#skz poly

You’ve been walking in the rain for a few minutes now, but it didn’t matter. The raindrops passed right through you as if you were a ghost, and for a brief moment you actually believed you were. You couldn’t believe it was over. What you had spent months building, reduced to nothing in a matter of seconds. The perfect life you had imagined was just a long-lost dream now. You would never get married in your perfect white dress and live in your perfect dream house. Your perfect boyfriend had broken up with you; you were alone now.

As you continued to walk in the rain, you tried to remember all the memories of him, the moments spent by his side. And it broke your heart even more when you realized you had none. Not a single moment of happiness by his side to remember. Of course he’s never been mean to you, he always treated you right and behaved with exemplary manners. Your mother and all of your friends adored him. “You’re so lucky, I wish I could find a guy like that” your friends used to say. And at the time, you believed them, he really was the perfect boyfriend. You felt joy but also a touch of pride knowing you had a boy like him by your side. But now that you’re thinking about it again, alone between the rain and your thoughts, he never made your heart fasten. You appreciated him because he was kind and from the outside, he really was the perfect boyfriend, but he never made you feel that special feeling that everyone talks about. The one that drives you crazy and makes you fall apart. You never loved him.

Your legs carried you almost mechanically to their apartment. The 143th. The Christmas ornament on the door, which had been there for several years now and which no one dared to take out, hadn’t been moved. And in a way that reassured you. Even if your life was completely turning upside down, some things stayed the same. The doorbell button was still broken so you just knocked. Once, gentle. Then twice. Then you just drummed on the door until someone would open it. It was Hyunjin who came which surprised you since he was the heaviest sleeper. But you immediately realized he wasn’t sleeping. The beer in his hand helped you figure it out.

“What happened why are you drenched?” when he realized it was you his eyes had widened not because he wasn’t to see you on their doorstep, but because you never showed up this late. You were in a terrible state, your clothes soaked, your hair messy and your eyes red from crying. Your feet were terribly hurting you from all the walking you did but you only noticed it now. If he had noticed you were crying then he didn’t say anything about it. “Come in” he simply said. When you set a foot inside the apartment, the smell of peach and tangerines hit you and you felt like you were coming home after a long tiring trip. You had met Hyunjin, Jeongin and Felix in high school, you were all inseparable. You couldn’t count the number of nights you spent at their place. Jeongin would cook for you, Felix would listen to your boy problems and Hyunjin would sit quietly admiring you all as if you were the best thing that ever happened to him. Those nights were so precious to you but when you started dating your ex-boyfriend, you had to make a choice. In order to have a good husband, a good future and a good life you had to be a good girlfriend first. So, you sacrificed those precious nights. You kept visiting them, but it just wasn’t the same. Sometimes your boyfriend would come with you could feel such a profound unease that you wanted to disappear from earth. Yet, here you were. It was almost 1:00 and Hyunjin was guiding you through the corridor.

“Jeongin!” he shouted “Y/N’s here”. He said that as if it was normal, as if you had agreed to meet here earlier in the afternoon and as if nothing had ever changed between you.

“I’m making ramen, ask here what she wants for hers”. He turned around to face you and raised his eyebrows signaling you to answer. “Oh. Anything is fine” you weren’t really hungry at the moment.

“You should take a shower you’re going to freeze like that” he kept guiding you through the apartment and once again it warmed your heart to notice nothing had changed. It was all the same: Hyunjin's dirty paintbrushes scattered everywhere, Felix's controllers in the middle of the sofa, and Jeongin's bookshelf always perfectly organized.

“Felix’s not home?” you asked, you’ve been here for a few minutes now and not a living sign of the blonde. “He’s working late tonight, Chan asked him to stay longer”.

You took Hyunjin’s advice without arguing and took a shower. The hot water felt like a small mercy after the cold rain, washing away the numbness that had settled into your bones. When you step out, you wrapped yourself in the towel Hyunjin gave you earlier and put on a mix of different clothes that you found in the pile of clean laundry.

“Feel better?” Jeongin asked when you went back to the living room. “Yeah, thanks.” You nodded and he handed you a bowl of ramen. The smell of noodle and broth filled the air while Jeongin’s warm smile filled the gaping hole in your chest. For a while the three of you ate in silence, the sound of rain against the window was the only thing that dared to speak. This silence wasn’t unpleasant it had something comforting. Hyunjin broke the silence after a while:

“Are you going to tell us what happened? If you don’t want to that’s okay we’re still here for you.” despite the distance that separated you for a time, they were always ready to do anything for you. It was tempting to keep it all to yourself but they deserved to know. They were the people that knew you the best and they would know immediately how to make you feel better. You mustered all your courage before speaking again.

“It’s over we broke up”. You expected shock or even a little surprise on their face but they didn’t seem surprised at all. Jeongin’s tone was perfectly calm when he asked “Why?”

“He said he was tired of waiting for me to be ready to…you know.” There was confusion and a hint of mischief in their eyes. You sighed before saying “He was tired of waiting to have sex with me.” The words hung in the air, heavy and awkward. You felt your cheeks warm as you stared down at your bowl, stirring the now-cooling noodles just to have something to do with your hands. You were scared to meet their eyes now but when you raised your head back what you saw wasn’t a judgmental expression. It was something else you couldn’t really tell, was it wrath, comprehension, or lust? Or everything all at once?

“You know, not being ready for something doesn’t always mean you’re scared of it.”  you looked at Hyunjin “Sometimes it just means you don’t want it,” he continued. “Not with that person, at least.” You still stared at him, the truth of his words slowly sinking in.

“Who would want to have sex with that uptight ass” Jeongin’s words made you all laugh, you laugh so loud, it’s been a long time since you laughed so much. When the laugher subdued Hyunjin opens its arms to you, beckoning you to come to them. You take his hand and find yourself squished between them. For the first time, you feel the closeness in a different way, the innocence of evenings spent with friends over a beer has disappeared.

“Tell me” he started whispering in your ear “did he made your little panties wet even once?” the atmosphere immediately changed, the light in their eyes shifted, it had nothing to do with friendship now, they were looking at you as if you were their last meal as prisoners. The heat of their bodies against you was stifling. What you felt was completely new for you. Your boyfriend never made you feel that way. Of course he was really handsome, his hair was well-cut, his shirt well-tailored, smooth skin and soap smell. But there was something different about the guys' beauty. They were like living gods; they now embodied temptation for you. Dark eyes, red lips, messy hair. Beauty but most of all they were sin. They now represented everything you had forbidden yourself all this time. Hyunjin's question remained unanswered. A lot of sinful thoughts were cluttering your brain, incongruous images showed up, erotic scenes that made you blush. You couldn’t help but let out a little whimper, hoping they didn’t hear you. It was barely audible but of course they heard it, and they weren’t going to let you get away with it.  

You could still feel Hyunjin breath warm against your neck as he was waiting for you to answer. Jeongin on the other hand was just staring at you, his gaze was fixed everywhere on you. When his eyes finally met yours, he says “We missed you, you know. Missed you so much”. While saying that his fingers toyed with your necklace. It was a gift from your ex-boyfriend, you used to wear it with pride but now all you wanted was for him to rip it off you.

Suddenly, Hyunjin’s lips pressed on the skin of your neck, the kiss made you shiver. His plumpy lips trailed their way down your neck to the top of your chest where Jeongin was still fiddling with your necklace.

“Are you too shy to answer my question love?” the nickname made your thighs clench. No one ever called you that and no one ever gave you this feeling, it was like being drunk, being an addict but still wanting more. You wanted him to keep calling you “love” till the end of time. “I’ll answer for her” Jeongin said “I think he never made her wet. Not even once. But right now, she’s probably dripping am I right baby?”. By now your cheeks were probably were burning hot, your pupils completely dilated and your pussy was soaked. He was right. You wanted them. In the worst way possible. You never felt the urge to have sex with anyone but right now you perfectly understood what being needy felt like.

You wrapped your arms around Jeongin’s head, looking into his foxlike eyes. “Please” it was barely a whisper, definitely a prayer. It was all it took for him to crash his lips onto yours, the kiss was urged, passionate and wild. It had nothing to do with the little kissed you would exchange with your ex; they were shy and controlled. But Jeongin’s kiss was a final breath of air before diving underwater, you lost yourself in it. Nothing was important for you at this moment, all you could think about was his lips on yours and Hyunjin hand slowly caressing your hips. When Jeongin pulled away, the other guy took his chance to grab your chin and kissed you too. This time the kiss wasn’t rushed, it was sensual and deliberately slow. Moans escaped both of your mouths you hardly noticed Jeongin hand working hard to take off your hoodie.

“You’re lucky Felix’s not here, he would have gone crazy seeing you wearing his clothes” he said. You smiled at the though of Felix getting hard looking at you. “Wear mines next time yeah?”. You wanted to answer, you wanted to tell him you were ready to do everything he asked for but Hyunjin’s lips were still devouring you and it was too good for you to end it.

You heard Jeongin groan at the sight of you in just a bra before he unclipped it. It fell down your shoulders before revealing your breast. A shiver ran through you, the cold air hit your nipples. You pulled away from the kiss and the view in front of you could have driven you crazy. Hyunjin out of breath with puffy lips, palming himself through his sweatpants.

Jeongin got your attention back when he ran a finger over your nipple and started sucking the other one. There was something sinful about being almost naked with two boys a few hours after breaking up with your long-term boyfriend but you liked this feeling. You were finally feeling sexy and desirable.

“You have no idea how many times we though about you like this, it was so hard to not fuck you right against the wall when you came here with your little perfect boyfriend.” Their shirts were gone by now and there were so many hands on you you couldn’t focus on anything else than them and their touch? “You always belonged here with us my love”. It hit you. They were right, you belonged with them, right here, on this couch with no clothes.

Hyunjin’s fingers slide down your chest and arrived soon enough above the hem of your panties. It felt like it took forever for him to touch you where you wanted him to. You waited for more than twenty years to have sex now you had no patience left. You wanted him now. You looked at him with pleading eyes, pouting, begging him to finally touch you. He ran a finger over your clothed you “Is this where you want me to touch you?” you nodded your head showing him how impatient you were. But he always liked to tease.

“You’re gonna do something for me first” you were so needy that you immediately replied “I’ll do anything” he let out a little laugh and smiled softly. “So eager. Keep it this way” he pressed a little kiss to the top of your head before sinking back on the couch and crossing his arms behind his eyes. “First you’re going to take Jeongin’s pants off and then mine. After that I’ll give you what you want”. You looked up at him with wide eyes before turning to Jeongin. You sank to your knees in front of him and looked up at him with doe eyes as you grabbed both elastic bands of his pants and underwear. The anticipation has your pussy dripping even more. You took both of them off and he kicked them away.

Your eyes observed his length, it was huge and it suddenly scared you. What the hell were you doing? You had no experience and here you were, trying to convince yourself you could handle two boys? Doubt and stress began to creep into your thoughts but it was all whipped out when Jeongin placed a hand on your cheek and started to draw small circles. There was nothing to be anxious about, they were here for you always. You were in control and you could stop anytime you wanted, you were safe.

You wanted to have him down your throat, you wanted to please him and make him feel so good. Saliva started to pool in your mouth in excitement. You wasted no time putting him in your mouth, twirling your tongue around his tip before swallowing him entirely. His head fall back as you suck him deeper. “Yeah just like that yeah, you’re doing so good for me baby”. You can feel the way he twitches and when his hand grab a handful of your hair. You’re still bobbing your head on his dick when Hyunjin speaks again.

“Did you forget about me, you were supposed to take off his pants not give him the sloppiest blowjob he ever had” as he talks, he stands up and positions himself behind you. “I’m so jealous love what about me” he whispers this in you ears. His words make you moan around Jeongin’s dick.

You gasp and pull out from him when you feel two fingers sliding in your panties and circling your clit. “You’re gonna have to make it up to me”. Before you can say anything Jeongin uses his grip in your hair to push himself back in your mouth. Both sensations of Jeongin hitting the back of your throat and Hyunjin’s fingers working on your pussy make your eyes roll back. It’s much more than you can handle. When Hyunjin pushes two fingers inside your pussy while his thumb is still on your clit you can feel your orgasm getting close. “Fuck you’re sucking me so good baby. Keep going we’re both gonna cum. I can feel it” Jeongin’s words make you lose all control over your body. You cum on Hyunjin’s fingers and soon after you can feel the salty taste filling your mouth. He uses his thumb to wipe away what spilled from your mouth and gives you a sweet smile. “Thank you baby you did so well.”

He lifts you from the ground and makes you turn around to face Hyunjin. “Now you’re gonna take care of his hard cock that’s been waiting for so long in his pants. While you suck him I’ll give you a reward for being so good to me”. The guy in front of you is already pulling out his dick and pumping it. You lean forward and look up at him. His eyes are pure lust now you don’t even recognize him, there’s something so wild about him now, he’s not the sweet Hyunjin who opened the door for you a few hours ago. You lick your lips before running your tongue along his entire length. You spit on it and lick it. You’re dirty but you don’t care, you know he’s enjoying it as much as you are.

Behind you Jeongin runs his dick all over your wet folds. When he finally pushes it in you let out a loud moan “fuck this pussy is killing me”. He has a strong hold on your hips and he starts to pull you back and forth on his cock simultaneously pushing Hyunjin dick deeper in your mouth. Your eyes get watery as you gag around it. “Are you ok love, should we stop?” there is no way you could answer based on the state you were actually in so you just gave him a thumb a signaling you were ok. He whipped the tears of your eyes and once again it reminded you how safe you were with them even when they were rough. You reached down between your legs to rub quick circles on your clit while Jeongin was still pounding into you.

You were getting closer when you suddenly heard the sound of keys, soon after Felix entered the apartment. Nothing could have prepared him for what was going on in front of him. His two roommates, his best friends fucking the girl he had a crush on for years. Maybe he was dreaming? Last he heard, you were in a relationship, a terrible one he believed, but still. He stood there for a short moment, observing. Maybe if he didn’t move you wouldn’t notice he was there. But all heads were already turned towards him.

Hyunjin pulled out from your mouth and gave you a small kiss before walking toward Felix. He grabbed his hand and the blonde let himself be guided to the sofa where Hyunjin pushed him. “Go on love show Felix how much you missed him”. Jeongin was still fucking you so it was hard to focus on what was going on around you. But you figured out what he was asking you when Jeongin stopped his movements. You could barely stand on your legs, so your first instinct was get on Felix’s lap. You positioned yourself on him, the tissue of his jean rubbing against your bare cunt. His hands found their place on your hips.

“What are you doing here pretty girl? Am I dreaming?” he looked so confused you found him adorable. You could feel his erection growing against you so you started moving, rolling your hips on him. A smile immediately appeared on his face; he didn't ask any more questions and kissed you. You passionately make out with him until you’re both of breath. He tugs his sweats down just far enough to free his cock, pink tip leaking precum. He smears it against your folds and you whimper. “Crave this pussy so fucking much lemme in” he pushes the head of his cock inside, filling you inch by inch while the two other boys start caressing your breast. He snakes an arm around your waist to keep you closer, allowing him to go deeper. When you’ve adapted to his size you start to move your hips and bounce on him. The wet sound of skin-on-skin filles the house in harmony with your moans and his deep groans.

But this harmony is disrupted when a phone rings in the room. Once. Twice. “Hello” it’s Jeongin’s voice who answers the phone. Your phone. “Yeah she’s right next to me” you can’t hear who he’s talking to but based on how pissed he looks you guess it’s your ex trying to contact you. Felix, who had slowed his movements, also understood who’s on the other end of the line. So he manhandles you, lifting you from the couch, putting you face down ass up on the ground. You gasp when he starts pounding you at an unbelievable speed. Your eyes roll at the back of your head and spit’s dripping from your mouth.

“We’re taking good care of her don’t worry. I’ll send you a picture wait a second”. He hangs up and turns back to you. Felix is still making you see stars and Hyunjin adds his finger on your clit. You can no longer manage all the stimulations, all that comes out of your mouth are incoherent babbling sounds. A knot forms in your stomach, you’re close you can feel it. “You like this baby, do we treat you better than this asshole” Jeongin says as he walks to you and opens the camera app. Your face is burning, your pussy is clenching so hard. You reach your high and just at this moment you hear it.

*click*

The picture.

Every time she tried to take one step forward, something would ultimately knock her back twice as far. Finally having a very generously paid job as an intern at a big company was serving her well, yet with the return of going back to university, finding a work-school balance was becoming difficult.

Truly, that was the hardest thing. She had great people around her, those being her uni friends or her loving boyfriends, the renowned Kpop band, Stray Kids. The way they cared for her and each other with such strong morals and support meant that surely it would be easy to confide in them.

Not always, especially in this case.

Other times she would be thankful for the fact that her partners all had a longer practice at the company, not to their own detriment of course, but because it gave her more time to get herself together and paint on a calm picture of 'I'm definitely not struggling right now and on the brink of my second breakdown of the day'.

However, this time she really needed them. The stress had amounted to such a level that she felt it right through to her bones, and so she found herself crying over the smallest things, which in turn let out the release of her biggest pain.

"Stupid shoes, why aren't they organised, there's too many," she sniffled, sat on her knees by the front door as she began to cry at shoes. Yes, shoes. Her boyfriends' shoes to be specific. She would have thought at least Seungmin would have berated the others for their lack of organisation at this point but even his were out of place.

"They didn't even match them back up," she cried, and more tears spilled out, "oh, why am I even crying right now?"

Sometimes being in such a state meant that it was hard to understand your own feelings, your thoughts far too occupied with the wants of other people to be able to manage the basic needs of your own.

Eventually she gave up on the shoes and wiped her tears, walking slowly over to the sofa and letting her body fall into it with a soft thump. She tugged a soft velvety blanket over herself, one that Felix probably picked out due to it's plush exterior, and instinctively cocooned herself. Her heart felt heavy, her eyes hot and burning as the tears kept falling. All it took was a reminder on her phone for a work assignment, and a uni assignment, to trigger a sob to catch her throat.

"Too much," she sobbed to herself, trying to muffle the sounds even though there was no one else to hear them, "it's too much."

She was wrong. Not about her feelings, gosh, no, but the fact that she thought she was alone.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Hyunjin was crouched down right in front of her trembling form, almost hidden if it wasn't for the blanketed lump that had been shaking so much it couldn't have been natural.

His hand brushed her hair back and his thumb rubbed under her eyes, catching the tears that seemed to keep appearing. Hyunjin watched on in deep concern, just like their other boyfriends did the more they realised something was wrong.

"What? When, when did you get back?" she gulped down her sobs, or attempted to, even though her words still came out messily. She sat up, the blanket falling off her shoulders and resting around her hips.

"Don't worry about that, love. Just tell us what's going on, yeah? What's wrong?" Chan held her against him immediately, taking a seat ñext to her. The only time his arm that was wrapped around her moved away, was to let Jeongin lift the blanket back up to keep her warm.

"I don't know," she sniffed indignantly, coughing lightly through her cries when she tried to clear her throat. Her arm pressed against the lower half of her face.

"You're getting yourself in a state now, come on, move your arm, you know you don't have to hold back in front of us," Seungmin sighed sadly, seeing his girlfriend so stressed. He pulled her arm towards her lap which he was sat in front of, holding her hand with one of his own and the other rubbing her knee.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically at first, until hearing the rest of what he had to say and tilting her head up to the ceiling to blink away the rest of her tears.

Chan pressed a kiss against her forehead, and everyone was around her to offer comfort, Felix and Changbin in particular wanting to jump out of their seats on the adjacent sofa to take all the pain away.

"What's got you to upset, jagi?" Jisung pouted, his own eyes glistening as he saw how upset you were.

"It's stupid, really," she began, rubbing at her eyes roughly, Hyunjin subsequently tutting at her and pulling her other hand away that Seungmin wasn't occupying.

"We're not doing that, jagi," Minho shook his head, brows furrowed, looking down at the floor with his hands folded together, "if it's upset you, it's not stupid."

"Exactly, please just tell us, you know we just want to help, that's all," Felix quickly pitched in, face crumpled sadly much like your own.

"There's just too much going on really. You know? Like, oh-" she had to cut herself off when her voice cracked with emotion again.

"You're ok, take your time," Jeongin gave a small smile and nod to reassure her.

"We're listening, baby," Changbin's raspy voice rung out.

"I've got a good job right? Like, it pays so well, but now with going back to uni it's just like I don't have time for anything. I-i'm having to squeeze in hours where I don't have them because my boss won't help me work around my timetable," she explained, the clashing of two parts of her life and time issues being what was clearly causing so much turmoil.

"I'm sorry, darling," Chan tugged her closer to him, a frown on his face.

"Don't be sorry, not your fault, is it? I'm just so tired, I'm exhausted," she admitted, pressing her lips together and taking a deep breath in order to not cry again.

"We'll help you figure this out, ok?" Hyunjin leant his head against her shoulder.

"Ok, ok," she let out a deep breath and nodded.

"I think you need to focus on uni, love. If work can't meet you in the middle then, it's hard," Seungmin trailed off, not wanting to fully leave her in the dark but not wanting to be too blunt.

"What do you think, jagi?" Jisung wondered, curled up against Minho, one leg hanging over the older's lap.

"I don't know. I don't even wanna make any decisions right now," she shook her head tiredly, blinking a couple times.

"That's understandable, baby, how about we just relax for now, ok?" Changbin suggested.

"And if anything else is upsetting you, please tell us," Chan huffed with a knowing smile.

"Ok, promise," she grinned.

₊˚⊹♡

She must have fallen asleep without realising, as she found herself waking up to Jeongin and Felix giggling over something on the latter's phone.

"What's going on?" she murmured tiredly, pressing her face deeper into... Jisung's chest, it took one whiff of his cologne to be able to tell it was him.

"Had a good sleep then, hmm?" Minho poked her forehead, slow blinking at her.

"Mm, yeah," she nodded, "Lixie, Innie, what's funny?"

The two froze, looking at her a bit guiltily.

"Well, umm, you know we have that camera in the hallway, just in case for security, like if someone broke in or-" Jeongin began to ramble awkwardly,

"I know, yeah," she nods, adjusting her head against Jisung's chest as he loosely keeps an arm around her, securing her to him.

"We're actually sorry for laughing, babe, it's just... You were crying over our shoes earlier?" Felix can't even keep eye contact as he explains.

Jisung stifles a laugh and so she slaps his chest playfully through her mild embarrassment, making him yell out dramatically.

"What's Sungie done now?" Hyunjin asks as he flops onto the sofa, entering the room again after leaving Chan, Seungmin and Changbin to managing the cooking.

"It's more about what our jagi did," Minho teases, looking at her with a smug grin.

"Guys, I was stressed, leave me aloneeee," she huffed, but it didn't stop the light laughter that filled the room knowing that she wasn't completely upset about it.

"Sorry, but..." Jeongin chuckles again, "the way you throw the shoes away from you is so funny!"

"What did our shoes do to you?!" Felix laughed again as he watched the video on replay.

"They smelt bad," she grinned happily, teasing them back as revenge, "specifically Ji's."

"Yah!"

Jisung gave her a noogie, keeping her trapped in his arms. He couldn't let her discredit him like that.

"Sorry! Sorry! Hahaha!"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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. 

After over twenty years of life, Jisung had really thought that he’d finally found peace.

I mean, he survived childhood without any physical injuries minus a sprained ankle once, clawed his way through university, pried a music degree from the hands of an old hag of a professor who had seemed to take personal offense at his existence (fuck you Mrs. Yang!), and come out the other side with something like hope together with the others. Everything after that was supposed to be clear skies and green fields, normal problems you know? Finding a place for eight boys, rent, arguments about whose turn it was to do the dishes. Normal with a capital N. 

Life, apparently, disagreed. 

First, it decided to turn him and the boys into time-ticking magical disasters because of an old lady and a house. A sentient house, mind you, because of course it couldn’t be something reasonable. And then, just when Jisung was starting to think he could actually handle that, it decided to slap his ass and double down. Hard.

Because now he wasn’t just a ticking bomb. He was a teleporting one.

Which is how he currently finds himself standing inside the shower with Felix. 

Felix, who is very very naked. Who is very very loudly screaming at the top of his lungs, because how the fuck is anyone supposed to react when someone materialize in their shower at nine in the morning? 

Jisung screams back on instinct, hands flying up like he’s been caught committing a crime. Water sprays everywhere, the shower curtain sticks to his arm, and his brain short-circuits between wrong place, wrong time, and I’m going to die. 

“I’M SORRY– I DIDN’T MEAN TO– I WAS JUST–”

Felix’s yell climbs an octave.

Jisung scrambles backward, slipping half out of the shower and nearly planting his teeth on the tiles, only to collide full force into something- no someone solid and warm. 

You, and Chan. 

Both of you having sprinted out of the bedroom startled, socks half missing, with eyes wide and the feeling of magic still humming in the air. 

Jisung looks like he’s about to scream again and your hands shoot up, palm visible, to calm him down. 

Chan blinks once, twice. Then, very carelly, he turns his head towards Felix, who’s still naked, frozen mid-panic behind the curtain. 

“Felix, put a towel on” he says, voice hoarse with sleep.

“HE TELEPORTED INTO MY SHOWER” shrieks the blonde “I WAS VULNERABLE” 

“I WAS ALSO VULNERABLE” Jisung fires back automatically, hands still up like he’s under arrest “I DID NOT CONSENT TO THIS LOCATION” 

“It’s okay, no one is in the wrong here” reassures Chan, voice a bit steadier now, easily slipping into that calm he uses when things are seconds away from spiraling. 

Felix finally snaps out of his shock, scrambling to wrap a towel around himself and from where you stand you can see that his ears are red to the tips. “I was naked” he repeats a bit affronted. 

“I didn’t plan it” replies quickly Jisung, words tumbling over each other. His laugh comes out sharp, a bit too fast. “I don’t even know how to plan something like that. Also, why are you talking like you didn’t ask me to wax your ass during the second year of uni?” 

There’s a beat. 

Then Felix starts sputtering. “That was one time and I was desperate!” 

The tension cracks, not completely, but enough for Jisung's likings. 

Felix huffs despite himself, shoulders slumping as he adjusts the towel. Chan’s mouth twitches at the memory before he schools it back into something vaguely responsible. But you don’t laugh, not really. 

Your eyes stay on Jisung with a quiet gentleness that it kind of unnerves him. And for a fraction of a moment he thinks that maybe, beneath the joke and the reflexive humour he wields like a shield, you can see it. The tight way his shoulders are drawn up and how his fingers keep flexing subtly, like he’s bracing for something unseen that’s going to come. His gaze flicks from face to face, checking reactions, measuring the damage. 

“Okay” Chan says gently, clapping his hands once to ground the room. “Everyone’s alive. No crimes were committed. Felix, please get dressed before the universe decides to be a shit again” 

Felix mutters something about trauma and stalks off toward his room, still cocooned in the towel like a wet startled cat. 

Jisung lets out a breath. “Cool. Coolcoolcool, great start to the day I’d say! Yeah!” 

You step a little closer before he can spiral further, voice soft but steady. “Hey. You’re okay. You didn’t do anything wrong” your magic coils around him in gentle threads, something tells you that he doesn’t want to be touched right now. 

His eyes flick to you instantly.

“Oh,” he breathes out,the laugh that follows faltering a bit at the edges. “Yeah. Totally- I know. Just you know… Surprise showers, that’s a very normal magical awakening!” 

“We’ll figure this out together, yeah?” assures Chan gently. Warm magic coils inside of him, almost begging to help him, to keep him from breaking. 

Jisung nods too quickly again, already backing toward the hallway. “Awesome. Love that for me. I’m gonna– gonna go sit somewhere without a shower… and a naked guy yeah.” And then he’s gone, disappearing down the hall in a blur of quick steps and stutters. 

The quiet that follows is heavy.

You feel it settle in your chest, your threads pulling uneasily, tugging in the direction he went like something unfinished. 

Chan notices your stillness immediately. His gaze shifts to you, concern softening his features as a warm palm cups your cheek, grounding and familiar. “He jokes when he’s scared or anxious,” he says quietly, then gentler, ”But I meant what I said before. We’ll figure it out together, one piece at a time.” 

Jisung does not, in fact, go sit somewhere and relax. 

He makes it about three doors down the hallway before his chest tightens so hard it feels like someone wrapped a cord around his ribs and pulled. His steps stutter, his breath does that annoying thing where it forgets how to be automatic. 

He stops for a second, palms braced against the wall, as a familiar pressure starts curling low in his gut. 

Teleport incoming.

Bathroom? No. Too many showers. Living room? Absolutely not. Too open, too many people. Kitchen? Definitely no, what if he teleports into a knife? 

His brain manages to conjure the thought “Bedroom” before the floor drops out from under his feet. 

The world lurches and he lands hard inside his room, stumbling against his desk. He slides  down until he’s sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, forehead knocking lightly against them once, twice.

Maybe if he taps himself enough his brain will reboot. 

“Okay” he mutters to the empty room “Okayokayokay. That was… fine. That was a thing that happened. We were waiting for it, yes?”

His heart doesn’t want to slow down and for a second he swears he can feel the house hum around him, soft and low, like he’s trying to soothe him. 

He’s suddenly very aware of everything. His wet clothes from the shower. Felix’s screams. Chan’s soft tone. Your face, careful and gentle and trying not to crowd him, leaving open space between you two.

He squeezes his eyes shut. This is bad, this is so so bad. 

Not because of the naked thing. That’s… honestly whatever, he’s lived with the other guys long enough to have seen each other naked an embarrassing lot of times. He can joke about that. He already did. 

This is bad because you were there.

Sweet, caring you who looked at him the same way Chan did (and sometimes still does when things go wrong) when he crashed on his sofa with a suitcase full of his clothes and music equipment. Like you’d step in front of a train if it meant keeping things from breaking. 

And he can’t have that. He can’t be another problem, another stupid thing that needs fixing, not for you too. 

He taps his fingers on the sides of his knees, fast, uneven.

He didn’t mean to go there. He hadn’t thought about the bathroom with intention. Or Felix, or teleporting at all. But he did, subconsciously.

He’d woken up tangled in blankets, half asleep and hazy, brain drifting like it always does when he’s not fully conscious yet. Thought stacking on top of thought like a pile, soft and unfocussed. 

About the whole months that passed since the start of this whole mess. About the house. About you. About Chan. 

Next thing he knew, he was dropping in a tangle of limbs in your bed, elbowing Chan square in the ribs. The embarrassment had spiked so hard his brain short-circuited, thinking “ah shit I wish I could drown myself” 

And then he was gone, from your room to Felix’s shower.

His hands start to shake.

“Nope” he whispers, deciding to press his palms flat against the floor. “Nope. We’re not doing that again.”

But old thoughts come anyway, slithering up, familiar and cruel.

You messed up. Stop being so anxious. You are a disappointment. 

His chest aches. 

“Just stop” he grits out “Just stop thinking” And for the first time since finding this family, this fragile sense of safety he feels like he’s scared of himself.

He’s right on the edge of another self-deprecating spiral when something pulls at his attention. 

Footsteps, soft and measured, stop just outside his door, neither hesitant nor rushed. Then there are two quick knocks, followed by another slightly off beat. And Jisung exhales through his nose, because he doesn’t need to ask who is on the other side at all. 

“Me and Seungmin are off buying something for breakfast, do you want to come?” Minho’s voice is quiet. No are you okay or what happened. 

Just a way to get out disguised as a question. 

Jisung doesn’t answer right away, fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeves, then relax. The tragedy hasn’t really faded but at least it’s not pressing too much against him.

“I don’t really feel like it… But bring me something please” he calls back after a moment, voice rough but steady enough.

There’s a pause where maybe Minho is contemplating something. But he doesn't push. 

“Okay” he replies simply, much to Jisung’s gratitude. “We’ll get you something”

Footsteps retreat down the hall. Leaving him feeling less like the room is trying to eat him alive. 

The days after Jisung’s… Incident settle into something that looks like normalcy if you squint hard enough… And if you ignore how you see him bolt every time you walk into the same room as him. 

Other than that, things feel fine. No screaming showers, no sudden plus one in your bed. The house hums quietly, the boys fall back into their rhythms and work, and Jisung laughs just as often as he always has.

You don’t push, but you don’t avoid him either. What happened with Chan taught you that forcing things open only risks crushing them too tightly. Some things need to breathe out first before assessing them. So instead you decide to just watch, to listen. You let your magic loosen, threads spreading out just to be present.

You were fairly sure Jisung was a teleporter, fairly being the key word, because then you start to notice things that don’t look teleport-y at all.

Like that one time you were in the living room with Chan, Felix and Hyunjin, sharing two blankets, a stolen chocolate bar and a tv series playing. The older one breaks off a piece of chocolate and feeds it to you, smiling when you steal a quick kiss in return. 

Hyunjin gasps “Oh when will it be my turn?” 

“Come get one” you stick your tongue out playfully. 

Felix laughs, bumping his shoulder against yours. It’s calm, warm, domestic even, as you and the boys are starting to gravitate towards each other.

From the kitchen, Jisung pads out in socks, hair a mess, muttering under his breath. “I swear I bought snacks, I swear I did. This house is gaslighting me”.

You barely have time to glance up before it happens. The chocolate disappears from Chan’s fingers. Gone. Puff. One second it’s there, the next it’s not. And then it’s in Jisung’s hand.

He freezes mid-step, staring at the chocolate with an open mouth. Chan blinks at his empty fingers. Once. Twice.

Hyunjin sits up. “We all saw that right?” 

Jisung looks between the chocolate, Chan, and then you. His mouth showing no sign of closing itself any time soon.

A laugh bursts out of his, sharp. “Okay, wow. That's…new-new". He lifts the chocolate cautiously, like it might explode. “I didn’t even think about that. I bought cookies” 

Your stomach tightens. Because teleportation doesn’t do that, it’s movement, direction, going place to place.This was reality bending to accommodate a thought. That's a whole other set of problems, especially with how Jisung is taking it all. You decide to not say anything, the answer of what he is sits on the tip of your tongue, as perfectly shaped and inconvenient. You swallow it back instead, deciding to give it the benefit of the doubt.

The so called benefit of the doubt fucks off exactly two days later.

You don’t fall asleep that night you… slide. One moment you’re drifting, the house quiet around you, threads loose and resting. The next your magic catches on something that isn’t yours. 

You’re standing in a hallway that you don’t recognize, it’s not the house, nor your family’s last place. The space is narrow, then too long, the walls are old, cold.

There’s a sound at the far end. Raised voices, not shouting but sharp enough to cut and create a sense of discomfort. 

You know that you’re dreaming, and that it’s not yours, so you automatically know that you are not alone in it. Your powers wrap around you in comfort as you take a step forward, the floor creaks under your feet. Somewhere ahead, a door slams. 

“Stop being dramatic.” 

The voice isn’t Jisung’s, it’s older, tired and very irritated. Another voice follows, quieter, rushed, words tripping over themselves in a way that you recognize. Because you’ve been hearing it from him for the past 5 months you’ve been living with him. 

Your chest aches before you even see him. 

Jisung sits on the floor at the end of the hall, back against the wall, knees pulled up, hands clamped over his ears like he’s trying to physically keep the world out. He looks younger here, smaller. HIs shoulders shake, but no sound comes out. 

Shame stains the floor beneath him, dark and spreading. Every time his chest stutters, the light flicker harder. You move without thinking, kneeling in front of him, careful.

“Jisung,” you say softly. His head snaps up. For a second his eyes are wild, unfocussed. Then recognition lands, and something inside the hallway buckles, walls bend inward. 

“No” he wheezes out a weak breath, “No, no, you’re not supposed to be here.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you answer honestly. “You pulled me in.” 

“I didn’t-” he scrambles to his feet, backing away, hands raised defensively, the hallway stretching with him, putting that extra space between you two. “I didn’t do this on purpose, okay? I was just- It’s just a dream” 

“I know” you say softly, “but it’s still yours.” His breath falters, making the floor tremble.

His breath comes faster as the walls start to peel, memory bleeding through. You try to reach for him again, magic flaring as it tries to help you. “Jisung, you don’t have to handle this alone” 

The hallway collapses inward. 

You wake up with a sharp inhale, heart racing, your threads tangled and buzzing. Down the hall you hear a door slam.

You find him in the kitchen minutes later, aggressively stirring sugar into a mug, wrist moving too fast. His eyes are shadowed, posture too tight, like he slept in a coffin instead of a bed.

“Hey” you say gently. 

He jumps, whipping around, a smile snapping into place so fast it’s almost impressive. 

“Oh! Morning,” he chirps, voice bright and a bit too loud for the time, which is two in the night, so not morning at all. “You ever notice how sugar just… disappears in coffee? Like magic! Ironic- Ha!” He tries to laugh but it doesn’t quite land. 

“Ji” You meet his eyes, hold them. His smile flickers just for a second.

Then it’s back, brighter and a bit harder than before. “I’m good” he says “Promise. Just need caffeine, you know, for good music making! Yes” 

He lifts the mug like a shield, takes a sip that’s definitely too hot, winces, and shrugs it off. “See? Totally fine, trust the process of the composer, I just-” he stutters, hands shaking, before disappearing into the hallway toward his room, leaving you alone with a quiet ache in your chest. 

Some time passes, how long you don’t know, minutes, maybe. Hours? Nonetheless the house drifts into that late night stillness that you grew to love these days. You pace around your room for a bit, then sit, then pace again. You try to come up with a solution, you want to help him, feel the need even, but how? How can you do it without scaring him or worse forcing him?

You are halfway sprawled through the bed, half staring at the ceiling, half wanting to go to Chan for help and reassurance, when you feel it. Your threads hum in warning before relaxing. 

Then– Thud–

“Shit-!”

Jisung crashes down onto your fuzzy bean bag with a startled yelp, limbs tangling awkwardly as the fabric groans under the sudden weight. 

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. 

You on the other hand sit up instantly, heart leaping into your throat “Ji!”

“I’m sorry!” he blurts out as he scrambled upright, hair wild, eyes blown wide “I didn’t mean to, I swear, I was just messing around on the computer- Thought about the dream and and you, then I panicked and– I’ll just go, I didn’t mean to land here, shit this is so embarrassing, I–” 

“Hey” you interrupt softly, your first instinct is to go to him. But you don’t move, you don’t get up, you just stay put on the edge of your bed. 

“You’re okay” you say “You landed on the bean bag, that’s the softest place in the house I’d say” 

He huffs out a shaky breath despite himself. “That seems right, aim for the emotional support furniture right?” 

The silence stretches, you watch him tighten his shoulders, like he’s bracing for impact, but it doesn't come. What he hears instead is a softly “I’m not mad” followed by an even softer “I’m not going to scold you and I’m definitely not going to kick you out” 

His gaze flicks up, startled, like he was expecting to see a person of his memories, years and years ago, ready to grab his arm and shake him until he cried.

“Oh” he barely exhales. 

You meet his eyes and hold them, your threads humming low and warm but still, as if they knew not to invade his space too much. You stay silent for a few seconds, thinking of what you could say, images of his dreams flicker in your mind. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, your powers… are difficult to control, especially the ones of a Feymind.” you try to explain “The more you try to suppress them the more they’ll try to get to you” Your gaze is warm and understanding, “You’re not supposed to master it instantly, we’ll get there, together if you want.”

He swallows, throat bobbing, and looks away again, jaw working like he’s chewing on something definitely too big to swallow down. 

“I just-” He laughs weakly, scrubbing his palms against his thighs until the fabric wrinkles beneath his fingers. “I feel like I keep messing things up. Every time I’m making progress something… something always has to happen to fuck me up.” he blurts out, rougher now “And the more I try to keep it in the more I feel it slipping from my grasp” 

“I know” you say, and you do. Because you remember the nights spent sitting on that same bean bag, spine curling towards your knees, magic buzzing too loud under your skin. Trying to understand why your threads lashed out when you were scared. Why emotion couldn’t just simply stay inside your chest but had to explode with your powers, into people.

You straighten up slowly, “Can I sit on the floor? I won’t touch you… Just to be nearer…” you ask. He hesitates, then nods silently. You smile before sliding down, back against the bed, close enough to feel that you are sharing space, but not enough that you touch. The carpet is cool beneath your palms when you set them flat, grounding you. 

“Okay” you murmur. “We’re both here”. Looking at him you notice that his breathing is still a bit uneven, chest hitching every now and then. But you don’t tell him to calm down, nor to stop thinking. Instead you breathe, deep, slow and audible, in, out, in, out. He tries to follow it after a moment, but he starts breathing in when you breathe out, making him huff in frustration, though a small smile is present. 

A similar smile pulls at your mouth. You keep breathing anyway, unbothered, one of your hands follows the motion of your inhale and exhale. Up, down, up, down. Eventually, his breath starts to line up, close enough. 

For some time the room feels steadier, nothing moves, nothing flickers, the house hums softly. 

A while passes before he speaks again, quieter this time. “Thanks… This helps, like a lot, really” he admits, eyes fixed on some invisible spot on the floor near your socks. “But,” he adds after a moment, swallowing hard “What you saw. And what I’m feeling.” His jaw tightens, words stalling “I’m not ready to talk about everything that happened. I know that Chan told you a bit… but those dreams-” he cuts himself off with a small shake of his head. “I just can’t. Not yet.” 

“That’s okay” you say immediately, no hesitation nor disappointment in your voice. “You don’t owe me explanations”

His shoulders drop just a little, the tension easing out of him.

“You get to decide the pace,” you continue “or even if you want my help at all. If you’d feel safer talking to someone else. Or Chan” you let out a quiet laugh. “I think we both know he’s kind of built like that”

That earns a quiet snort. “Yeah,” Jisung mutters. “Stupidly reliable hyung”

You smile, leaning your head back against the bed. “We can keep doing this too.” you add “Just sitting here, breathing. Until you want to go”

You hesitate only a fraction of a second, then let the option exist without pressure. “...Or stay,” you say, light and sincere. “Whatever feels right to you.” 

Some time passes, you bask in the comfortable bubble of silence that you created around you. At some point your breathing evens out, muscles loosening one by one, until your eyelids start to dip. 

It’s only then that Jisung really looks at you. Not the careful and anxious quick glances from earlier when he was checking for eventual disappointment or irritation. This time he lets himself see you properly, slouched against the bed, hands folded over your lap, your neck bent slightly towards the left. 

You stayed with him, and for one moment he truly felt it, like you’d been there with them since university, since the beginning of everything. When he panicked you didn’t push, nor tried to fix him like a broken doll. You just… sat there.

Something warm and twists in his chest, familiar in a way that makes his throat tighten a bit. The kind of feeling he usually only associates with the boys, with late nights and shared exhaustion and many unspoken understandings. With being seen without actually having to explain it.

Oh. 

For a brief second, he thinks he gets it. Why Chan looks at you the way he does, why his magic seems to reach for yours, for you, without thinking, threading together like it’s second nature.

Carefully, he shifts closer, just an inch or two, close enough to feel the warmth without touching at first. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs to no one in particular, voice barely louder than the house’s hum. “I kinda get it now.” 

Gently, with slow movements to not jostle you too much, he lifts you and places you on the plush bed, smoothing the covers over your sleeping figure. You stir faintly, nuzzling into the pillows, breathing slow and even. 

“Good night (Y/n), sleep well” he whispers.

He lingers for a heartbeat longer than necessary, watching the rise and fall of your chest, as if he wants to keep this calm moment pressed into his memory. 

Then he straightens, quiet resolve settling into his bones. Tomorrow he’ll talk to Chan, about the magic, about the dreams… and about you too. One step at a time. 

The next day, Jisung finds himself in one of the few places that settles his nerves like no other, the house studio. 

He’s curled into one of the soft chairs, knees pulled up, socked feet (stolen from Hyunjin earlier that same day) tucked beneath him. Chan sits a few feet away at the desk, headphones resting around his neck, fingers idly tapping against the table in a rhythm that got stuck in his brain. 

Changbin, third of the musketeers, is out. Something about driving Seungmin to a photography class he’d signed up for on a whim, Hyunjin tagging along for moral support. Which means that the house is quieter than usual. No screaming or crashing stuff, just the hum of equipment, the faint smell of coffee and a pleasant silence. 

Jisung exhales a bit, fingers gently massaging his forehead as his shoulders drop a notch.

Chan glances over at him, not obvious about it. “You sleep at all?” 

“Mmh,” he hums back “Somewhere between passing out and staring a lot at the ceiling” 

“Productive.” 

Jisung snorts, then goes quiet again, fingers worrying at the sleeve of his hoodie. The comfort settles into his bones, but beneath it there’s a restlessness, like a thought bouncing at the back of his skull.

He shifts a bit. “Hyung” he starts, then stops. A packet of chocolate cookies comes out of thin air, as if to soothe him. “Can I say something kind of… dumb?” 

Chan doesn’t even look surprised. He just swivels his chair a little, giving Jisung his full attention. “When has that ever stopped you?” 

Jisung huffs a weak laugh at that, then lets it fade. “I’m scared,” he says “Not of the magic- I mean, okay, yes, that too. But I’m more scared of how it’s making me feel” 

“It feels like I’m back there,” the words pick up the pace a little now that they’re getting out of his mouth. “Like all the progress I made, all the stuff we worked through… it’s just one bad spiral away from going back to square one. Panic brain, running thoughts, me being… too much again.” 

He swallows. “And I hate that part of myself. I worked really hard to not live there with them anymore. We worked really hard”

Something frail lingers in the air, Jisung presses on, voice wobbling just a bit. “And I want help, I do. I just… I just don’t know how to ask for it without feeling like I’m… failing and messing things up again.” 

He hesitates, jaw tightening just slightly. “Especially with (Y/n)” 

Chan’s expression doesn’t change, but his attention sharpens. “What about her.” 

The other boy rubs at the back of his neck, embarrassed, gaze fixed somewhere just past the older’s shoulders. “She makes it easier. Not in a weird way. Just… She’s just like us. Being near her feels like my head can stop running for half a second.” He huffs “Which is inconvenient on a part, because now my brain keeps going, don’t rely on that, you idiot!”

Chan lets out a small breath, more understanding than surprised. 

“I’m not saying it’s romantic,” Jisung adds quickly, glancing up. “I know you and them are together. I don’t feel…” he gestures vaguely, flustered. “That. It’s more like… safety. And I don’t trust things that feel that easy.” 

That, finally, makes Chan smile, soft, familiar. The kind of look that says he’s heard this many times before, maybe even lived it very very recently “Yeah, that tracks.” 

Jisung blinks. “That’s it? No lecture?”

“No,” Chan replies calmly. “Sungie, feeling safe around someone doesn’t mean you’re crossing a line. It just means your brain finally unclenched itself” 

Jisung exhales once, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. 

“I just don’t want to lean too hard,” he mutters. “I don’t want to turn them into something I’m scared of losing.” 

Chan nods, slow and steady. “That’s fair. And it’s also something you can talk about. With her, with me. You’re not sneaking around or doing anything wrong.” 

Jisung sits with that for a moment. “...Do you feel that pull too? Like your magic is calling to her” 

Chan doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do” and there’s no jealousy in his tone, no claim, just pure honesty. 

Jisung nods once, something resolute settles in his ribs. “Okay” he says softly. “Then… I think I’ll talk to her… one step at a time” 

“One step at a time Sungie, one step at a time” the older smile widens, fond. “Now come, let’s get some work ideas down”

Between studio hours and the soft chaos of everyday chores, it takes nearly a week before Jisung finally manages to catch you alone. Not because you’re avoiding him, and not because he’s doing the same. Just life, loud and a bit uncooperative at times, full of schedules that never quite line up, especially between nine people. When it finally happens it feels like a small victory. 

You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, eyes closed, palms resting loosely on your knees. The curtains are drawn just enough to dim the light, and the air feels… thicker? 

Jisung stops in the doorway, feeling it immediately. Threads shimmer faintly around you. He can’t see them properly, but his magic recognizes them immediately. It’s like a pressure against his skin, coiling gently around his body.

He stops short, instinct telling him not to interrupt.

Things have been better than he expected. No sudden vanishing like houdini acts. Occasionally food appears when his stress spikes, a granola bar on his desk, a banana in his hoodie pocket, making him think that the universe apparently is concerned with his nutrition.

The dreams still come though, faint and jagged at the edges. Old hallways, voices sharp with irritation, harsh hands tugging at his sleeves, the flat crack of a ruler against a desk, too loud and definitely too close. They come rarely yet when they go they leave that familiar pressure stuck behind his ribs when he wakes, breath shallow and heart sprinting. 

On those nights he slips out of bed and ventures next door, shakes Minho awake without explanation. The other boy never asks, just scoots over, grumbles something unintelligible, and lets Jisung curl in close until he stops shaking. 

You shift slightly, breath changing. Your eyes open, slow and deliberate, like you felt him before you saw him, which you probably did. The threads around you soften into something gentler. 

“Hey” you say quietly “You okay?” 

“Yeah” Jisung answers on instinct, then huffs. “I mean, I’m not actively teleporting into walls or showers, so I’m calling that a win.” he scratches at the back of his neck, gaze drifting anywhere but your face. 

You snort softly, not laughing but close enough that it lands. He relaxes a fraction, shoulders dropping a bit. He glances around the room, then back at you. “You were… doing magic, right? The thread thing” 

Your fingers flex against your knees. “Yeah” 

“It’s cool!” he says quickly, then immediately backpedals. “I mean not cool like circus trick cool, but cool like… it feels safe. If- that makes sense?”

“It does,” you say smiling. 

He nods, swallowing. “I can feel it. When you’re focused. Like, my brain stops sprinting and just… chills for a second.” The admission hangs between you, fragile. 

“So!” he adds, tone tipping a bit into forced lightness, “what exactly do you do? Other than, you know, becoming the emotional support atmosphere” 

You smile, small and careful and for the first time Jisung feels that maybe under that security there are some cracks that he finds very familiar.

“I don’t pull unless I’m asked” you say softly. “Mostly I listen, I anchor, I can sense when things are about to snap. But I was like that as a child as well, so I think it suits me” 

Silence settles again for a few seconds. 

“I think that’s why this is freaking me out” he admits after a moment, quieter now. “Why I teleport… I think it’s because I learned how to run away before.” 

You don’t interrupt but you scoot a bit, one hand offering the space in front of you like a peace offer. He crouches slowly before fully sitting down, still a bit guarded.

“My place before graduation wasn’t exactly… great,” he continues, words careful, measured. “Lots of rules about being quiet, about not taking up space. About not being… like this.” He gestures vaguely at himself, hands trembling just enough to notice.

“I got really good at disappearing,” he adds, attempting a grin that doesn’t quite land. “Mentally first. Guess my magic took notes.” 

Your chest tightens, threads reacting on instinct before you still them. You refuse to let them pull. You refuse to turn this into something that needs fixing. 

“That sounds like it was really hard,” you say simply and the honesty of it lands harder than sympathy ever could. 

He exhales shakily, voice cracking a bit as he utters a simple “Yeah. It was” and then, after a heartbeat of hesitation, he moves. He shifts closer to your side, slow and deliberate, close enough that his knee brushes yours. 

Your threads stir, restless, alert, you clamp down on them immediately. Did you… did you pull him? 

You force your hands to stay where they are, your magic firmly quiet. Giving him every possible exit, but he doesn’t take it. Instead his shoulder eases closer until it almost touches yours, his breath stutters once, like he noticed the distance too. 

His gaze lifts to you then, really looks at you, searching. 

“I know that’s not the whole story and I’m not telling you this to make it your problem,” he says quickly, anxiety flickering at the edges again. “I don’t want to turn you into an anchor I didn’t ask for.” 

You shake your head immediately. “I know. And I wouldn’t let that happen.” You hesitate, then add just as honestly, “Sometimes I worry about it too… What if I make things easier in a way that becomes a crutch? What if I pull without meaning to, just because it feels… right to be close?” the threads hum, uneasy now, responding to your doubt.

“...That would suck,” he says slowly. Then he huffs, scrubbing a hand over his face as if he’s searching for the right words. “But I don’t think that’s what’s happening right now.” 

You glance at him, waiting. 

“I’ve been obligated before…” he continues. “You can feel it in your bones when someone’s being kind because they have to be. This doesn’t feel like that.” He shifts again, grounding himself, and this time his arm brushes yours fully. The contact is brief, careful, like he’s testing a line he doesn’t want to cross by accident. Still, it sends a small jolt through you both, something warm and uncertain settling in the space between breaths. 

“Okay,” you say softly. “Then we keep checking in.” 

“Deal.” he agrees, a small smile on his lips as he nods once before pushing himself to his feet. “I should… probably let you get back to your magic monk thing.”

You snort, clearly amused this time. “Probably.” 

At the doorway, he pauses, glancing back. “Thanks for today, I really needed that:” 

“Anytime,” you reply, smiling.

Jisung leaves the room lighter than he arrived, and you sit there a while longer, palms on your knees, faint traces of the pull settling in your ribcage. 

The days that follow are normal. Surprisingly so. Studio hours, photography classes and work bleed into late dinners and conversations laughed on the sofa. Someone is always missing a charger and sometimes Chan still manages to get something to bind, stuck in one place for some time. 

You’re also officially banned from the kitchen. The decree is delivered by Minho himself with arms crossed and an aggravated expression. “Effective immediately.” 

“That’s not legally binding!” you protest, wooden spoon in hand. 

“It is in this household,” he replies flatly. “Don’t make me call your boyfriend and make it binding.” 

Chan snorts from the counter, already guilty by association. 

The ruling comes after you, Hyunjin, and Changbin devolve into a full-blown argument over who makes the best ramen. Changbin insists flavor packets are sacred, Hyunjin claims presentation matters while you argue that improvisation is an art form. 

Minho walks in just in time to witness Hyunjin gesturing wildly with chopsticks and you knocking over an entire container of chili flakes. 

There is red everywhere. Jeongin laughs so hard he has to grab Jisung to keep from toppling off the stool. The other wheezes, nearly folding in half, one hand clutched to his chest. 

“Out,” Minho says, pointing toward the living room. “All three of you. Before someone sets the sink on fire.”

Jisung watches the chaos unfold, shoulder shaking with quiet laughter, eyes bright in a way you haven’t seen in a while. When your gaze catches his, he ducks his head, still smiling to himself. 

Normal, you think. This is normal. 

That night, the house winds down slowly. One by one, doors close. Someone hums off-key down the halls. You hear the unmistakable sound of a smack to the back of the neck after Felix asks Seungmin if he wants to “pull a Jisung” and shower together. 

The laughter that follows is fond, familiar.

You end up in Chan’s room without really noticing how you got there. It’s so easy, familiar. He opens his arms and you fold into him like you’ve done it a hundred times before. His chin settles on the crown of your head, fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm. 

“Long day,” he murmurs. 

“Good day” 

He hums, pressing a kiss into your hair. Then another, slow and lingering, against your temple. You tilt your head enough for him to find your lips, the kiss is unhurried and warm. You stay like that for a while, breathing each other in. 

“Can I say something without it being weird?” you ask eventually. Chan smiles against your skin. 

“Isn’t it kind of our brand?” 

You laugh quietly. “I think… that everyone’s drifting closer. Not just you and me. All of us…” You hesitate, words catching. “And I’m a little scared because I can’t help but feel like maybe it’s my fault. I can see our connections, some threads of it, Chan… I feel them… What if- what if I pulled without meaning to?” 

His hands stills but doesn’t withdraw, they just rest on your body. 

“What if they think it's a choice but it’s really just… me? My magic nudging things on purpose.”

Chan lifts his head enough to look at you properly, thumb brushing under your eye to ground you. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Baby look at me.” 

You do, because what else can you do when he looks at you with so much care. 

“I know what it feels like when magic takes the wheel,” he says gently. “And I know the feeling of being scared of forcing people, you taught me that” 

He presses his forehead to yours. “This isn’t forcing any bonds.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I can still say no, so can they” he answers without hesitation. “And I see the way they look at each other, at you.” Chan kisses you again, soft and steady. 

You exhale, tension easing just a fraction. “I just- don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt.” 

“You’re not, but it’s okay to be afraid of that. It just means you care.” 

You tuck yourself back into his chest, letting his warmth anchor you. His fingers resume their slow patterns, grounding and familiar. 

“Whatever this turns into, we'll keep choosing it.” he murmurs, voice already drifting toward sleep. Your eyes close, comfort settling deep in your bones as sleep lulls you before you can overthink it.

Getting pulled into a dream echo feels like falling sideways. 

One second you’re wrapped in Chan’s warmth, cheek pressed against the steady rise and fall of his chest. The next the air tightens, your threads snap taut, vibrating like plucked strings, instinct screaming to shield.

The floor slides out from under you, reality warping the room on itself. Your stomach lurches and Chan’s arm tightens around you just in time to hold you steady. Then the world settles. 

You’re standing in a narrow hallway, your breath catches at the same time as Chan’s heart plummet into his guts.

Because you both have seen this place before. 

The walls are too close, painted a tired beige that feels oppressive rather than welcoming. The light overhead flickers, buzzing faintly, the sound of it unnerving you. 

“This is-” 

“I know,” Chan murmurs, already tense behind you. “Yeah” 

Your threads strain, trying to map the space, to find Jisung. “I got pulled in last time as well… But his powers feel… worse not” You tighten your grip on Chan’s hand, slight panic edge in your voice “These are memories, we have to find the real Jisung and pull him out, or at least help him control it before it spirals.” 

Before he can respond, a door opens ahead of you with a clear swing inward. Sounds spill out, sharp voices, clipped and irritated. 

Your stomach twists and the hallway tugs you forwards without asking permission, you both pass through the doorway like you’re not really there. Chan gently keeps you near him as he settles near the wall, he knows what is about to happen from Jisung’s breakdowns during university. 

Inside, the living room unfolds. It feels too neat, unnaturally perfect. 

A child sits on the floor and your chest aches immediately. 

Jisung. Too small. Knees pulled tight to his chest with small fingers twisting in the hem of his sweater. His leg bounces uncontrollably, heel tapping against the floor in a frantic rhythm. His shoulders are hunched, like he’s trying to fold himself into something smaller and less noticeable. 

A woman with striking resemblance stands nearby, arms crossed, posture rigid. Her gaze is sharp, irritation etched deep into her expression. 

“Christ stop moving like that! You look ridiculous.” she snaps. 

The child freezes for half a second. His leg stills. Then it starts again, slower now, restrained as if he’s fighting it. 

“I’m sorry” he says quickly, words tumbling over each other like he sometimes still does when he’s too nervous. “I’ll stop. I promise.” 

His mother’s mouth tightens. “Sorry doesn’t fix it, you have a perfect life, why would you be anxious?.” 

The words land heavy. You stare in horror as your threads surge violently. They reach for him with desperation, trying to wrap around his small frame, to muffle the cruelty digging into his bones, but they pass straight through him. 

Chan’s hand closes around yours instantly, grounding. He doesn’t look away from the scene. “Jisung had some anxiety problems, still has sometimes, though he got a lot better. She hated it… said that his anxiousness embarrassed her.” 

The woman steps closer, looming over him, harsh hands clamp over a little Jisung’s wrists. “Why can’t you be normal?” Can’t you stop making things so difficult?” 

Jisung nods frantically, eyes shining but dry, if he cries he’s doomed. He swallows hard. “I’ll try harder! I can be better.” The words feel rehearsed, far too practiced for a child. 

You feel your eyes watering before something else catches your attention. Something shifts near the edge of the room, the air folds in on itself and then he’s there. 

The real Jisung. 

Older but still terrified. Standing just beyond the doorway, eyes wide as he watches his younger self. His hands are clenched so tightly his knuckles are white, breath coming fast and shallow like he’s about to bolt. 

His gaze snaps to you and for a split second confusion. Then recognition flashes across his face before the panic fully detonates. 

“No-” he breathes, voice breaking. “You’re not- you can’t-” 

“Jisung!” Chan calls, stepping forwards. “It’s okay, we didn't mean to-” 

He vanishes before Chan can finish the sentence. The space where he stood collapses inward, the room warping again. The woman’s voice loops, sharp and endless. 

You stumble a bit as the memory tears itself apart. Chan catches you, arms firm around your waist, pulling you back against him as the room forces you out. 

The hallway slams back into place. You look at Chan, fingers gripping his arms with urgency. “We have to find him!” Your heart is racing, threads trembling with fear and frustration. 

Chan exhales slowly, trying to ground the both of you. “He didn’t expect us to see that, we’ll find him I promise you, we just have to keep our head clear, if we panic he’ll see it, it will make things worse” 

Your chest feels heavy with things you can’t fix but you nod nonetheless. “Let’s go, another door should be open… another memory” 

As if the hallway hears you, the lights flicker. Further down, a door appears where there was only a blank wall before. It’s different from the first door, it’s taller, edges worn by time and the hands of the countless students who lived there before them. 

“It’s our dorm room, back in uni.” explains gently Chan. 

Voices seep through the cracks. Laughter, loud and sometimes cracking, still carrying the sharp edges of people who aren’t quite adults yet. There’s music too, half-formed, a beat looping too long, stopping then starting again. 

You push the door open and the room blooms around you. 

It’s cramped, but when you split a room between three boys, occasionally four when Minho crashes on the couch like tonight, what else could it be? Posters peel from the walls, there are empty cups of coffee and energy drinks stacked on a desk like a monument to insomnia.

Changbin is hunched over a laptop on the floor, frowning in concentration, fingers stabbing at the keys. Chan sits nearby with a notebook balanced on his knee, pen tapping as he muns under his breath. Minho is perched on their couch, one leg tucked under the other, watching Jisung with that sharp gaze of his. They look so young, a bit soft around the edges still, but there is nothing unserious about the way they’re working. You can feel the weight of it, the care.

And Jisung is everywhere at once. He paces between them, energy buzzing under his skin, hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it nonstop. “No no, wait, what if we switch it here?” he says, dropping to his knees beside Changbin. “Like, we cut the beat here for a second?” 

Changbin pauses the track, squinting. “Here?” 

“Yeah!” Jisung’s fly as he talks “We let it breathe, then DAK! We bring it back even harder.” 

Chan hums again. “That could work”

They try it and you can see Jisung lighten up. 

“That’s it!” he laughs, clapping his hands before he catches himself, glancing instinctively toward the door. The sound doesn’t summon anger. No one snaps at him, no one tells him to quiet down. He exhales, his shoulder loosening, and sinks down on the sofa next to Minho. 

Your chest tightens as you watch. 

This Jisung isn’t shrinking, trying to disappear. He’s starting to shine, voice loud with easy laughter. 

Chan shifts beside you, voice barely above a breath. “Living at the dorm with us helped him, he felt safe here, felt like he could actually want something and not be perfect.” 

As if the memory hears him, it tilts. 

Jisung’s smile fades a little as he stares at the screen, fingers twisting together before Minho stops them with his own. “Chan-hyung?” he asks, quieter now. 

Chan looks up immediately. “Yeah?” 

“I don’t think I want what my parents want for me.” The words rush out, fragile and sharp. “But I don’t want to stop, not when it feels so right, doing this, being here… with you.” 

The room stills. Changbin turns toward him, serious now, even Minho straightens, eyes narrowing at the idea of anyone trying to cage him. 

“Then don’t.” Chan doesn’t hesitate even for a second. 

“It’s not that easy.” 

Changbin grins, warm and certain. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” 

The words land heavily, you see them hit Jisung like a wave. His throat bobs, eyes bright, overwhelmed and hopeful in equal measure. For a heartbeat, he looks like he might cry. 

Then the air tightens again, your threads prickle, a sharp warning sings through you before you see him.

The real Jisung stands half a step behind the scene. Older, tired. Eyes fixed on his younger self with something raw and aching twisting across his face. 

He looks at Chan first, then at you. 

“I like staying here, even then I wanted to stop going back to them” he whispers, voice thin. 

Chan turns fully toward him, hands open at his sides. “You didn’t do anything wrong by wanting that” 

You step closer, careful not to let your threads reach for him. “You don’t have to run right now,” you say softly. “We’re here. We can just walk” 

His eyes flick down, then back up. He hesitates, like he’s bracing for an impact that never comes. 

“... You won’t try to fix it?” he ask 

“No,” you answer immediately. “You don’t need fixing Jisung.”

“We’ll just stay with you” Chan nods, before tentatively reaching for Jisung, fingers touching gently his arms. “I’ve got you. Same as before.” 

Something in Jisung eases before he reaches back to you, to the both of you. Your skin is warm under his fingers. “We need to get out from this dream, if we stay too much inside this echo it will be damaging.” 

He exhales, long and shaky, and nods once. “Okay. Then… come with me… we still have two memories.” 

The dorm room fades, peeling away like one of those old posters.

Jisung doesn’t teleport this time, he walks between you and Chan instead, close enough that you can feel the tremor in him. 

“I’ve been having them for some time, always these four memories, the deeper we go the harsher they get…” he says before stopping in front of another door. It’s his parents' door, anger seeping through the drafts of the door, pressing against your chest like pressure before a big storm. 

Chan’s jaw tightens. He knows this one. 

Jisung’s hand curls into a fist. “I tried to stand up at some point.” The door swings open without being touched and you’re pulled violently inside. 

The room is stark and overly clean, stripped of warmth. A younger Jisung stands near the center, shoulders squared but tense, hands shaking at his sides. He looks older than the last memory, but not by much. His eyes burn with something new, defiance, raw and unpolished. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he says, voice trembling but loud enough to fill the room. “I don’t want that major. I don’t want that job. I want to make music.” 

The man in front of him scoffs, sound clipped and dismissive. “Music,” he repeats, like it’s a bad joke that left a sour taste in his mouth. 

The woman beside him frowns, lips thinning into something sharp and judgemental. She looks older as well, harder somehow, like cruelty worn into her expression like a habit. “You’re being dramatic,” she says. “You always do this when things don’t go your way.” 

“It’s not drama,” Jisung snaps, breath hitching. “It’s my life.”

“That’s enough,” his father cuts in. “We didn’t raise you to throw everything away on a fantasy.” 

“But I'm not throwing it away!” Jisung’s hands curl tighter, nails biting into his palms. “I’m good at this. I’m working hard for it. I have people at home who-” 

The slap comes fast. Too fast. 

The sound cracks through the room, sharp and final, echoing against the walls. 

You flinch hard, a hand shoots out to grab the real Jisung’s. You lace your fingers together like you can anchor the both of you to the present through sheer will. His hand is cold, trembling violently in yours. 

The younger Jisung stumbles sideways, cheek burning, head snapping with the force of it. For a moment he just stands there, stunned, eyes wide and unfocused. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t move. 

“You don’t raise your voice in this house,” snarls his father. “And you don’t get to decide things like this.” 

The younger straightens anyway, jaw sets after the shock, his eyes are shining but no tear falls. “I’m still going to do it,” he says, voice breaking but stubborn, unmovable. 

“Look at what you make us do,” his mother says, already moving. Her hand clamps around his arm, fingers digging in hard enough that you know it’ll bruise. “This is why you still can’t be trusted with decisions.” 

“Let go,”

She drags him toward the door, grip unyielding, nails biting into his sleeve, into his skin. He doesn’t fight, body going slack in that familiar way, resistance folding inward, survival sense taking over. 

“Don’t worry son, after I’m done with you you’ll be much more respectful of who put you here in this world.” 

The words echo long after the door slams. The memory convulses and Jisung’s knees finally give in. 

You move at the same time as Chan. The older catches him first, arms locking around his shoulders, grounding and unbreakable. “Hey. Hey, you’re here,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, like he’s counting breaths. “That’s not happening anymore.” 

You stay close, pressing your forehead to Jisung’s temple, threads wrapping tight around all three of you in a soothing manner. “You’re safe,” you whisper, over and over, a fact. “We’ll talk after this. All of us. You came a long way from this, you won’t have to hold it alone anymore.” 

Jisung shakes, breath coming in uneven pulls. You grab both of his hands, one on your chest, one on Chan’s. He starts to follow the rhythm, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Again.

The dream exhales with him. The room around you dissolves, peeling away like old paint, leaving behind the familiar hallway. Jisung straightens, still between you and Chan. His eyes are red, rimmed raw, but there is a sense of clarity in there too, there’s resolve. “There’s only one left,” he says quietly. “It’s close to this. Just… a few days later.” 

At the end of the hallway, a final door waits. This one is barely holding together, the frame is splintered as if it’s responding to the fear and urgency of what’s happening inside of the room. 

The moment you step through, your stomach drops, eyes widening in horror at the scene in front of you. 

The Jisung inside of it is frantic, pacing the room like a trapped animal, movements sharp and erratic. His eyes snap to the door at every creak of the house, he’s terrified. Purple and yellow bloom across his arms in ugly constellations, half-hidden by the sleeves he keeps tugging down and then pushing back up again. His fingers shake so badly around his phone that you’re surprised he hasn’t dropped it yet. 

“pickupickupickup please…” he whispers, breath hitching, thumb stabbing the screen over and over. 

“This was the night he called us,” murmurs Chan. One of his arms is around Jisung, fingers tracing circles on his waist. “After we got him out he didn’t sleep for days.” 

The phone rings once, twice. 

There is a noise from down the hall that makes Jisung flinch, panic flashing bright and feral across his face. He presses his back to the wall, sliding down until he’s crouched, knees tight to his chest, free hand clamped over his mouth to keep any sounds from escaping. The call connects.

“Jisung?” Chan’s younger voice crackles through the speaker. There’s movement on the other end, overlapping voices. 

“Is that Jisung?” 

“What’s wrong? Is he okay?”. Changbin and Minho’s rapid questions are heard from the phone. 

The relief that hits Jisung is violent, his shoulders cave in, breath shattering. “Hyung,” he sobs, voice breaking completely now. “I can’t- I can’t stay here. Please I need help, get me out- I’m scared- please get me out.” 

There’s no hesitation. 

“We’re coming, Hannie we’re coming” Minho’s voice cuts in, sharp and grounding. “Pack a bag, we are on our way” 

Chagbin, soft but fierce. “Stay on the line, yeah?” coupled with the sure “We’ve got you” of Chan is what set Jisung in action. 

You watch him drag himself to his feet, movements jerky, stuffing clothes into a backpack with shaking hands. His fingers fumble with the zippers, he drops things, swipes them up again. Every sound from the hallway fuels his movements like a countdown.

The window rattles after just 20 minutes, which is weird, because he knows that Chan’s house is 40 minutes from his. Then it slides open. 

Chan comes through first, already halfway inside before his feet hit the floor. Changbin follows, nearly tripping over the sill in his rush. Minho is last, silent and fast, scanning the room in one sharp sweep before locking onto Jisung. 

“Hannie,” That’s all it takes.

The younger breaks, stumbling forward as Minho catches him, arms locking around his shoulders, solid and immovable. Jisung clutches at him with a sound that’s half-sob, half-relief.

“We’re leaving,” Chan says, Jisung’s backpack already on his shoulder. 

Changbin herds them toward the window, hand waving urgently. “Quick, quick, before they catch us and add breaking and entering on top of the speeding tickets we already got. Move!”

The memory flickers, leaving you, Chan and Jisung in an empty room. He looks down, almost shameful, his eyes are wet, unfocussed, but he’s here with you. 

“I didn’t know if they’d stop,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I thought… I thought if I stayed any longer they’d-” he swallows hard. “I was so scared.” 

Chan tightens his hold instantly, chin resting against Jisung’s hair. “You were brave Jisung,” he says, steady and certain with no hesitation. “Brave for calling us, brave for leaving, brave for surviving it.”

You gently bring Jisung’s hands up, pressing them flat against your chest. Warm, solid. Your heartbeat is loud between his palms. “You got out, you survived. And you didn’t do it alone… you still aren’t” 

“I didn’t mean to drag you in… I tried to keep it contained, I swear. I didn’t want you to see any of it.” 

Chan exhales slowly. “I know, but you don’t get brownie points for suffering quietly, that’s not how we always worked.”

You nod “And you don’t have to carry this alone. Not after tonight.” You squeeze his hands once, grounding. “Come on Sungie, let’s wake up. All of us, we’ll talk about it together, one step at a time, no?” 

Jisung hesitates, breath shuddering in and out. Then, finally, he nods. 

The space around you loosens before folding on itself. 

You jolt awake with a sharp inhale, heart racing, threads snapping back into place. Chan’s room swims into focus, dim and quiet, his arms still around you, breath warm against your hair. 

“Hey, hey” he murmurs instantly, already awake, thumb brushing your cheek “You’re here, with me, you’re fine,” 

Before you can answer, the air bends. Hard. And a familiar scene plays again in the room.

Jisung appears. Directly on top of you.

You wheeze as the weight knocks the air from your lungs, limbs tangling everywhere. “-OMPF!”

Chan swears softly and reacts on instinct, hands up and around Jisung before either of you can fully panic, steadying the pile of limbs and blankets “Okay, okay, easy, easy- Sung, you’re safe”

“I’m sorry!” Jisung blurts out immediately, scrambling but somehow only managing to tangle himself more. “I didn’t mean to… I just- Thought about you- about seeing you”

Before you can answer, he folds forward again, this time carefully, forehead pressing into your shoulder like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t anchor himself somehow. “I’m sorry” he says again, quieter now. “For dragging you in. For making you see all that.” 

Chan shifts closer, one hand firm at Jisung’s back, the other still holding you. “Hey, none of that,” 

Jisung shakes his head, voice muffled. “I know, I just… I wanted to say thank you.” He pulls back enough to look at Chan, eyes still glassy. “For back then. For coming to get me. For not asking questions first.” 

Chan’s expression softens “Always,” he says simply.

Jisung turns to you next, hesitation flickering before he meets your eyes. “And thank you,” he adds, still. “Thank you…” 

Chan exhales and shifts the blankets around the three of you “Alright. Nobody’s going anywhere tonight,” he says.

Jisung hesitates only a second before nodding, curling at your side this time. You adjust instinctively, making room, Chan’s arm wrapping around both of you without fuss. The bed cracks softly. The house stays quiet and you bask in it for a bit.

“... I’m not imagining this right?” whispers Jisung after a moment “What is happening between us?” 

Chan doesn’t answer right away. He tightens his arm, solid and grounding, thumb tracing a slow, absent circle where it rests against Jisung’s shoulder. When he does speak, his voice is low and steady.

“It’s okay,” he says simply. “We don’t have to define it right now. We’ll see how it goes, but as far as I know… I feel it too, the pull” 

Jisung lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Okay… That- that helps.”

A beat passes, the quiet stretching comfortably. 

“And,” he adds, hesitant again, like he’s stepping onto thin ice, “I think I want to try again with Minho.” 

Chan’s hand stills for half a heartbeat, then resumes its slow, reassuring motion. No tension or surprise. “Yeah?” 

Jisung nods, eyes fixed on the dark. “We never really talked about it. Things were… bad back then. But it mattered- He mattered. And I don’t want to keep pretending it didn’t.” 

Something warm spreads through your chest at that. 

“That doesn’t undo anything here,” you say quietly. “And we don’t have to figure it all out tonight.” 

He turns his head slightly, just enough that you can feel the warmth of him, close but not demanding. “You’re really okay with that?” 

You nod. “I’m okay with taking it slow… And with people choosing each other on purpose” you look at Chan, then at Jisung “By our own choice”

Jisung exhales, tension finally letting go. “Yeah, yeah I can do that”

You huffs a soft laugh, the moment lightening just a touch as you think of a distant memory. “Besides,” you add, barely above a whisper, “One of my great aunts had three wives when she was a young witch.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Then Chan snorts, burying his face briefly into your shoulder. “Of course she did.” 

Jisung lets out a breathy laugh, shaky but real, the sound vibrating between the three of you. “That… actually helps.” 

The room settles again, quiet and warm. Chan adjusts the blankets, tucking them closer around all of you. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to Jisung’s. 

“We’ll talk more tomorrow” he murmurs, already half-asleep. “For tonight, this is enough. Goodnight Sungie, goodnight babygirl”

Jisung shifts closer, hesitating just a second before leaning in and pressing a soft, almost shy kiss to your cheek. It lingers for half a heartbeat longer than necessary, warm and grateful, before he pulls back again. 

“Goodnight,” he whispers.

You smile into the darkness, eyes closing as the last of tension slips away. “Goodnight Jisung, goodnight Channie.” 

And with that, wrapped in shared warmth, you let sleep take you, safe in the quiet of the night. 

Because for tonight… this is enough.