#maju

꒰ ˀˀ ↷ bts ; fiesta 2026 ”♡ᵎ ꒱

like/reblog | @snghaobin

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪☠︎︎⭑. vinsmoke sanji ; icons ༉‧𓊝˚.

The complete roster of all the Maju (Devil Beasts) who battled Thunder Mask:

Concorne, Tirema, Parajudon, Lydon, Samera

Hakaider (no, not that one), Boale, Benburn, Drilling, Dorodoron

Zaribazaan, Megatron (no, not that one either), Gaebou, Dagon H, Girigorin

Derebingu, Battera, Thinnerman, Gatabilan, Genshiron

Missiaira, Gastang, Raidogon, Tetsujin 13, Tokagerus

Devil Dekanda, Great Devil Bem King, Shooting Star Iron Mask, Vibron, Greeder, Bambos

never in my wildest dreams could have predicted the pure excitement of meeting someone like you. someone with a soul that is breathtakingly lovely, captivating, and charming. i was utterly enchanted. i have joyfully poured every single teaspoon of love that i have in my heart into your being, yet words are not adequate enough to adequately explain these profound and nuanced feelings. i had never thought of plunging into love's deep sea, but your daylight glow and soft glance drew me away from my lonely coast. recalling the beginning of our story makes me delighted. abundance of thanks for everything that you do, primarily for the inexhaustible tenderness you've bestowed upon me; i’m blissful to have you by my side, on account of everything you've done, the many wonderful things you've granted me, and the happiness you've infused into my life. ˚°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

house of the dragon (cast / bts) ; simple lockscreens

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ Cortis ff, for more chapters, click here

⤷ Maju ˎˊ˗ᯓ★🎸

⚡︎ band fic ⚡︎ road to fame ⚡︎ 16 chapters ⚡︎ childhood friends to lovers ⚡︎ ongoing ⚡︎ bxb maju ⚡︎ disappearance ⚡︎ slow burn ⚡︎ some would say very slow burn ⚡︎ run down seoul ⚡︎ underage shenanigans ⚡︎ angst, feels, family problems, strained friendships and they work through it all ⚡︎ !minor original characters ⚡︎

✮⋆˙ Prologue: 4 chapters, 20k words

✮⋆˙ Story: 12 chapters, estimated 90k words

ـــــــــﮩ٨ـSynopsis

The boys of Cortis built their band around James without even meaning to. He was their singer, their anchor, their chaos, and their comfort—until the day he was simply gone from their lives. As winter settles over the city, the group feels themselves shifting in the quiet he leaves behind. Tensions rise. Old loyalties rearrange. And stepping into the future he set in motion forces them to face a truth they’d been avoiding: James had been drifting away long before his absence made it obvious.

Or

Martin and Juhoon were best friends—until Martin met James, and Juhoon learned how easy it was to be replaced.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

I've been working on this fic for months and this roughly follows the same storyline as shut up: flower boy band. It's heavily inspired by it since I couldn't get the idea of cortis as eye candy out of my head. This only started a silly draft and idea but it grew two legs, a plot, and a lot of things around it.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚Here's the first chapter for a peekੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

Juhoon can barely hear their own voices over the noise. Thick, limited air fills his lungs as he takes a sharp breath in. Smoke hazes his sight, and neon lights flicker in and out of his vision. His fingers are sore from strumming the strings of his guitar — the one he stole from a classmate a few months ago. Juhoon made sure it looked like it belonged to him. He painted the once brown body an ashy tone of grey, mixing in expired blue paint he found in his dad’s garage. It’s plastered with stickers and notes his sister always receives as a gift from her elementary school teacher — small reward for a job well done. Now, it’s barely distinguishable. It looks like it has always belonged to Juhoon to begin with. 

Designing things, reworking and reinventing them — Juhoon has always loved that. A certain color. A marked pattern. A carved detail. Something that makes someone instantly think, Oh yeah, this is definitely Juhoon’s. Marking things as his. He has done that his entire life. 

Yet his mark on Martin has faded so much, it is as though it was never there to begin with. Maybe belonging is just a quieter form of possession. 

Martin stands to Juhoon’s right. There has always been something about Martin Edwards. His ridiculous height is what people usually notice first about him. Roughly 190 centimeters, with his back casually slouched. But he does it on purpose. Not to impress. No, it's never to impress. Martin has always been like this. Effortless. Effortless yet always magnetic, no matter where they go or who they’re with. Juhoon doesn’t need to look at him to know. His spiky blonde hair, gelled minutes before they got on stage, grabs the light first. Effortless people never mean to be cruel, but they always leave a mark on people who try too hard. One of those people is Juhoon. 

His long limbs move easily, strumming over his first-ever guitar. Juhoon bought him that guitar back in middle school when they just started getting into music. Well, “bought” would be the wrong word. He stole it from the guitar store where he worked part-time. The guitar being the only reason he even got that job in the first place. He gifted it to Martin, and quit the next day. 

Everything is so loud, yet the audience’s screams sound distant. They’re holding a concert in the smallest basement in Seoul known to man. It’s so cramped that girls are sitting on the stage and behind it. Their arms raised up and phones recording. There is not one window in sight, and Juhoon is sure he’s going to throw up after this. 

As he scans the room with half-lidded eyes, he feels something getting stuck in his throat as he lays his gaze on someone. An unshakeable, unexplainable feeling that immediately leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. It’s James.

James is the leader of the band and the whole reason Martin’s music craze even happened. August 22nd. Juhoon still remembers that day like it was yesterday. It was then that everything between him and Martin changed. It was then that Martin met James and when his whole world came quietly crumbling down. It was then when he learned that even one of the marks you carve the deepest can be painted over. The worst kind of heartbreak is realizing you’ve been replaced by someone who doesn’t even notice it happened. 

James is the heart of Cortis. Till today, he remains the most eccentric, weird, one-of-a-kind person Juhoon has ever met. His waterlines never seem to catch a break from eyeliner. His jeans cling just enough to look intentional, ripped across the knees to show flashes of skin. Band t-shirts that either hang too low or stop too short, layered with cross necklaces, and single dangly earrings. His belts are always vintage, cinched too tightly around his waist. James looks like he stepped straight out of a 2000s shōjo manga about a doomed band and that’s exactly how he wants people to see him. 

Different. For most it’s an insult. A harsh reminder of how they will never be able to fit in. James has never seen it that way. For him, not fitting in means freedom and freedom is the reason James gives life a chance. 

Hence when Seonghyeon even mentioned the need for a permit for holding the concert, James shut down the suggestion instantly with a disgusted look. 

“We gotta color outside the lines.”, is what James always says. 

Juhoon scoffs at the motto every time, even if it’s what their band’s name stands for. To him that’s not creativity, just irresponsibility. Freedom means breaking rules. But sometimes, it’s just another way of running away. What he thinks doesn’t matter though. Because Martin hangs onto every word James says. And naturally — like a bad habit that you always think about quitting but never actually do — Juhoon goes along with what Martin wants. 

As for Keonho and Seonghyeon? They have always been a package deal. If one agrees, the other follows. 

**

It’s finally starting. James looks up to the tiny sound booth. He sees Ann give him an “Okay” with her fingers. A smile spreads across his face. He turns around to wiggle his eyebrows at Keonho, signaling him to start the countdown. In the quickest second, all of them exchange looks. Something they always do before beginning a stage. 

The smirk on Martin’s face seems unshakeable, Keonho’s bright smile lights the room, Seonghyeon’s looks manage to ease up everyone’s emotions and James’ stare that reeks of pure confidence strikes a bolt through each of their bodies. Oh and of course, Juhoon is also there. 

The moment Keonho hits the drums and the guitars ignite, the entire place erupts. Shouting, screaming, hands in the air, colliding — and for a second, James’ eyes flicker with something almost divine. Now, he truly feels alive. 

(Not in Love - Robert Smith, Crystal Castles)

I saw your picture

Hangin’ on the back of my door

Won’t give you my heart

No one lives there anymore

And we were lovers

Now we can’t be friends

Fascination ends

Here we go again

‘Cause it’s cold outside,

When you coming home?

‘Cause it’s hot inside,

Isn’t that enough?

I’m not in love

I’m not in love

I’m not in love

I’m not in love

Juhoon gets lost in thought. His fingers move over the guitar without much effort, like they’ve done this a thousand times before. After every verse James sings, Juhoon fills in the spaces with quiet ad-libs, stretching out the last syllables until they dissolve into the noise.

Could it be that

Time has taken its toll?

Won't take you so far,

I am in control

And we were lovers

Now we can't be friends

Fascination ends 

Here we go again

This time the audience starts to sing along. Juhoon knows every word, but he keeps his voice low, singing to himself rather than into the mic.

‘Cause it’s cold outside 

When you coming home?

‘Cause it's hot inside

Isn't that enough?

The audience erupts in a frenzy. Juhoon closes his eyes and leans into the microphone. The air tastes like sweat and cigarette smoke, and something inside him — something small and trembling — begins to pulse with the beat. He breathes in, and sings.

I’m not in love

I’m not in love

I’m not in love

I’m not in love

I’m not in love

I’m not in love

I’m not in love

I’m not in-

Juhoon’s eyes shoot open. The audience’s screams can be heard over the music. Through the thick fog and flashing lights, two silhouettes stand at the entrance.

“Police!”, someone shouts.

The survival instincts they have learned through growing up in one of the roughest parts of Seoul, rise up to take action. Their truck is parked right in front of the building and according to Juhoon’s calculations, there should be enough time to get into it, close the doors, turn on the gas, and get the hell out of there. All under 10 seconds.

He dashes in the front, jumping off the stage right into the crowd, swimming through the pool of people. He's getting pulled and grabbed in every direction and he's pretty sure that someone just ripped his white wife beater apart, but he doesn't have time to think about all that. Survival, first. Clothes, second.

When he finally reaches the doors of the entrance, he manages to catch a glimpse of what's going on in the back. Seonghyeon and Keonho seemed to have used the exit at the back of the building. The same couldn't be said for James and Martin.

The moment James lays eyes on the cops, his grin widens. He drops his guitar, grabs Martin's hand –- him still being in a state of hazyness — and reaches for the metal stairs that lead to nowhere but a rusted platform above the stage. 

Juhoon squints his eyes, blinking in disbelief, then turns away before his mind can even process it. He runs. Rule number one: never look back.

Lucky for him, by the time he reaches the truck, Seonghyeon and Keonho are already there.

“Where the hell are they?” Keonho asks, panic seeping through his voice.

Seonghyeon fumbles with the spare car keys his grandfather gave him, trying to unlock the door. The other set is with James.

“They took the stairs.” Juhoon says, slightly out of breath.

“Stairs? The stairs to where?”

“To the fucking ceiling.” Juhoon snaps, voice half shouting. Even after all this time, it's still hard to remain calm under pressure.

Keonho groans and runs a hand through his hair. “Fucking idiots!”

Seonghyeon tries to stay composed, like every time something like this happens. “They’ll be here.” 

As he finishes his sentence, the car door opens, and all three of them hurryingly get in, Seonghyeon taking the drivers’ seat and the other two jumping in the backseat as fast as possible, sliding the door shut.

Back in the building, their feet balance on the railing as both glance in all directions possible. The two policemen have managed to escape the crowd, and are hurryingly tripping up the stairs, their faces already red like fire.

James stands on the railing, body swaying from left to right. As he takes a deep breath, that familiar smile returns. Martin notices. He nervously chuckles while asking.

“You crazy bastard, what are you thinking?”

Martin is balancing on the railing for dear life, palms pressed flat against the ceiling to keep himself steady.

Even though he asks, he already knows the answer. Sweat drips down his forehead, and with each step forward from the policemen, his blood pressure climbs higher.

James doesn't look at him. Instead he stares down at all the faces below. That wicked smile, Martin knows it too well. It always appears when James is planning on doing something rather risky. Rather wild. Something very James-like.

Martin never used to be a risk taker. Well, he was, but just the passive kind. Meaning that he never actively looked for trouble, but he never paid much attention to rules either, therefore always getting himself into trouble. That changed after he met James. James is the embodiment of “no risk no fun”. Now, Martin spends his days standing at James’ side, always excited for what his best friend will want to do next. 

“Martin.”

James says his name, still looking at the crowd. His eyes flick open, bright with something wild. White teeth glistening through. 

“What?”

Martin is also looking below him now.

“Let’s jump.”

Martin looks at him alarmed. “What?!”

“Let’s jump, I said.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

James’ smile widens. “Yes.”

The two policemen are now just a few steps away from them and Martin is only now realizing there is no other escape. And if he thought about it, it's not even that big of a distance from the ground up to here. He tells himself that over and over again to calm himself down.

James looks like he's on cloud seven. Eyebrows raised, smile brighter than ever, eyes glistening with adrenaline. Martin looks at him. And he gets infected. James usually has that effect on people. 

He wasn’t fearless. He just feared standing still more than falling.  He makes you feel exactly what he’s feeling, without wanting to. When Martin looks at him, he forgets everything. 

That's all he needs anyway, because once Martin looks at the crowd again, James already starts counting.

One

Martin notices the lights flicker off. Ann must have panicked and bolted. 

Two

Both policemen make it on the platform, standing only a few centimeters away. 

Before the count hits three, Martin looks down again, mind racing. He has less than a second to think about where he’ll land and who he’ll hurt by doing so. 

Three

There is no time. Martin doesn't think twice. James didn't even think the first time. They both jump at the same time, screaming as they fall. Sometimes, the only way down is together.

The landing hits harder than Martin thought it would. The pain hasn’t even registered before they’re already on their feet, sprinting up the stairs and out of the room.

Bree is standing by the small table she set up to sell tickets, a green juice box in hand. When they reach the exit, they already see the truck. Keonho slides open the back door, and Seonghyeon yanks open the passenger seat.

“Hey! What’s happening?” Bree shouts, confused, voice cutting through the noise. James keeps running and dives into the passenger seat. Martin pauses just long enough to turn back toward her.

“Sorry, Bree — the police are here! I’ll talk to you later!” He raises a hand and salutes while walking backward.

“But–”

“Sorry!” he yells again, already half out the door, his voice fading into the chaos. Bree sighs and throws the crumpled juice box in his direction. “What do I tell these people then?!”

When Martin makes it outside, he spots the truck and jumps into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind him. The moment the latch clicks, Seonghyeon shifts into reverse, cutting across the narrow street with the kind of precision only adrenaline can give. He’s sixteen, no license, but those free driving lessons from his grandpa were definitely worth it.

Now with everyone finally in the car, the adrenaline begins to cool off.

“What the hell were you two doing?”

Keonho asks in a pissy tone, looking through the window eyeing the new restaurants that opened in the neighbourhood. Even in a run-down part of Seoul like this one, the night life looks beautiful as ever. Beauty has a strange way of surviving even in the ugliest places.

“Having some fun.” James explains simply, taking his eyeliner out of the front pocket of his jeans, and opening the car mirror that’s in front of him open. He uses one finger to stretch his left eyelid open and steadies the eyeliner in his right hand. 

“We were literally so close to getting caught this time.” Keonho mutters. 

His hands stay buried in the pockets of his washed-out blue denim jacket. Even though it’s early October, the night wind cuts through their clothes like paper. The car, borrowed from Seonghyeon’s grandpa, doesn’t exactly come with heating — not that anyone expected it to.

“But we didn’t, did we?” Martin says.

Juhoon raises his eyebrows in response. There he goes. Defending James. Like always. 

“That’s what you always say.” Keonho sulks deeper into his jacket, as if he could summon warmth from the seams.

“Can someone tell me where the hell we’re going?” Seonghyeon asks from the driver's seat. He’s driving. Driving away, but not sure where. 

“Keonho’s place, no?” Martin asks.

“Why? Can’t we just go to yours instead?”

“But your mom has billiard tables and drinks, and really comfortable couches.” Martin says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Those are not my mom’s, she just works there.”

Martin groans. “We know. My point still stands though.”

“I don't know.”

“James, what do you think?”

James’s mouth hangs open slightly as he bends his wrist left and right, focused on not smudging the eyeliner. “It’s all the same to me.”

Martin moans in annoyance. He knows it’s no use to ask Seonghyeon since he'll do whatever Keonho wants. So he turns to the person wedged between them. “Juhoon, it’s your call.”

Juhoon’s somewhere else again. It’s a familiar fog. He’s already grown used to just being there.  A presence without weight. 

He wasn’t always that way. There was a time when he stood out — in how he spoke, dressed, acted. But ever since joining this group, he’s been chasing something he can’t quite reach. Around guys like these — guys who pull eyes and attention without trying — it’s easy to forget what made you special. So he taught himself to stop trying. It’s strange, how you can disappear even while sitting between people.

“Juhoon, hey.” When Martin waves a hand in front of his face, it pulls him back.

“Huh?” He turns his head slightly to give Martin the confirmation that he’s paying attention.

“We’re going to Keonho or no? Your call.”

Juhoon responds with what he thinks Martin would want to hear. “Yeah, we are.”

“Yes.” Martin curls his fingers into a fist of victory.

Keonho rolls his eyes while Seonghyeon makes a change of lanes at the news. 

The cool autumn air seeps through the car, stinging Juhoon’s nose red. He’s always been sensitive to the cold. To everything, really. He just doesn’t show it.

When Seonghyeon turns to a street on the right, it starts looking like home again. 

A maze of alleys stitched together with loose wires running like vines overhead. The buildings are leaning into each other like tired drunks. The narrow streets reek of soju and last night’s rain. A flickering neon of signs that spell almost nothing at all due to missing letters, bleeds through clouds of cigarette smoke. A faint bass can be heard from even inside the car, belonging to a club only 2 buildings away. A drunk laughs somewhere nearby, a woman in high heels and a tight skirt half-carrying him on her shoulder to a taxi that’s parked in front. But down here, beneath the flicker of broken lights and concrete walls, is where Cortis feels most real. 

They barely turn into the street before they’ve reached their destination. Seonghyeon parks right in front of the entrance.

Keonho’s mom works at a small dallan-jujeom (단란주점). A cozy, dim-lit bar where middle-aged men or tired office workers come to drink, talk, and sometimes be listened to. She pours drinks, sings karaoke with clients, and keeps the atmosphere light.

It’s not glamorous. The pay is inconsistent. The smoke burns her throat, and her lipstick smudges halfway through the night, but she smiles anyway.

It’s who Keonho gets it from.

Seonghyeon twists the key to lock the car, and everyone hurries inside to escape the cold.

The moment they enter through the glass door, the atmosphere changes. The bar feels suffocatingly claustrophobic. A few steps from the entrance, a billiard table is stationed. To the side are old couches, veiled in an old-fashioned, kitschy blue flowery pattern, stained with food waste, alcohol, and an unidentifiable dark brown substance. Two long hallways extend to the right and left, both filled with private booths separated by thin walls. In the corner, two vending machines are raided daily by Keonho and the guys. Magazines are stacked under the counters, used ashtrays occupy every surface, and empty beer bottles lie in every corner.

The sound of heels clanking can be heard getting closer to the main room from one of the hallways. A head peeps outside the open door frame. It’s Keonho’s mom.

“Keonho darling, you’re home.” She says tired. Her eyebags are visible as ever. Even though Keonho hates the smell of drug-store bought perfume and cheap alcohol, it always sticks to his mom’s worn-out leather jacket. She’s holding herself steady by leaning on the door frame, her expression drowsy. Keonho can spot and smell the red bruise on her heel from here. 

“Hello ma’am.” Seonghyeon greets her politely, the others having seen her so much that they don’t even bother. 

“Ah yes, Seonghyeon darling.” She smiles faintly, reaching for his hand to hold it. “Help yourselves guys, you know this is your home.” 

There’s a hint of raspyness in her tone, a result from all cigarettes smoked in her life, but her youth still remains. She will always remain young and beautiful in Keonho’s eyes, just like how she was before this entire job happened. And of course, there’s that thing with his dad.

They don’t even waste a second. Martin reaches for the vending machine, having James assist in shaking it, hoping for free treats. Juhoon searches for his favorite couch among all of them — something he decided on the first time he ever visited Keonho’s place — and plops himself down. Seonghyeon lets himself be held by Keonho’s mom a little longer, till she turns her head to smile at all of them, then she lets go. 

“I’ll be done quickly tonight, maybe we could go grab a bite after?” She looks at Keonho while asking. Something flickers in his eyes. A look of knowledge. A look of hurt because he knows exactly what that means. It means that it’ll never happen. She always says that, and forgets right after. That’s just how his mom is. Forgetful. But he doesn’t want to let her know. He never lets her know.

“Sure, mom.” He simply says, sitting on the edge of the billiard table, smiling faintly at her. She smiles back, turns around and gets swallowed by the dark hallway that has swallowed Keonho’s mom long ago. 

Martin and James’ mission ends in success, managing to get hold of a snickers bar. Martin immediately splits it in two, sharing the other half with James.

Seonghyeon asks jokingly. “And where’s our share?”

Martin is already biting into his piece. “You have to work for it.”

Seonghyeon chuckles, plopping himself next to Juhoon. “You guys know what I’m curious about?”

James looks up with intrigued eyes, munching on his snickers. Keonho hums — a sign that he’s listening — and Juhoon looks at him through half-lidded eyes. Martin is the one who asks the obvious following question. “What?”

“Who called the police?” He continues. “It couldn't have been someone in the audience, they literally paid to be there.”

James shrugs. “You never know.”

“Maybe it was Ann.” Keonho suggests.

“No way!” Martin and Seonghyeon exclaim at the same time.

“Or Bree.” James adds.

“That’s even less the probability.” Juhoon responds. 

“Bree didn’t even know the police were there. I had to stop in the middle of my escape plan to let her know.” Martin explains.

“Plus, she would never do that to Martin.” Juhoon points out.

Keonho asks curiously. “Why Martin? She has known you for longer.”

Juhoon makes a knowing expression. “You know why.”

Seonghyeon whistles romantically. Martin scowls. What he says next is meant for Juhoon. “You know it’s not like that.”

Juhoon raises his eyebrow, curious. “And why would I know that?”

“You know.” Martin says now, more earnest this time. Juhoon looks away from his gaze. James cuts through the silence.

“Never mind that — I need a place to crash tonight.”

“Aren’t you going back home?” Seonghyeon asks.

“Where? There? Not for another week, no, unless I want to get my ass beaten.”

James is an orphan. He has drifted through foster homes across Asia for as long as he can remember. His most recent landing place is the same orphanage he was first dropped into when he came to Korea. Just a few months ago, he was living with a wealthy family on the other side of town — until they decided he was too old, too restless, too much trouble. He has been back at the orphanage ever since, though he manages to find a couch, a floor, or a spare room anywhere but there for half the week.

“Well, I can’t do anything for you tonight. Some guy’s asleep in my bed. I think my mom forgot she had a son,” Keonho says.

Seonghyeon adds, “My grandpa’s dead drunk. If you come over, it’ll turn into a circus.”

James now looks at Martin, skipping over Juhoon knowing his place is always packed - the result of living as a family of four in an apartment made for two. 

“I mean you could always crash at mine, it’s just that it’s a little dirty-”

“I’ll skip over that, thank you.”

Martin opens his mouth to protest. “Come on, it's not that bad.”

Keonho chuckles. “Yeah you’re right, it’s actually awful.” 

“You know what, fuck all of you. You can all fuck off, right.” Martin says, a half of him joking, the other meaning it seriously. 

“I think I'll crash at Bree’s place.”

“If she lets you in.” Juhoon comments.

“Fuck you, she loves me.”

“I’m sure of that, though I don't think her mom does.” Seonghyeon adds.

“Bree’s mom loves me, she even gave me a free haircut.”

“That’s only because she asked her to.” Keonho comments from the side.

“Piss off, all of you. I could end up sleeping on the sidewalk and you wouldn’t care.” James throws his hands in the air. Keonho chuckles. 

“Right well, I’m off. Farewell, awful friends.” James announces dramatically, swinging his body outside the building.

“Don’t be dramatic and ask Bree’s mom if she could cut my hair tomorrow. School already started and I look fucking crazy.” Martin says while touching on the ends of his dyed blonde hair where the dye is obviously starting to fade.

“Ask her yourself, asshole.” James makes that his final announcement before he makes his way outside, disappearing on the side of the street. Bree’s place is just a few streets down from where Keonho’s staying. 

Martin smiles faintly and he rolls his eyes before making his way to Keonho, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m off as well. Gotta catch the last bus.” He salutes the other two before he makes his leave. 

Juhoon knows it’s his cue to leave. Keonho and Seonghyeon are best friends, and even though the night ended for the band, it didn’t end for the two of them. Two times out of three, Seonghyeon doesn’t even end up going home. He just stays to keep Keonho company. He knows his loneliness and how his mother is better than any of them. It’s just better to leave them alone.

Juhoon stands up, nudges Seonghyeon lightly before making his way to the entrance. “I’m off.”

“See you tomorrow.” Keonho says. Before he can leave, he hands him a milk carton. Juhoon eyes the milk carton and then looks at Keonho, his gaze insinuating a big question mark.

“For your sister.” 

Juhoon nods, casting a brief look at Seonghyeon before pushing the door open. Cold air rushes against his face, cooling the heat still clinging to his cheeks from the bar’s suffocating warmth.

At the mouth of the alley, he catches sight of Martin and James walking side by side. Something sharp flickers beneath his ribs too quick, too pointed. He doesn’t examine it. He doesn’t want to. He just presses a palm to his chest as if he can smooth the ache away and turns deliberately, choosing the opposite direction.

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