healing energy

a harden expression clear on her face when the words tasted like venom when she said, ❝it’s fine.❞

she reaches up to adjust the strap of her bag against her shoulder, attention already shifting elsewhere, as if the interaction has taken exactly as much from her as she intends to give.

his gaze flicks toward her shoulder where they brushed past each other, then away again just as quickly. there’s a dozen things that could be said here; explanations, jokes, something easier than this stiff hallway silence, and he reaches for none of them. instead, he steps back half a pace to clear the space between them.

“go ahead.”

The sweet drink, a fruity cocktail she can't remember the name of, sits on the table, a ring of moisture forming underneath it as the ice begins to melt; she's taking her time, too busy watching people dance and have fun as most people would in a bar. Shuhua knows she looks out of place, if anyone is to see her. While she might have a drink, be dressed to party, and look like someone who knows how to have a good time — her isolation and lost stare shows she's not where she should be.

Or wants to be, really.

Her eyes settle on a familiar face when his voice meets her ears and that soft, sweet, easy smile forms in recognition. "Yeonjun-ah!" Shuhua shuffles along in her booth to give him some space, "I didn't know I'd be here either but, a girl needs a night off!" A laugh, barely heard over the music, makes her features radiate with the gentleness that she's known for.

his gaze flickered toward the colorful cocktail sitting in front of her before returning to her face. "although i'm starting to think you're doing the night off thing wrong." he nods to the drink in front of her. for all her talk about needing a break, she'd looked more like someone watching everyone else enjoy theirs. "doesn't look like you've done too much damage."

at her question, he leaned back against the booth. "yeah, alone. needed to get out for a bit." which wasn't entirely a lie. schedules had been relentless lately. and sitting alone in his dorm with his thoughts hadn't sounded particularly appealing. his eyes drifted around the room before settling back on her.

What had changed was that he no longer threw punches every time anger showed up. Well, he couldn't make any promises. Gone were the therapy sessions he used to take for his anger issues. He pauses near the booth instead of immediately turning around. Fingers tighten briefly around the glass in his hand before loosening again.

Of all places.

His gaze flickers across Yeonjun for only a second before looking away toward the crowded room, using the noise around them as an excuse to buy himself an extra second to decide whether this interaction was worth entertaining.

“Yeah,” he answers simply at first.

He shifts his weight, expression unreadable save for the faint tension sitting around his mouth. There’s a hundred memories attached to seeing Yeonjun’s face and none of them are good ones.

“Could say the same about you.” Then, because ignoring him entirely would somehow feel weirder now that eye contact had already happened, Mingi lets out a quiet breath through his nose.

the corner of his mouth threatens to twitch upward before he smooths it away with another sip. "either that or we've both got amazing taste."

it's easier to focus on the glass than the person standing across from him. easier than remembering every conversation they'd ever had seemed to end with somebody pissed off. yeonjun sets the glass back down. around them, the bar continues on as if nothing is happening. laughter from another booth. glasses hitting tabletops. music bleeding through the speakers overhead.

normal... a word that has never seemed to apply particularly well whenever mingi is involved. his fingers tap once against the side of his glass.

Because if they were stuck here for hours...

No.

Absolutely not.

❝ I did... but this is a future problem, Jjunie.❞ Lowering the cup slightly instead of drinking from it. ❝ And yes, low-budget. If this were a good omen, there would be dramatic lighting... maybe even a soundtrack. ❞

Pausing, the elevator just humming in return.

❝ This? ❞ Glancing around this dimmed metallic box. ❝ This is fluorescent lighting, bad ventilation, and you sitting on a hoodie like we're about to start a survival vlog⸻ ❞

The last few words echoing, rousing an idea both long enough to be possible and to actually have the thumb hover over the phone's dark screen.

❝ Actually, wait... ❞

The frozen floor numbers remaining above as if they're the audience that had already subscribed. Waiting. Encouraging whatever is about to unfold. Camera opening, front-facing by default, immediately showing both of them in the worst lighting known to human bone structure. Still, guiding it up at a somewhat respectable angle, faces appearing on-screen.

A brief clear of the throat.

despite the complaint, he made absolutely no effort to move out of frame. in fact, the moment she launched into her survival report, he found himself fighting a smile. by the time she got to the inventory list, he was already shaking his head.

fighting the smile felt impossible the longer she gave a rundown to the future viewers. his gaze flickered toward the phone screen. the lighting was horrific. he looked exhausted. yunjin somehow looked annoyingly camera-ready despite being trapped in a metal box. unfair.

"also, for the record, that's my dignity you're threatening to sacrifice for content." the accusation lacked any real weight behind it. when she pointed the camera more directly at him, yeonjun straightened slightly and cleared his throat with exaggerated seriousness.

"my name is choi yeonjun." one hand lifted toward his chest. "occupation: currently elevator resident." a dramatic pause "former idol." his expression remained perfectly straight for nearly two seconds before it cracked.

he leaned forward just enough to address the phone directly.

Static.

Signal lost.

Ugh.

Thin and ugly crackle from a phone call losing its signal between floors, flattening the producer's voice into a broken strip of sound before the line cuts off completely. Silence replacing it with such administrative efficiency, only to be met by a stare off contest at the now darkened screen, such a betrayal to company policy. The elevator lights flickered once, then twice, settling into something dimmer, still functional enough to be annoying.

Reflection against the brushed metal wall looking back in fragments, warped by the narrow seams between panels. One eye. The slope of cheek. The corner of lips held too still. Iced drink in one hand, condensation already gathering despite it being newly acquired, still untainted, cold slipping beneath the curve of her rings. Blazer slightly too warm for the tired ventilation seemingly breathing recycled air from some hidden gap above, white tank top beneath already carrying the faint chill from her beverage, dark denim sitting low at the hips.

Schedule folded somewhere at the back of the mind, a filing cabinet—recording session in forty minutes, guide vocals still raw and unfinished, lyrics still arguing with themselves in her notes app, and now.... this. Eyes lifting at the numbers above the door, frozen and unmoving, pretending not to be involved. Then toward the emergency button that had been already pressed, twice. Then, finally, toward him whose standing near the back wall with one side of the headphones pulled off, irritation tucked like part of his ootd.

❝ Yeah, I was actually thinking this feels strangely targeted... You think this is some kind of a prank? There were literally no maintenance announcements. ❞

Now leaning back carefully against the cold metal, leaving a reasonable distance between her shoulder and the wall, because, again, the idea of relaxing fully in this stalled metallic cube felt like losing an argument to architecture and machinery. Phone stayed in hand, drink in the other. Too composed and too still for someone suddenly aware of how small the space was... How close his voice sounded without the music between them. That's the most unfortunate part, even the jazzy music stopped. Yet, how strange it was being forced into pause beside someone who usually moves through rooms like someone was allergic to being left unread.

"okay, that's actually concerning."

his head tipped back against the wall once more.

"we're stuck in a broken elevator and both of our first thoughts were, 'damn, i'm gonna be late.'"yeonjun shook his head.

"not sure that's a good thing." the irony wasn't lost on him. if anyone had told him to slow down, take a break, stop obsessing over schedules, he probably would've ignored them. still would, honestly. his gaze drifted toward the frozen floor numbers overhead before settling back on yunjin.

"a low-budget omen?" he repeated with a grin. "low-budget cause we're not good enough for the good stuff?" he folded his arms tighter across his chest before glancing at the drink in her hand.

"at least you managed to get a coffee before getting trapped." for the first time since the elevator stopped, some of the tension had started to leave. cause it could be worse. he could be trapped alone for hours. that thought frightened him more than whatever possible omen there could be.

she doesn’t look, not fully, doesn’t give the moment the weight it’s trying to take. instead, she finishes speaking like nothing’s changed. when the conversation ends, she steps away without pause. no recognition settles in her expression, no hesitation to soften it. just distance, clean and deliberate, as if whatever existed there has already been folded into something smaller, something manageable.

the conversation with her manager keeps moving and he lets it. keeps his expression flat enough, jaw tight as he glances away toward nothing in particular, like the polished floor suddenly deserves his full attention. it should’ve been easy by now, pretending she was just another familiar face in a building full of them. some days it almost is. today isn’t one of those days.

when the conversation ends and she steps away, he finally looks properly. only for a second. brief enough that it could pass as accidental if someone else noticed it. his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek before he exhales quietly through his nose. then, because standing there any longer would make it obvious he’d noticed at all, yeonjun shifts his bag higher onto his shoulder and starts walking again. slower than before, but not slow enough to call attention to it.

As if on cue, the music starts. A song that Jongin hasn't heard in a long time, one that brings back his early years, a reminder to himself about his growth as a dancer. A ballerino turned into an idol simply because he wanted an Nintendo — he's come a long way but it's always good to go back to your youth.

"yeah, i know it," he said, voice low, almost amused, like he hadn’t expected this song of all things.

Beginning to stretch, he hums, noticing Yeonjun has moved towards the mirror. A smile plays on his lips, as if he knows the itch to keep going when it comes to the competition of dancing with another person. Working off each other, learning, mirroring, following the other and pushing yourself to be sharper, smoother, better. It's one of the reasons why Jongin could never give it up.