blanket still clutched around your shoulders. Seungmin stands opposite, his back against the closed door as if he’s holding it shut with the weight of his body. His fingers rake through his hair, tugging hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

Neither of you dares raise your voice. The others are just beyond the door—listening, not listening, pretending to give space. Felix’s whisper had been the last thing you heard before it shut: “Give them time.”

Now there’s nothing but you and him and eleven months of silence cracking open.

“I’m angry,” Seungmin says finally, the words scraping raw. “And I’m… afraid. Afraid of what I missed. Afraid of how badly I could still mess this up.”

You nod, because the truth deserves a nod even when it hurts. “I’m afraid too.”

His eyes find yours, brittle and searching. Then, almost helplessly, he blurts, “What does he like? Peter. What makes him stop crying? What makes him… feel safe?”

The question shatters you.

“He loves skin-to-skin,” you say, your voice breaking into a shaky smile. “Hates the dark—always wants a nightlight. He makes this little squeak when he’s hungry, like a kitten. He falls asleep if you walk slowly with him against your chest. And—” You swallow. “He’s just started smiling. Real smiles. If you talk to him soft enough, he’ll do it.”

Seungmin’s mouth trembles, the smallest laugh escaping through grief. “Smiles already. I missed that.”

“You can have the rest,” you whisper. “All the rest.”

Your phone buzzes in your lap. A message from Cait:

Cait: Juni has turned my living room into NASA and insists their ship “screams because Peter is dramatic.” Also: they just asked Jeongin if he’s my boyfriend. Send help.

A photo follows: Juni mid–blast off, Bunny clutched like a co-pilot, Peter bundled on Cait’s shoulder with wide, curious eyes, Jeongin in the background looking like a deer in headlights.

You laugh—sudden, wet, painful with relief. Seungmin leans closer without thinking, the photo tilting toward him. His thumb brushes the screen, trembling.

“He’s so small,” Seungmin whispers, staring at Peter’s round cheeks. “I missed his first smile.”

“You can have his thousandth,” you whisper. “And the thousand after that.”

Something eases in his shoulders, though his jaw stays tight. “Okay. Then maybe… can we start with something simple? Feedings, naps, what I can do. Today. Tomorrow.” He gives a shaky smile. “I know it’s not romantic.”

“It’s perfect,” you say too quickly. “Practical is safe.”

He digs a pencil stub and receipt from his pocket, bracing it against his knee. He writes Peter’s name slowly, reverently.

“Every three hours,” you murmur. “He takes a bottle best if you keep it warm. He likes being held upright—always upright. Hates cold wipes. Loves when you hum. He’s still learning to hold his head, so you have to—”

“I know,” Seungmin says gently, finishing for you. His throat bobs. “Support the neck.”

Your tears burn hot. “Yes.”

The dorm door cracks open. Changbin pokes his head out, balancing a tray like a waiter. “I brought carbohydrates,” he whispers. “And also carbohydrates.” He sets down bread rolls and something that might legally be cake. “Sorry. Emotional support bakery.”

“Thanks, Binnie,” you manage, voice wrecked.

He nods, scanning both your faces, then slips back inside.

Seungmin breaks off a roll, chewing thoughtfully. “Tomorrow… can I come when they wake up? Not as anything big. Just a man on the couch who knows how to hum badly.”

Fear flutters in you, but for once it ebbs instead of rising. “Yes,” you whisper. “Come in the morning.”

Something softens in his face. “Okay.”

Your phone buzzes again.

Cait: Update: Juni has declared Jeongin my “kissy friend.” We are moving to another country tonight.

You choke on your water. Seungmin lets out a horrified laugh, the sound cracked but real. For the first time tonight, it doesn’t feel like betrayal to laugh.

The door opens a crack again. Han shuffles out, placing a tissue box shaped like a panda on the bench. The tissues poke out of its nose. He doesn’t meet your eyes. “I don’t know how to be normal,” he mutters. “But I know how to be here.” Then he backs into the doorframe, curses under his breath, and vanishes.

You and Seungmin stare at the panda nose, then at each other—until your shoulders shake with laughter you can’t hold.

When it fades, the hallway feels lighter.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight,” you whisper. “I’m not ready for that. But I’m asking if we can try. Carefully. Kindly. With snacks.”

Seungmin flips the receipt over and writes your words down. Then he shows it to you.

Try. Carefully. Kindly. With snacks.

“It’s a plan,” he says, voice trembling.

“It’s a beginning,” you answer.

He hesitates, then reaches across the narrow gap. His fingers brush yours—not a claim, not a plea, just a bridge.

You take it.

Behind the door, Felix whisper-hisses, “Do we hug as a group or is that illegal?” “Illegal,” Minho mutters. “Maybe tomorrow,” Hyunjin sighs.

Chan doesn’t speak, but you can picture him sitting cross-legged against the door, guarding the silence.

Seungmin folds the receipt into his pocket like a vow. “Morning,” he says, and the word almost sounds like hope. “Let’s… go meet my son.”

You nod, finally exhaling without breaking. “Morning.”

And for tonight, in the dim hallway with laughter still clinging to the air, that’s enough.

Cait already knew she was in over her head the second Juni came tearing through her apartment like a jet engine, Bunny flapping behind them like a cape.

“Spaceship!” Juni shouted at full volume, launching themselves from the couch onto a pile of cushions they’d stacked in the middle of the floor.

“Spaceships don’t scream like that,” Cait said flatly, bouncing Peter on her hip. “They’re silent. Vacuum of space, remember?”

“This one screams,” Juni declared, wriggling happily in their pillow pile.

Peter gurgled approvingly, kicking his legs like he agreed.

Cait sighed. “Why did I agree to watch both of you again?”

“Because you love us,” came Jeongin’s voice from the kitchen.

Cait turned just in time to see him struggling with a juice carton, tongue poking out in concentration. The juice missed the cup entirely and poured straight onto the counter.

“Seriously?” Cait groaned. “You’re worse than they are.”

“I’m amazing with kids,” Jeongin said proudly, blotting the spill with a paper towel. “I’m enriching their childhood experience.”

“By flooding my kitchen?” Cait muttered.

Juni popped up from the cushions, eyes going wide. “I.N!” They bolted across the room, barreling into Jeongin’s legs. “You came!”

“Of course,” he grinned, crouching down to ruffle their hair. “Someone has to help Cait.”

“Help Cait?” Cait scoffed, shifting Peter against her shoulder. “You mean eat my snacks and encourage Juni to turn my couch into NASA.”

“They need stimulation,” Jeongin said solemnly. “Creative development.”

“Stimulation is crayons,” Cait shot back. “Not a one-way ticket to A&E.”

Peter squealed like this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, smacking Cait’s cheek with his tiny palm.

And then Juni, with the timing of a professional comedian, tilted their head at Jeongin.

“Are you Cait’s boyfriend?”

The entire room froze.

Jeongin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Wh—WHAT?”

Cait almost dropped Peter. “Juni—!”

“You smile at her like Daddy smiles in my books,” Juni explained sagely, clutching Bunny to their chest. “But you don’t kiss her. Yet.”

Jeongin’s face went scarlet. “I—uh—I—”

Cait buried her face in her free hand. “You’re not even four yet. How do you—”

“I’m almost four,” Juni corrected, sticking out their tongue. “That’s big.”

Peter kicked so hard he nearly launched himself out of Cait’s arms, giggling like he knew this was chaos.

Juni looked between Cait and Jeongin, unimpressed. “So, are you or not?”

There was a long, terrible pause. Then Jeongin gave the tiniest, sheepish smile. “…Yeah. I guess I am.”

Juni gasped dramatically, Bunny clutched to their chest like they’d just solved the world’s biggest mystery. “I knew it! Bunny knew it!”

Peter squealed, clapping his chubby hands.

Cait groaned into her hand. “This is not how I wanted you to find out.”

“Find out what?” Juni asked innocently. “That Cait and I.N are kissy friends?”

Cait nearly choked. Jeongin’s ears turned crimson, and he looked about two seconds away from fainting.

Meanwhile Juni, perfectly satisfied, plopped back into their spaceship cushions and yelled, “Blast off!” like nothing had happened.

And none of them had the faintest idea of the storm unraveling back at the dorms.

The knock on the dorm door came just after noon.

Cait shifted Peter higher on her shoulder, balancing the baby bag awkwardly while Juni bounced in place beside her, Bunny clutched like a talisman. Jeongin juggled a juice carton under one arm and a pack of biscuits under the other, trying to look casual and failing miserably.

When Chan opened the door, the air shifted immediately. Cait felt it before she saw it — something in the set of his jaw, the heaviness in the way he stepped aside.

“Everything okay?” she asked, cautious.

“Yeah,” Chan lied badly. His voice was warm, but too careful. “Come in.”

The apartment was quieter than usual. No music, no background chatter, no teasing laughter. Just silence that pressed at the edges. The boys lingered in corners of the living room, not quite meeting each other’s eyes. And Seungmin, Seungmin stood apart, stiff near the sofa, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Juni, oblivious, bounded in with all the subtlety of a marching band. “Peter’s back from space!” they announced proudly, pointing at their brother. “And he’s still dramatic!”

Peter squirmed at the sudden noise, his tiny face screwing up, a soft wail bubbling out. Cait bounced him gently, patting his back. “Shhh, it’s okay. Dramatic or not, you’re safe.”

“Here, let me—” You reached for him, your arms instinctively out. But before you could, Juni stopped dead in their tracks, staring between you, Seungmin, and Peter.

“Mummy,” Juni said very seriously. “Is Seungmin Daddy now?”

The silence that followed could have shattered glass.

Jeongin dropped the biscuits. Cait almost inhaled her own breath. Every pair of eyes in the room snapped to Juni, then to you, then to Seungmin.

“Juni—” you started, but your voice cracked.

“Because Peter’s been practicing,” Juni went on, completely unaware of the grenade they’d just lobbed. “He makes the ‘da-da’ noise all the time. So it makes sense.”

Peter squeaked loudly, as if agreeing, his tiny fists batting the air.

Cait’s jaw fell open. Jeongin froze beside her, face draining of color. “Wait—what?” he blurted.

“Surprise,” Han said faintly, rubbing a hand down his face. “We, uh… found out too.”

“You—” Cait nearly dropped Peter again. “You’re his dad?” she hissed at Seungmin.

Seungmin looked like he’d been asked to solve nuclear physics on no sleep. His ears burned red, his voice rough. “…Yeah.”

Cait blinked. Then blinked again. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Peter wailed properly this time, tiny cries filling the silence. Seungmin’s entire body stiffened, panic flickering in his eyes.

“Uh—should—should I—” he stammered, looking at you.

“Hold him,” Changbin said firmly, already shoving a muslin cloth into Seungmin’s hands like a field medic preparing a rookie. “Now. Before he explodes.”

“I can’t just—he’s so small—” Seungmin protested, frozen.

“Two months is the new fragile,” Han muttered, but he was already on his feet, hovering nervously.

Felix clapped Seungmin on the back, almost knocking him forward. “C’mon, mate. Babies can smell fear.”

“They can what?!” Seungmin yelped.

“Just take him,” you said softly, nodding toward Cait. “He’ll settle.”

Cait, still reeling, shifted Peter carefully into Seungmin’s stiff arms. For a moment, Seungmin looked like he might combust his shoulders locked, his elbows bent at impossible angles, his eyes wide.

“Support the neck!” Minho barked.

“I am supporting the neck!” Seungmin snapped, adjusting frantically.

But then—Peter hiccupped, blinked up at him, and let out the tiniest, breathy coo. His fists unclenched. His wail softened into a squeak, then a sigh, his head lolling against Seungmin’s chest.

The room stilled.

Seungmin froze completely, staring down at the baby curled against him. His expression shifted fear first, then awe, then something so raw and fragile it made your throat ache.

“He… stopped crying,” Seungmin whispered, as if afraid saying it too loud would undo it.

“Because he knows you,” you said, your own voice breaking.

Felix sniffed loudly. “I can’t cope with this, I’m gonna cry.”

Han flapped his hands at him. “Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry.”

Peter chose that exact moment to burp wetly and spit up down Seungmin’s shirt.

The spell shattered.

The boys howled with laughter. Seungmin’s face twisted in horror as he held Peter out like he’d just detonated. “Why is he leaking on me?!”

“Welcome to fatherhood,” Changbin said, deadpan, tossing him a fresh muslin.

Cait, still gaping, finally dropped onto the couch, shaking her head. “I babysit for one evening, and the world implodes.”

Jeongin, cheeks still scarlet, muttered, “I liked it better when Juni just thought I was Cait’s boyfriend.”

“You are!” Juni chirped helpfully from the pillow pile, Bunny waving like a flag. “You’re her kissy friend!”

“Juni!” Cait yelped, nearly face-planting into her hands.

Jeongin groaned. Seungmin sputtered. Peter hiccupped again, entirely unbothered.

And for the first time since the storm broke, the room filled with laughter — messy, chaotic, but real.

By evening, the dorm had shed some of its storm. The air was lighter, punctured by laughter, cluttered with toys, cushions, and crumbs.

Peter was swaddled snug in Felix’s hoodie, snoozing against your chest, tiny breaths puffing against your collarbone. Juni was spinning in circles on the rug, Bunny flying overhead like a lopsided helicopter. The boys had scattered across the living room, each playing their part in the circus.

“Uncle Han, watch this!” Juni shouted, stumbling on their fourth spin.

“I am watching!” Han cheered, then flailed when Juni toppled into his lap. “Oh my god, I caught you, I’m basically a superhero.”

“You smell like crisps,” Juni said, nose wrinkling.

“Betrayal!” Han cried. “Roasted by a toddler again!”

“Fair,” Minho muttered from the couch, camera out to capture Han’s despair.

On the floor, Hyunjin was cooing at Peter. “Look at him. He already has model vibes. Strong jawline, good cheekbones.”

“He’s two months old,” you reminded him.

“Exactly,” Hyunjin said solemnly. “Start early.”

Felix, meanwhile, was crouched by the coffee table, duct-taping spare cushions to the corners. “Baby-proofing,” he explained when Chan gave him a look. “Juni’s basically a projectile.”

“I am NOT!” Juni shouted, before climbing onto the back of the couch.

Changbin nearly had a heart attack. “Juni! Get down before—”

“Relax,” a dry voice cut in.

Everyone turned as Cait pushed through the door again, Jeongin close behind her carrying bags. With them was someone new — sharp-eyed, balanced, their expression unimpressed as they took in the scene.

“This,” Cait said flatly, “is Mylo. They helped carry supplies.”

Mylo swept their gaze around the chaos. “This isn’t childcare. This is a sitcom.”

The boys howled.

Juni gasped dramatically. “Are you my new uncle?”

“Probably not,” Mylo said, utterly serious. “But maybe.”

Juni considered this. “Okay.” Then they ran off again.

“Who even are you?” Changbin grumbled, folding his arms.

“The one who carried formula up three flights while you were busy panicking,” Mylo said smoothly.

Changbin opened his mouth, then shut it again. “…Fair.”

Cait rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath. You caught the way Jeongin brushed his hand against hers as he passed her a bottle — casual, quick, but not nearly casual enough. Cait flushed scarlet.

Han, sprawled on the floor, narrowed his eyes. “Wait—”

“Don’t,” Cait warned instantly.

“Don’t what?” Han asked innocently, grinning.

“Don’t,” Jeongin echoed, ears already red.

From your lap, Juni piped up cheerfully: “They’re kissy friends.”

Cait nearly dropped the nappy bag. Jeongin choked on air.

“Oh my god,” Minho groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We can’t keep one single secret in this house.”

Seungmin had been quiet through it all, perched stiffly at the edge of the sofa. But when Peter stirred, a soft fuss escaping, his shoulders tensed. His eyes flicked to you, then back to the baby.

“Do you want to try?” you asked gently.

His throat bobbed. “…Yeah.”

You shifted carefully, placing Peter into his arms. The room went still. Seungmin looked utterly petrified, hands trembling as he adjusted under Peter’s tiny weight.

“Support the neck,” Minho instructed again.

“I am supporting the neck,” Seungmin hissed.

Peter squirmed once, then stilled. His tiny face relaxed, a little sigh puffing against Seungmin’s chest.

The change in Seungmin’s face nearly broke you — the way fear melted into awe, the way his whole body softened around the fragile warmth in his arms.

“He… stopped crying,” he whispered, wonder threaded through every syllable.

“Because he knows you,” you said softly.

A beat passed, then Juni clambered onto the sofa beside him. They studied the scene with great importance. “Okay,” they announced finally. “You can be Peter’s daddy.”

Seungmin blinked down at them, throat tight. “…Thank you?”

“But!” Juni raised a finger. “You have to read Bunny stories at bedtime. And you can’t boss me, only Mummy can.”

Seungmin bit back a laugh. “Got it. Peter’s daddy. Juni’s… deputy.”

“Deputy Snack Supervisor,” Juni corrected, deadly serious.

Laughter rippled through the room.

You felt your chest ease for the first time in months. Seungmin was still angry, still grieving the time he’d lost, but here; with Peter curled against him, Juni already setting terms, and the boys creating utter chaos around you, the future didn’t feel so terrifying.

It felt possible.

And as Mylo swatted Changbin’s shoulder with a smirk, Cait and Jeongin tried and failed to act casual, and Juni curled into Seungmin’s side like it was the most natural thing in the world; you realized this wasn’t just survival anymore.

It was family. Messy. Loud. Imperfect. But yours.

The first thing you heard was crying.

Not Juni, they were still curled in their blanket fort on the floor, Bunny squashed under their chin. Not one of the boys either, though judging by Han’s groans from the sofa, that was a possibility.

It was Peter.

You sat up, ready to go, but Seungmin was already halfway down the hall, socks sliding on the hardwood. His body moved before his brain caught up.

The rest of the boys weren’t far behind.

Felix rubbed his eyes as he stumbled out of the kitchen. “Do we need backup?”

“It’s a baby, not a burglary,” Minho muttered, snatching a bottle from the counter.

Han trailed after them, whisper-singing “Rock-a-bye Baby” in a tone that made Peter cry louder.

The nursery door creaked open. Peter’s tiny face was scrunched, fists flailing, his cries far too big for his two-month-old body. Seungmin froze in the doorway, looking terrified.

You rose to follow, but Chan touched your arm gently. “Let him try.”

So you stayed, heart thudding, and listened.

Inside, Seungmin crept closer. “Hey, buddy,” he whispered, voice cracking with nerves. “It’s okay. Daddy’s here.”

The word slipped out before he realized. His chest squeezed tight. But Peter’s cries didn’t care about slips of the tongue — they only grew louder.

“What do I do?” Seungmin hissed, panicked.

“Pat his bum!” Han stage-whispered.

“Warm the bottle!” Felix added.

“Sing something!” Hyunjin urged.

“Shut up,” Minho snapped.

Seungmin shot them a look over his shoulder. “You lot are worse than Google.”

Still, he gathered Peter into his arms, remembering every detail from your notes: upright, head supported, sway gently. His movements were stiff, unsure, but when he started to hum, quiet and off-key, something miraculous happened.

The cries softened. Then hiccuped. Then stopped.

You pressed your fist to your mouth, eyes stinging.

Seungmin stared down at his son, awe and disbelief flooding his face. “You stopped… because of me?” he whispered.

Peter blinked up at him, his tiny chest rising and falling against Seungmin’s shirt, peaceful now.

The boys all collapsed against the doorframe, equally relieved and emotional.

“He’s a natural,” Han said, sniffing loudly.

“Don’t jinx it,” Felix hissed, crossing himself.

“Guess he’s officially Daddy now,” Hyunjin teased.

Seungmin flushed bright red. “Shut up.” But his voice trembled with something dangerously close to pride.

From the living room, a sleepy voice piped up. “Mummy?”

Juni shuffled in, hair wild, dragging Bunny by one leg. They blinked at Seungmin, at Peter nestled against him. “So… do I have two daddies now, or just one and a half?”

The room exploded.

Felix folded over, laughing so hard he nearly hit the floor. Han wheezed against the wall. Hyunjin choked on air.

“Deputy Daddy,” Minho deadpanned, already opening the notes app on his phone.

Seungmin’s ears burned crimson. He sputtered helplessly, glancing at you. You just smiled through your tears and nodded.

Juni climbed onto the sofa beside him, Bunny thumping against his arm. “Okay, Daddy Two. You can read Bunny a story after breakfast.”

Seungmin’s mouth curved, eyes glassy. “…Yeah. I can do that.”

The boys quieted, just for a moment, watching as Seungmin held both children close: Peter tiny and content against his chest, Juni bold and bossy by his side.

It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, awkward, terrifying.

Cait turned up at your apartment with bags of groceries and Jeongin in tow.

“You didn’t have to,” you said, juggling Peter in one arm as you held the door open.

“Yes, we did,” Cait said firmly, brushing past you. “You’ve got two kids, a flat full of grown men pretending they know how to parent, and a fridge that looks like the apocalypse hit it. Move.”

Behind her, Jeongin followed with a sheepish grin, arms full of nappies and wipes. “I carried the heavy stuff.”

“Barely,” Cait muttered.

From the floor, Juni gasped. “I.N!” They charged at him, Bunny flapping wildly. “You’re back! Did you bring snacks?”

“Always,” Jeongin said, pulling a chocolate bar from his pocket like a magician.

“Unfair,” Han muttered from the sofa. “I give them my soul and they still like you more.”

While Cait unpacked groceries, Jeongin hovered close, reaching for a packet just as her hand did. Their fingers brushed. They froze. Their eyes met for a beat too long.

Juni, sprawled on the rug, pointed. “They’re holding hands again.”

The room went silent.

Cait nearly dropped the milk. “We were not—”

“Again?” Minho repeated, eyes narrowing.

Jeongin’s ears turned scarlet. “I—it was an accident!”

“You’re blushing,” Felix sang from the kitchen.

Cait groaned, covering her face. “You are all insufferable.”

Juni beamed, perfectly satisfied. “They’re kissy friends.”

Hyunjin collapsed against the wall laughing. Chan pinched the bridge of his nose. You bit your lip to hide your smile.

Later that week, you stopped by the boys’ dorm with Juni and Peter. Cait and Jeongin were already there, “just visiting,” though the way they sat pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch said otherwise.

Mylo had claimed the armchair, watching it all with their usual dry detachment.

When Cait leaned over to fix a smudge of sauce on Jeongin’s cheek, Mylo arched a brow. “You two are subtle as a car alarm.”

The room erupted.

“Thank you!” Han shouted, throwing his hands up. “Finally someone says it!”

Jeongin went pink to his hairline. “It’s—it’s not—”

“It is,” Cait muttered, glaring daggers at Mylo.

Changbin nearly choked on his drink. “Wait, is this—like, real real?”

“No!” Cait and Jeongin said in unison.

“Yes,” Juni chimed in with all the certainty of a judge delivering a verdict.

Peter hiccupped loudly from your lap, almost like he agreed.

The boys roared with laughter. Cait groaned into her hands. Jeongin muttered something about moving to another country.

Mylo just smirked. “Called it.”

“Welcome to Dad Bootcamp.”

Seungmin blinked up at Chan, who was standing in your living room holding a clipboard he’d stolen from somewhere. The rest of the boys were lined up behind him, deadly serious. Juni stood at the front in Bunny pajamas, clearly the ringleader.

“What… is this?” Seungmin asked slowly.

“Training,” Juni declared. “You need to learn how to be Peter’s daddy. And they need to learn how to be uncles properly. So it’s Bootcamp Day.”

Peter, two months old and blissfully unaware, gurgled in your arms.

Seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s essential,” Han corrected, strapping a baby doll to his chest with Minho’s scarf. “Look. I’m already thriving.”

“You’ve put it on backwards,” Minho said flatly.

“Details,” Han sniffed.

Station One: Bottle Feeding

Felix demonstrated warming a bottle, explaining like a cooking show host. “You swirl, not shake, or it gets bubbles. Babies hate bubbles. Bubbles are evil.”

Seungmin took Peter carefully into his arms, every muscle stiff. You passed him the bottle, your heart in your throat. He hesitated… then tried.

Peter latched. Drank. Relaxed.

“Success!” Felix shouted, nearly knocking over the kettle in excitement.

“Too easy,” Juni said. “Next station!”

Station Two: Burping

“Pat-pat rhythm is key,” Hyunjin instructed, bouncing a teddy bear over his shoulder. “I recommend syncopation for style points.”

Seungmin stared. “He’s not a drum kit.”

Hyunjin pouted. “He could be.”

Peter’s tiny body wriggled as Seungmin patted gently. One burp later, the boys cheered like he’d won an Olympic medal.

Han wiped fake tears. “My little boy is growing up.”

Minho smacked him with a cushion.

Station Three: Nappy Changing

Changbin slapped a clean nappy on the coffee table like a blackjack dealer. “Final boss.”

The boys crowded around, phones ready to record. Seungmin crouched down, muttering, “I can do this. I’m smart. I’m capable. I—”

Peter peed.

Right onto Seungmin’s shirt.

The dorm erupted. Han rolled on the floor. Felix cried actual tears. Cait (who’d dropped by mid-chaos) covered her face while Jeongin tried and failed to stifle laughter.

Mylo, sitting in the armchair with a cup of tea, observed calmly. “You got ambushed. Rookie mistake.”

Seungmin froze, eyes wide, shirt soaked. Then — slowly — he laughed. The sound cracked open something in your chest. “Okay. Fine. Point to Peter.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor!” Juni shouted, clapping.

By the end of the day, Seungmin was rumpled, exhausted, and wearing Felix’s spare hoodie after the nappy incident. But he was also smiling — a real smile, not the brittle one he’d worn for days.

As Peter snoozed against his chest, Juni clambered onto his lap with Bunny. “You did okay, Daddy Two,” they announced. “You can stay.”

Seungmin’s throat bobbed. “…Thanks, Juni.”

The boys collapsed into the sofa, groaning and laughing in equal measure. Cait leaned against Jeongin’s shoulder, Mylo smirked at Changbin’s flustered attempt to argue with them about baby wipes, and Chan scribbled a final note on his clipboard.

“Bootcamp complete,” he announced. “Welcome to the team, Seungmin.”

For the first time, Seungmin didn’t look like he was on the outside looking in. He looked like he belonged.

And sitting there — Peter asleep on his chest, Juni curled into his side, and the world’s most chaotic uncle squad sprawled around him — he realized he did.

Bedtime at your apartment had become a group event.

Juni sat cross-legged on the bed, Bunny clutched to their chest, eyes narrowed like a tiny general. “You have to read it like this,” they instructed, handing Seungmin a battered storybook. “Voices and everything. No boring.”

Seungmin raised a brow. “Voices?”

“Yes.” Juni jabbed a finger at the page. “That’s the dragon. Dragons are scary. Do a scary voice.”

He cleared his throat, then rumbled out a deep, exaggerated growl.

Juni dissolved into giggles, toppling sideways onto the pillows. “Again! Again!”

From the doorway, the boys were stacked like nosy neighbors, each craning to watch. Han was snickering, Felix was grinning so wide his cheeks hurt, and Minho had his phone out “for evidence.”

Seungmin powered through, doing voices for every character. By the end, Juni was laughing so hard they could barely breathe, Bunny flopping in their arms. When the book finally closed, they wriggled closer, head resting on Seungmin’s arm.

“You’re not too bad, Daddy Two,” Juni murmured sleepily. “You can read Bunny stories anytime.”

Seungmin froze, throat tight, then glanced at you. You nodded, tears pricking, and he whispered back, “Deal.”

The living room was louder.

Cait and Jeongin had taken over the couch, whispering far too close for “just friends.” Jeongin laughed at something she said, head ducked, ears flushed red. Cait nudged him with her knee, smiling in a way you’d never seen her smile at anyone else.

Hyunjin, sprawled across the rug with Peter in his lap, watched them for exactly ten more seconds before he sat up sharply.

“Okay, enough,” he said.

Both Cait and Jeongin froze. “What?” Cait asked, voice too high.

“You two,” Hyunjin said, pointing between them. “You’re together. Just admit it. The tension is suffocating.”

Jeongin nearly dropped the cushion he was holding. “Wh—what?! No, we’re not—”

“Yes, you are,” Hyunjin interrupted, deadpan. “You look at her like she hung the moon. And she looks at you like you hung the shelves badly. It’s obvious.”

The room erupted. Han doubled over laughing. Felix clapped. Minho muttered, “Finally.”

Cait buried her face in her hands. “I hate you all.”

Jeongin’s ears went crimson. “We were going to tell you—”

“When?” Hyunjin asked sweetly. “After your wedding? During Bunny’s graduation?”

“HYUNJIN!” Cait shouted, mortified.

Peter squeaked in Hyunjin’s lap, wide-eyed at the sudden noise. Hyunjin immediately softened, cuddling him close. “Sorry, little man. Uncle had to save us all from bad acting.”

Meanwhile, at the dining table, Changbin and Mylo were in the middle of their second argument of the night.

“You don’t fold nappies like that,” Mylo said bluntly, watching him struggle with the stack.

“They’re fine,” Changbin grumbled.

“They’re a disaster,” Mylo corrected, snatching one and folding it neatly in three swift motions.

Changbin scowled, but his ears were pink. “Show-off.”

Mylo smirked. “Just competent.”

Felix peeked over from the sofa, grin sly. “Are you two flirting or fighting?”

“Neither!” Changbin snapped.

“Yes,” Mylo said at the same time, completely straight-faced.

The boys howled. Changbin buried his face in his hands. Mylo just sipped their tea, smug.

By the time night settled, the apartment was quiet again. Juni was asleep with Bunny tucked under their chin, Peter snoozed in his crib, and the boys dozed in mismatched piles across the living room.

You lingered in the doorway, watching Seungmin stroke Peter’s tiny hand through the crib bars, his face soft in the lamplight. He caught your gaze and offered the smallest, most fragile smile.

It wasn’t perfect yet. There were still secrets, still scars, still a long road ahead.

But the foundation was there.

And with every laugh, every whispered bedtime story, every ridiculous argument and quiet confession — it was getting stronger.

Mornings at your apartment had become a circus.

Peter cried for his bottle. Juni shouted about Bunny’s breakfast. The boys tripped over each other trying to help, turning your kitchen into an obstacle course of cereal boxes, coffee mugs, and misplaced socks.

Han, bleary-eyed, waved a frying pan like a conductor’s baton. “Breakfast! Pancakes for morale!”

“You can’t even flip them,” Minho said, stealing the spatula. “You nearly burned the last batch.”

Felix, covered in flour, popped his head out of the pantry. “I was trying to baby-proof the cupboard with snacks, but now the rice is everywhere.”

Hyunjin emerged from Juni’s room, hair sticking up. “They made me style Bunny’s ears into pigtails. Don’t ask.”

“Best hair ever!” Juni shouted proudly, sprinting past with Bunny held aloft like a runway model.

Through it all, Seungmin moved more confidently now. He scooped Peter up with practiced ease, settling the baby against his shoulder. “Shhh. Daddy’s got you.” His voice was steady, his sway smooth. Peter cooed, tiny hands batting the air, and Seungmin’s smile was soft and sure.

The boys noticed. They teased, of course.

“Look at Daddy Two,” Han whispered loudly. “Natural instincts.”

“Give it a week, he’ll have the dad jokes too,” Felix added.

“Terrifying,” Minho muttered.

Seungmin rolled his eyes, but when Juni barreled into his leg and demanded, “Daddy Two, read Bunny’s menu for breakfast,” he bent down immediately, obliging with the gravitas of a Michelin-star chef.

Cait and Jeongin were less secretive now, though they tried. Cait would pass him a mug, Jeongin would lean too close, and Hyunjin would loudly clear his throat in the corner.

“You’re embarrassing,” Cait snapped at him one afternoon.

“You’re obvious,” Hyunjin shot back, smirking.

Jeongin went scarlet, and Juni, ever the truth-bomb, chirped, “They kiss when no one’s looking.”

Cait groaned into her hands. “I hate you all.”

But she didn’t deny it anymore.

Changbin and Mylo were… something.

They bickered constantly, over nappies, over music playlists, over the correct way to fold Juni’s pyjamas. But you noticed the soft edges creeping in. The way Changbin grinned despite himself when Mylo called him out. The way Mylo lingered just a second longer when handing him things. The way the boys smirked every time they caught it.

“Are you two dating yet?” Felix asked innocently one evening.

“NO,” Changbin snapped.

“Eventually,” Mylo said, deadpan.

The room exploded.

That night, after Juni was tucked in and Peter was finally asleep, the living room was quiet. The boys lounged across the furniture in a rare moment of peace. Cait leaned against Jeongin, who didn’t bother moving. Mylo sat cross-legged on the floor, Changbin beside them pretending not to smile.

And Seungmin… Seungmin had Peter asleep on his chest, Juni curled at his side with Bunny. He looked tired, but not brittle. He looked like a man who belonged here.

You sat across from him, catching his eye. He mouthed, thank you.

You mouthed back, for what?

He glanced at the baby in his arms, then at Juni snuggled against him, then back at you. For this.

The lump in your throat nearly undid you.

The room hummed with quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t heavy anymore — just warm. Family.

Messy. Loud. Imperfect. Yours.

And maybe, finally, enough.

Three months later, your apartment ran on organized chaos.

Peter was bigger now, cheeks rounder, smile brighter. He cooed in Seungmin’s arms, tiny hands clutching at his hoodie strings. Seungmin grinned down at him, utterly unbothered when Peter drooled all over his shirt.

“Badge of honour,” he said when Han pointed it out. “Dad uniform.”

Juni, now four, stood proudly in the middle of the room, Bunny tucked under their arm. “Everybody listen! Daddy Two is official.”

The boys cheered like it was a championship. Felix waved a saucepan like a trophy. Hyunjin collapsed dramatically onto the rug. Han tried to start a chant until Minho shoved a cushion in his face.

Seungmin laughed — real, unguarded, full. He pulled Juni into one arm, Peter into the other, and let them both cling to him. “Official, huh?”

“Yup,” Juni said solemnly. “You’re in the family now. No returns.”

“Terrifying,” Minho muttered, but he was smiling.

On the couch, Cait and Jeongin sat shoulder-to-shoulder, no longer pretending. Jeongin’s hand rested easily over hers, and no one teased them, much.

By the window, Mylo and Changbin were mid-argument about snacks, but the grin tugging at Changbin’s lips told its own story.

And you, watching from across the room, felt the weight of the past year slip further away. The fear, the secrecy, the storm — all of it softened by the sight before you.

It wasn’t perfect. It never would be. But as Seungmin kissed Peter’s head and let Juni climb onto his lap, surrounded by laughter, you realized perfection had never been the goal.

Family was.

And now, finally, you had it.

Hey guys,

I'm kinda torn with the themes of part 3, so I thought I'll do a poll

So erm yeah, part 2 is written, and yes I do have a part 3 on the way..... I also wanna say sorry now, because this is HEAVY

W/C : 13.5K

Warnings : emotional angst, under the cover romance, slight mental health flags.

The room seemed to tilt under his words. “I know who the father is.”

Your heart lurched, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and throat. The silence stretched, heavy enough to crush you.

Chan’s gaze didn’t waver. He leaned back slightly, arms folding as if bracing himself. “It’s Minho, isn’t it?”

The world stopped.

You blinked at him, once, twice, as the name settled like ice water in your veins. Minho. Of all people. Relief slammed into you, sharp and dizzying — because he was wrong. But fear quickly followed, because even being wrong meant he was close enough to guess. Close enough to believe there was something here to uncover.

You shook your head too quickly, words tangling in your throat. “No— it’s not—”

Chan’s brow furrowed, but his voice softened. “You don’t have to deny it. I see the way people talk. And you’ve been so careful… too careful. I get it. You’re protecting him. Protecting yourself.”

Tears stung your eyes, hot and relentless. Protecting yourself? Protecting Minho? The absurdity of it nearly broke you. But you couldn’t laugh, couldn’t even breathe properly. Because this was worse than whispers in hallways, worse than staff speculation. This was Chan. And he was looking at you like he’d solved the riddle of your life.

Your chest caved inward under the weight of it. He thought he knew. He was wrong. But wrong guesses could still ruin you.

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked, breaking on the edges of your fear. You looked down at Peter in your arms, his tiny face soft in sleep, innocence untouched by the storm that raged around him. “I don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

Chan hesitated, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know. I didn’t mean to—” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t like watching you go through this alone. With Juni starting school, with Peter still so little—” His gaze flicked to the sleeping infant, then back to you, steady and unyielding. “You’re carrying too much by yourself. And you have this gift, (Y/N). This thing you could do with music. Full-time. You could give yourself something that isn’t just survival.”

Music. The word hit like an old wound reopening.

Once, before secrets and sleepless nights and hiding beneath oversized sweaters, it had been yours. A place where you weren’t just “Mum,” or “that girl from London,” or “the mystery everyone whispered about.” You’d been someone with a voice, with rhythm, with creation. And Chan saw that — worse, he believed in it.

But belief didn’t change the truth.

Your truth.

That stepping forward meant stepping into light. And stepping into light meant someone, eventually, would look close enough to see Peter’s eyes, the curve of his face, and put together what you had fought so violently to keep buried.

Your throat burned as you forced the words out. “Dreams cost more than I can afford, Chan.”

His expression softened, but he didn’t back down. “And hiding costs you everything.”

You wanted to scream at him, to tell him he didn’t know — couldn’t know — what you’d already lost to silence. But the scream caught in your chest, strangled by tears that refused to fall.

Instead, you clutched Peter closer, like his small heartbeat could anchor you. Juni’s laughter echoed faintly in your memory — their bright voice babbling about starting school next week, about making friends and showing Bunny to their teacher. And here you were, drowning in shadows, while your children were ready to step into light.

You were their shield. Their protector. And yet — with every wrong guess, every whisper, every push from Chan to step into something bigger — you felt your walls splintering.

How much longer until someone guessed right?

How much longer until the truth you’d buried under sleepless nights and whispered lies tore its way out?

Chan’s words replayed for days after. It’s Minho, isn’t it?

You couldn’t shake them. They crawled under your skin, into your dreams, twisting into every silence.

Relief was there, yes. He was wrong. But so was fear — fear because he believed it so fully. Fear because his certainty meant he’d been looking, really looking, in ways no one else dared.

And worst of all… guilt. Minho’s name wasn’t clean anymore. Even if Chan never said it out loud, even if he never breathed a word, the thought existed now. Stained.

You told yourself you’d bury it, like you buried everything else.

But then Juni started school.

Almost four, too big for nursery now, too eager for the world. They bounded into their classroom clutching Bunny like a lifeline, proudly telling their teacher, “This is my brother, Peter! He’s a baby, but Mummy says he’s special.”

And of course, the teacher smiled, nodded, and asked the harmless question adults always asked: “Do you look like your brother?”

Juni’s response was a dagger. “No! He looks like someone else.”

Laughter. Innocent, bright. But your chest caved in.

That night you held them both tighter, whispering promises they were too young to understand. “No one will know. I won’t let them.”

Except… people already did.

The whispers at JYPE hadn’t softened. Trainees glanced your way in hallways. Staff fell silent when you walked past. Even idols, kinder, gentler, couldn’t hide their lingering looks.

And Chan, Chan with his steady eyes and quiet patience, wasn’t letting it go.

He never asked directly again, but you felt the weight of his doubt. The way his gaze flicked from Peter to you, thoughtful, calculating. The way he hesitated sometimes, as if the puzzle he’d so confidently solved didn’t quite fit anymore.

One night, in the studio, he said it without saying it.

“You know, Minho’s not really… the type to keep secrets,” he mused, almost casually. His eyes didn’t leave the screen, but you felt the words aimed like an arrow. “If something mattered that much to him, everyone would know.”

Your hands shook where they rested on the desk. He was pulling at the thread.

And you, already unraveling, didn’t know how much longer you could hold the pieces together.

The shift came quietly.

At first, Chan’s assumption about Minho wrapped around you like a curse you couldn’t shake. Every glance, every half-smile from him carried the unspoken belief that he knew; that you and Minho shared something hidden.

You told yourself it was safer that way. Wrong guesses still kept the truth buried.

But Chan was too observant for his own good.

It started with a throwaway comment in the studio one night. Juni had fallen asleep with Bunny tucked under their chin, Peter was fussing in your arms, and Chan leaned back in his chair after replaying a track.

“Funny,” he said lightly. “Minho doesn’t even like kids.”

You froze, swaying Peter gently against your chest.

Chan didn’t look at you, just let the words hang there like smoke. “If Peter were his, don’t you think… I don’t know. He’d be different around him?”

Your throat burned. You forced your gaze down, pretending to focus on smoothing Peter’s blanket. “Not everyone shows things the same way.”

Chan hummed like he accepted that, but his eyes lingered on you too long. Thoughtful. Doubtful.

After that, it was little cracks, one after another.

At lunch, Minho teased Felix about kids being “loud little goblins,” and Chan’s eyes flicked instinctively to you. At practice, Minho disappeared early, uninterested, while Chan lingered behind gaze snagging on Peter’s tiny face like he was searching for something he couldn’t name. At dinner one night, someone joked about “mystery parents” and Minho laughed the loudest. And Chan… didn’t.

The Minho theory was breaking in his hands, and he knew it.

One evening, it finally snapped.

The studio was quiet, Juni coloring half-asleep on the couch, Peter bundled in the stroller beside you. You’d just adjusted a layer when Chan broke the silence.

“It’s not Minho, is it?”

The question slammed through you like a physical blow.

Your pulse roared in your ears. “I don’t—”

He didn’t push, not yet. Just leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “I wanted it to make sense. For your sake. But it doesn’t. The timing’s off. His behavior’s off. And Peter…” His gaze softened, settling on the stroller. “Peter doesn’t look like him.”

You clutched the edge of the desk until your knuckles whitened. Relief tangled violently with fear in your chest. Wrong guess undone. Secret still intact. But his eyes — steady, sharp, unyielding — were moving closer to the truth.

Chan turned back to the screen, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know who it is. But I know you’re carrying it alone. And you don’t have to.”

The offer hung there, warm and terrifying.

And you sat frozen, trapped between the safety of silence and the terror of what would happen if he ever guessed right.

Juni loved school in a way that made your chest ache with both pride and fear. Almost four, too brave for their own good, bounding into class each morning with Bunny tucked proudly under one arm. They came home full of stories — about snacks, about friends, about who shared their crayons.

And sometimes… about Peter.

“My teacher said Peter looks different from me,” Juni announced one afternoon, swinging their legs at the kitchen table. “But I told her he just looks like Mummy.”

Your heart clenched. You kissed their hair, forcing a smile. “That’s right, love. He does.”

But it wasn’t just teachers noticing. Parents at pickup would glance between you, Juni, and Peter at daycare drop-offs. Smiles that seemed kind on the surface carried questions underneath.

Cait noticed. She always did. “It’s getting harder, isn’t it?” she murmured one evening as you both walked home. Juni skipped ahead, humming to themselves, while Peter babbled from his stroller.

You tightened your grip on the handle. “People see what they want to see.”

“They see more than you think,” Cait said softly. Then, after a pause: “But they also see how good you are with them. How safe they are with you. That matters too.”

JYPE wasn’t safer, but it was familiar. And the more you worked, the more the lines blurred between “helping out” and “working with Stray Kids.”

At first it was just Chan pulling you into sessions, asking for your ear, pushing you gently toward confidence.

But soon, the others noticed.

Felix was the first. He grinned when he caught you adjusting a level one night. “So you’re the secret weapon, huh?”

“Not really,” you muttered, cheeks hot.

“Really,” Chan said from the corner, his tone quiet but firm.

Then Seungmin started asking your opinion on vocal layering. Han cracked jokes about you stealing his job. Hyunjin leaned over once, watching you click through the software with wide-eyed curiosity. “You actually know this stuff,” he said, half in awe.

Each comment chipped away at your walls. Each look, each laugh, each subtle piece of trust from them made you feel less like an outsider and more like… part of them.

And Chan only fueled it.

One late night, when the others had already left, he leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “You should be doing this officially. Producer credit. Full-time.”

The words hit harder than you wanted them to. “I can’t. My life isn’t—” You faltered, gesturing helplessly toward the stroller where Peter slept, toward the couch where Juni snored with Bunny. “This isn’t realistic.”

Chan’s gaze softened, steady. “It’s more real than you think. You’re already doing it. The only difference is giving yourself the title.”

Your throat tightened. He made it sound so simple. But nothing in your life was ever simple.

And through it all, the whispers still pressed closer.

At school pick-up, Juni told another child’s mum, “Peter’s Daddy is far away, but he looks like someone here.”

At daycare, Peter’s teacher smiled politely and said, “He has such familiar features.”

At JYPE, staff still lowered their voices as you passed, some with sympathy, others with suspicion.

And Chan…

Chan had stopped mentioning Minho. The name had fallen away quietly, replaced by silence that was heavier, sharper, more dangerous.

Because now he wasn’t just guessing. He was watching.

And every time he pushed you closer to music, closer to light, closer to him, you felt the walls of your secret closing in.

Juni settled into school life quickly, too quickly. Their teacher adored them, classmates loved them, and every afternoon they came home with wide-eyed stories you could barely keep up with.

But with school came questions. Innocent ones.

“Why doesn’t Peter look like me?” Juni asked one night, curled against your side, Bunny tucked under their chin. You froze, brushing their hair back gently. “Because everyone’s different, love. Even brothers and sisters.” Juni nodded like that was enough. But the words carved into you long after they fell asleep.

At JYPE, the tension was shifting.

It wasn’t just whispers anymore. The boys were beginning to see it.

Han noticed first. He always noticed too much.

One night, while Juni colored on the floor and Peter napped in the stroller, you stayed later than usual in the studio. Han slipped in with his usual energy, balancing takeout boxes, dropping one onto your desk with a grin. “You’ll forget to eat if I don’t force-feed you.”

You laughed softly. “You’re not wrong.”

As you opened the container, Han leaned casually against the desk, watching you. “You know, you look different when you’re working on music. Lighter. Like you’re not carrying the world for once.”

The words lodged deep in your chest. For a moment, the room felt too close, too warm. His eyes lingered, kind but sharp — like he saw more than you wanted him to.

And when his hand brushed yours as he passed you a fork, something flickered between you. Something you shoved down immediately, turning back to the food as if it could shield you.

But it wasn’t just Han.

Chan’s moments were quieter, steadier.

Late nights when the studio fell silent, when Juni was asleep and Peter’s soft breathing was the only sound, he’d glance at you from across the desk. Sometimes he smiled, small and unguarded. Sometimes he didn’t look away fast enough.

One evening, after hours of fine-tuning a track, he leaned closer, his voice low. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone just… fit here the way you do. Like the music was waiting for you.”

Your heart stuttered. His words weren’t a confession, not exactly. But they settled in your chest with the weight of one.

You wanted to believe him. To believe you belonged. But the truth, the secret still gnawed at you, threatening to unravel everything. The boys weren’t blind.

Felix tilted his head once, smiling as Juni introduced Peter proudly. “They don’t look alike, huh?” he said gently, then laughed it off before you had to answer. Seungmin teased that you were “basically producing” already. Even Hyunjin gave you curious looks when your hand lingered too long on Peter’s dark curls, protective and fierce.

None of them asked outright. Not yet. But the shift was there.

They weren’t just whispering about Peter anymore. They were watching you.

And no matter how many smiles you forced, no matter how steady you tried to sound, the cracks in your armor were showing.

Because the truth wasn’t just inside you anymore. It was bleeding out, into your voice, into your silences, into the way you froze whenever someone looked too closely.

And the boys; Chan with his quiet steadiness, Han with his sharp warmth, even the others with their curious eyes, were all starting to see.

It happened late one evening, the studio quiet except for the hum of a half-finished track. Juni had fallen asleep curled around Bunny, Peter babbling softly in his stroller.

Han leaned over your shoulder, pointing at the screen. “You know, if you just push that vocal layer a little softer, it’ll hit like a confession instead of a performance.”

You tried it, the sound slipping into place, warm and raw. Han grinned, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “See? Perfect. You’re a natural at making people feel something.”

His words lingered in the air. You glanced at him, only to find his eyes already on you, not teasing, not playful, but steady. Searching.

For a moment, the room shifted. His hand rested casually on the back of your chair, close enough that the warmth of it pressed against your skin. If you leaned even slightly, you’d be against him.

Your breath caught. Something in his gaze softened, like he wanted to close the space between you.

And then Peter fussed.

The moment shattered as his small cry filled the studio. You moved instinctively, leaning down to scoop him up,  but before you could, another hand was there.

Chan.

He must have slipped in quietly while you were distracted, towel slung around his neck, hair damp from practice. He crouched beside the stroller, lifting Peter with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

“Hey, little man,” he murmured, bouncing him slightly against his chest. “What’s all this fuss about, huh?”

Peter stilled almost immediately, eyes fluttering as he curled into Chan’s warmth.

You froze. The sight twisted something sharp inside you.

Chan held him easily, like he’d done it a thousand times before, one hand steady against Peter’s back, the other smoothing his dark curls. His voice was low, soothing, instinctive. Almost father-like.

Han chuckled, though his eyes flicked between you and Chan with something unreadable. “Guess we know who he likes best.”

Chan only smiled, soft and unguarded, his gaze lifting to yours for the briefest second. “He’s just tired. Aren’t you, buddy?”

Peter gave a little sigh, already drifting back to sleep against his chest.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Because for one heartbeat, it looked too real. Too dangerous.

Like the world had shifted into a version of itself where you weren’t hiding, where your son wasn’t a secret, where Chan wasn’t just guessing.

And the weight of it nearly broke you.

You turned back to the screen quickly, pretending to adjust a layer, blinking back tears you refused to let fall.

Because this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

But as Chan laid Peter gently back in his stroller, his touch lingering like he was reluctant to let go, you knew the cracks in your walls weren’t just showing anymore.

They were splitting wide open.

The next day, you told yourself it was nothing. Han’s lingering look, Chan’s steady arms around Peter — just moments. Meaningless.

But the weight of them followed you everywhere.

In the quiet of your apartment, you replayed the way Peter had melted against Chan, soothed by his voice like it was something he’d known all along. You remembered the flicker in Han’s eyes, the half-step closer he never took. And you hated yourself for letting either memory warm you.

Because warmth was dangerous. Warmth made you forget why you built walls in the first place.

At JYPE, the shift was subtle but undeniable.

The boys noticed.

Felix teased one afternoon when you dropped off snacks in the studio. “Careful, noona, Han’s gonna start demanding you sit in every session. Can’t have you stealing his best lines.”

Han only grinned, shooting you a sideways look. “Maybe I like the competition.”

Your cheeks burned. You busied yourself with Peter’s blanket, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of their glances.

Seungmin wasn’t so playful. He caught you in the hallway later, Juni tugging at your hand as Peter babbled on your hip. His eyes flicked between the children, then back to you. “You look tired,” he said simply. But there was something sharper beneath it, like he was measuring you. Weighing what you weren’t saying.

Even Hyunjin had started lingering more, crouching to chat with Juni, tilting his head like he was studying Peter’s features a little too carefully.

They weren’t cruel. They weren’t even obvious. But their curiosity pressed closer every day.

And you felt it.

Inside, your battle raged louder.

Nights alone, you sat by Peter’s crib, whispering apologies into the dark. “I’m trying. I’m trying to keep you safe. To keep us safe.”

But safe didn’t feel like enough anymore. Not with Juni bounding home from school, full of questions about families and fathers and why Peter’s hair was dark when theirs was bright. Not with Cait watching you quietly, worry flickering behind every smile. Not with the boys — their trust, their attention, their eyes on you.

And especially not with Chan.

Because Chan never teased. Never pushed. He simply was. Comfortable with Peter, steady with Juni, patient with you in a way that carved cracks into every defense you had left.

And you were terrified.

Because the boys were whispering. Because Han’s almost-looks lingered. Because Chan’s presence felt too close to the truth.

And because, for the first time, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep hiding.

It was a Friday evening, the studio heavy with the low thrum of bass. Juni sat cross-legged on the couch, coloring with Bunny tucked under their arm, while Peter slept in his stroller. The boys drifted in and out, Han lounging against the desk, Seungmin perched in the corner scrolling his phone, Felix humming absently as he fiddled with a lyric.

You were leaning over the soundboard when Peter stirred, letting out a sharp wail. Instinct pulled you forward before you even thought.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, scooping him up, bouncing him gently against your chest. “Shhh… Daddy’s voice always calms you, doesn’t it?”

Silence.

The words hung in the air like a gunshot.

Your breath froze. Your heart stopped.

Every head in the room turned. Juni blinked up from their drawing. Felix tilted his head. Han’s brow furrowed.

And Chan. Chan’s eyes locked on yours, wide and sharp, as if he’d heard something no one else had.

You scrambled, heat flooding your face. “I mean… music. His dad used to… play music around Juni too. Babies like rhythm, right?” Your laugh was too thin, too brittle, but you forced it out anyway.

Felix, sweet as ever, just smiled. “Yeah, Peter probably likes the bass. Makes sense.” He turned back to his notes, easy, unbothered.

But Han didn’t look away so quickly. His gaze lingered, thoughtful, lips pressed like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

And Chan, Chan hadn’t moved. Still watching. Still silent. His hand tightened against the armrest of his chair, knuckles pale, like he was holding something back.

The music looped on, filling the silence. You rocked Peter, whispering against his hair, pretending nothing had happened.

But inside, you were unraveling.

Because you’d been so careful. For months, you’d built walls of silence and half-truths. And with one slip, one word, the cracks had split wider than ever.

You didn’t dare meet Chan’s eyes again. Because if you did, you were terrified you’d see not just suspicion… but recognition.

It started the next time they were all in the studio together.

The air wasn’t the same. Not after that slip.

She sat at the desk, Juni curled on the couch with Bunny, Peter cooing in his stroller. She looked steady, focused, like nothing had happened. But the boys…

They felt it.

Felix kept glancing at Peter, then quickly away, guilt chewing at his chest. Every time the baby blinked up with dark, curious eyes, Felix’s stomach twisted with the question he refused to ask out loud.

Han leaned against the wall, too quiet for once, watching her hands move across the board. Normally he’d crack jokes, fill the silence with easy laughter, but now… all he could hear was her voice that night. Daddy’s voice always calms you. The panic that followed. The way she’d shut down. It hadn’t been nothing. It couldn’t have been.

Seungmin caught both of them looking. He narrowed his eyes, suspicion curling like smoke. If they were wondering, then it wasn’t just him. The thought made his chest feel heavier.

And Chan… Chan felt it most of all. He sat in his chair, pretending to scroll through notes, but his eyes flicked constantly between them. Between her, the baby, the other members. He could feel it under their skin, the same thought pressing into all of them.

Could it be me?

The silence dragged.

Han cleared his throat finally, too forced. “So… vocals. We should, uh, double-check the harmonies.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed quickly, like the words could sweep away the weight in the room.

But the way his knee bounced betrayed him.

Seungmin didn’t look up from his phone, but his voice was sharper than usual. “Funny how we’re all suddenly so interested in lullabies, though.”

The room went still.

Felix’s head snapped up. Han froze mid-scribble. Even Chan looked over, heart slamming against his ribs.

It wasn’t an accusation. Not exactly. But it was close enough to leave every one of them squirming.

She glanced up then, brow furrowed at the sudden silence, eyes flicking between them. “What?”

“Nothing,” Han said too fast, flashing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just tired.”

Felix forced a laugh, scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah, long day.”

Chan smiled faintly, but it felt wrong on his face. Because the truth was buzzing between them, unspoken but alive.

And none of them wanted to admit it. Not to her. Not to each other. Not even to themselves.

The simmer started slow.

The boys didn’t speak of it outright. No one dared. But the air shifted in ways you couldn’t name, tension threading through even their laughter.

Felix stopped teasing you about forgetting to eat. His warmth was still there, but softer, cautious, like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Han’s jokes grew thinner. He still hovered close, still leaned over your shoulder when you worked, but sometimes his eyes lingered too long on Peter before flicking away, guilt etched in the crease of his smile.

Seungmin was sharper. Not unkind, but blunt in ways that made you flinch. “You’re late again,” he’d say when you slipped into the studio, Peter on your hip. Or, “Juni said something about a daddy at school. You should be careful what they hear.” The words landed heavy, even if he claimed not to mean anything by them.

And Chan… Chan was the hardest to read.

Because he didn’t avoid Peter. If anything, he grew more comfortable, more natural, scooping him up without asking, rocking him while you worked, murmuring softly until the baby settled. Juni adored him too, climbing into his lap during breaks like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Every time, your chest ached. Because he was too close. Too steady. Too much like…

You couldn’t finish the thought.

The simmer bled into the group, too.

Small moments.

Awkward silences when Peter cried and one of them rushed to soothe him. Lingering glances when Juni mentioned “Daddy” at school drop-off. Half-sentences that trailed off before they reached the truth.

One afternoon, Felix muttered something under his breath in the cafeteria. “He really does look familiar…”

Han’s fork clattered too loudly against his tray. “Don’t start.”

Seungmin’s eyes narrowed, sharp but unreadable. Chan said nothing at all.

The silence that followed was worse than any argument.

At night, when the studio emptied, you sat alone between your children, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of their stares. Pretending you didn’t hear the whispers carried in the halls. Pretending you weren’t breaking.

Because the truth wasn’t out. Not yet. But it was simmering; in their silences, in their guilt, in their unasked questions.

And you knew it was only a matter of time before the heat broke.

It started with a phone call.

“Hi, this is Ms. Kim from Juni’s class.” Your chest tightened instantly. School calls were never good. “Nothing serious,” she assured quickly, her voice warm. “Juni’s doing wonderfully. But I wanted to touch base about something they mentioned during story circle.”

Your throat dried. “What did they say?”

Ms. Kim hesitated, carefully polite. “They told the class their little brother has two daddies. I just thought I’d check with you, in case Juni is… confused.”

The world tilted.

You forced a laugh, brittle. “Ah — kids, you know. They say the funniest things.”

“Yes, of course,” Ms. Kim chuckled. “No harm done. I just wanted you to be aware.”

You thanked her, hung up, and pressed your shaking hands against your face. Two daddies.

It didn’t stay at school.

The next day, you caught the looks. Other parents at pickup, polite smiles edged with curiosity. A few whispered to each other as Juni tugged at your hand, proudly waving Bunny in the air.

And soon enough… it reached JYPE.

Cait heard it first, of course. She pulled you aside in the hallway, her voice low but sharp. “Parents are talking. Apparently Juni told half their class Peter has two dads.”

Your stomach dropped. “I’ll handle it.”

“(Y/N)…” Cait’s eyes softened, but the weight behind them was firm. “You can’t keep brushing this off. Kids don’t lie. And people here—” her gaze flicked toward the practice rooms, “—are already looking for answers.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

That evening, in the studio, the air was thicker than ever.

Felix shifted uncomfortably when Juni clambered into his lap, blurting, “My brother has two daddies.”

The words froze the room.

Han choked on his drink. Seungmin stiffened. Even Chan, who was usually steady as stone, faltered for just a second.

Felix laughed awkwardly, ruffling Juni’s hair. “Oh yeah? That’s lucky, then.”

Juni grinned, proud. “Yup! Mummy says Daddy sings. And my other Daddy plays music too!”

The silence after was suffocating.

You rushed forward, scooping Juni back into your arms, your smile strained. “They’re just being silly. You know how kids are.”

But no one laughed. Not really.

Felix smiled weakly. Han looked down at his hands. Seungmin’s brow furrowed.

And Chan… Chan’s gaze locked on you, sharp and unyielding, like he was hearing the pieces click together in real time.

Inside, your chest was a battlefield. Relief that Juni didn’t understand the weight of their words. Terror at what those words meant to everyone else. Guilt that you’d dragged them into this secret without meaning to.

The simmer was no longer quiet. It was boiling.

And now… it wasn’t just you who couldn’t ignore it.

You barely made it home before the tears came.

Juni was still chattering about their day, swinging Bunny by the ears, completely oblivious. Peter fussed softly in your arms as you wrestled with keys, but the moment the door shut behind you, the weight crashed down.

Two daddies.

Your child had said it with so much joy, so much pride, their little voice echoing in your head like a curse. They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. But the words were out now, loose in the world, impossible to reel back in.

You collapsed onto the couch, Peter squirming against your chest, Juni humming happily as they spread crayons across the coffee table.

The spiral hit fast.

You should’ve been more careful. Should’ve never whispered when you thought they were asleep. Should’ve never let their questions slip past you unanswered. Should’ve never let yourself imagine a world where the truth didn’t matter.

Because it mattered. God, it mattered.

At JYPE, you could feel their eyes on you already. Felix, smiling but uneasy. Han, watching like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Seungmin, blunt as a blade. And Chan—

Your stomach twisted.

Chan, holding Peter like he belonged there. Chan, watching you with steady eyes that saw too much. Chan, who hadn’t laughed, hadn’t looked away, hadn’t dismissed Juni’s words like the others did.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, every memory of him with Peter flashing like fire: the way the baby settled at his voice, the way Juni curled in his lap like it was natural, the way you almost believed it.

It was too close. Too dangerous.

“Stop it,” you whispered to yourself, voice sharp, cracking in the quiet apartment. Peter stilled at the sound, wide eyes blinking up at you. “Stop it, stop it, stop it.”

Juni looked up from their crayons. “Mummy?”

You forced a smile, swallowing the sob clawing at your throat. “I’m okay, love. Just tired.”

But you weren’t okay.

You were breaking.

Because the secret wasn’t just yours anymore. It was spilling out through Juni’s innocent words, through Peter’s dark curls and familiar eyes, through the boys’ glances and Chan’s unspoken questions.

And no matter how tightly you held on, no matter how fiercely you tried to protect it—

You were losing control.

You’d been unraveling for days. The whispers, the stares, Juni’s words echoing at school — two daddies — they gnawed at you until even breathing felt like a lie.

And today… you cracked.

The boys were all in the studio when you walked in, empty stroller left at home, your arms heavy with nothing but exhaustion. For once, you didn’t have Peter to anchor you. Juni wasn’t tugging at your sleeve. The silence of your own hands felt like a void, and it swallowed you whole.

They were laughing when you arrived, Han teasing Seungmin, Felix grinning, Chan shaking his head with that quiet smile. But the moment their eyes landed on you, the laughter thinned.

“Hey,” Felix said softly. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly, too sharp. “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t. God, you weren’t.

Your chest tightened, breaths shallow. You moved toward the desk, but your vision blurred. The floor tilted. The whispers you’d been carrying rose like smoke in your head. Who’s the father? Why doesn’t Peter look like Juni? Two daddies. She’s hiding something.

And before you could stop it, the words tumbled out, raw and strangled.

“It’s one of you.”

Silence slammed the room.

Your voice shook, tears burning down your cheeks before you even realized you were crying. “Peter… it’s one of you. I can’t— I can’t keep pretending, I can’t keep lying. Everyone’s watching me, whispering, and Juni—” You choked, clutching at your chest like the truth itself was suffocating you. “I can’t hold it anymore.”

The boys stared, frozen. Han’s mouth parted, stunned. Felix’s eyes widened, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on his knees. Seungmin stiffened, every muscle taut like he’d been expecting this and still wasn’t ready. Chan… Chan’s face cracked open, something like pain, something like relief, something like horror.

And you, you collapsed.

Sobs wracked your body, pulling you down to the edge of the couch. Your hands shook violently, your words tumbling out broken and jagged. “I don’t know how to do this anymore. I don’t know how to protect them, or myself. I just— I just wanted to keep them safe—”

A gentle hand landed on your shoulder.

Hyunjin.

He crouched in front of you, eyes soft, wide with quiet fear but steady, too. “Breathe,” he whispered. Not accusing. Not demanding. Just anchoring. His hands pressed lightly against your arms, grounding you. “You don’t have to say more. Just breathe.”

You shook your head, sobbing harder. “But you’ll hate me. All of you—”

Hyunjin’s gaze didn’t falter. His voice was low, firm in its gentleness. “No one here hates you. We just want you to stop hurting.”

The room was still. No one else moved, no one else spoke. But their silence was heavy, each of them drowning in their own thoughts, guilt, confusion, fear.

And you; you sat shaking in Hyunjin’s hands, your secret no longer sealed, the words finally out in the air where they could never be pulled back.

Peter’s father was one of them. And now, there was no undoing it.

The silence after your words was unbearable.

One of them.

It hung there, sharp and heavy, cutting into every breath. You were sobbing, body trembling, but you could feel them staring, the weight of their eyes pressing in until it was suffocating.

Hyunjin stayed steady in front of you, his hands warm against your arms. “Breathe,” he whispered, soft but firm. “Just breathe.”

But around him, the room fractured.

Felix shifted first, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve— I could’ve helped—” His guilt poured through every word, his wide eyes pleading, like he should’ve known, should’ve done something.

Han let out a shaky laugh that sounded nothing like him. “God, I thought— I don’t even know what I thought. That I was imagining things. The looks, the way you—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, a bitter smile twitching at his lips. His voice cracked. “I should’ve asked. I should’ve—”

Seungmin leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “So all the gossip— it wasn’t just rumors.” His jaw clenched, voice low. “You let us walk around in the dark while everyone else whispered.” But the edge in his voice faltered when he looked at you again, the anger masking something more fragile: fear.

Changbin leaned forward, elbows on his knees, expression tense. “It doesn’t matter what anyone says,” he said, firm but pained. “What matters is you’ve been carrying this alone. That’s not fair. Not to you. Not to them.” His voice softened, though unease lingered in his eyes.

Jeongin sat frozen, lips parted, staring at you like he didn’t know who you were anymore. His hands twisted in the fabric of his jeans. He didn’t speak, but his silence was heavy, full of a panic he couldn’t voice.

Minho stood, sharp and sudden, pushing back his chair. His face was hard, eyes flashing. “You should’ve said something.” His voice cut through the room like a blade. “All this time — letting people talk, letting us…” He trailed off, jaw tight, fists clenching. His anger wasn’t directed at you — not fully — but at the situation, at himself for missing it, at the storm you’d been weathering alone. After a beat, his voice cracked, low and raw. “You didn’t deserve to carry it like that.” He sat back down heavily, eyes burning, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

Chan hadn’t moved. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly his knuckles blanched. He stared at you, chest heaving, silence louder than any accusation. His eyes were fire and heartbreak all at once, like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

And through it all, Hyunjin stayed in front of you. His hands anchored you, his voice quiet, steady. “It’s okay,” he murmured, gaze locked on yours. “You don’t have to explain everything now. You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

Your sobs slowed, breaking into shallow gasps. You clung to Hyunjin’s steadiness, the only thing keeping you upright.

Because the truth was out. Because now, every single one of them knew. And though you hadn’t said who; the question was in all their eyes.

Was it me?

The words still burned on your tongue.

It’s one of you.

Your body shook with sobs you couldn’t hold back, Hyunjin’s hands the only steady thing anchoring you. The boys’ silence pressed against you from all sides, their eyes cutting into your skin until it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

You dared a glance up, and their faces broke you all over again.

Felix’s wide, trembling eyes. Han’s bitter smile that never reached his gaze. Seungmin’s jaw tight, his arms folded like he needed the shield. Changbin’s hands clenched together, fighting something in his chest. Jeongin, pale and still, staring like the floor had dropped out beneath him. Minho — pacing, fists tight, fury and fear battling in his expression. And Chan…

Chan’s silence burned the deepest. His knuckles white on the chair, his eyes locked on you like he was holding every unspoken word in his throat.

You broke harder. A strangled sob tore out of you, your hands shaking against Hyunjin’s sleeves. “I didn’t mean to—I just— I can’t carry it anymore—”

Hyunjin’s voice was soft but firm, grounding. “You don’t have to explain now. Just breathe. Please, noona. Just breathe.”

Felix swallowed hard, guilt clawing up his throat. Why didn’t she tell us? Why didn’t I see? His hands trembled against his knees. If it was him— if somehow it was him— then he’d failed her twice over.

Han laughed again, short, bitter, broken. I wanted it to be me. God help me, I wanted it. The thought made him sick, made his chest twist with something halfway between jealousy and shame. He couldn’t look at her without feeling both.

Seungmin stared hard at the wall, words sharp in his head. So it’s true. All of it. And she’s been drowning in it alone. The anger he’d thrown out a moment ago tasted like ash now. Because it wasn’t her he was angry at — it was himself, for being too blind, too afraid to ask.

Changbin leaned forward, elbows pressed to his knees, his voice stuck in his throat. She needed us. And we were too busy making jokes, looking away. His chest ached with the weight of it, heavy and helpless.

Jeongin couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. What if it’s me? What if I— The thought spiraled until his palms dug crescents into his skin. He hated himself for even thinking it.

Minho paced, fists clenching, jaw locked. She shouldn’t have had to do this alone. Not here. Not with us. Anger burned through him — at the whispers, at the company, at himself. He wanted to smash something, but all he could do was stand there, helpless, as she shook apart in front of them.

Chan sat motionless, his silence louder than all of them combined. One of us. One of us. One of us. The words beat against his ribs like war drums. His chest heaved, his throat tight, his mind screaming with questions he couldn’t ask. Because part of him already knew. Part of him was terrified to admit it.

And you — you collapsed further, Hyunjin’s steady hands keeping you from falling completely to the floor.

The secret wasn’t secret anymore. The walls were gone. And though you hadn’t spoken a name, you could see it in their eyes — each of them asking the question you feared most.

Is it me?

The silence pressed harder with every heartbeat.

Your sobs had softened into jagged breaths, Hyunjin still crouched in front of you, steady, murmuring little reassurances that barely reached through the noise in your head. But the weight of all their eyes was unbearable — heat crawling up your neck, shame carving into your chest.

“I didn’t mean to…” Your voice cracked, splintering in the quiet. “I just— I can’t keep it all in anymore.”

No one moved at first. Until Felix slid off his chair, kneeling awkwardly beside Hyunjin. His voice was soft, thick with guilt. “You don’t have to carry it by yourself anymore, noona. Please don’t think you do.” His hand hovered like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

Han exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His usual grin was nowhere to be found. “Do you have any idea what it does to us? Sitting here wondering—” He cut himself off, jaw tight, his voice dropping. “You should’ve trusted us.”

The words hit, sharp and heavy. Your body flinched.

“Han,” Changbin said quickly, firm, his eyes flashing. “Stop. This isn’t about us right now.” He leaned forward, looking at you with something fierce but gentle. “You’ve been strong for so long. Too long. We should’ve noticed sooner. That’s on us.”

Across the room, Seungmin shifted against the wall, his voice quieter than usual, but no less blunt. “You said it’s one of us. That’s not something we can ignore.” His gaze flicked to you, sharp and pained. “Do you even realize what that means?”

Your chest squeezed, the spiral clawing at you again.

“Stop,” Hyunjin said firmly this time, glancing back at the others. His hand pressed gently against your arm, steadying you. “She doesn’t have to explain right now. She’s breaking in front of us, and all you can think about is yourselves?” His voice wavered but didn’t crack. “She’s terrified.”

The room stilled.

Jeongin’s voice came next, small, almost childlike. “We’re not angry. Not really. We’re just…” He swallowed hard, twisting his hands. “We don’t know what to do. We don’t even know how to look at each other anymore.”

The truth in his words rang out, heavy and raw.

And then Minho’s chair scraped against the floor. He stood, pacing again, his hands fisted at his sides. “She’s not the one who should be terrified,” he snapped, eyes hard. “It’s us. We let it get this far. We let her carry it while we joked around, while people whispered and stared. We failed her.” His voice cracked, his anger shaking. “All of us.”

The words hit like a slap, leaving the room hollow.

Still silent, Chan leaned forward at last. His elbows braced against his knees, his face buried in his hands. His chest rose and fell too fast, ragged, as though he’d been holding his breath for months and had finally run out of air. When he finally looked up, his eyes burned, wet at the corners.

“We’re not leaving you alone in this anymore,” he said hoarsely. His voice carried weight, steady but trembling. “No matter what it costs. No matter who it is.”

The promise landed heavy, both comfort and curse.

And you — broken, raw, trembling — finally buried your face in your hands, letting Hyunjin’s grip and their fractured vows be the only thing keeping you upright.

Because there was no going back now.

The studio emptied slowly.

Your tears had thinned to shaky breaths, Hyunjin still steady in front of you, but the room felt splintered — the weight of your words pressing down on everyone. No one knew where to look, what to say.

It was Felix who broke the silence this time.

He stood carefully, glancing between the others before crouching beside you. His voice was soft, low, as though he was afraid to shatter you further. “Noona… you need space tonight. Not questions. Not whispers. Just rest.”

You shook your head weakly, hands trembling. “I can’t— the kids—”

“I’ll talk to Cait,” Felix interrupted gently. “She’ll keep them for the night. They’ll be safe.” His gaze was firm, but kind. “Right now, you need to breathe. You need to… be you. Just for a little while.”

Your lips parted, panic clawing at your throat. “I can’t leave them—”

“You’re not leaving them.” Felix reached out slowly, his hand brushing your sleeve. “You’re giving yourself one night to remember you’re still here.” His voice cracked slightly, raw with guilt. “You’ve given everything to protect them. Let us protect you this once.”

The fight drained out of you. Tears welled again, softer this time. You nodded faintly, unable to argue

Cait didn’t hesitate. She took Juni’s hand, kissed Peter’s forehead, and gave you a long, unreadable look. “I’ll bring them in the morning. Get some rest, (Y/N).”

Her voice was firm, but her eyes — her eyes said she knew this moment was bigger than rest.

Felix walked beside you in silence back to the dorms. The night air was cool, grounding, but your chest still felt hollow.

Every corner of JYPE seemed to whisper as you passed. Every familiar hallway pressed memories against your ribs. By the time Felix unlocked the door and guided you inside, your hands were trembling again.

“You don’t have to talk,” Felix said softly, ushering you toward the couch. “Not yet. Just sit.”

You sank down, head heavy in your hands. He hovered a moment, then quietly set a blanket around your shoulders, a glass of water on the table. His hand lingered, squeezing your shoulder gently.

“Whatever happened back then… whatever you’re carrying,” he murmured, “you don’t have to face it alone anymore.”

Your throat tightened. You closed your eyes, clutching the blanket like it was the only thing holding you together.

Because Felix was right.

You couldn’t run from it anymore.

The London concerts. The night everything changed. The secret that had grown heavier with every heartbeat since.

Tonight, you would remember. And then, you would have to decide what to do with the truth.

The roar of the crowd was deafening.

London pulsed with light and sound, the stage vibrating under your feet as the boys threw themselves into the final chorus. Heat poured from the spotlights, sweat glimmered on their skin, and the sea of fans moved like a single living thing — hands raised, voices screaming lyrics back louder than the music itself.

You stood just offstage, half-hidden in the wings, heart racing like you were the one performing.

JYP staff bustled around you, their shouts lost under the music, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from them — from him.

Or maybe from all of them.

Felix’s smile, bright and blinding as he pointed out into the crowd. Han’s playful wink, sharp and effortless, soaking in the energy like oxygen. Seungmin’s precision, every note hit clean, his face focused but soft. Changbin, power in every movement, commanding the stage like it was his own. Hyunjin — fluid, breathtaking, his hair catching in the light like fire. Minho — sharp, steady, holding the center with a quiet strength that always made you ache. And Chan. Anchoring it all. His voice rising above the others, pulling them together, sweat dripping from his jaw as he gave everything he had left.

Your chest tightened, pride and something heavier tangling in your lungs.

This — this was the moment they’d dreamed of. This was everything.

And you were there.

When the final note hit, the explosion of cheers nearly shattered you. The boys stood panting, arms slung around each other, eyes shining as they bowed. The arena vibrated with love, with devotion, with something bigger than all of you.

Backstage was chaos after. Staff shouting, cameras flashing, fans still screaming in the distance. Costumes clung damp to their skin, stylists swarming with towels and bottles of water.

“London!” Han shouted breathlessly, voice still hoarse. “You’re insane!”

Felix laughed, collapsing against Changbin, nearly spilling water down both of them. Seungmin rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his grin. Hyunjin twirled in a daze, still high on adrenaline. Minho tugged his shirt over his head with a scowl, muttering about the heat, though his lips curved faintly.

And Chan… Chan found you in the madness. Just for a second.

His gaze cut through the crowd, sweat dripping into his eyes, chest still heaving. But he smiled a small, tired, proud. Just for you.

The air caught in your lungs.

Because in that moment, surrounded by glitter and chaos, you knew the night wasn’t finished.

Not for them. Not for you. And not for what would follow.

The energy didn’t die when the stage lights dimmed.

It followed you all backstage, buzzing through the halls, clinging to the boys’ skin like sweat. They were still laughing when they piled into vans, still humming pieces of songs as though their bodies hadn’t registered the exhaustion yet. London itself seemed to hum with them — neon lights, honking horns, strangers spilling out of pubs singing into the night.

By the time you reached the hotel, the chaos had melted into celebration.

The afterparty wasn’t official, no flashing cameras or stiff executives. Just the boys, a few trusted staff, Cait, and you. Someone ordered too much food, drinks appeared out of nowhere, and music leaked from a speaker propped carelessly on a dresser.

Han was the loudest, as always. “London, baby! We conquered it!” He raised his glass, nearly spilling beer across the carpet.

Felix beamed, cheeks already flushed, accent thickening as he chimed in. “We smashed it, mates. Did you hear that crowd?”

Seungmin snorted, rolling his eyes as he stole a chip from Changbin’s plate. “We heard them. My ears are still ringing.”

Hyunjin sprawled dramatically across the couch, head in Minho’s lap, laughing at something Felix said. Minho only muttered a dry, “You’re heavy,” but his hand still absentmindedly pushed Hyunjin’s hair out of his face.

And Chan, Chan moved between them all, checking drinks, making sure food was passed around, grounding the chaos in his usual way. But even he was glowing, pride softening every line of his tired face.

You stayed tucked against the edge of the room, watching them unravel in the safest way.

The laughter, the teasing, the shared looks that spoke louder than words. This wasn’t the stage. This wasn’t the image the world screamed for. This was them. Real, messy, alive.

It should have felt simple. Safe.

But the edges blurred with every sip you took. The warmth of the room seeped into your skin, the thrum of music softened, the weight of the night pressed closer. Every glance seemed to linger longer than it should. Every brush of shoulders or hands felt charged, magnified.

Han leaned too close, his laugh brushing warm against your ear. Felix tugged you into a dance you barely remembered the steps to, both of you breathless with laughter. Hyunjin pulled you onto the couch beside him, draping an arm loosely around your shoulders as if it belonged there. Minho caught your gaze once across the room, steady and unreadable, before looking away. And Chan, Chan watched all of it quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips, eyes too knowing.

The night blurred.

The food dwindled, bottles emptied, music softened into something low and hazy. One by one, voices faded as bodies gave into exhaustion, collapsing on couches, carpet, anywhere there was space.

But you stayed awake.

Heart pounding. Skin warm. The room tilting around you as the laughter faded into silence.

And that was when the night changed.

The party thinned as the hours dragged past midnight.

Half-eaten food sat forgotten on the table. Music had quieted to a soft hum, someone’s playlist looping quietly through ballads and love songs. The boys sprawled where exhaustion had caught them: Han snoring into a pillow on the floor, Seungmin curled against the arm of a chair with his hoodie pulled tight, Felix stretched long and loose across the carpet, one hand twitching as if still caught in rhythm.

Only a few of you lingered awake, clinging to the haze of adrenaline that hadn’t quite faded.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, legs buzzing, nerves shot, the night air heavy with sweat and warmth.

Hyunjin stirred beside you, eyes half-lidded, his arm sliding back around your shoulders. “You’re still awake?” His voice was low, drowsy, but the weight of it brushed over your skin like silk.

“I can’t sleep.” Your laugh was thin. “Too loud in my head.”

He hummed softly, his gaze lingering a little too long before drifting shut again.

From the floor, Felix cracked one eye open, his grin lazy, words slurred from exhaustion. “You’re glowing, noona. Concert high?”

You flushed, tugging the blanket tighter. “Something like that.”

“Stay glowing,” Felix mumbled, rolling over, already half-asleep again.

Minho passed by then, a bottle of water dangling from his hand. He set it on the table near you without a word, but his eyes caught yours, steady, unreadable, before he walked off toward the balcony.

And Chan…

Chan sat on the other side of the room, laptop abandoned, his body sinking into the couch as though he’d finally given in to the weight of the night. But he wasn’t asleep. His gaze flicked to you every so often, lingering just a second too long. A quiet smile tugged at his lips, tired but soft, like he was watching something he couldn’t put words to.

Your heart thundered.

Every laugh from earlier, every brush of hands, every glance; they all pressed into you now, thick and heavy, until you could barely breathe.

The room was quiet, the others drifting in and out of shallow sleep. The chaos of the concert had faded, leaving only this, the charged silence, the weight of unsaid things, the blur of warmth and want and fear.

And somewhere between the haze of alcohol and exhaustion, the night tipped.

A conversation too close. A smile that lingered. A touch that lasted longer than it should have.

The line blurred. And then it was gone.

The quiet stretched, heavy and electric.

The others were mostly asleep, the afterparty dissolving into soft snores and shifting bodies on carpet and couches. The hum of the playlist filled the silence, a low, dreamy rhythm that felt more intimate than the chaos of hours before.

You sat still, blanket clutched to your chest, the warmth of the room seeping into your skin. Your nerves buzzed, your heart too loud, as if your body knew something your mind refused to admit.

“Still not tired?” The voice broke the silence softly, close enough to make you jump.

You turned, meeting tired eyes and a faint smile. He was too close, sitting down beside you without asking, his shoulder brushing yours, his body radiating warmth.

You swallowed, throat tight. “I should be. But my head won’t stop.”

“Adrenaline.” His voice was low, gentle, almost knowing. “Takes a while to wear off.”

You nodded, staring down at your hands. But he leaned in slightly, catching your gaze again. And this time, neither of you looked away.

The air shifted.

“I saw you watching.” His words were quiet, not an accusation, more like a confession.

Heat flushed your skin. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His lips twitched into a small, tired smile. “It’s okay. I was watching you too.”

Your chest caved in. The blanket slipped from your grip, and suddenly his hand was there — brushing against yours, lingering.

It should have stopped there. It could have stopped there.

But the silence pressed closer, heavy with everything you hadn’t said, everything you’d been pretending not to feel. The thrum of the city outside the window, the soft breaths of the others asleep, the warmth of his skin against yours — it all blurred together until you couldn’t tell where the concert high ended and this moment began.

His hand shifted, fingers curling lightly around yours. And you let him.

Your heart raced, breaths shallow as he leaned closer, his words brushing your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

And when his lips touched yours, soft, hesitant, trembling with exhaustion and want, you knew the night had already slipped too far to turn back.

The kiss deepened slowly, tender but urgent, the kind that spoke of things neither of you had the courage to say out loud. His hand cupped your face, yours clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer like you’d been waiting for this without realizing it.

The world outside faded. The concert, the chaos, the noise — gone. All that existed was this. Him. You. The moment that would change everything.

The kiss lingered, soft at first, then deeper — desperate, unsteady. You clutched at him like the ground had fallen away, his hands trembling as they traced your face, your hair, your back.

Time slipped.

The others were asleep around you, breaths steady, but the world narrowed to just this: the warmth of his mouth, the smell of sweat and cologne clinging to his skin, the way his heartbeat thundered under your palm.

There were words, too,  blurred and slurred between kisses.

“I shouldn’t—” “We can’t—” “Then stop me.”

But neither of you did.

The haze of exhaustion and alcohol dulled the edges of reason. Adrenaline still thrummed in your veins, every laugh and glance from earlier crackling into this.

The night unraveled in fragments: Fingers tangled in hair. Breathless laughter muffled against your neck. The soft press of lips down your jaw. A whispered please that could’ve come from either of you. The weight of his forehead pressed against yours, as though he was scared to let go.

It was tender and clumsy and overwhelming, a secret sealed in the dark, carved into skin and memory.

And then;

Morning.

The light was merciless.

You blinked awake, your body heavy, your head pounding with the remnants of alcohol and adrenaline. The room was quiet, save for soft snores and the muffled hum of London traffic outside the window.

You turned and froze.

He was there.

Asleep beside you, face softened in the morning light, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. His arm still rested across your waist, protective even in sleep.

Your stomach twisted.

The memories from the night before rushed in, heat, laughter, lips on skin. The weight of his voice whispering your name. The way you hadn’t stopped it.

Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your chest.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t have happened. And yet… it had.

You slipped carefully from beneath his arm, your movements shaky, frantic. The room spun as you gathered yourself, clutching your clothes, your bag, anything that would keep you moving.

Your reflection in the mirror nearly broke you. Hair mussed, lips still swollen, eyes rimmed with tears you hadn’t realized were there.

You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, swallowing the sob that rose in your throat.

Because last night had been real. And now, nothing would ever be the same.

Felix

London still burned in his chest like fire. The roar of the crowd, the sea of voices screaming their names — he’d never felt so alive.

But his memory of that night blurred around the edges.

He remembered pulling you onto the makeshift dance floor in the hotel room, his hand gripping yours as he spun you clumsily. Your laughter, high and breathless, rang louder in his ears than the music did.

He remembered you glowing. Sweaty hair sticking to your face, eyes bright, smile too wide. He remembered thinking, just for a second, she’s beautiful.

And then the memory slipped, fractured. He woke the next morning with a headache and guilt in his throat, wondering if he’d crossed a line.

Now, every time he looked at Peter, the thought gnawed at him. What if it was me?

Han

The adrenaline hadn’t faded, even hours later. He’d been buzzing, drunk on victory and alcohol, words spilling out faster than he could stop them.

He remembered leaning in close, too close, whispering jokes into your ear just to hear you laugh.

He remembered the way your hand brushed his, lingering, warm. The way his chest stuttered when you didn’t pull away.

And he remembered almost kissing you, or maybe he had? He couldn’t be sure. His memory was hazy, fragmented, swallowed by the blur of the night.

But he remembered the weight of wanting.

And now, when Peter smiled that crooked little smile, Han’s chest twisted with shame. Could I have been the one?

Seungmin

He wasn’t supposed to remember anything past the second drink. He rarely let himself go like that.

But London had been different.

He remembered watching you from across the room, your laugh soft as you tucked hair behind your ear. He remembered his stomach clenching with something he didn’t want to name.

He remembered sitting too close on the couch, your knee brushing his. Neither of you moved. He remembered thinking he should say something; anything, but the words stuck in his throat.

The rest was blank.

And now, sometimes, when Peter’s eyes caught the light just so, Seungmin’s heart stopped. What if my silence was the mistake that made everything?

Changbin

London had been loud, messy, chaotic. He remembered shouting until his voice cracked, laughing until his ribs hurt, rapping old lyrics with Han until staff begged them to stop.

But he also remembered you.

Your hand steadying him when he stumbled. Your voice in his ear, soft, telling him to drink water. The warmth of your palm against his back as you guided him to sit down.

He remembered leaning into that touch, maybe longer than he should have.

The details blurred after that, tangled in exhaustion and noise.

But the guilt never blurred. Not when he saw you breaking. Not when he saw Peter’s face. What if it was me, and I didn’t even know it?

Hyunjin

London lived in him like a dream.

He remembered glitter in the lights, sweat dripping down his jaw, the crowd chanting his name.

But his clearest memory was later, sitting beside you on the couch, your shoulder warm under his arm, the smell of your shampoo threading through the haze of alcohol.

He remembered you leaning into him, your head brushing his chest. His heart had hammered so hard he thought you’d hear it.

He remembered holding his breath, afraid to move, afraid to lose the weight of you against him.

And then, nothing.

But sometimes, when Peter laughed, Hyunjin’s chest ached with a thought he couldn’t voice. Did I cross the line without remembering?

Minho

London was adrenaline, exhaustion, pride. He remembered the stage, the roar, the ache in his muscles.

He remembered the afterparty only in pieces.

Handing you a bottle of water, catching your eyes. You’d smiled at him, a small, tired thing, and it had unsettled him more than the screaming crowd had.

He remembered stepping out onto the balcony, needing air, his head spinning.

He remembered you following, the sound of the door sliding shut, your voice low as you asked if he was okay.

He remembered looking at you, too long, too hard, before turning away.

The rest… was lost in haze.

But now, when Peter’s brow furrowed in sleep, Minho’s chest tightened. What if it was me?

Chan

London had been everything he dreamed of.

And everything he feared.

He remembered you most clearly of all; the way your eyes never left the stage, the way you looked at him like you believed in him even when he didn’t.

Back at the hotel, he remembered watching you with the others, Han making you laugh, Felix spinning you around, Hyunjin draping himself over you like he belonged there.

He remembered jealousy like fire in his chest.

And later; later he remembered you across the room, your eyes finding his in the quiet. He remembered starting to walk toward you, heart pounding.

Then, nothing. Just haze.

But every time he held Peter, every time the baby stilled in his arms, the question burned in his throat. Was it me? And if it was… why don’t I know?

The London night lived differently in all of them. Fragments. Pieces. None of them clear. None of them whole.

And that was the cruelest part.

Because not one of them could be sure. And yet all of them wondered.

What if it was me?

The dorm was quiet.

Too quiet.

The boys had scattered across the room after your breakdown, some slumped in chairs, some pressed against the walls, some with their heads in their hands. No one spoke. No one moved. The silence was suffocating, thick with the weight of things left unsaid.

You sat curled on the couch, blanket pulled tight around your shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together. Felix hovered near, checking on you every so often, his presence steady and soft.

But inside, your chest was a war zone.

London burned in your memory. The lights, the chaos, the afterparty, the night that changed everything. You had buried it, smothered it under lies and silence and fear. But now…

Now the cracks were too wide to hide.

Your throat ached as you lifted your head, your eyes sweeping the room. They were all watching you, even if some pretended not to. Han chewing his lip raw, Seungmin stiff against the wall, Hyunjin crouched near your knees like he was afraid you’d fall apart again, Minho pacing slow and tight, Chan unmoving, silent, his gaze pinned to you like fire.

“I need to tell you,” you whispered.

The words scraped out of you like broken glass, but they landed sharp in the quiet.

Felix knelt beside you immediately, eyes soft. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do.” Your voice cracked, but you pressed on, fingers trembling around the blanket. “You all deserve to know what happened. That night. In London.”

The silence deepened.

Every head lifted. Every breath held.

Your heart pounded so violently it hurt.

You closed your eyes, forcing the words out before you lost the courage. “I remember. I remember the concert, the party, the drinks, the way the room blurred. I remember the laughter, the touches, the looks.” Your voice faltered, tears spilling again. “I remember the moment everything shifted. When I stopped being just me.”

Their faces blurred through your tears, wide-eyed, stricken, guilty.

“I’ve carried it alone for so long,” you whispered. “And it’s time I tell you what I remember. All of it. From the start.”

The memory came back in pieces.

London. Eleven months ago.

The concerts had been chaos wrapped in magic, lights blinding, bass thundering, the roar of the crowd swallowing everything. You stood just out of sight, heart pounding like you were the one on stage. They shone brighter than the city itself. And when it ended, when the boys bowed, arms around each other, faces shining with exhaustion and triumph, you thought you might never breathe again.

Backstage was madness. Staff shouting, stylists swarming, fans still screaming beyond the walls. You barely kept up as they were herded out, still laughing, still buzzing, until finally, hours later, you landed in the hotel.

The afterparty was a blur of food and noise.

Han was loudest, waving his glass like a trophy, nearly spilling it across the carpet. Felix spun you clumsily in the middle of the room, laughing until you couldn’t breathe. Hyunjin collapsed half across you on the couch, dramatic and clingy, making you giggle until your sides ached. Minho passed you water with a dry mutter, his eyes lingering longer than they should have. Chan moved between them all, watching, always steady.

It should have been harmless. It should have ended with laughter and sleep.

But as the night stretched, things shifted.

The food dwindled. Bottles emptied. The playlist softened into low ballads. Bodies gave into exhaustion, one by one. Han snored into a pillow. Felix sprawled across the floor, his grin still lingering in sleep. Hyunjin draped himself over Minho, who scowled but didn’t move him. Even Chan’s head tilted back against the couch, his breathing steady, though his eyes flickered open now and then.

And then there was you.

Awake. Buzzing. Unsettled.

Your legs bounced restlessly, your heart still pounding from the concert high, from the drinks, from everything. You pressed the blanket closer to your chest, trying to anchor yourself.

A voice broke the quiet.

“You’re not tired?”

You looked up, and met Seungmin’s eyes.

He sat a little apart from the others, slouched against a chair, his hair messy, his face softer than you were used to seeing. There was no sharp bite to his tone tonight. Just curiosity. Quiet, low.

You shook your head. “I can’t sleep.”

He tilted his head, his mouth twitching faintly. “Figures. You never stop thinking.”

Heat flushed your cheeks. “Do too.”

“Do not,” he countered softly, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

Something in your chest shifted.

He stood then, slowly, careful not to wake the others, and crossed the room. When he sank down beside you, the couch dipped, his shoulder brushing yours. He smelled faintly of sweat and cologne, his skin warm where it pressed against you.

Your breath caught.

“You were watching us tonight,” he said quietly. Not accusing, just stating.

You swallowed hard. “I was proud.”

He turned, his eyes locking onto yours. “I was watching you too.”

The air between you thickened. The playlist hummed softly, some ballad about wanting, about losing, about love.

His hand shifted, brushing yours. He hesitated, waiting,  and you didn’t pull away.

Your chest caved in.

“I shouldn’t,” you whispered.

“Then tell me to stop.” His voice cracked, low and raw.

You couldn’t.

And when he leaned in, his lips brushing yours, the world fell away.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, trembling, then deeper, urgent, like he’d been holding it back for too long. Your hands clutched at his shirt, his slid into your hair, his touch almost reverent.

You melted.

The kiss deepened, turned desperate, broke into pieces of laughter and breathless gasps. His forehead pressed against yours, his voice trembling against your lips.

“God, what are we doing?”

Your answer came in silence, another kiss, another pull, another choice you couldn’t stop yourself from making.

The night unraveled in fragments: His hand cradling your face like you’d break. Your laugh muffled against his neck. The tremble in his breath when your fingers brushed his jaw. The way he whispered your name like a prayer.

And when you finally stilled, foreheads pressed together, your chest heaving, your mind spinning; you knew.

It’s Seungmin.

The truth lodged in your chest, impossible to deny. The boy who teased you, who cut with blunt words, who rarely let anyone close, he was the one.

Your eyes burned as the memory snapped back to the present.

You were on the couch again, blanket clutched, the boys watching you with shattered expressions. And across from you, Seungmin stood frozen.

Your eyes locked.

He knew.

His lips parted, his voice raw. “It was me.”

The words fell heavy, echoing in the room, shattering what little air was left.

Felix gasped. Han’s head dropped into his hands. Hyunjin blinked rapidly, his face pale. Minho swore under his breath, pacing. Chan; Chan’s whole body went rigid, his breath ragged, his eyes burning like fire.

And Seungmin—

Seungmin staggered back, his face breaking open. Horror, guilt, heartbreak collided in his eyes, spilling out faster than he could contain. His hands shook as he raked them through his hair, chest heaving.

“It was me,” he said again, louder, as though the words were tearing him apart. His voice cracked. “God. What have I done?”

And then he turned. Sharp, frantic, broken. He shoved past the others and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

The sound echoed long after he was gone.

You sat frozen, shaking, tears streaming down your face.

The truth was out. And Seungmin was gone.

The door slammed behind him, but it wasn’t enough.

His chest heaved, breath ripping sharp and shallow, his legs carrying him down the hall without aim. He barely saw the walls of the dorm, barely heard the muffled hum of the city outside. All he could hear were the words.

It was me.

His own voice, broken and hollow. Her eyes locking onto his, the memory crashing into him so vividly he thought he might choke on it. The couch in London, her lips on his, her laugh against his throat, the heat of her hand in his hair.

And Peter.

Peter’s eyes, Peter’s smile, Peter’s curls.

His stomach twisted violently, bile rising in his throat. He stumbled into the stairwell, bracing himself against the wall, pressing a trembling hand over his mouth.

How could he have been so blind? How could he have left her alone with it, for months, for nearly a year, while he walked around pretending everything was normal?

Shame ripped through him. Anger. Fear. Guilt so heavy it nearly buckled his knees.

God, what have I done?

He slammed his fist into the wall, the crack echoing, his breath tearing out of him. He couldn’t go back in there. He couldn’t face her. He couldn’t face them.

So he ran.

The silence after the slam was unbearable.

You sat frozen on the couch, blanket clutched to your chest, tears streaking your face. Your body shook with the effort of holding yourself upright.

The boys stared, stunned, broken, their emotions spilling raw.

Felix’s eyes shimmered with tears. He crouched in front of you, hands hovering, voice shaking. “Noona… please, don’t cry. Please.”

Han raked both hands through his hair, pacing the carpet. His laugh was bitter, cracked. “London. I knew something— God, I knew, but I didn’t want to see it.” He pressed his palms to his face. “This is a nightmare.”

Hyunjin crouched beside Felix, his own hand gently touching your knee. His voice was soft, trembling. “You’re not alone anymore. Even if he…” His throat tightened. “Even if he can’t face it, you’re not alone.”

Changbin sat heavy in the armchair, staring at the floor, his fists clenched tight. “We should’ve noticed. We should’ve asked. We just… looked away while you carried it all.” His voice cracked with anger, at himself.

Minho swore again, sharper this time. He stood in the corner, arms folded, his jaw locked. But his eyes, his eyes burned with something raw. “He’ll come back,” he muttered. “He has to.”

And Chan.

Chan sat on the edge of his chair, elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. His shoulders trembled, silent, until he finally lifted his head. His eyes were wet, his expression carved with pain.

“I should’ve protected you,” he said hoarsely, his gaze locked on you. “I should’ve been there. Instead I let you break alone.” His chest heaved, his voice cracking. “That’s on me.”

The words broke you all over again. You buried your face in your hands, sobbing, the sound raw and jagged in the heavy silence.

The boys didn’t move, didn’t breathe, caught between grief and fury, between guilt and helplessness.

The truth was out.

Seungmin was gone. And nothing would ever be the same.

It took hours before he came back.

The dorm had gone heavy and quiet, the boys scattered in their own grief, too shattered to push you. You sat curled in the corner of the couch, eyes red, body wrung out from crying.

The door creaked, and there he was.

Seungmin.

His hair was a mess, his face pale, his eyes red-rimmed. He didn’t look at the others — his gaze went straight to you, sharp and burning, his chest heaving like he’d run the whole way back.

“Come outside,” he said flatly. His voice was hoarse, cracked, but it left no room for argument.

You followed him out into the hall, the air colder, sharper. The door clicked shut behind you, leaving just the two of you in the dim light.

For a moment, he said nothing. Just stared at you, his fists trembling at his sides. Then, suddenly, the words ripped out of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your chest caved. “I—”

His voice rose, ragged, desperate. “Why didn’t you tell me, (Y/N)?! Eleven months — eleven months, and you let me walk around like nothing happened. You let me hold him, smile at him, while I didn’t even know he was—” His voice broke, tears burning his eyes. “Mine.”

Tears blurred your vision. “I was protecting him. Protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” His laugh was bitter, sharp. “You think keeping me in the dark protected me? You think letting me find out like this — in front of everyone — is protection?” His hands clenched, his whole body shaking. “You’ve ruined me, (Y/N). You’ve ruined both of us.”

You staggered back, your hand clutching the wall. “I didn’t want this. Do you think I wanted any of this? That morning, they put a paper in front of me. An NDA. A silence agreement. Sign, and it goes away. No scandal, no headlines, no ruined careers. Just me and… him.”

Your voice cracked on the last word.

“I signed it because I thought it was the only way to protect you. To keep everything from exploding. To keep him safe.”

Seungmin’s face crumpled. He dragged his hands through his hair, tugging hard, his voice breaking. “You signed away eleven months of my life. Eleven months I could’ve watched him grow, been there for you. And I can’t get it back.” His eyes filled, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I’ll never get it back.”

Your own tears spilled fast, your words tumbling, frantic. “I was terrified, Seungmin. Terrified of what people would say. Terrified of destroying you, destroying all of you. I thought… I thought if I carried it alone, no one else would bleed for it.”

“But you bled anyway,” he said, his voice low, raw. “And you let me think I was clean.”

You shook your head violently, sobs breaking loose. “I didn’t know how to tell you. Every day I thought about it, every day I almost— but the words never came. Because once they did, everything would change. And I wasn’t ready. I’m still not ready.”

His tears streamed silently now, his voice breaking softer. “And now it’s too late.”

The silence hung thick, both of you trembling, broken, staring at each other like strangers.

Finally, his voice cracked again, hollow and trembling. “Where do we go from here?”

Hey all,