#chagbin fluff

Seungmin has always liked the moment before the shutter clicks. 

That breath of stillness where everything lines up, the light settling where it wants. People forgetting they’re being watched. Then- Click! He gets a picture of the world offering itself with honesty. 

He lowers the camera, checking the frame out of habit rather than necessity. The shot is clean. He doesn’t need to adjust it. His fingers already know the dials by memory, the same way they know how to brace a reflector without being asked. 

His professor’s voice hums somewhere behind him, explaining exposure settings for the third time this week, but Seungmin is only half listening. He’s heard it before, here, in class when he was an actual student and not yet an assistant to the course. 

He lifts the camera again, reframes. Click.

Satisfied, Seungmin lowers the camera and lets himself lean back in his chair, rolling his shoulders once. His phone buzzes against his thigh almost immediately. He doesn’t even need to check the preview before the corner of his mouth lifts. It’s from you. 

It’s subtle but the warmth is immediate, familiar. The kind that spreads slowly into the group, warming up everyone with the feeling of being so attuned to each other, so close. 

He unlocks his phone and it is, in fact, a message from you. It’s a picture of you and Changbin, dressed stylishly and just coordinated enough to match each other, and him as well as he looks better. Changbin looks giddy, you amused. 

You: We are outside! Binnie is giddy with nerves (but don’t tell him that I told you) 

Seungmin snorts quietly, earning a brief look from the girl sitting next to him. He shoots her an apologetic smile. 

He thinks at the way Changbin had blurted it out, scratching at the back of his neck, voice too loud, asking if Seungmin wanted to go on a date with the two of you. Seungmin hadn’t hesitated. He’d just smiled, tilted his head, and said, “About time.” Snickering at the way Changbin’s shoulders dropped in relief as you gave him a firm thumbs up, like sealing a pact.

He likes Changbin. Loves him, really. His warmth, his noise, the way he fills rooms and people alike. 

And you. Soft and amazing you, who notice things. Who since has been living together has always been the guide, the one who explains and soothes and steadies in a way that makes everyone fall for you. 

Affection comes easily with you. Leaning into Changbin’s side, finger laced without thinking. Pressing knees against Seungmin’s under the table. Curling up with Felix and Han during movie nights. 

Seungmin: that’s just his natural state

Three dots appear almost instantly. 

You: Rude but also true you ready though? 

Seungmin glances back at his camera, at the photo still glowing on the screen. At the way he’s framed someone else’s joy so carefully, like it matters. And it does.

He types slower this time. 

Seungmin: yeah, i am let me grab my stuff

He stands up at the same time his professor calls for the end of the class. Chairs scrape, people stand, chatter about the next project rising.

Seungmin packs his camera away carefully, slipping it into his bag with the same precision he uses for everything he values. By the time he steps out of the classroom the hallway is already loud with students spilling out, voices overlapping, footsteps echoing. 

Changbin is already there the moment Seungmin steps outside, leaning casually against the wall like he hasn’t been checking his phone for the last five minutes straight. You straighten when you spot him, grin breaking across your face. 

“There he is,” you say, bright and warm, already stepping closer.

Before Seungmin can even say hello, Changbin reaches out and takes his bag off his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He slings it over his own with an easy motion, adjusting the strap across his chest. 

“I’ve got it,” Changbin says simply. 

Seungmin blinks. “You don’t need to-” 

“I want to,” Changbin replies, adjusting the strap. “Also, it makes me feel useful.” 

“You’re already extremely useful, you block doors and accidentally intimidate people.” 

Changbin beams. “I do my best.” 

You laugh, slipping your hand into Changbin’s while you hook your elbow with Seungmin’s. The city hums around you as you start walking, warm evening air brushing against your skin. 

Seungmin glances at your intertwined hands, then at Changbin’s grin. 

“...You know,” he says casually, “we’ve known each other since college and suddenly now that we’re all admitting things, everyone’s being extremely affectionate and sappy, have you grown soft on us Binnie?” 

Changbin looks offended. “I have always been affectionate.” 

“You used to punch me in the arm instead of holding my hand.”

“That was affection, also you’d always pinch me before it!”

You snort. “I think this is an improvement.” 

Seungmin pretends to consider it. “Debatable. It’s getting dangerously mushy.” 

“Says the guy who leaned on me for three hours during finals week:” 

“You were a solid wall,” Seungmin counters. “I needed stability.” 

You snicker, “Not helping your case Minnie.”

The restaurant Changbin leads you to is small and familiar, tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store. The door swings open to the smell of sizzling meat and sesame oil, warmth wrapping around you immediately. 

The owner greets Changbin by name, waving you to a booth without question. 

“You brought company,” she says approvingly and Changbin nods proudly, grinning from ear to ear. “The best one.” 

You squeeze into the booth together. Changbin takes the outer seat, broad frame naturally shielding you both as he drapes an arm along the back. Seungmin settles in on your other side, knees brushing yours without hesitation. 

Menus are barely glanced at. Food arrives quickly, plates filling the table until there’s barely room to breathe. Steam curls into the air, mingling with laughter, as you cook the meat on the grill. 

“So,” you say after a few bites, turning towards Seungmin. “You mentioned a project earlier.” 

Seungmin hums. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about my portfolio.”

Changbin perks up immediately. “Oh, the serious stuff.” 

“I want to focus on candid photography. Real moments, no posing, that kind of stuff.” He pauses, eyes flicking between you and Changbin. “I was thinking of asking Felix to model, since it’s literally his job. And you.”

You blink. “Me?”

“You make people feel at ease,” he says simply. “That shows on camera.”

Changbin nods, thumb brushing your knuckles. “He’s right. You change the energy of a room pretty girl.” 

Conversation flows easily after that, Changbin’s latest music projects, Seungmin’s editor works, your work as a ghostwriter and other memories from college that make you laugh too loud. 

Eventually, your tone softens. 

“Leyfall’s coming up in a few days, you can feel it can you?” 

Changbin’s expression stills slightly. “Yeah! Things are feeling extra loud recently, saw Jisung materialize a whole ass fridge because Minho said that he wanted a snack” 

Seungmin snorts. “That explains a lot,” he wipes his mouth with a napkin, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Okay, but what is it, exactly?” 

You deadpan. “A big witch orgy.” 

Changbin immediately chokes, coughing violently as he slams a hand against his chest. “A WHAT-” 

Seungmin bursts out laughing, sharp and surprised, reaching out to thump Changbin’s back. “You walked right into that one.” 

You raise your hands, laughing. “I’m kidding!”

Changbin finally recovers, glaring at you with betrayed disbelief. “You can’t just say things like that so casually!”

“Watch me,” you reply sweetly. 

Once the laughter settles, you lean back slightly, expression softening into something more earnest. “Technically it’s when the ley lines grow stronger, usually at the end of August. The magic running through them thickens because of the concentration of witches nearby. 

Seungmin listens closely now, elbow resting on the table, chin propped on his hand. 

“So the witches from nearby covens decided to gather to celebrate the magic, how we survived and the greater destiny! There’s music, dancing and drinking.”

Changbin grins, “Sounds nice”

“It’s beautiful,” you say. “I used to go there with my family and dance all night long, feeling the magic move through you even more!” 

Seungmin meets your gaze, something thoughtful and fond flickering there. Without a word, he slides another piece of meat onto your plate. 

Changbin watches the exchange, grinning. “Mushy, eh?” 

Seungmin doesn’t even look at him. “You’re just jealous.” 

Changbin laughs, lacing his fingers through yours again, and just like that, the world feels easy. 

Days gently roll by until the long awaited day comes up, and suddenly you’re nervous.

Because celebrating Leyfall with your coven, with family and friends, is one thing. Going to the heart of it with your partners (or soon to be in some cases), that’s something else entirely. 

You tap your foot softly against the stone path in the garden, the silk of your clothes whispering with every small movement. Chan is behind you, arms circling your waist like it’s second nature. He presses close, solid and warm, grounding you.  

“You’re scrunching your nose, babygirl,” he chuckles softly, pressing his lips to your temple. “They are just getting ready. Then we’ll go”

You let out a slow breath, leaning back into him. “I know. I just… this feels different, I feel it.” 

“It is,” he agrees easily, thumbs brushing soothing circles into your sides. “Doesn’t mean it’s bad.” 

Felix is the first to step out, blinking against the afternoon light, dressed in flowing white silk that drapes over him like it was made to follow his movements. The shirt is loose at the collar, sleeves wide and airy, catching the breeze. He grins immediately when he sees you, dressed in the same silks. 

“Okay but Jeongin kind of ate with this,” he says, doing a small spin that makes the fabric flare. “I feel like a forest spirit.” 

“You look like one,” you smile, nerves easing just a fraction. 

One by one, the others follow. 

Changbin adjusts the sleeves of his own white shirt, the fabric softer than anything he usually wears, tailored just enough to sit right on his broad shoulders without restricting him. He catches your eye and gives you a crooked grin. “I feel illegal, in a hot way.” 

Jeongin peeks out from the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, clearly proud of his doing. “So… it worked? Is it okay?”

You turn fully toward them, taking them all in. The white silk, the way it moves with them, the way it catches the light like water. 

“It’s perfect,” you say, voice sincere. 

Jeongin beams. “Good. I figured that something flowy would be right.”

Chan hums appreciatively. “You did amazing, Innie.” You glance down at yourself then. Your own outfit mirrors theirs, white silk, soft and flowing. 

The group gathers closer naturally, white fabric brushing white fabric, the air already humming faintly beneath your feet. Chan squeezes you gently once more before letting you go. 

“See?” he murmurs. “We’ve got you.” 

You nod, letting yourself believe it as the garden gate swings open and the path toward the woods waits, bright, alive and ready. 

Seungmin is next to you as you make way, shoulder brushing yours as he meets your gaze, eyes soft. He tilts his head slightly. “You’re still nervous.” 

You laugh quietly. “Am I that obvious?” 

“To me,” he replies simply.

By the time night fully settles, the woods are unrecognizable. 

Lanterns hang from branches like fallen stars, their light swaying gently with the breeze. Music pulses from somewhere deep within the clearing. Drums, voices, the steady rhythm of feet meeting earth. Chanting rises and falls in waves, wild and alive. 

You slip your shoes off without thinking, toes sinking into cool soil that hums beneath you. Bare feet on charged ground, the sensation sends a shiver up your spine, familiar and electric all at once. You glance back, grinning, as your boys follow suit, shoes abandoned in a small, careless pile.

There are witches everywhere. Some you recognize, faces from summers past, from old gatherings, from laughter and shared drinks. Some you don’t, their auras brushing against your threads in curious, polite ways. 

Covens blending together,  magic overlapping in shimmering layers. The ley lines beneath the clearing glow faintly, visible now. Soft ribbons of violet-purple through the green of the earth, pulsing in time with the drums, responding eagerly to the sheer concentration of power above them.

You grab Jisung hand almost immediately, laughter bright in your eyes. “Come on,” you say, already tugging him toward the table of fresh drinks and foods. With cups full as much as your hearts you drink with Jisung, elbows intertwined, before scurrying off to dance with him.

With delighted mirth Jisung grabs you back, spinning with him as the rhythm takes hold. You dance with strangers you’ll never know but whose magic brushes yours like a greeting. 

At some point, breathless and glowing, you feel a familiar presence beside you and turn-

“Grandma!” you breathe, joy blooming instantly. 

Your grandmother looks exactly as she has when you left home, hair woven with silver threads, eyes mischievous, hands warm as they cup your cheeks. “There you are!” she exclaims, pride unmistakable. “And you brought quite the constellation with you.”

Her gaze drifts easily to the boys nearby, studying them with practiced calm. “Well,” she says amused. “I see the house is doing its job, uh” 

Chan laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re taking good care of it.”

“I know,” she replies, eyes kind but knowing. “And of her.” 

She presses a kiss to your temple. “You’ve gathered something special my child,” she whispers before drifting back into the crowd. “Happy leyfall, children of destiny!” 

The words are swallowed by music and cheers as she disappears into the lantern-lit throng, leaving your heart light and joyful. 

You don’t have time to dwell on it before you’re swept back into celebration. 

Hyunjin appears with a grin and paint-stained fingers, already glowing with excitement. His sleeves are rolled up, hair half tied back, cheeks flushed with joy. “Hold still,” he says, voice gentle despite the excitement buzzing through him, guiding you closer by the wrist.  

Other witches gather naturally, drawn in by the warmth of the moment. Their laughter is soft and melodic, blending with the distant drums as cool paint kisses your skin. Fingers trace slow, deliberate paths along your arms, your collarbone, the dip of your throat. Old runes that he saw in a book, of love and happiness.

Hyunjin steps back to admire his work. “You’re glowing,” he declares proudly, like he’s discovered a masterpiece. 

You laugh, warmth bubbling out of you as you lean forward, pressing your forehead gently against his. “You did that.” 

His smile softens, something tender flickering across his face before he laughs too, pulling you briefly into a hug that smells like paint and night air and joy.

“You’re not done,” Changbin’s voice cuts in, amused and fond. 

Hyunjin looks up, eyes lighting instantly. “Oh absolutely not.” 

Changbin steps closer without hesitation, already tugging his shirt loose from his waistband. “Do your worst, artist.” 

Hyunjin snorts, fingers tapping softly over the paints before he reaches out, tracing symbols along Changbin’s shoulders and chest. Runes of strength, resonance, protection. The paint glows brighter here, responding to something newly awakened beneath Changbin’s skin. 

Changbin goes still, breath hitching slightly. “Hyun…”

Hyunjin doesn’t look up at first. His voice is quiet when he speaks, steady but sure. “It fits you.” 

For a moment, the world seems to hold its breath. Changbin opens his eyes, emotion thick and unguarded, and pulls Hyunjin into a quick, fierce kiss. Hyunjin makes a small, surprised sound before melting into it, smiling into the kiss like he knew it was coming all along. 

They pull apart just as quickly, foreheads resting together for half a second. 

Hyunjin exhales a laugh, a little breathless. Changbin's laugh follows his, wide and disbelieving, joy spilling out of him unchecked. He presses his forehead briefly to Hyunjin’s in silent thanks before turning back to you, eyes glowing. 

He reaches for you, hand warm and steady. “Come on,” he says, already tugging you back toward the heart of the clearing. “I can still feel it! The music it’s not done with me yet.”

Changbin grins and gently but decisively guides you toward the center of the clearing, where the drums are loudest and the ley lines glow brightest beneath the soil. The crows parts for you almost instinctively, bodies moving in time, magic brushing magic. 

The moment you step into the circle, the rhythm claims you. 

Changbin’s hands stay firm at your waist as he moves with you, not leading so much as matching you, syncing to every sway and turn. The music is wild here and you let it pull you under, laughter bubbling out of you as Binnie spins you, skirts flaring, breaths coming fast and happy. 

Your threads span wide, feeling the magic that surrounds you. They brush against Changbin and you feel it clearly now. His power, how the drums resonate in perfect time with his heartbeat. Strong, wild, fast. 

“You feel that?” Changbin shouts over the pounding drums, eyes shining, almost frantic with awe. “It's- it’s everywhere! I can feel the rhythm everywhere!” 

You laugh, because you know what is happening, because you’re swept under the joy of the moment. You lean closer, lips brushing his ear, certainty humming in your chest. “You awakened! I can feel you riding the vibrations!” 

His breath catches. For a second, his grip tightens at your waist, like the realization might knock the air from his lungs. Then he laughs too, loud and disbelieving, forehead dropping briefly to yours. 

As the rhythm grows wilder, something twists inside you. 

Your threads, normally soothing, coil strangely for just a heartbeat. Tightening. Pulling in a way that’s… wrong? It makes your breath hitch, fingers curling instinctively into Changbin’s shirt, missing half a step, balance faltering for a fraction of a second. 

Then… snap. They settle again, obedient, quiet. Like nothing happened at all. 

You barely have time to process it before more warmth presses in around you. 

Felix slips in at your side, shirtless, skin painted in sweeping strokes and half-faded symbols Hyunjin must’ve left behind. They glow faintly under the moonlight, gold and soft against his freckled skin. He grins at you, eyes bright, and spins once just to make you laugh, laughter spilling out of him like it always does. 

Chan isn’t far behind. He moves easily into the rhythm, bare chest marked. One hand finds your lower back automatically, while the other lifts to catch Felix’s wrist, pulling him into the circle with you. 

Jeongin darts in next, breathless and flushed, white silk sleeves pushed up his arms and paint smudged along his jaw. “Hyunjin won’t stop painting people,” he laughs, a little dazed. 

For a while, you’re everywhere at once, spinning, laughing, chanting, bodies brushing bodies, magic humming through your bones. 

You catch Minho and Jisung a little ways off, half-hidden near one of the trees. They’re sharing a drink, paint smeared across Minho’s collarbone and Jisung’s cheek, laughter low. Jisung says something you can’t hear, Minho snorts, leans in and kisses him. Easy, just like that, Jisung kisses him back like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

Your chest warms at the sight. The night is full as everyone is where they’re meant to be. 

And then, slowly, the intensity ebbs. The noise fades into something gentler. 

Another set of hands finds your waist. You turn with the pull, skirts whispering as you’re spun, slow and deliberate. 

Seungmin is here. 

His grip is sure but careful, one hand warm at your side, the other guiding your wrist as he draws you closer. There’s no rush in the way he moves you, no performance. Just a quiet rhythm, bodies swaying together in time with the softened beat of the drums. 

“Oh!” you breathe, a soft laugh slipping out before you can stop it. 

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sorry. You looked like you needed something… quieter.” 

You shake your head, leaning in without thinking. “No. I needed exactly this.” 

The dance is slow, almost intimate in the soft bubble Seungmin created around you. Your forehead brushes his shoulder once, your fingers curl lightly into the fabric at his side. 

Your threads feel calm around him, as if he’s soothing them as well, his magic brushes yours like a breeze through tall grass. 

Ah, you think, warmth blooming even more in your chest. Another awakening. Leyfall really did bless all of you. 

Seungmin twirls you gently, careful and unhurried, and when you laugh again he watches you like he’s memorizing the sound of it. 

Eventually, he leans in, voice low. “Walk with me?”. You nod immediately. 

He leads you toward the edge of the clearing, where the lantern light fades and the hum of magic softens into something steady. You sit together on a wooden trunk, knees touching, shoulders brushing. 

Seungmin reaches for a small bowl of grapes from a table nearby, thanking politely as another witch hands him two cups of sweet wine. He settles back beside you, thigh fully against yours now. 

He offers a grape to you between his fingers, making you raise a brow, amused. “I noticed that you really enjoy feeding me, uh?” 

“Don’t make it weird,” he says dryly, though his ears pink just a little. Then, he mimics back your amused smile. “And what if I do? Is that a problem?” 

You lean forward without answering, lips brushing his fingers as you take the grape from him. “Not at all Minnie.” 

He stills for half a second, breath hitching, before relaxing again, eyes flicking away like he’s trying very hard not to smile too much. 

“...You’re doing it on purpose,” he mutters and you grin, chewing slowly. “Maybe.” 

He sighs like he’s resigned to this fate, popping a grape into his own mouth before his shoulder bumps into yours. His arm drapes behind you along the trunk, not quite around you, but close enough that you could lean back into it if you wanted. 

So you do.

The quiet stretches comfortably between you. His fingers absentmindedly play with the hem of your sleeve, brushing your wrist now and then, grounding and warm. Distant laughter carries on the breeze.

After a moment, you turn toward him. “You feel different.” 

“Yeah?” His voice is soft, curious. 

“Not silent… but calmer” you finish softly, searching his face. “Like the noise around you just… dims, I felt the air relax when you approached me before, the dance was getting wild, and then it wasn’t anymore.” 

He hums thoughtfully, gaze dropping to where his thumb is tracing idle shapes against your wrist. The sound vibrates low in his chest. 

“I think,” you say carefully, “you might be a Silence witch?” 

Seungmin’s brows knit together, lips parting slightly. “Silence?” He lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “I think we can all safely say that I’m not silent at all.” 

You smile, chuckling softly as you gently shove him. “Dummy, doesn’t mean that you are a silent person. It’s more of a… soothing type of power? They’re quite rare so I don’t know much about them.” 

He tilts his head, considering that, gaze drifting back toward the clearing where the music still pulses, softer, distant. “So you’re saying that I’m half of a remote and I can turn down the volume of the universe?” 

“Something like that,” you snort, before popping another grape in your mouth, your other hand already offering one of him. “Want to know who’s the other half of the remote?” 

He leans in just enough to take it, lips brushing your fingers. “Who?”

“Changbin.” 

Seungmin laughs, fond. “Of course he is. Loudest possible setting.” 

You grin, shoulder pressing against him. “Match made by destiny uh?” 

His laugh fades into something softer as he chews, eyes thoughtful. “I don’t hate that, actually.” His thumb stills against your wrist. For a moment, he just looks at you, really looks, like he’s framing you in his mind the way he would through a lens. 

“Living with the others, caring for them, loving them, can be chaotic. Everyone is loud and crazy, me included sometimes.” he says. “But… I like that you don’t need me to be loud or flashy all of the time.” 

You smile, lifting your free hand to cup his cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye. “I see you.” And that does it. 

He leans in, slow enough to give you time to pull away, but you don’t. The kiss is soft, unhurried, a brush of warmth of your heart. His hand settles at your waist, steady. You melt against him, arms sliding around his neck as you press yourself against him. 

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “Happy Leyfall (Y/n).” He whispers before pecking you once more, light, affectionate. 

And for now, it feels like everything is in place, calm and peaceful…

…Until it’s not. 

The so loved peaceful life comes crashing down just two nights after the feast.

It begins like the last time, quietly, deceptively, slipping into your sleep like venom. 

You’re dreaming of the woods again, but this time they are not empty. The Leyfall is in full bloom. 

Moonlight spills like mercury across the clearing, drums pounding deep and ancient, vibrating straight through your bones. Changbin is there, laughter bright and unrestrained as he spins you. Skirts and sleeves flaring as you dance in wild circles, the joy is intoxicating. 

Yet something is wrong. 

Everything feels too close, too loud. The colours bleed into another, oversaturated and harsh. The drums swell until they press against your skull, each beat a hammer strike. The air feels thick, charged to the point of suffocation. You try to laugh, to keep dancing, but a tightness coils in your chest. 

Then you feel it. The pull. 

Your threads, normally soft and soothing, begin to writhe. They stretch too far, pulled taut like strings wound past their limits. You try to gather them back, to weave calm into their chaos, but they slip through your grasp, tangling, growing sharp. The earth beneath your feet fractures as the threads lash outward, slicing through sound and motion alike. 

The dance breaks apart. Changbin’s laughter cuts off, his face blurring as panic surges through you. You are alone in this mess, scared and alone with a power you grew with but now can’t recognize. 

“No- wait please!” you try to scream, fear seizing your bones.

You wake up with a broken cry tearing from your throat. 

Your body jerks upright, lungs burning, heart slamming so violently it feels like it might tear free from your chest. Felix's room is dark, familiar in a sense, but your skin is crawling, magic still roaring under it. 

Felix is there instantly, half-awake panic snapping into focus as he reaches for you. “Hey- hey, it’s okay, it’s just a dre-” 

His touch is wrong and your fear detonates. 

Your threads flare violently, erupting outward in a sharp, uncontrolled burst. Felix cries out as they slam into him, throwing him back against the mattress. There’s a sickening sound, fabric tearing, skin breaking and he hisses in pain, clutching his arm as thin, angry lines bloom red along his forearm. 

The sound he makes, startled, hurt, cuts through you like glass. 

You scream again, raw and broken, clutching at your own arms like you can physically hold your magic in, to cage it under your skin. But it’s already spiraling, threads whipping wildly around the room, rattling objects, bending space in panicked arcs. 

Footsteps thunder down the hallway. 

Chan appears first in the doorway, eyes wide in alarm, already reaching for you and Felix on instinct. 

“NO!” The sound rips out of you raw and sharp, a panicked screech as you scramble backward, pressing yourself hard against the wall like you’re trying to crawl inside it. Your hands fly up defensively, palms out, threads twitching dangerously at the sudden movement. 

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you sob, breath tearing through your chest. “Please-” 

Chan freezes instantly, horror flashing across his face as he stops himself mid-step, hands hovering uselessly in the air. “Okay,” he says quickly, gently. “Okay. I’m not moving toward you. I promise.” 

Changbin and Minho arrive just a heartbeat later, taking in the scene. Your caved-in posture, the blood on Felix’s arm, the way the air feels wrong. Changbin’s body goes rigid, every muscle locked down as he feels his magic trying to surge. 

Minho moves without sound. He steps in front of the others, body angling instinctively, and throws the barrier up just as another violent ripple of your power lashes outward. The shield absorbs it, still he feels the pressure of it, the warning is clear. 

You flinch anyway, curling tighter into yourself. 

And then another set of feet shuffle into the room. Seungmin is near the open door but he doesn’t rush in, doesn’t speak. He just stops in the doorway, eyes wide, breath shallow, watching everything with a sharp, panicked focus. 

He sees the way your hands shake, the way your threads twitch like exposed nerves. He sees Felix hurt. Sees Minho holding the line and sees Chan fighting the urge to reach for you again. 

Most of all, he sees you. You who are terrified, cornered and completely overwhelmed. You’re shaking so hard you can barely breathe. 

“I didn’t… I don’t…” your voice collapses into itself, apologies tumbling out between sobs as your threads finally begin to retreat like frightened animals. 

Minho keeps the barrier up, eyes never leaving you. His voice low and steady. “You’re safe. No one’s touching you. Everyone is safe.” 

Except it doesn’t feel safe and everyone is not fine. Because Felix lets out a small, broken noise. 

Your head snaps toward him. 

He’s sitting up now, pale, clutching his forearm. Blood seeps between his fingers, thin red lines trailing down toward his wrist. One cut is deeper, angrier and already swelling. 

“Oh- oh my god,” you choke, bile threatening to rise in your mouth. 

The panic shifts, sharp and burning, turning inward on itself. You scramble forward half a step before remembering, before terror slams back into you full force. Changbin tries to step forward and you feel it. 

“Please help him! Please!” You sob out, voice cracking. Every sob you pull in seems to echo, fear rippling outward, your threads begin to twitch again in response to the sound, the emotion, the sheer overload of it all.

Chan moves instantly this time, dropping to Felix’s side, hands gently but sure. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice shaking despite himself, as he gathers him close, one hand pressing carefully around the bleeding forearm. 

Felix lets out a pained gasp and you want to scream. The older man presses his lips to his temple. “Shhh, I’ve got you Lix, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Changbin steps back like he’s been burned. The moment he does, the pressure in the room eases, just a fraction, but enough that Seungmin notices. Enough that you notice too. 

Minho’s eyes flick sharply over the scene. “Chan get Felix to the hospital, Changbin with him, you’ll need help. Tell he got in an accident.” 

Changbin’s head snaps up, he looks at you with teary eyes. “I should stay-” 

“Go, Felix needs help too.” Minho repeats, voice low and unyielding. “Now.”

Chan doesn’t argue. He carefully lifts Felix into his arms, adjusting him so the injured arm is supported, whispering reassurances the whole time. Felix whimpers once but nods faintly, trusting him completely. 

Changbin lingers for half a second longer, eyes fixed on you with something shattered and guilty, like he’s afraid to breathe too loudly. When your threads twitch again, he flinches and finally turns away, following Chan down the hall. 

You sag slightly, breath hitching. Only two people remain near you. 

Minho, solid, immovable, a wall between you and everything else. He keeps the barrier up, but softer now, as he lowers himself slowly to one knee to keep his presence non-threatening. 

And Seungmin, who hasn’t moved from the doorway. 

You’re shaking violently now, tears blurring your vision. “I hurt him. I hurt him. I didn’t- I didn’t mean to-” 

The realization is as terrifying as the magic itself. You hurt Felix, you hurt one of the sweetest guys ever. You panic, threads coils, and before either of them can react, your body decides for you. 

You bolt. 

Minho swears under his breath, dropping the barrier just enough to keep from hurting you as you spring past him. Seungmin reaches out reflexively, then stops himself, watching helplessly as you disappear down the hallway. 

Your bedroom door slams shut. The lock clicks, final and absolute. 

On the other side of the door, you slide down against it, sobbing into your hands, threads curling tight and sharp around you like barbed wire. 

In the hallway, Minho stands rigid, jaw clenched. 

Seungmin stares at the closed door, chest aching with the event of the night, for the first time unsure what to do.

The days after the incidents are grim. 

The house is subdued in a way that feels wrong for it. No music bleeding through walls, no playful banter drifting down the hall, nothing crashing followed by a loud laugh. Even the air feels heavier, like the house itself is holding its breath. 

Chan gathers them in the living room after breakfast five days after. His shoulders look heavier than usual, posture tight with responsibility and worry in a way Seungmin has seen only a few times in his life.

“Felix is okay,” he says first, because he knows they’re all holding their breath. “The cut wasn’t deep, but it’ll scar. He’s shaken, though. He keeps saying that it wasn’t (Y/n)’s fault.” 

That lands hard anyway.

“She locked herself in her room,” Hyunjin says quietly, gaze fixed on the floor. “She won’t answer. I’ve tried, Jisung’s as well. Even Jeongin.” 

Minho exhales slowly. “At least we know she eats, I leave her food in front of the door. Sometimes it’s gone in the morning.” A pause. “Dori’s been following her. He’s with her now.” 

That detail settles oddly in Seungmin’s chest, comforting and painful all at once. 

Silence settles heavy over them. 

Chan stays silent for a moment, before clapping his hand, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Okay, here’s what we are going to do.” His voice is steady even if his eyes aren’t. “(Y/n) is in no position to help right now. She’s terrified and doesn’t understand what’s happening with her powers. In a lot of ways… she’s like us when we first got here.” 

Jisung frowns, worry etched deep into his features. “But she was there helping us. We don’t know magic like she does, how can we help if it’s the guide that needs help in the first place?” 

“We go to the older guide.” murmurs Seungmin. All eyes turn to him.

Chan nods immediately, relief flickering across his face. “Exactly. Minho and I will go see Mrs. Park. If anyone can explain what’s happening, it’s her.” His gaze shifts, firm and resolute. “Minho’s coming with me. From what we’ve seen, he’s the only one who can get close to (Y/n) without making things worse, she can help us with that too.” 

Minho inclines his head, accepting the role. “I’ll leave Soonie and Doongie with you, they’ll know if something’s wrong.” 

“The rest of you,” Chan continues, softer now, “stay with Felix when he gets back tonight. Keep him grounded. And if any of you manage to get through to (Y/n)-” his voice tightens just a little, along with his heart, “Keep her calm. Don’t scare her but do not touch her.” 

No one argues and the meeting dissolves slowly after that, everyone drifting away with worry still heavy in their chests, yet with newfound purpose. 

You, on the other hand, don’t feel any of it. 

Sleep refuses to come and when it does, it’s shallow and brittle, leaving you more tired than before. What little food you manage to get down doesn’t stay in your stomach for long. How could it, when your body keeps reliving the moment over and over again? Felix’s startled cry. The sound of skin breaking, the look on everyone’s faces. 

You curl tighter on the bed, knees drawn to your chest. 

Dori is there with you, and for that you are grateful that your magic doesn’t flare out around him. Warm weight pressed against your side, headbutting you when you start crying a bit too much for his likings. A reminder that even if you feel it, you are not completely alone. 

You try to think, can’t do anything else in your self imposed isolation, yet every guess leaves you with more answers. 

“I don’t understand,” you whisper to the ceiling, to Dori, to the quiet walls that suffer the marks of when your powers get too much. 

Another evening bleeds into another night and at some point, soft footsteps stop outside your door. Your threads vibrate, if it was before, they would have slipped under the door, assessing who it was in a soothing way. Now? Now you’re scared of them breaking the door even though you commanded the house itself to lock it for everyone and everything from opening it.  

It’s probably Minho leaving you food.

“Y/n?” Felix’s voice, muffled through the wood. He sounds tired, smaller somehow. “It’s me.” 

You freeze. 

Dori lifts his head, ears flicking, but you don’t move. Your chest tightens until it hurts. 

“I- Uh…” Felix clears his throat. “I just wanted to say that I’m okay. Really. The guys made me rest and everything.” A pause. You can hear him shift his weight.” The cut’s… not that bad. I’ve had worse from tripping over air.” 

He tries to laugh but it doesn’t quite land. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says softly. “I know that. Everyone knows that… Chan and Minho went to see your grandmother,” he continues, voice hopeful now, like he’s offering you a lifeline. “They’re gonna figure it out. They always do, you don’t have to be scared alone, okay?” 

Another pause. Longer this time. 

“Can you just… say something?” he asks quietly, forehead thudding softly over the door. “Anything. So I know you’re okay… please.” 

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your throat closes around the words, fear and guilt knotting together so tightly you can’t separate them. If you speak, what if it happens again? What if your voice is enough to set everything off?

Outside, Felix waits. Then- a meow. 

He lets out a wet chuckle, “Okay,” he murmurs. “That’s okay too. I’ll… I’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

His footsteps retreat down the hallway. 

You exhale shakily, pressing your face into Dori’s fur as he purrs louder, a small living weight anchoring you to the bed as exhaustion pulls you under and you slip, at last, into the night. 

Seungmin can’t sleep. 

He lies on his back in the dark, one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting uselessly at his side. 

Much like you, his mind won’t stop replaying that scene. 

Felix injuries. How the air warped. Changbin's presence somehow amplifying everything, magic thrumming so hard it felt like it rattled Seungmin’s bones for a second.

Seungmin exhales slowly and sits up, the mattress barely creaking under his weight. 

Curiosity twists in his chest, a bit uncomfortable and insistent. It’s the same feeling he gets before a shoot, when something in the frame is almost right but not quite. He knows the answer is there, hiding just outside the edges, waiting for him to adjust his angle. 

Your powers went haywire after the Leyfall. But why? 

Leyfall had been intense, maybe too much at some point. He remembers it vividly now: the noise, emotions spilling unchecked as magic layered over magic. And yet… when he’d pulled you aside something had shifted. 

The drums had dulled. The chaos had softened, like he turned down the volume of it. 

Seungmin presses his lips together, brows furrowing. You mentioned him being a Silent witch, and at that time he assumed it meant sound alone, the obvious things… But what if he could actually tone down other people's magic? 

His memory slides back to that night, to your surge. He taps his fingers on his knee in a slow, even rhythm, grounding himself as his thoughts sharpen. Panic alone shouldn’t have caused what happened. 

Yes, the nightmare has been fearful, but to get that kind of violent backlash? No, not without something else in the middle pushing it. His thoughts circle back, unwillingly, to Changbin. To the way everything escalated when he stepped closer. How your sobs seemed to echo, how the air seemed to vibrate with power. 

“If I can reduce magic…” Seungmin murmurs under his breath, realization landing hard. “...He can amplify it. Fuck.” 

Seungmin’s fingers curl slowly into fists. He doesn’t fully know the how, but he knows that the pieces are there, scattered, waiting to be put together. That Changbin isn’t to blame, but he is part of the equation. And that whatever Seungmin did that night, that quiet settling around you when he was near, mattered and could be used to help you. 

The house creaks softly as he slips out of bed. He pads down the hallway, careful, silent. As he passes your door, he slows. 

At first he thinks he imagined it. 

Then he hears it again. Muffled, broken sobs pressed into fabric, into fur. Your pain leaking through the wood in quiet, devastating fragments. 

Seungmin’s chest tightens. 

He doesn’t knock, doesn't speak. 

Instead, he turns into the kitchen, movements deliberate and gentle. He boils water, measures out herbs with steady hands, copying motions he’s seen you do times before. Chamomile, something soft and soothing that you’d brew when Jisung gets anxious sometimes. 

When it’s ready, he carries the cup back down the hallway. He sets it carefully on the floor, a small offering. A quiet I’m here without words. 

“Keep it warm for her, yeah?” he murmurs in the air. The house hums around him and he feels the floor under him warm slightly. 

Seungmin smiles, straightening, he hesitates for half a second longer before he walks away. 

Back in his room, Seungmin lies down again, staring at the ceiling this time. If all his assumptions are correct, then the best course of action is talk to Mrs. Park as well. 

Mrs. Park arrives in the late afternoon of the next day.

You don’t see her, but the house does. The air shifts the moments she steps through the threshold, like the walls recognize an older rhythm settling back into the place. 

You remain behind your locked door. 

In the living room, Chan and Minho stand with your grandmother as everyone else fills the room. Chan looks exhausted, dark circles beneath his eyes, shoulder set with the weight of the moment. Minho stands close, his eyes flick once to Felix bandaged arms and frowns. As if called, Doongie jumps on the couch, settling over Felix’s lap. 

Mrs. Park doesn’t waste time. “Tell me everything, from the start.” 

So they do.

Chan starts, voice steady but strained. He tells her about the dream before the Leyfall, about the celebration itself and how you all felt attuned to each other. He tells her about the nightmare, about you waking up screaming, about Felix reaching for you and- 

He stops there, jaw tightening, unable to go on. 

But Minho picks it up. He talks about the threads lashing out, the cut on Felix’s arm, how he managed to put up a barrier just in time. 

When he finishes, the room is silent. 

Mrs. Park exhales slowly, eyes closing for a brief moment as if she’s sorting through years of knowledge, memories, patterns. 

“Alright,” she says at last. “The first thing that I’m going to say is that no one is at fault here.” Her voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. “On one hand, what happened is very much like nature trying to rebalance magic that’s surged too fast.” 

She folds her hands in her lap. “Let’s put it like this: magic that’s highly sensitive like hers is especially susceptible to high concentrations of foreign magic. 

“But we’re not strangers!” Jisung protests, brow furrowing. “We know each other. We’re… together.” 

Mrs. Park's expression softens at that. “I know. And for her to have found so much love I couldn't be happier.” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “But magic doesn’t recognize relationships the way people do. It recognizes bonds, circles.” 

“When she moved in with all of you,” Mrs. Park goes on, “she didn’t just enter a house, she stepped inside a charged place with seven witches, most of you still awakening, most of you emotional.” 

Her eyes are soft. “And her magic responded the only way it knows how.” 

Chan swallows. “By protecting her.” 

“Yes,” Mrs Park says gently. “Even though she didn’t need protection.” 

She sighs, a sound heavy with old understanding. “Magic doesn’t reason the way we do. It just reacts. And when the Leyfall came it forced her magic to adapt, to keep up with yours.”

Changbin shifts uncomfortably. “So… it changed.” 

“It learned how to cut instead of soothe, it armored itself.” 

The room feels colder at that. 

“And fear, mixed with our magic, can be a powerful teacher.” She adds quietly. 

Seungmin measures her words well, thinking for a second before talking. “There’s… another thing,” he says, voice measured. “When Changbin stepped closer that night, her magic spiraled even harder.” 

Everyone’s attention snaps to him. 

“At Leyfall,” Seungmin continues, glancing briefly at Changbin, “she joked that Changbin could ‘turn up the volume’ of things… Does that mean he can amplify magic too?” 

Changbin whips his head toward him, expression like he’s been struck full-force. 

“I didn’t-” he starts, then falters. “I would never-” 

Mrs Park raises a hand immediately. “It’s not your fault boy.” She turns her gaze fully to Changbin now, voice gentle but unyielding. “Echoheart magic does amplify sounds, but also emotions and magic as well. You didn’t cause her surge, but your presence, especially while newly awakened, intensified what was already unstable.” 

Changbin’s shoulders slump, guilt flooding his features. “So I hurt her by just being there.” 

“No, you’re not at fault for existing, never think of it like that.” She corrects, then her voice softens, regret threading through it. “But, and I’m truly sorry to say it, you shouldn’t be close to her now, not until her magic settles.” 

Changbin lowers himself onto the couch as if his legs can no longer hold him. Seungmin watches him carefully. In all the years they’ve known each other, he’s only seen that look on Changbin’s face once or twice before, raw, hollow, the kind that shouts rage at first… then caves inward. 

It’s a cruel thing to ask of him. Changbin, who thrives on closeness. Changbin, who laughs loudest when he’s near you, who gravitates toward your presence like sound toward echo. 

“I understand…” he says at last, the words come out quiet, brittle, like a flame snuffed between fingers. 

Hyunjin slides over until he’s pressed to Changbin’s side and something in Seungmin's heart breaks a bit. 

“How do we help her then?” asks Jeongin. 

Mrs. Park exhales slowly. “Carefully.” 

“She won’t come out of her room, she won’t even talk to us.” Felix mumbles out.

The old lady nods, unsurprised. “Of course she won’t. She hurt someone she loves. Right now, she believes isolation is the only way to keep you safe.” Her voice is gentle, almost tender. 

She turns toward Minho. “But you can help. You’ve already seen that your magic can withstand hers, at least for a short time.” 

Then her gaze shifts. “Seungmin, right?”

He straightens instinctively, hands curling into fists. “Yes.” 

She studies him for a long moment, eyes sharp but kind. “Something tells me that you already figured it out, like you figured what happened with Changbin.” 

“I can silence magic.” Seungmin swallows. “But I don’t know how or how to control it.” 

“That’s alright,” Mrs Park replies calmly. “You’re not meant to smother her magic. Try small zones at first, short moments.” 

Her attention returns to Minho. “You should begin by simply being near her, try to sit with her, talk. Let her magic learn that you don’t mean danger. Also the fact that your cats can be near her without problem should be a good starting point.” 

Minho exhales slowly. “She won’t come out.” 

Mrs. Park smiles, soft, knowing. “No,” she agrees. “Definitely not yet, but that doesn’t mean you can’t go in.” 

Chan stiffens immediately. “We won’t force her to open the door for us.” 

“That’s not what i mean” Mrs. Park steps closer to Minho and gently raises her hand. “Don’t worry about it, may I?” 

Minho hesitates, then nods, confused, allowing himself to be guided down to the floor in front of her. Mrs. Park settles behind him, her fingers are gentle as they come to rest against his temple.

“Your ward is already with her, right?” 

Minho’s breath catches. “Dori.” 

The contact is brief, Minho stiffens for half a second before his head shoots up. 

On the other side of the house, Dori lifts his head immediately, tail flicking once as he presses his nose to your neck. 

You gasp, the sensation hits you like cold water.

Recognition. A familiar presence brushing the edges of your mind. You threads twitch, bristling instinctively… then hesitate. 

Grandma? 

Dori purrs, he headbutts your chin once, firm but gentle, and when he opens his mouth- 

“I’m here.” 

The voice is hers. It’s familiar and grounding, like a warm hand resting over yours. A sob tears out of you as you clutch Dori closer, fingers sinking into his fur, you break. “I didn’t mean to,” you choke. “I swear I didn’t. Grandma I’m scared and and- lost, I don’t feel like myself anymore.” 

“I know, I know, it’s not your fault, little one.”

“Yes it is! I hurt Felix, I may hurt the others too… I’m not coming out, I can’t hurt them again.” 

A pause. “Isolation will only get you to fear yourself even more. Listen to me, my sweets. You don’t have to face them all tomorrow… just unlock the door.” 

Your breath catches. “I- I-”

“Just the lock,” she clarifies. “You don’t have to step out, don’t have to talk. Let Minho sit with you for a bit… just to test.” 

Silence stretches. Dori kneads at your thigh, insistent.” 

“...Just the door… tomorrow.” 

Pride hums through her voice. “That’s my brave girl.” 

The warmth begins to fade, gentle and gradual. Dori gives one last, firm headbutt beneath your chin, like punctuation. 

“I love you,” you murmur.

“I know, and they love you too, you know?” She answers softly. “So let’s overcome this so you can go back to your boys, mh?” 

Mrs. Park leaves later that night, slipping her shoes on by the door while the house rests in uneasy quiet. 

Chan walks her out. She pauses just before stepping into the cool night air and turns to him, studying him with sharp, ancient eyes. “Christopher.” 

“Yes, ma’am?” he answers immediately. 

She doesn’t smile. “Do you love her?” 

“Yes,” no hesitation, just a steady, certain answer. “Completely.” 

Something in her expression softens, approval settling deep. “Good. Then it’s time you learned how to bind what you’ve gathered. 

Chan blinks. “Bind… everyone?” 

“In a coven, you already live like one, protect like one, you definitely love each other more than one.” She steps closer, placing a hand briefly over his heart.” Once they’ve all awakened, learn how to bind them, it will keep you safe.” 

Chan swallows, nodding. “I will.” 

Mrs Park smiles then, finally, and steps back. “Good,” she says softly.

Her thumbs brush over his knuckles. For a moment, she isn’t a guide or a witch heavy with knowledge. She’s just a grandmother, who saw so much love and warmth and life in her journey on this earth. 

“Keep my girl safe, yeah?” she asks, a little teary now. 

Chan’s throat tightens. He squeezes her hands back without thinking, bowing his head slightly. “I promise,” he says, voice low but unwavering. “With everything I have. All of us will.” 

Mrs. Park exhales, a breath she’s been holding for far too long. She reaches up, cups his cheek briefly, and nods. “I know, that’s why I gave her to you.” 

She steps away then, shoulder lighter, as if she’s finally set something precious down in good hands. 

Chan stands there for a long moment, hands still warm where she held them, heart steady with the weight of a promise he intends to keep.

And somewhere down the hall, behind an unlocked door waiting for morning, a frightened witch sleeps a little easier, with a cat curled tight against her chest. 

Minho comes the next day just past noon. 

You know it’s him before the knock even lands, your threads stir immediately, sharp and alert, coiling under your skin like they expect danger. 

You flinch, pressing yourself further into the corner of the bed. 

“Hey,” Minho says from the other side, voice low, careful. “It’s me. I brought lunch… Can I come in?” 

Your breath stutters and for a second you think of saying no, to keep him safe, to keep yourself hidden, to avoid the risk of hurting someone else again. You picture Felix’s arm, the blood, the shock in his eyes. 

But you also picture the house as it was. Laughter bleeding through walls, hands holding you without thinking twice, warm kisses under the covers. 

You miss them. God, you miss them. 

“...Yes.” you whisper. 

The word is barely sound, but it’s enough for Minho’s ears. 

The door opens slowly, Minho steps in, every movement deliberate. The second he’s inside, he feels your magic flaring, threads bristling in warning. 

“Okay,” he murmurs immediately. “I’m putting the barrier up.” 

His magic unfolds around you, dense and steady, not snapping into place but settling like a second skin over the room. Your threads lash out once, instinctive and frightened… and stop.

They recoil, confused, curling back in on themselves. The pressure in your chest eases just enough that you can breathe again. 

Minho exhales softly. “There we go.” He sets the lunch down on your desk carefully then slowly turns away and drops onto the bean bag near the window. “I’d kiss you… but I think it’s better one step at the time, yeah?” 

You watch him with wide, tired eyes. “You didn’t have to come,” you murmur. 

He huffs. “Yeah I did. And I’m actually one of the luckiest of the bunch, I can actually be here without problems” he teases, trying to lighten your mood. 

“You look like shit,” Minho adds with his bluntness, but he’s not mean, he’s just trying to mask his worry with something you both know. “Which means you haven’t been sleeping.” 

You let out a weak breath that might almost be a laugh. “Wow, such a poet.” he just glances at you, eyes soft. 

“...You’re not scared?” you ask. 

Minho considers it, honest as always. “I am,” he says. “But not of you.” 

“I hurt Felix.” Your throat tightens. 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.” 

“What if I hurt you?” 

Minho’s gaze sharpen, resolute. “Then that’s on me. I promised your grandma I’d keep you safe. And I don’t break promises, especially to grandmothers.”

You smile softly at him and for a moment, it feels almost okay. Too okay. 

Something twists in your chest. 

Your thoughts spiral. Felix’s blood, Changbin’s horror, the fear of losing control again, and your magic reacts before you can stop it. Your threads snap taut, flaring outward in sharp, panicked waves. 

Minho stiffens, the barrier shudders. 

He inhales sharply, jaw clenching as he reinforces it, Wildheart magic surging harder this time. “Hey- Hey breathe,” he urges, voice strained but steady. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

But you can feel it, the way the air grows heavier, unstable. It frustrates you so much. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” you gasp. 

“It’s okay,” Minho cuts in quickly, but there’s effort in every word now. Sweat beads at his temple. His shoulder tense, like he’s holding something back with sheer will. The barrier flickers, Minho exhales sharply and looks at you, regret flashing across his face. “I have to go. Just for now.” 

Your heart drops. “No-” 

“I know,” he says softly. “I don’t want to either. I want to touch you, to protect you from everything wrong… but if I push past this, we might make it worse and I cannot risk that.” 

Slowly, carefully, he stands. “I’ll come back and maybe next time I can get Jisung too. You hear me?” 

Tears blur your vision as you nod, fingers curling into the blanket.

Minho pauses at the door, looking back at you one last time. “You’re not dangerous, you’re just scared, we’ll figure this out Jagi I promise.” A beat, then, quieter. “I love you.” 

Then he’s gone, the door closing gently behind him, leaving the room hushed but not empty of warmth. 

Minho keeps his word. 

He comes every day after that, always around the same hour, like your magic might learn the rhythm if he’s consistent enough. Sometimes he brings lunch again, sometimes tea, sometimes a small trinket from the boys, like Hyunjin’s painting yesterday. He always asks before coming in, always puts the barrier up slowly. 

And you talk. 

Not about everything, but enough. You talk about Felix, how he texted you a picture of his arm with a stupid smiley face drawn next to the bandage. You talk about Dori’s new favourite sunspot. You talk about nothing and everything, and Minho listens like it all matters. 

But you still can’t touch and Minho notices how it is affecting you. How your fingers itch toward him sometimes, how you hug yourself with a frown. Your magic still flares sometimes, sharp and frightened, but Minho has learned the signs. He braces, reinforces, breathes with you until it settles. Each time, it quiets a little faster. 

It almost starts to feel… okay, not fixed but on the right path. 

Today Minho isn’t alone. You feel it the second the door opens. Your threads twitch, alert but not panicked, not yet. 

“Hey,” Minho says gently. “I know I said I’d bring Jisung, but we want to try something first. I’m with Seungmin, is that okay?” 

You hesitate, heart picking up speed. But you remember your conversations, how Minho told you that Seungmin can dampen the powers of others. 

“...Okay.” you say softly. 

Seungmin steps in behind Minho. His eyes finally lift to you after days of distance, soft, worried but unmistakably relieved to see you awake and breathing. “I won’t come closer… I just wanted to try something.” 

Minho glances back at him, nodding. “Slowly.” 

Seungmin swallows and closes his eyes for a moment. You feel it then, not really silence, but a dimming. The hum of magic in the room softens. Your threads hesitate, confused. 

“What… is going on?” you look at them confused, unnerved even, for the first time you feel… empty, like a part of you is missing.

“I can explain,” Seungmin says quickly, eyes snapping open. He looks nervous now, concentration etched deep into his face. “I’ve been working on it. On my magic.” 

Minho keeps his eyes on you, steady. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. “Just talk, Min.”

“At first, I thought it was just… sound. Like you said. But it’s not. If I want to, magic doesn’t work on me, it slides off. But if I concentrate I can dampen the source.” 

You stare at him. “You can… turn it off?” 

“Not permanently,” he says. “But enough… at least until I start to feel dizzy… or temporarily deaf apparently” 

The room holds its breath. The dimming settles again, gentle this time, it doesn’t subdue your magic, just enough to make you feel at ease. And for the first time in days, you unclench just a little. 

Seungmin notices, and that’s the mistake. He takes a step closer, instinctive, hopeful, out of instinct. But the moment he moves to bridge the space, his focus fractures, the effort of holding the silence while closing the distance pulls too hard, too fast. 

His breath stutters, the dampening wavers. 

Your magic feels it instantly, your threads surge in reflex, flaring outward in sharp panic as they brace for threat. 

Minho turns just in time as something sharp skims past his face, grazing his cheek. He hisses, stumbling back a step as a thin line of red blooms against his skin. 

“Fuck-” 

“No!” you gasp. You curl inward, arms wrapping around yourself like you’re trying to keep your body from coming apart. 

“I told you not to-” your voice cracks, words tearing out raw and broken. “I told you I was dangerous-” 

Seungmin freezes, horror flooding his face. “I shouldn’t have moved. I- I’m sorry.” 

“Please,” you whisper suddenly, the word small and shaking. You fold in on yourself completely now, knees to your chest. “ Please… just go… I’m done for now.” 

The room feels too tight, too charged. Your threads coil close, sharp and defensive, no longer lashing but vibrating with barely contained fear. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone else.” 

Minho stills, heart cracking a bit at seeing the way you shut down. His arms itch to pull you into his arms, to bundle you up in a cocoon and bring you in an old cuddle pile on the couch. But he can’t. Not today. 

“...Okay,” he says quietly. He wipes the blood from his cheek with his sleeve, movement slow, deliberate. “We’ll go, I’ll come later with dinner yeah? And we can talk like always.” 

Seungmin swallows hard and nods, stepping back toward the door. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says softly. “I promise, this was on me, it wasn’t your fault.” 

The door closes gently behind them, leaving them face to face with six pairs of anxious eyes.

“So?” urged Jisung, unable to help himself. 

“I fucked up.” sighed Seungmin, eyes casted down. 

“He did not fuck up,” assured Minho. “The idea worked for a moment. Her magic actually calmed. It’s just… when Min tried to close the distance, it slipped.” 

“That’s still my fault,” grumbled Seungmin, eyes fixed on the floor. 

Chan shakes his head, hand warm on his shoulder. “Hey, that’s not it. We’re learning, now we’ll adapt and help her better next time.” 

There’s a pause, then Minho speaks. “I’ve noticed something.” 

Everyone looks at him. 

“When Seungmin was in the room her threads didn’t react the same way, they didn’t spike. It’s like they don’t register him as a threat at all.” 

“Mh… what if Seungmin spent more time with her?” says Felix with eyes bright with realization.

Seungmin’s head snaps up. “What?” 

“If you can dampen her magic enough maybe you can help her feel where she can grab it to control. You can help her understand it instead of being scared of it” 

Hyunjin’s eyes widen. “Like… training wheels.” 

“Exactly, we saw that her threads went for Minho, but with you… She can’t hurt you and you can help her learn control, at least so she can come out… I miss her.” finishes Felix quietly. 

Seungmin swallows hard. “I don’t know if I can do that. I couldn’t even hold it together long enough for Minho to stay.” 

Changbin finally speaks, voice low but steady. “You didn’t fail. You just reached too far too fast.” he steps closer, resting a heavy hand on Seungmin’s shoulder. “You’re good at noticing things, at patience. If you can help her… even a little, that matters.”

Seungmin’s throat tightens. “I’ll try,” he says, voice steady despite the weight of it. “I’ll just… be there, training wheels.” 

Changbin’s arms cage him against his body in a crushing hug. “Please, Minnie… Hold our girl for us too, yeah?” 

Seungmin hugs him back, fingers trembling. “I will.” 

Seungmin comes the next afternoon. 

You know it’s him not because your threads don’t react, but because the knock is gentle, three taps. A pause, then his voice, muffled through the door. 

“Hey, it’s me.” 

Seungmin lets himself in after you say yes, but he doesn’t linger in the doorway this time, he steps inside slowly but sure. 

“...How’s Minho?” Your threads stir faintly at the memory, a low ripple under your skin. You press your palms into your thighs. 

The shift is subtle, but he feels it. “He’s fine,” he says easily. 

You hesitate. “He hasn’t… said anything?” You stare down at your hands. “About the other day…”

“I thought I was doing better,” you admit quietly. “And then I hurt him. Again… maybe I’m not stabilizing at all.” 

Seungmin studies you for a moment. “He’s not scared of you if that’s what you’re thinking. None of us are.” 

You don’t look very convinced. 

He shifts a little, sitting down on the plush beanbag. “He’s not avoiding you, he just picked some extra classes for a bit. And since Minho decided to become the nation’s top dancer overnight, you’re stuck with me.” 

Despite yourself, a smile breaks through, small but real, it’s the first one since yesterday.

“Terrifying I know,” he continues. “No one else volunteered.” 

“Liar.” 

Seungmin huffs softly. “Okay, everyone volunteered. But I’m the only one who can actually stay close to you without triggering a magical breakdown, so jokes on them.” 

Your threads shift faintly at his words. “So… what’s the plan?” 

Seungmin considers you for a second like he’s deciding how honest to be. “So, from the higher ups of adulthood, being Chan and Minho, the solution is… we just chill.”

You blink “What?” 

He shrugs one shoulder. “We stop treating you like you’re a live wire. Because every time we brace for impact, your magic braces too, and I honestly think you want to understand it, not be scared of it forever.” 

The thought lands heavier than you expect. 

“One thing I figured out,” he continues more softly, “is that you can’t hurt me, your threads don’t perceive me as a threat.” 

You swallow. “Because you silence them.” 

“Not even actively, half of the time I’m not doing anything… but yeah I think that’s another perk of being a Silent witch?”

You focus inward for a moment. Your magic is present as always, but it feels muted, your threads hover around him, curious, almost uncertain. 

“So we take advantage of that,” Seungmin says. “We sit in the same room, we talk, we let your magic get used to us without panic.” 

“Like exposure therapy,” you murmur. 

“Exactly! But a bit less clinical. I promise we’ll get to it.”

You study him, he doesn’t seem nervous, just… steady. 

“I feel like our roles are reversing,” you say quietly. “I was supposed to be your guide in this.” 

You were the one who understood magic first. The one who explained powers and currents and balance. The one who held their hands when their powers first sparked. Now you feel like the unstable one. 

Seungmin tilts his head. “Yeah, well. Sometimes the master becomes the student.” 

You raise a brow. 

“Or something like that,” he adds quickly. “I don’t know, I’m not really good with inspirational quotes.” and despite everything, a soft laugh escapes you. 

Seungmin notices, of course he does. His mouth curves faintly, warm. “You didn’t stop being the guide, you’re still the one who understands it most out of all. You’re just… too close to the source. It’s hard to see the full picture when you’re standing inside of it.” 

You look down at your hands, flex your fingers slightly. Your threads stir faintly beneath your skin, but they aren’t bristling. They aren’t pressing outward like they’re preparing for impact. They’re just there. 

“I don’t like feeling like this,” you admit, voice smaller than you want it to be.

“I know.”

“I’m not used to needing so much-” you stop yourself.

“Help?” he supplies gently and you nod. 

Seungmin shrugs lightly. “You think the rest of us liked needing you when we were figuring our stuff out?” 

You blink, caught off guard.

“You held our hands through some pretty messy stuff, you cared for us.” His gaze softens. “So let us return the favour. Not because you’re failing, but because we care about you. Because we love you.” 

You blink back some tears. There’s something grounding in the way he says it, not pitying at all. Just there, soft and fond. 

Silence settles between you again, but it’s softer now. You feel… steadier, not ready to blow up. 

Seungmin glances at the time on his phone and exhales through his nose. 

“I’ve gotta head out in a bit,” he says, almost apologetically. “Photography lab, I’m helping my professor out for some work.” 

Your stomach dips instinctively, but it’s not the same sharp drop as before. 

“Oh.” 

He watches your face carefully. “I’ll be back tonight, I’ll promise.” 

You nod slowly, your threads don’t spike at the idea of him leaving, they don’t flare but they tingle faintly, that’s something.

“That’s okay,” you say and you realize you mean it, it doesn't feel like a tragedy. “I have to finish some writings anyway.”

“The wolf thing?” he asks, grin spreading. 

“Yes, the wolf thing.”

“Tell them to communicate.” 

“They are communicating.” 

“They’re brooding, that’s what they’re doing.” 

You roll your eyes. 

Seungmin pushes himself up from the beanbag, stretching briefly before straightening. He doesn’t move toward you, doesn’t reach out. Just stand there for a second. 

“I’ll knock when I get back,” he says. 

“You don’t have to.”

He tilts his head, smiling. “I know.” He heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “You did good today.” 

You blink, confused. “I just sat here.” 

"Exactly. See you later, I love you.” He slips out, closing the door gently behind him. 

The room doesn’t feel empty once he’s gone, it feels… still. You sit there for a moment, listening to the distant sounds of the house, footsteps, a door closing, life continuing. Your threads hum faintly under your skin and for a moment it seems like everything it’s normal. 

You turn back to your laptop, and for the first time in days you don’t feel like you’re waiting for something to explode. 

Days pass like this, quietly, like water smoothing stone. 

Seungmin comes every afternoon, much like Minho. Same knock, same low, familiar “It’s me.”

The routine settles into something steady, predictable. Some days you sit cross-legged on the bed while he takes the beanbag, laptop balanced on his thigh, editing photos in a companionable silence while you type. It’s almost domestic. Other days, the one where maybe you don’t feel that good, you sit on opposite sides of the room. 

You threads are getting calmer. Sometimes they still lash, sudden flickers that send a book sliding off your desk or rattle the metal frame of your lamp. But never toward Seungmin. 

He doesn’t flinch when it happens, he just tilts his head slightly and says, “Okay, I give it a seven.” 

You glare at him. “You’re rating my magical outburst?” 

“It helps to quantify things,” he replies, already gathering the fallen notebooks without stepping too close to you. 

And the strangest part is that your threads don’t react to him even then. They snap at the desk leg, the air, but when he moves within their reach, they hesitate. 

Seungmin, for his part, is learning too. At first his silence came in heavy, dizzying, too much at once, leaving you both with a muted silence in your ears. You could feel when he pressed down too hard, the world would go muffled at the edges, ears ringing as if you’d ducked underwater too suddenly. He hated that.

But now? 

Now it’s different, he’s getting the hang of it, like he’s easing his foot onto the brakes instead of slamming them. 

Sometimes he’ll murmur, “Tell me when it starts to spike.” 

And you’ll close your eyes, listening inward. “There,” you’ll say. 

He’ll adjust, just dimming the volume enough that you can feel the threads get in line. 

One evening, you decide to test it. 

“You know,” you say slowly, perched cross-legged on the bed while he sits across from you, “we could… try pushing it a little.” 

He narrows his eyes at you. “That sentence has never ended well.” 

You roll yours. “Not like that! Just… a little push, but controlled.” 

“Define controlled.” 

“You’re the brakes,” you point out. 

Seungmin sight dramatically. “I regret encouraging your confidence.” But he shifts closer anyway. 

You inhale, steadying yourself, and let your threads rise deliberately for once. It’s strange, not waiting for fear to trigger them, not reacting, just… summoning, like the old times. 

They flare faintly, shimmering through the air. They’re not invisible to the others' eyes anymore, they look more… real, physical. They have weight now, a faint pull in your muscles as they extend, a subtle drag at your ribs.

Fine strands of glassy green light spill from beneath your skin, gathering at your wrists and along your shoulder blades before unfurling outward in smooth arcs. The colour is deep and lucid, like light filtered through forest canopy, like polished jade lit from within. 

Seungmin watches carefully, eyes tracking the way they move. “Okay, I’m slowly easing the brake.” 

You flex your fingers, the threads respond instantly, curling and uncurling in the air like living filament. One drifts toward the edge of the desk, another trails along the bedpost, still not getting closer to Seungmin. 

“Okay… okay.” you murmur. 

You concentrate on the pillow on your bed, before slipping, the object launches off the bed and smacks him square in the face. 

There’s a beat of silence, then he lowers the pillow slowly. “...Six on the rating scale,” he says flatly. 

You clap a hand over your mouth, half horrified, half laughing. “I didn’t mean to!”

“I gathered that,” he replies, though his lips twitch. “At least it doesn't look like they want to stab me now. Try again.”

“You want to risk another pillow assault?”

“I’d like to leave with my dignity intact, yes. So we practice.” 

You huff but nod, straightening your posture. You let the threads rise more slowly, feeling their weight in your muscles, the faint drag along your ribs as they extend. 

You look up, choosing something less soft. The ceiling. The ceiling looks perfect, so you narrow your focus and flick one thread upward, meaning to just graze it, just to test the precision. 

Instead, it swishes too sharply. 

There’s a thin, bright slash across the paint, a clean green arc that carves into the plaster like a blade. 

You both stare up at it, the house rumbles unpleasantly. 

“...That’s new, also an eight.” Seungmin says carefully. 

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god.” You look at the cut. It’s not huge, but still very real, a faint crack zigzags across the ceiling where the thread struck. 

Your stomach drops, but before panic can spike, another thread reacts on instinct. It darts upward, softer, a tad more deliberate, and presses against the fracture. The green light changes subtly there, becoming finer, more precise. The strand flattens, weaving itself along the crack like glowing thread through fabric, mending it. 

The thread retracts, leaving no mark on the ceiling. 

Seungmin looks from the ceiling to you. 

“Okay,” he says slowly. “First of all? Impressive.”

You’re still stunned. “I didn’t know I could do that.” 

“Yeah… we’re not telling Chan about the vandalizing stuff.” 

You grimace.

“But… It’s a good step,” he smiles at you. 

You smile back. “Still want to practice?” 

Seungmin eyes the ceiling once more, then you “...Let’s maybe aim away from the structural elements tho, yeah?” 

You grin again

So yeah, things are slowly starting to get brighter… yet you still don’t touch and you still don’t leave your room if you know that someone can easily bump into you. It was easily one of the most difficult things to accept. 

One afternoon you finally gain the courage to speak about it. 

Seungmin is stretched across the foot of your bed editing a set of photos, you find yourself watching him instead of your screen. He’s close enough that if you extended your hand, you could rest your fingers against his sleeve. 

And yet you don’t. 

“Seungmin,” you say quietly. 

He hums in response, eyes still on his laptop. “Mm? Too much silence?” 

“No no, it’s not that.” You assure him, your magic feels calm today, you feel in control. “...Does it bother you?” 

He glances up. “What does?”

“This.” You gesture vaguely between you, the space, the inches that still feel like miles. “That I still haven't left the room, so you’re stuck here. That I won’t… touch you.” 

The word hangs heavier this time. He closes his laptop slowly, giving you his full attention. 

“Yes,” he says honestly, without hesitation. 

Your chest tightens, but he continues before you can spiral. 

“Of course it does, me and the other live like we can’t stay apart from each other or we die. We’re not exactly known for our personal space.” 

A faint, sad smile tugs at his mouth. “We’re used to sitting on each other, stealing hoodies and skinship like it’s oxygen.” His eyes flick briefly to your hands. “So yeah, it bothers me.” 

“But that doesn’t mean I resent you for it.” 

You swallow. 

“I miss touching you, grabbing your hand without having to double check. And honestly I think- no I know you can touch me, or even the others, I think I got good enough that I can help you with that.” 

“But what if I hurt you again?” 

“You won’t, and I think that deep down you know it too.” He assures you gently. “But being technically able to do something isn’t the same as you feeling safe doing it.” 

The room is quiet, not tense, just heavy with the truth. 

“I feel selfish,” you whisper. 

He frowns faintly. “For healing at your own pace?” 

“For making you wait.” 

“I’d rather you come to me when it feels right,” he says. “Not because you’re afraid I’ll get tired.” 

You look at him, really look at him. “What if I never get to that point.” 

He tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to be reassuring. “I’ve lived with you for months, you think I don’t know how stubborn you are? When you decide to do something, you do it properly.” 

A weak huff escapes you. 

“So I’ll wait, until you’re ready.” 

Seungmin doesn’t have to wait that long, because two days after your discussion he finds sat on the beanbag, a frown on your face. 

He knows you well enough to see that it’s one of those days where being cooped up weights you down. Your laptop lay abandoned on the floor near you. You look smaller like this, worn down. 

“It’s me,” he says softly, keeping his distance. “If you want, I can come back later.” 

You look up at him. Your eyes are soft, but there’s a tiredness in them that makes something in his chest tighten. You look exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. 

You swallow, and he sees the war happening behind your gaze, the instinct to protect him, to brush away what you need so you don’t risk another flare. 

But today, something else wins. Your mouth opens before you can stop yourself. 

“I just…” Your voice wavers, then steadies with effort. “I just want to be held… please?” 

Seungmin’s eyes widen a bit, he doesn’t move immediately, doesn’t rush. Instead, he takes a slow breath. Steeling himself in not closing the space in one sweeping motion. 

He steps closer, but not all the way, crouching down in front of you so that he’s level with your eyes. Close enough that you can feel his warmth but not yet touching. 

“How?” he asks quietly. The question isn’t confused, it’s careful. 

You blink at him, and for a second your composure cracks. The fact that he’s asking, the fact that he’s giving you control. 

“My shoulders,” you whisper, voice trembling. “And my waist… like that night.” 

He swallows, nodding once, as he lets you guide him. 

You reach out first, fingers brushing his wrists lightly, testing. Your threads stir at the contact, a faint ripple under your skin, but they don’t lash. They lean. You guide one of his hands to your shoulder, the other to your waist. His touch is warm and real and so, so right that you sniffle before you can stop yourself. 

And then, inch by inch, he draws you into him, carefully. Your head presses against his collarbone, his chin resting lightly atop your head. 

It’s the first real embrace in weeks, the first time your bodies fit together without distance or calculation between them. And that it’s what undoes you. 

A sob breaks out of you before you can swallow it down, sharp and wet and embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. Your fingers clutch at the fabric at his waist like you’re afraid he’ll disappear. Tears soak into his sweater 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your hair before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Your threads stir, rising in a slow, glassy shimmer around you both like vines reaching toward sunlight. And then, they curl around him, softly. 

You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes wet, lashes clumped together. His hands remain exactly where you placed them, steady. 

“You’re okay?” he asks quietly and you nod. But it’s more than that. 

You lift one trembling hand from his sweater and bring it higher, hesitating only a second before pressing your palm gently against his chest, over his heartbeat. You inhale shakily. He’s warm beneath your hand, solid, real and safe. 

“I can feel you,” you whisper, almost disbelieving. 

Seungmin gives you the smallest, softest smile. “That’s usually how hugs work, baby.” 

A broken laugh escapes you, watery and fragile. 

You keep your hand there, over his heartbeat, like you’re anchoring yourself to it. Seungmin’s hand is still steady at your waist when footsteps pound down the hallway. Fast and uneven. 

Then- 

“Baby?” 

It’s Chan, his voice tight with panic. The door, which Seungmin hadn’t fully closed earlier, swings wider. 

Minho appears first in the doorway, eyes sharp and searching. Chan is right behind him, ready to step in front of the problem. Hyunjin hovers just over Chan’s shoulder, pale, breath caught somewhere in his throat. 

They must have heard you cry and ran, stopping the second they took in the scene. 

You’re still in Seungmin’s arms, face tear-streaked. For a split second, everything holds. 

And then your threads react. They flare outward instinctively, glassy green light snapping toward the doorway in a sharp crescent, not attacking but guarding. 

You feel it immediately. That old reflex of protecting them, to keep distance, stomach dropping already. 

But Seungmin’s grip steadies you. “Hey, it’s okay. They’re not a threat and you know that.” 

You swallow hard, looking at them. 

Minho’s jaw is tight, but his eyes are worried. Chan’s hands are half raised, just ready, and Hyunjin looks like he might cry himself. They came because they were scared for you. 

The sharp curl softens. The threads waver, then begin to retract, folding back toward you instead of stretching outward, restless but no longer defensive. 

“I’m okay,” you say, voice hoarse. 

Chan steps forward instinctively, your threads twitch. 

Seungmin runs a slow circle at your waist, slow and grounding, his thumb tracing an unhurried circle through the fabric of your shirt. He leans close enough that only you can hear him. 

“Slow,” he whispers. “Let them come to you, you won’t hurt them.” 

“I won’t hurt them,” you repeat under your breath, like a promise you’re trying to believe. 

Chan notices the way the light coils closer instead of lashing outward. He slows immediately, every movement deliberate, careful. He keeps his hands visible, palm relaxed. 

Minho steps slightly ahead of him, closer to your eye line, his voice quiet. “Can we?” 

That we nearly undoes you again. You nod, sobbing. 

Minho approaches first. Close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him. Your threads lift and brush against his sleeve, sliding over the cotton, sensing his own magic. It feels… normal, like before but not quite. 

He steps into you slowly and wraps one arm around your shoulders, the other firm at your back. The moment he makes full contact, your breath fractures. Your threads spill around him, the tension melts. 

Minho presses a kiss into your hair. “You’re okay jagi,” he murmurs, soft, a bit watery even if he’s never going to admit it. 

Chan steps in next, sliding into the space at your other side. His embrace is broader, warmer, his hand spreading across your back in slow, grounding strokes. “See? Small steps and you did it baby.” Your threads shimmer at the praise, glassy green brightening faintly before settling again. 

Hyunin is the last to move, lingering near the doorway, like stepping forward might shatter something fragile. His hands flex at his sides, eyes glassy as he takes in the way your magic curls around the others without striking. 

You lift your face, still wet with fresh tears, and look at him.

“Come here,” you whisper. 

It breaks whatever was holding him back because he crosses the room in quick, quiet steps and folds into you. His arms snake around your middle, tightening when your threads brush him. 

Your green light curls around his wrists, his waist, weaving him into the embrace like he was always meant to be there. You’re surrounded now. With Minho’s steady warmth, Chan’s grounding hands, Hyunjin’s trembling grip. Seungmin is still firm at your back, anchoring you through it all. 

You cry again, but it’s different this time. It’s release. It’s your magic that finally doesn’t try to separate you from them, but pulls them closer. 

Later, when the tears have quieted and the air doesn’t feel so heavy anymore, you sit on the edge of your bed with Seungmin still beside you. 

“I think…” you start, voice small but steadier than before, “I think I want to try leaving the room tomorrow, to see at least some of you.” 

All four of them look at you. 

“Not far,” you add quickly. “Just… couch? We still have to finish Haikyuu with the others.” 

Hyunjin wipes his face and laughs under his breath. “We’ll make it dramatic, like you’re returning from war.” 

You huff a weak laugh and you get squeezed again. 

“One step,” says Chan gently. “We’ll make it with you.” 

That night, the house is quiet. 

Seungmin is propped up against the headboard beside you, laptop balanced on his thighs, the faint glow of the screen lighting his face. He’s editing photos, occasionally tapping at his keyboard, movement careful so he doesn’t jostle you. 

You’re curled against his side, half on your stomach, one arm draped loosely over his waist. Asleep, breathing slow and even. 

Seungmin hearts warm at the domesticity of it all. 

Across the hall, Changbin stands in his doorway. He didn’t mean to look, just wanted to grab water. 

But he sees through the half-open door, Seungmin in bed, you asleep beside him, curled close. Your hand fisted closely in his shirt, calm. 

For a split second, something sharp stirs in his chest. 

Longing. 

But it doesn’t turn sour, nor anger. 

Because you’re smiling faintly even in your sleep and your magic isn’t tearing the room apart in fear. 

Changbin exhales slowly, relief settling heavier than jealousy even could. You’re healing, you’re getting happier and being held, even if it’s not him. He leans slightly against the wall, watching for just a moment longer, before going to close the door softly. 

He feels his powers rattle a little, vibrations full of his resolve. If you’re taking steps forward tomorrow, then so is he. He’s going to give everything he has to find control and his way back to you. 

To be someone you can reach for without fear.