Chapter Text
The rooftop was glowing.
Fairy lights strung across beams, soft jazz humming beneath the clink of glasses and the low murmur of laughter. Someone had brought sparklers. Someone else had brought cake. Jeongin was glowing too—cheeks flushed, hair tousled, eyes bright with the kind of joy that made people want to orbit him.
Seungmin wanted to orbit around him too, if Jeongin was the sun Seungmin would happily be Mercury burning from that fires of sun.
Seungmin stood near the edge of the terrace, a flute of champagne in one hand, the other tucked into his coat pocket. He smiled when someone looked his way. Nodded when Jisung cracked a joke. Grinned when Changbin did his ridiculous impression of his old high school principal.
He was good at this.
He’d had years of practice.
Pretending he wasn’t in love with someone who belonged to someone else.
Minho hyung caught his eye from across the space. Raised an eyebrow. Seungmin gave him a small shrug, the kind that said, I’m fine, Don’t ask.
Minho hyung didn’t push.
He never did.
Felix and Hyunjin were dancing near the speakers, spinning each other in slow, exaggerated circles. Channie hyung was talking to one of the other producers—Lee Jihoon, maybe?—his hand still resting lightly on Jeongin’s back.
Seungmin looked away.
He took a sip of champagne.
It tasted like nothing.
Jeongin’s laugh rang out again—closer this time. Seungmin turned just in time to see him walking over, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes soft. Jeongin looked so beautiful under that polluted night sky of Seoul, not a single star visible ahead.
“There you are,” Jeongin said, smiling. “I was looking for you.”
Seungmin smiled back. “I’ve been here.”
Jeongin stepped beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “You’re always on the edge of things.”
Seungmin shrugged. “Someone has to hold the railing.”
Jeongin laughed. “You’re such a weirdo.”
Seungmin’s heart twisted.
He wanted to say, I’d stand on the edge of a black hole if it meant being near you.
Instead, he said, “Happy birthday, Innie.”
Jeongin looked at him, eyes soft. “Thanks for coming.”
Seungmin nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Even if it killed him.
Even if it already was.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
Jisung was already tipsy by the time Seungmin finished his second glass.
Which, to be fair, Jisung was exactly one and a half sips in.
“Why is your face doing that thing,” Jisung slurred, squinting at him. “You know. The thing where you look like you’re thinking about taxes and death at the same time.”
Seungmin huffed a laugh. “That’s just my face.”
“Nooo,” Jisung said, leaning dramatically against the bar. “Your face is usually like, ‘I’m judging you but I still love you.’ Now it’s like, ‘I’m judging myself and I hate it.’”
Seungmin blinked. “That’s… disturbingly accurate.”
Shit! Did he really say that out loud?
“I’m a genius,” Jisung whispered, then immediately dropped a peanut on the floor and stared at it like it had betrayed him.Jisung was a forgetful drunk, may be Seungmin could afford some loose screws around him.
Seungmin smiled.
It was the first real one all night.
He took another sip of his drink. It was Something stronger than he usually allowed himself. He didn’t want to get drunk. He never did. He didn’t trust his drunk self to keep all the emotions at bay. But tonight, he wanted to feel less.
Less sharp. Less aware. Less himself.
Minho hyung had asked earlier—quietly, gently, like he always did—if Seungmin was okay.
Seungmin had nodded. Said something about a business deal going sideways. A contract that fell through. A partnership that soured.
Minho hyung had believed him.
Because Minho hyung trusted him.
Because Minho hyung didn’t know that Seungmin had actually signed a new contract that morning. One that would expand the family business into Southeast Asia. One that would make him even richer, even more powerful, even more untouchable.
He should’ve been celebrating.
Instead, here he was.
Drinking something too bitter beside a friend who got drunk off the smell of alcohol, watching the boy he loved laugh into someone else’s shoulder.
Jisung poked his arm. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“The disappearing thing. You’re here, but you’re not.”
Seungmin looked at him. “Maybe I don’t want to be here.”
Jisung’s face softened. “Then let’s not be.”
Seungmin blinked. “What?”
“Let’s go somewhere else,” Jisung said, suddenly serious in that way only drunk people could be. “Just for a bit. Just you and me. No rooftop. No lights. No pretending.”
Seungmin stared at him.
And for the first time all night, he felt something loosen in his chest.
“Okay,” he said.
And just like that, he let himself leave. But still, he looked back one last time, just in time to see Jeongin kissing Chan hyung on the mouth beside a open mouthed Felix.
The resturant library was mostly empty.
A tucked-away corner of the restaurant, all glass walls and warm wood, with shelves that smelled like old paper and polish. There was an old grand piano in the corner—untuned, slightly dusty, but still beautiful. Jisung had found it immediately, of course.
He was currently pressing random keys with the solemnity of a composer and the grace of a hamster jumping across a keyboard.
Seungmin sat on a velvet bench near the window, watching the city lights flicker below them.
It was quiet here.
Not silent—Jisung was humming something tuneless, and the occasional clink of silverware drifted in from the restaurant—but quiet enough.
Safe enough.
He knew his bodyguards were nearby. He hadn’t seen them, but he didn’t need to. They were always there. A shadow sign here, a flicker of movement in the reflection of the glass. Minho hyung would’ve noticed them instantly. Jisung, thankfully, didn’t.
Seungmin was glad.
He didn’t want to explain.
Didn’t want to talk about the weight of legacy, or the contracts he signed with a pen that felt heavier than it should. Didn’t want to talk about the kiss he’d seen—Jeongin’s hand on Chan’s cheek, Channie hyung smiling into it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It wasn’t jealousy.
Not exactly.
It was grief.
Grief for the version of himself that still hoped.
Jisung hit a particularly sour note and winced. “Okay, maybe I’m not Mozart.”
Seungmin smiled. “You’re more of a chaotic Chopin.”
Jisung grinned and flopped down beside him. “You’re smiling. That’s new.”
Seungmin looked out the window. “It’s easier down here.”
Jisung leaned back, arms stretched across the back of the bench , Jisung looked too serious like that.
“You ever think about just… not going back?”
Seungmin turned to him. “To the party?”
“To all of it.”
Seungmin was quiet for a long time.
Then he said, “Sometimes.”
Jisung didn’t push.
He just sat there, warm and close and real.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
The office was cold.
Not in temperature—his assistant had adjusted the thermostat hours ago—but in the way that only sterile lighting and silence could be. The kind of cold that settled in your bones when you’d been sitting too long, thinking too hard, feeling too much.
Seungmin didn’t notice.
He was on his third iced americano and his fifth contract revision. The numbers blurred, but the distraction was clean. Sharp. It kept his hands busy. Kept his mind from wandering.
Kept him from opening Instagram.
Or YouTube.
Or the livestream link Minho had sent him earlier with a one-word caption: Sorry.
He hadn’t clicked it.
He didn’t need to.
He already knew what it was.
Jeongin.
On stage.
Singing a song Chan hyung had written.
A love song.
Of course it was a love song.
Channie only wrote when he felt something. And Jeongin only sang like that when he meant it.
Seungmin leaned back in his chair, eyes closed.
He liked Chan.
That was the problem.
Channie hyung was kind. Brilliant. Steady. The kind of man who remembered birthdays and brought coffee without asking. The kind of man who looked at Jeongin like he was the answer to a question he hadn’t known he was asking.
Seungmin couldn’t hate him.
He’d tried.
But Channie hyung had once stayed up all night helping Seungmin fix a licensing issue for a charity project. He’d sent Seungmin a handwritten thank-you note after a business dinner. He’d cried— cried —when Jeongin won his first award.
He was a good man.
And Seungmin was a problem.
Because he couldn’t stop loving someone who belonged to someone good.
He opened his eyes.
The office was still cold.
He reached for another file.
And kept working.
Because if he stopped, he might remember the way Jeongin used to look at him in high school. The way he’d once said, “You’re the only person who makes silence feel safe.”
And Seungmin had believed it.
He still did.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
The knock came at 9:47 p.m.
Sharp. Familiar. Annoyingly punctual.
Seungmin didn’t look up from his laptop. “It’s open.”
The door creaked, then clicked shut behind him.
He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Minho hyung never texted before showing up. He just appeared—like a storm cloud with good intentions and a bag of overpriced pastries.
“You’re still here,” Minho hyung said flatly.
Seungmin kept typing. “I work here.”
“You own the building. You could work from a yacht.”
“I get seasick.”
Minho hyung dropped a paper bag on the desk. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten since lunch.”
Seungmin sighed. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Minho said, sitting across from him. “Because I asked your assistant. And she said, and I quote, ‘He’s in one of his moods again.’”
Seungmin finally looked up. “I’m not in a mood.”
“You’re in a spiral.”
“I’m being productive.”
“You’re being avoidant.”
Seungmin’s jaw tightened.
Minho hyung didn’t flinch.
He never did.
“You saw the livestream,” Minho said quietly.
Seungmin looked back at his screen. “I didn’t watch it.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Silence.
Minho hyung leaned forward, voice softer now. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Work yourself into numbness every time he sings something that wasn’t meant for you.”
Seungmin’s throat tightened.
Minho hyung came out a bit insensitive at the times, but Seungmin knew the real care behind sharp tones. It was his way of showing love.
Minho hyung didn’t stop.
“You’re allowed to feel things, Seungmin. Even if they’re messy. Even if they hurt.”
“I don’t want to feel them.”
“I know.”
Seungmin closed his laptop.
The room felt too quiet now.
Minho stood and walked around the desk, placing the pastry bag beside him. “You don’t have to talk about it. But you do have to eat.”
Seungmin looked up at him.
Minho’s expression was unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes were tired. Worried. Familiar.
“You’re not alone,” Minho said. Because he knew exactly what was going on Seungmin’s mind.
And Seungmin believed him.
Even if it didn’t change anything.
Even if he still loved someone who didn’t love him back.
Even if he still couldn’t stop.
He reached for the pastry.
And Minho sat beside him.
Minho didn’t say anything else.
He just sat there, beside him, like he always did. Like he had since they were kids—when Seungmin twisted his ankle and refused to cry, when he lost his mother and refused to speak, when he started building walls so high even he couldn’t see over them.
Minho hyung never asked for keys.
He just waited at the door.
Seungmin knew that even if Minho asked him for the keys he would refuse just like he refused things he himself wanted, he would refuse to share his pain, because in a way that would mean giving something to himself. And himself was the person Seungmin would never ever do anything other than refuse.
Seungmin took a bite of the pastry. It was warm. Flaky. Sweet in a way that made his throat ache.
He chewed slowly, staring at the edge of his desk.
“I signed a new contract yesterday,” he said quietly.
Minho hyung didn’t react.
“Expansion into Southeast Asia. It’s going to triple our valuation.”
Still nothing.
Seungmin swallowed. “I told you it was a failed deal. I lied.”
Minho’s voice was soft. “I know.”
Seungmin looked at him.
Minho hyung was staring straight ahead, hands folded in his lap.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” Seungmin said.
Minho turned to him. “I’m always going to worry.”
Seungmin looked down. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not.”
“I didn’t want to be seen.”
Minho’s voice cracked. “Then why do you look so sad every time someone looks away?”
Seungmin froze.
The words hit harder than they should have. Not because they were cruel. But because they were true.
He blinked fast, but the sting behind his eyes didn’t go away.
Minho hyung leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But don’t lie to me,Kim Seungmin. Not you.”
Seungmin’s throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
“I just… I didn’t want you to see how bad it is.”
Minho looked at him, eyes soft and steady. “I already do.”
And that— that —was what undid him.
Not the livestream.
Not the kiss.
Not the song.
This.
Being seen.
Being known.
Seungmin looked away, jaw clenched, breath shallow.
Minho didn’t touch him.
Didn’t move.
Just said, “You don’t have to be okay for me to stay.”
And Seungmin—
He didn’t cry.
But he wanted to.
And that was new.
That was terrifying.
That was love, too.
But that word was something he refused to use.
Certainly not today, not ever if he could.
Not with the weight of Jeongin’s voice still echoing in his head. Not with the memory of Minho’s eyes—soft, steady, knowing —still sitting heavy in his chest.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
A week later, when his assistant said, “Minho-oppa just texted, he’s on his way up,” Seungmin stood up, walked calmly out of his office, and locked himself in the restroom down the hall.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t even strategic.
It was just quiet.
And that’s all he wanted.
Quiet.
He sat on the closed toilet lid, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The tile was cold beneath his feet. The air smelled like eucalyptus and expensive soap. He’d designed this space himself—clean lines, soft lighting, no sharp edges.
A place to breathe.
A place to disappear.
He closed his eyes.
He didn’t want to talk.
He didn’t want to be seen.
Not today.
Not by Minho.
Especially not by Minho hyung.
Because Minho hyung looked at him like he was worth saving. And Seungmin wasn’t sure he could survive that kind of kindness right now.
There was a knock.
Soft. Measured.
Then a pause.
Then Minho’s voice, muffled but unmistakable. “You know this door doesn’t actually lock, right?”
Seungmin didn’t move.
Didn’t answer.
Another pause.
Then the sound of the handle turning.
Click.
The door opened.
Minho hyung stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. He didn’t look angry. Or smug. Or even surprised.
He just looked tired.
And worried.
And there.
Seungmin didn’t lift his head.
Minho hyung sat down on the floor across from him, back against the opposite wall, legs stretched out.
They sat in silence.
The kind that wasn’t empty.
The kind that said, I’m not leaving.
After a while, Seungmin whispered, “I didn’t want you to come”
Minho nodded. “I know.”
“I didn’t want to talk.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I didn’t want to eat.” Seungmin eyes the pack of food in Minho’s hands.
Minho hyung reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped rice ball. “Then just hold it.”
Seungmin huffed a laugh. It came out more like a breath.
Minho hyung leaned his head back against the wall. “You don’t have to be okay. But you don’t get to disappear.”
Seungmin looked at him.
Really looked.
And for a moment, he hated how much Minho hyung knew.
And loved him for it anyway.
He took the rice ball.
Didn’t eat it.
Just held it.
And Minho smiled.
Because that was enough.
Seungmin hated that it was enough for Minho hyung.
Best people he had in his life had always settled for the minimum of Seungmin
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
Minho hyung didn’t ask.
He just showed up at the office at 6:12 p.m., leaned against the doorframe, and said, “You’re coming with me.”
Seungmin didn’t argue.
He could’ve. He should’ve. But he didn’t.
Maybe because he was too tired.
Maybe because he didn’t want to be alone.
Maybe because Minho had that look in his eyes again—the one that said, I know you’re not okay, and I’m not letting you rot in your own silence tonight.
So he went.
Minho’s home was small. Cozy. Tucked into a quiet neighborhood with ivy on the gate and wind chimes on the porch. Minho’s place. Not the sleek apartment he used for work meetings, but the real one. The one that smelled like soy sauce and lavender and his cats and something warm Seungmin couldn’t name.
Inside, it was chaos.
Jisung was yelling about tofu.
Changbin was trying to chop onions with a butter knife.
Felix was dancing to a playlist that kept switching between lo-fi and early 2000s pop.
Hyunjin was sitting on the counter, legs swinging, watching Changbin with the kind of fondness that made Seungmin’s chest ache.
They all looked up when Seungmin walked in.
“Hey!” Jisung grinned. “You came!”
Seungmin gave a small nod. “Hyung dragged me.”
“Good,” Changbin hyung said, wiping his hands on a towel. “We need someone who can actually cook rice.”
“I can cook rice,” Jisung protested.
“You burned it last time.”
“I was experimenting!”
“With what? Fire?”
Felix laughed and handed Seungmin a glass of water. “You okay?”
Seungmin nodded. “Yeah.”
It was a lie.
But it was easier to say here.
Because no one was looking too closely.
Because the room was full of noise.
Because Minho was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, pulling out ingredients like he was preparing for battle.
Seungmin sat at the table.
Watched them move.
Watched Hyunjin lean into Changbin’s shoulder. Watched Jisung sneak a bite of something and get smacked with a spatula. Watched Felix hum along to the music, eyes soft, hands steady.
And for a moment—
Just a moment—
He didn’t feel like he was drowning.
He felt like he was floating.
Held up by the noise.
By the warmth.
By the people who didn’t ask him to be okay.
Just to be here.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
Jisung had decided that Seungmin was his happy single bro for the night.
“Okay, but do they have to feed each other?” Jisung whispered, horrified.
Seungmin didn’t look up from his bowl. “They’re in love. Let them suffer.”
Jisung snorted into his drink. “Hyunjin just called Changbin ‘binnie bear.’ I want to bleach my ears.”
Seungmin smirked. “You’re just jealous no one calls you that.”
“I’m not emotionally stable enough for pet names.”
“Or relationships.”
“Or rice cookers,” Seungmin added solemnly, glancing at the scorched pot in the sink.
Jisung burst out laughing. Seungmin smiled too.
It felt good.
Not perfect. Not whole.
But good.
The kind of happiness that didn’t feel like a mask. The kind that came from muscle memory and shared years and the comfort of someone who never asked you to explain your silences.
Across the room, Hyunjin was curled into Changbin’s side, feeding him a piece of grilled meat with chopsticks and whispering something that made Changbin blush.
Seungmin made a gagging noise.
Jisung clutched his chest. “I’m going to die alone and bitter.”
“You’re going to die surrounded by empty ramen cups and bad decisions.”
“Romantic.”
Seungmin smiled.
And then—
He felt it.
A glance.
Soft. Subtle.
He looked up.
Felix.
Sitting across the room, half-listening to Minho hyunh talk about some new recipe, but his eyes—his eyes were on Seungmin.
Worried.
Gentle.
Too knowing.
Seungmin looked away.
Took a sip of water.
“Everything okay?” Jisung asked, nudging him lightly.
“Yeah,” Seungmin said. “Just work stuff.”
Jisung nodded. “You’ve been swamped lately.”
Seungmin shrugged. “Comes with the territory.”
And that was that.
Because they all knew Seungmin was busy.
Because they all knew he had responsibilities.
Because “work” was a good enough excuse for anything.
Even heartbreak.
Even silence.
Even the way he hadn’t slept properly in days.
Felix didn’t push.
But he didn’t look away either.
And Seungmin—
He smiled again.
Because that’s what he was good at.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
He woke to warmth.
Not sunlight. Not blankets.
A shoulder.
Jisung’s.
Soft cotton. The faint scent of shampoo and grilled meat and some strong smell of coffee. The steady rise and fall of someone breathing beside him.
Seungmin blinked slowly.
The lights were dimmer now. The laughter had faded. Someone had turned the music down to a low hum. The others were scattered—Hyunjin and Changbin curled up on the couch, Felix dozing in the armchair, Minho hyung standing by the window ,one of his cats, must be Soonie ,was circling his feet.
And Jisung.
Letting Seungmin lean.
Jisung was so soft and warm.
He didn’t remember falling asleep again
Didn’t remember letting himself.
But what woke him wasn’t warmth this time.
It was the voices.
Soft. Careful.
Minho and Jisung.
“…he’s just been working a lot,” Minho hyung was saying, voice low. “You know how he gets.”
Jisung sounded hesitant. “Yeah, but… it’s different lately. He smile , but it doesn’t feel real.”
Minho was quiet for a moment.
Then“There’s a lot on his plate. The expansion deal. The board. Board officials been pushing harder than usual.”
Seungmin’s chest tightened.
That wasn’t true.
Boeard had been unusually quiet lately. Supportive, even. The expansion had gone through without a hitch. They even praised him.
Minho hyung was lying. For his sake.
But he was doing it gently.
Like someone placing a blanket over a sleeping child.
Jisung sighed. “I just worry, you know? He’s always been good at hiding stuff.”
“I know,” Minho hyung said. “But he’s not alone.”
Seungmin closed his eyes again.
Not because he was tired.
But maybe because he didn’t know what to do with the sound of someone lying to protect him.
He didn’t know what to do with the ache of being loved like that.
So he stayed still.
Let Jisung’s shoulder hold him up.
Let Minho’s voice wrap around him like a promise he didn’t know how to believe.
And for a little while longer—
He pretended to sleep.
Because pretending was easier than waking up to the truth
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
His apartment was quiet when he got home.
Not the kind of quiet that welcomed you.
The kind that reminded you no one was waiting.
He dropped his keys in the bowl by the door, loosened his tie, and walked straight to his study. Didn’t turn on the hallway lights. Didn’t take off his shoes. Just moved like someone trying not to wake a sleeping version of himself.
The study was dim. Just the desk lamp and the soft hum of the city outside his window. He sat down, opened his laptop, and pulled up the quarterly reports.
It was 12:03 a.m.
He wasn’t tired.
He couldn’t be.
Because if he slept, he’d dream.
And if he dreamed, he’d see Jeongin.
Not the real one—the one who smiled at him across crowded rooms and texted him memes at 2 a.m. and called him “Min-ah” like it meant something.
No.
The dream Jeongin was worse.
He was softer. Closer. His.
And then he wasn’t.
Then he was kissing Channie again.
Then he was singing someone else’s words.
Then he was looking at Seungmin like he’d never seen him at all.
Seungmin stared at the spreadsheet.
The numbers blurred.
He blinked hard.
He didn’t want to lose tonight.
Didn’t want to taint the memory of Jisung’s laughter, or Minho’s quiet lie, or the way Felix had handed him a glass of water without asking anything at all.
He didn’t want to trade that for a dream that would leave him hollow.
So he worked. And hesitantly took a pill he swore he would never touch. He regretted it with his whole soul but sometimes Seungmin did things that would inevitably hurt him and hit him hard, just for a while of silence. Because sometimes what future Seungmin would feel didn’t matter because the current Seungmin wanted a distraction.
Then he jumped back into work insanely.
Then adjusted projections. Rewrote a proposal. Sent an email he didn’t need to send.
Anything to stay awake.
Anything to stay here.
Because here, at least, he could pretend.
Pretend he wasn’t in love with someone who belonged to someone else.
Pretend he wasn’t unraveling in the spaces between meetings and meals.
Pretend he was just busy.
Just tired.
Just fine
The clock read 2:41 a.m.
The city outside his window had gone still—no more headlights sweeping across the walls, no more distant hum of traffic. Just the soft, constant glow of his screen and the quiet tap of his fingers on the keyboard.
He hadn’t spoken in hours.
Not a word.
Not even to himself.
There was something sacred in the silence. Something punishing, too. But he welcomed it. Let it wrap around him like a second skin. Let it press into the spaces where his heart used to ache.
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t break.
He just… endured.
That was the word for it.
Enduring.
The reports were done. The contracts reviewed. The emails sent. There was nothing left to do, but he kept clicking, kept scrolling, kept pretending there was something urgent waiting just beyond the next tab.
Because if he stopped—
If he let the silence settle too deep—
He might hear it.
The echo of Jeongin’s voice.
The memory of Minho’s worry.
The truth he refused to say out loud.
That he was tired.
Not the kind of tired sleep could fix.
The kind that lived in his bones. In his breath. In the way he smiled at people and meant none of it.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes burning.
The silence pressed in.
And still, he said nothing.
Because if he spoke—
Even just one word—
He might not stop
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
Seungmin woke with a start.
No alarm. No dream.
Just the kind of sudden, sharp awareness that came from a body trained to survive on too little.
The clock read 5:12 a.m.
He’d slept for about two hours.
That was quite enough.
He showered in silence. Dressed in silence. Walked through the echoing halls of his house like a ghost wearing a suit. The marble floors were cold beneath his feet. The air smelled like nothing.
He didn’t eat.
Didn’t even glance at the kitchen.
By the time he stepped outside, the sky was still dark. The city hadn’t woken yet. But his driver was already waiting, and so was one of the men who’d been shadowing him since he was nineteen.
His bodyguards — today it was Jun.
Jun didn’t say much. Never had. But this morning, as Seungmin slid into the back seat, briefcase in hand, Jun let out a soft, unmistakable sigh.
Seungmin didn’t look at him.
Didn’t need to.
“I’m fine,” he said, voice flat.
Jun didn’t answer.
The car pulled away from the curb.
The city passed in a blur of streetlights and shuttered storefronts. Seungmin stared out the window, watching the world pretend to sleep.
He knew the office would be empty when he arrived.
That was the point.
No one to ask questions.
No one to offer coffee.
No one to look at him like they knew.
He stepped into the elevator, Jun a silent shadow behind him.
The doors closed.
The hum of motion.
The weight of everything he wasn’t saying.
When they reached the top floor, Jun held the door open.
Seungmin paused.
Then, quietly, without turning around, he said, “You don’t have to follow me in.”
Jun’s voice was low. “I know.”
Seungmin nodded once.
And walked into the silence.
The office was still.
Not peaceful.
Just still.
Like a held breath.
Seungmin sat at his desk, fingers curled around a pen he hadn’t used in twenty minutes. The contract in front of him was pristine. Unread. The ink on the signature line waited like a dare.
He couldn’t focus.
His chest ached—not in the poetic way, but in the real, physical way that made it hard to breathe. Like something was pressing down on his ribs from the inside.
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t shake.
He just sat there.
Perfect posture. Blank expression. A portrait of control.
The pain was manageable, as long as he didn’t move too fast. As long as he didn’t think too hard. As long as he didn’t feel.
He could do this.
He had to.
Because if he let it slip—if he let even one crack show—he’d ruin everything.
The door opened.
He didn’t look up.
He didn’t need to.
Minho’s footsteps were quiet, but familiar. He crossed the room without speaking, placed a coffee on the desk, and stood there for a moment.
Waiting.
Watching.
Seungmin didn’t move.
“You didn’t answer my texts,” Minho said softly.
“I was working.”
“You didn’t sleep.”
“I did.”
“Two hours isn’t sleep.”
“It’s enough.”
Minho sighed. “You’re doing it again.”
Seungmin finally looked up. “Doing what?”
“Building walls”
Seungmin’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
Minho’s voice was gentle. Not accusing. Just there.
And that made it worse.
Because Seungmin couldn’t afford gentleness right now.
He couldn’t afford to be known.
“I’m fine,” he said, sharper than he meant to.
Minho hyung didn’t flinch. “You’re not.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know.”
“Then stop asking.”
Minho was quiet for a long moment.
Then he said, “Alright then just don’t lie to me, Kim Seungmin.”
Seungmin looked away.
Back at the contract.
Back at the pen.
Back at the only thing he could control.
“I’m not lying,” he said.
And maybe that was true.
Because he wasn’t saying anything at all.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
After that he started avoiding Minho hyung, with everything in his soul.
---He’d gotten good at it.
The dodging. The rescheduling. The polite, professional excuses that sounded just believable enough to pass.
“Sorry, I’ve got a call with the Singapore team.”
“Board dinner tonight—can’t miss it.”
“Next week, maybe. Things are stacked right now.”
Minho hyung hadn’t pushed.
Not directly.
But Seungmin could feel it—like a weight behind every unread message. Like a shadow in the corner of every room he left too quickly.
He wasn’t proud of it.
But he couldn’t stop.
Because Minho hyung looked at him like he was breaking.
And Seungmin couldn’t afford to break.
Not now.
Not when the company was expanding.
Not when the press was watching.
Not when Jeongin’s voice still echoed in his chest every time he closed his eyes.
So he worked.
He smiled for cameras. Shook hands with people who only saw his last name. Signed deals that would make headlines. Wore suits that fit like armor.
And he didn’t go to dinner.
Not with Minho hyung.
Not with anyone.
Until Hyunjin and Changbin cornered him.
It was supposed to be a quick stop—just a brief appearance at a gallery opening his company had sponsored. He was halfway to the exit when he heard his name.
“ Kim Seungmin yahh.”
He turned.
Hyunjin with All sharp cheekbones and narrowed eyes.
And beside him—Changbin. Arms crossed. Jaw set.
Seungmin straightened. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
He sounded dumb, it was an art gallery of course Hyunjin would come.
“Funny,” Hyunjin said, stepping closer. “We could say the same about you. Again.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Changbin raised an eyebrow. “Too busy to answer hyung s calls?”
Seungmin’s throat tightened. “I didn’t realize I was being tracked.”
“You’re not,” Hyunjin said. “But you’re not subtle either.”
Seungmin looked away. “I have meetings , work things to do, you know.”
“You always have meetings,” Changbin said. “But you used to have dinner, too.”
“I don’t have time.”
Hyunjin’s voice softened. “Then make some time.” Hyunjins tone had that scold ‘if we are important enough you would have made some time for us’
Seungmin felt guilty so he didn’t answer.
Because he couldn’t say what he was really thinking.
That if he sat across from Minho again, he might not be able to hold it in.
That if someone looked at him too gently, he might fall apart.
That if he let himself be seen, he might not know how to go back to hiding.
So he said nothing.
And Hyunjin—who had cried in his arms over broken hearts few dozen times—stepped forward and touched his sleeve.
“You don’t have to talk,” he said. “Just come.”
And Seungmin—
He didn’t say yes.
But he didn’t walk away either.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
He arrived ten minutes late.
Not enough to be rude. Just enough to feel like he had control, that he’s doing this willingly out of his own need.
The restaurant was tucked into a quiet street in Seongsu—low lighting, wood-paneled walls, the kind of place that didn’t need to be trendy to be good. He spotted them immediately.
Channie hyung was already halfway through a bottle of soju , he looked disgusted as he always did with any kind of alcohol.
Changbin waswaving his chopsticks like lights tick those kpop fans use.
Jisung waslaughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair.
Hyunjin was sipping tea with one leg crossed over the other, eyes flicking up the second Seungmin walked in.
He didn’t smile.
But he nodded.
And that was enough.
“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Jisung called, grinning.
Seungmin slid into the empty seat beside him. “I was dragged.”
“Dragged with style,” Hyunjin said, eyeing his blazer. Seungmin was still in that fancy suit he wore for the gallery opening ceremony, he was fashionable. A bit.
Channie hyung raised his glass. “Glad you made it, Minnie.”
Seungmin nodded. “Me too.”
And strangely—he meant it.
The table was loud, but not overwhelming. Familiar. Safe in the way only long friendships could be. They talked about music, about the new choreography Minho hyung was drafting, about Jisung’s latest attempt at baking (“I nearly set my oven on fire, but the cookies were so good ”).
No one asked about work.
No one asked about Jeongin.
No one asked why Seungmin looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
They just let him be.
Jisung leaned into him halfway through the meal, whispering, “You okay?”
Seungmin didn’t answer.
But he didn’t pull away either.
And Jisung—bless him—just nodded and went back to arguing with Chan hyung about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
Seungmin let the noise wash over him.
Let the warmth of the food, the clatter of chopsticks, the soft hum of Chan’s laughter settle into his bones.
He wasn’t okay.
But for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel like he had to pretend.
Not here. Without Minho hyung... It was complicated.
The thing about Minho-hyung was—
He saw everything.
Not just the surface. Not just the tired eyes or the missed meals or the way Seungmin’s voice got quieter when he was unraveling.
He saw the weight.
The real one.
The one Seungmin didn’t talk about. The one he carried like a second spine.
And that was the problem.
Because Minho hyung didn’t just see it—he felt it. He worried. And Seungmin couldn’t stand the thought of being the reason Minho’s shoulders sagged a little more at the end of the day.
So he stayed away.
Not out of anger.
Out of love.
Out of guilt.
Out of fear that if he let himself lean, he might never stand up again.
But with the others—
With Jisung and Changbin hyung and Hyunjin and even Chan hyung—
It was easier.
They didn’t know what to look for.
Didn’t know what his silences meant.
Didn’t know that when he laughed too quickly, it was because he was trying to drown something.
To them, he was just Seungmin.
The quiet one. The sharp one. The one who always had his shit together.
And , he hated that.
Hated how much he needed that distance.
Hated how much he relied on their not knowing.
Hated how relieved he felt that Minho wasn’t at dinner.
And Jeongin—
Jeongin being gone on tour was the only thing keeping him from falling apart entirely.
Because if Jeongin had been there—smiling, glowing, his —Seungmin didn’t know if he could’ve kept the mask on.
Didn’t know if he would’ve tried.
So he sat at the table, surrounded by laughter and warmth and people who didn’t ask too much.
And for once, he was grateful for the space between him and the people who loved him.
Because sometimes, being loved from a distance was the only way he knew how to survive. Because being near the sun wasn’t all that glamorous, Mercury was always burning and when not, freezing. There was no in between.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _
It was stupid how good it felt.
The warmth of the food. The way Jisung kept leaning into him with every punchline. The way Changbin and Hyunjin were being so disgustingly in love that it looped back around to being funny.
“Hyunjinnie, if you feed him one more bite, I’m calling the health department,” Seungmin muttered.
Hyunjin grinned. “You’re just jealous.”
“Of what? Your shared brain cell?”
Changbin gasped. “Rude.”
Jisung nearly choked on his drink laughing.
Seungmin smiled.
Chan hyung was relaxed tonight. Softer. He laughed easily, leaned into the conversation without the quiet gravity he usually carried when Jeongin was around. Without Jeongin, Channie didn’t feel like a reminder.
He felt like a person.
And Seungmin didn’t feel like a wound.
He hated that.
Hated how much easier it was to breathe when Jeongin wasn’t in the room.
Hated how much lighter Chan hyung felt when he wasn’t looking at someone else like they were the sun.
Hated how much he needed this—this distance, this space, this absence —to feel okay.
But Jisung was beside him, warm and loud and loyal.
And Hyunjin and Changbin were being ridiculous.
And Channie was smiling at something Jisung said, not at someone Seungmin couldn’t be.
And for once, Seungmin didn’t feel like he was holding his breath.
He was still tired.
Still aching.
Still hiding.
But he was smiling .
And that had to count for something.
He was still smiling when Minho walked in.
Not really bold.
Just a soft, breathy laugh at something Jisung had said—something about Chan’s tragic attempts at making Minho hyung recipes. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the restaurant, his fingers still sticky from the sauce Hyunjin had accidentally flicked at him.
He felt… light.
Not weightless. Not free.
But lighter than he had in weeks.
And then the door opened.
And Minho hyung stepped in.
And everything stopped.
Not around him—the others were still talking, still laughing, still moving—but inside Seungmin, something froze. The lightness went away, the gravity claimed him again.
Minho’s eyes found him instantly.
And widened.
Seungmin saw it.
The flicker of surprise.
The quiet shift in his expression.
The way his gaze softened and sharpened all at once
And Seungmin—
He shattered.
Not visibly
But something inside him cracked.
Because Minho looked at him like he hadn’t seen him in weeks
.
Like he hadn’t expected to.
Like he didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.
And Seungmin—
He hated that.
Hated how much he wanted to look away, how much he wanted to run, how much he wanted to fall into Minho’s arms and say, I’m not okay.
But he didn’t.
He smiled.
Too wide. Too bright.
“Hyung,” he said, voice steady. “You made it.”
Minho hyung blinked.
Then nodded.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did.”
And Seungmin—
He looked down at his drink.
The Fanta was warm now. Too sweet. Too flat.
Just like the smile on his face.