Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eight

Sunghoon doesn’t like hockey. He’s not sure if he dislikes it, because he likes being on the ice and he likes his teammates, but saying he likes the sport might be going too far. He’s always just… done it. 

His dad was always talking about how Sunghoon should’ve been in a sport, but nothing ever stuck. He’d gone to an ice rink with his class a few years ago and was a natural, so his dad enrolled him in a kid’s hockey league and that was it. 

It’s fun, being on the ice. It really is. And he does like his teammates. The issue is when the parents are around. 

Most of the parents stick around during the practices, and they’re only an hour so it doesn’t really make sense for them to leave just to come back to the rink as soon as they get home. But when the team is resting at the bench, Sunghoon hears things. The parents don’t seem to be aware of how loud their conversations are, or they just don’t care. 

Sunghoon props his elbows on his knees, water bottle dangling from his fingers as he listens to the parents' chatter just a few feet away.

"—real powerhouse on the ice. I bet he'll be a dom, no question."

"Yeah, you can tell already. He's so assertive, always taking charge during drills."

Sunghoon’s eyes flick to the boy they're talking about—Jihoon, the team captain, laughing loudly with a few other players.

"Unlike some of them,” another parent says, voice a little lower but still clear. “There’s a couple of boys here who might end up subs. You can see it."

Sunghoon shifts uncomfortably for some reason, the cold metal of the bench pressing into his thighs. He doesn’t know why the topic makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he strains to hear what they say next.

"That one—what's his name? The quiet one. Sunghoon?"

His chest tightens. He stares hard at the ice, pretending like he can’t hear the blood rushing through his ears. 

“Oh, yeah. Always so polite. Doesn’t push back much, does he?”

"Yeah, sweet kid. Too sweet, if you ask me. You know how it is. Not sure how long hockey will be the right fit."

Before the silence can settle, Sunghoon hears his dad’s voice cut in—cool and direct.

“He's just careful. He knows how to think ahead.”

The parents fall silent, the awkward kind that means they won’t push it further. The whistle blows before Sunghoon can think too much about it, and he pushes off the bench, the cold air biting his cheeks as he skates back onto the ice.

Eleven

Sunghoon is entirely unprepared the first time his dad talks to him about being adynamic.

He’s just gotten home from practice, his hair damp from a quick shower, and his gym bag slung over his shoulder. His dad is at the dining table, still dressed in his work clothes, tie loosened but not off. It’s unusual — most days, his dad gets home late, when Sunghoon’s already in bed or pretending to be.

“Sit down,” his dad says, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Sunghoon drops his bag by the door and obeys, curiosity flickering in his chest. There’s a stiffness to his dad’s expression, an unreadable line in his mouth that makes Sunghoon’s stomach twist.

“I heard some of the parents talking today,” his dad starts. “About you.”

Sunghoon's face heats up, embarrassment prickling his skin. He’d heard them, too, bits and pieces about how quiet he is, how careful on the ice. He’d thought his dad hadn’t noticed, that he’d been too busy watching plays and shouting advice at the other boys.

“They think you might be... submissive,” his dad says, like the word itself is a burden. “And I need to know if there’s any truth to that.”

Sunghoon stares, wide-eyed. “I— I don’t know.”

It’s the truth — he doesn’t know. The concept of dynamics has always felt like something for older kids, something distant and abstract. His teachers haven’t covered it in school yet, and his teammates only joke about it, calling each other "subs" when someone backs off during practice or takes a hit too hard.

His dad sighs, heavy and tired. “Listen, Sunghoon. If you want to stay on the team, if you want to keep playing hockey, you need to be adynamic. You can’t afford to let anyone think otherwise.”

Sunghoon’s throat tightens. “Okay.”

“This sport is competitive,” his dad continues. “They respect strength. Discipline. Not hesitation.” He leans forward, eyes sharp. “You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

After that, his dad enrolls him in weekend classes to “build confidence” — public speaking, debate, even taekwondo for a year. Sunghoon does them all, but they feel like an extra layer of armor he doesn’t know how to wear.

Fourteen 

Figure skating is different from hockey. There’s less talk about dominance, fewer expectations to be loud, assertive, in control. Sunghoon is grateful for it, glad that his dad didn’t protest when he asked to leave hockey behind. It had taken months to convince him, but the argument that figure skating would look just as impressive on college applications seemed to work. Sunghoon knows there are more male subs in this sport, but no one questions him. No one looks at him and expects him to be anything other than adynamic.

Sunghoon is good, good enough that the Korean media takes notice, articles circulating about the “ice prince” with the quiet, composed demeanor. Publicly, he’s labeled adynamic. His dad made sure of that from the start.

Sometimes, though, when he’s in the locker room after practice, he catches himself pausing at the sight of one of his teammates kneeling to tie a skate. He imagines it for himself, the cold tile pressing into his knees, the solid presence of someone standing over him. It’s quick, half-formed, and gone as soon as he realizes he’s thinking it.

There’s a skater on his team, Minjun, who’s open about being a sub. It’s rare for male athletes, but not unheard of in this sport, and their coach is protective of him. Sometimes Minjun slouches against the lockers, his head bowed as another skater rests a hand on the back of his neck. They laugh, and Minjun’s smile is wide and unbothered, a little blissful. Sunghoon watches from the corner of his eye, pretending to adjust his laces. His neck feels hot, like he’s the one being touched.

It doesn’t matter. His role is set, and everyone: his dad, his coaches, the media, knows him as adynamic. There’s no point in changing it now.

When Sunghoon competes, his dad is always in the stands, his expression a flat, unreadable line. He doesn’t clap when Sunghoon lands a jump, doesn’t smile when the judges announce his scores. Sunghoon has gotten used to it, to the quiet expectation that follows him off the ice.

After competitions, there are interviews. The questions are always similar: how long he trains, what his future goals are, how he handles the pressure. Occasionally, someone slips in a question about dynamics. It’s a game, he thinks, testing to see if they can make him hesitate.

“I’m adynamic,” he always answers, a practiced, measured response. “I focus on my performance.”

It’s a truth and a lie at the same time. He knows how to perform, but he’s not sure he knows himself at all.

Fifteen

Sunghoon’s dream of being a figure skater never included fame. It was supposed to be something private: long practices alone on the ice, the satisfaction of a perfect routine performed for a silent, distant panel of judges. The attention from the media is flattering, but it doesn’t feel like his. When the cameras are on him, asking questions and searching for cracks, he feels like he’s performing as someone else: the “ice prince,” calm and untouchable.

The idea of being an idol sneaks up on him, slipping in during those long commutes to the rink and the empty bus rides back home. The company he trains with has a few idols on their roster, and sometimes he sees them: tall, stylish boys with sharp features and sharper smiles. They’re bright, charismatic, everything he’s not. He watches them quietly from the back of the rink, his skates still laced tightly to his feet.

He doesn't remember the moment the idea becomes a plan, but it happens slowly, a fantasy growing legs. The same way he once imagined standing on the Olympic podium, he imagines standing on a stage with lights so bright they blur the audience into a mass of color and noise. He imagines applause that’s meant for him, not for the version of him that his dad wants to see.

His parents don’t understand. His mother cries when he tells them, his father’s face blank and unmoving. It takes weeks of pleading, presenting it like a side project, a distraction to keep him from burning out on skating. A new way to perform. Eventually, they agree to let him audition, with the expectation that he’ll maintain his grades and his skating career.

When he passes the audition and officially becomes a trainee, he doesn’t quit skating. He can’t. There’s a lingering fear that if he lets it go, he’ll be left with nothing, no path forward, no identity. He becomes a trainee who spends his mornings at the rink and his nights at the practice room, learning dances that make his limbs ache in a way skating never has. The training is relentless. Vocal lessons, dance practice, language classes, all layered on top of hours of skating and school. His body is constantly sore, his mind heavy with exhaustion.

Sometimes, he wishes he could lean into someone, let himself drop into that quiet headspace he only ever half-acknowledges. The trainees around him talk about their dynamics in casual, thoughtless ways: the doms teasing the subs, the subs smiling softly when they’re praised. Sunghoon stands apart, his exhaustion something he can’t share. He doesn’t have time to think about his dynamic, to imagine himself as anything other than adynamic.

The night before he moves to Seoul full-time, his father pulls him aside. They sit in the living room, the lights dim, his mother asleep in the next room. Sunghoon’s duffel bags are by the door, filled with clothes and practice gear, a pair of old skates he couldn't bring himself to leave behind.

“This industry is ruthless,” his dad says, his voice flat. “More cutthroat than hockey ever was. You can’t be weak.”

Sunghoon knows what he means. They’ve had this conversation before, a thousand times in a thousand different ways. The expectation of dominance. The need to be in control. The need to not need.

“I know,” Sunghoon says, his voice thin.

“Then make sure you act like it,” his dad continues, his eyes hard and steady. “You are adynamic. That’s what everyone knows you as, and that’s what you’ll stay. Don’t let anyone think otherwise.”

Sunghoon swallows, his throat dry. “Yes, sir.”

His father watches him for a moment longer, then stands up, the conversation over. Sunghoon doesn’t move. He stares at his bags, the polished floor, his own reflection in the window. The empty space of it all presses heavy against his chest.

Being a trainee is exhausting. The hours are long, the expectations endless. There are days when Sunghoon practices until his legs shake, then leaves the studio only to spend another two hours at the rink. He’s thin, sharper around the edges, his body an instrument of control and precision. He still competes, still has to maintain his reputation as the “ice prince.” But now there’s a different weight to it. A different kind of pressure. He’s not just a skater anymore. He’s someone who might be something more.

The other trainees talk about him sometimes, about the idol-skater who balances two lives. They admire him for it, but there’s distance there, too. He’s not close to anyone. They don’t know how to approach him, and he doesn’t know how to let them.

There are trainees who are subs, and the doms are casually protective of them. Sunghoon watches silently from the edges of practice rooms, his gaze catching on the way a dom will rest a hand on a sub’s shoulder or pull them back when they’re getting too worked up. It’s not possessive or aggressive, just a gentle, natural assertion of control. The subs don’t hesitate to lean into it, their smiles easy and unguarded. Sunghoon’s stomach twists, a hollow ache settling low in his chest.

He wonders what it would be like, to let himself give in to that kind of care. To admit that he wants it.

But he’s adynamic. He has to be. There’s no room for anything else.

Joining I-LAND feels like stepping onto thin ice. The cameras are always watching, the competition brutal. Everyone is desperate to prove themselves, to be chosen. There's an air of constant tension in the training room, a barely contained energy that crackles as soon as they step in. Everyone has their own strategy, some try to stay quiet and blend in, others shout over the noise to make their mark. The subs on the show carry themselves carefully, some keeping close to the doms they trust, others pulling away entirely. Sunghoon watches it all from a distance, his hands clenched in his pockets, trying to keep his own presence as small as possible.

The doms praise the subs in ways that Sunghoon can’t help but watch. He sees K, his jaw set in that way of someone used to being in charge, a brief but firm hand resting on the back of Taki's neck after a particularly tough practice. The subtle act of control seems to calm the younger trainee. Taki’s shoulders visibly relax, his face softening under K’s steady hand. The moment is fleeting, but it leaves an impression on Sunghoon, one that lingers in the pit of his stomach. He can’t imagine what it would be like to be seen like that, to be acknowledged for what he really is. He’s only ever known how to hide, to pretend that he isn’t always yearning to submit, to kneel, to feel grounded under someone else’s gaze.

When the doms praise the subs, the subs’ eyes go soft, their shoulders relaxing. Sometimes a dom will rest a hand on a sub’s shoulder, a steadying weight. It’s always casual, simple, but the impact is obvious. It’s in the way the sub stops fidgeting, the way their body language shifts from tense to relaxed. Sunghoon sees it again with Heeseung, his words quiet but firm, his touch light but commanding as he adjusts Sunghoon’s posture during a practice session. The look in Sunghoon’s eyes isn’t something Heeseung questions. He’s not asking for permission; he’s offering a moment of control. A few minutes, an acknowledgment that Sunghoon exists in this space not as a shadow, but as someone deserving of attention.

Heeseung doesn’t seem to notice the weight of the touch, but for Sunghoon, it’s overwhelming. The pull to submit is so close, just out of reach, but it’s never enough. He’s never enough. He feels like a ghost in the room, unsure of his own shape, unsure of what he’s supposed to be. No one sees him for what he really is, and that's the most painful thing.

The rest of the trainees seem to move with a sense of belonging, even if it's just a fleeting feeling. Taki, always full of energy and smiles, doesn’t need to speak much. His body language screams confidence, and when he does speak, his words are punctuated with quiet assurance. It’s clear that he’s comfortable in his own skin, comfortable with the world around him. Sunghoon watches him sometimes, wondering what it would feel like to be that sure, to not second-guess every move, every word, every interaction.

But Sunghoon can’t shake the feeling of being different. The other trainees, especially the doms, have an ease about them that he can’t replicate. They talk freely with each other, they support each other with ease, a simple touch here, a knowing glance there. He sees the bond between them, something that doesn’t just come from training, but from something deeper. Sunghoon feels like an outsider in that space. When he’s around the other trainees, it’s as though there’s an invisible wall between him and them, something he can’t cross, something he can’t break. It’s not that they’ve excluded him; it’s more that he’s not even sure he belongs there.

The pressure to perform in front of the cameras is constant. Every moment feels like it’s under a microscope, and the stakes are higher than ever. He tries to focus on his training, his routines, but it’s hard not to think about the way he’s being watched. His eyes flicker between the doms and the subs, tracking how they interact, how they move through the day. The way Jungwon, with his calm and commanding presence, gives a word of praise to Sunghoon when he least expects it. It’s so small, so simple, but it sends a jolt of something through Sunghoon. It’s that recognition, that acknowledgment he’s been craving, but it’s always fleeting, just a moment in time before the next round of grueling practice begins.

Sunghoon has long since recognized that he's a sub, but it's too late for him to do anything about it now. With the spotlight on him more than ever, he’s not sure how the world would react if he admitted his truth. He’s even less certain his company would accept it, and the thought of risking everything for something so personal weighs heavily on him. 

By now, he’s spent years suppressing his need to submit, to be seen. But in I-LAND, it’s harder than ever. The walls are starting to crack. He feels himself gravitating toward those brief moments of recognition. The way K holds Taki’s shoulder, the way Heeseung adjusts his stance, the fleeting touches that pass between them. Every moment of it makes Sunghoon ache for something he can’t have. He tells himself it’s enough to just exist, just to survive the show. It has to be enough.

But as the weeks go on, the pressure intensifies. The competition becomes more brutal. The elimination rounds come faster, the stakes higher. Sunghoon can feel the weight of it on his chest, the suffocating fear of failure. He wonders if he’s cut out for this, if he’ll ever be able to fit in with the others. The doms don’t worry about these things, at least not in the same way. They walk with confidence, with an assurance that Sunghoon can’t seem to grasp. They give orders, they give praise, they receive it all in return. But for Sunghoon, it’s different. He watches, he listens, but he never quite feels like he’s part of that exchange. He’s the quiet one, the one who has to keep his head down, keep moving forward, keep pretending that it’s enough.

He catches glimpses of what it could be like, the way the other subs interact with their doms, how they’re able to exist in that space without fear. But it’s not something Sunghoon is allowed to have. He’s always had to hide, always had to pretend. And as the days drag on, he feels like he’s losing himself in the process.

Sunghoon’s debut in Enhypen is a whirlwind of rehearsals, interviews, and sleepless nights. The group quickly becomes a well-oiled machine, each of them learning to navigate the chaos of this new life they’ve found themselves in. There are moments of exhaustion, but there’s also the high of performing on stage, the thrill of seeing their hard work come to life. For Sunghoon, it’s a mix of excitement and tension. As much as he loves the energy of the crowd, the push to be perfect every time on stage only adds to the weight he already feels. 

Back in the dorm, the group gathers in their usual spots, decompressing after a long day of practice. It’s a rare moment of downtime, and everyone’s doing their best to relax. Jungwon and Heeseung are talking about the schedule for the next few weeks, while Jay is sprawled on the couch, flipping through his phone. Jake and Sunoo are laughing about something, and Sunghoon leans against the wall, feeling somewhat detached from the conversation. He’s not sure where he fits in this dynamic, where he belongs. He never really does.

The thing about being adynamic is that it’s not like being a dominant or a submissive—it’s like being a blank slate. Sunghoon has never been one to stand out in the same way the other members do. They all have their own way of asserting themselves, whether it’s Jungwon’s calm leadership or Heeseung’s quiet confidence. Jay and Jake have a certain energy to them that draws attention. But Sunghoon? He tends to fade into the background, content to observe rather than participate. He knows he’s a popular member, knows he has fans. Fans that followed him from his career in skating, fans that found him as a member of Enhypen. He feels like he fits in on stage, is a part of something bigger than just him. It’s when he’s off-stage, with no one but his bandmates, when his different dynamic really sticks out to him.

And it’s not that he dislikes being adynamic, but sometimes he wonders if he’s just too passive in a world that seems to value assertiveness above all else.

“Sunghoon, you good?” Jake’s voice cuts through his thoughts. Sunghoon blinks and looks up to see the older boy giving him a curious look.

“Yeah, just thinking,” Sunghoon replies, offering a small smile. “It’s been a long day.”

Jake doesn’t press, but he gives Sunghoon a nod of understanding. “You should relax more, man. You’re always so quiet.”

Sunghoon just shrugs, not really knowing what to say. He feels the tension in his shoulders, the constant buzz of energy that never seems to fade. He tries to brush it off, but it’s always there, like a low hum in the background. 

The group continues to chat and joke around, and Sunghoon joins in occasionally, though it’s clear he’s not as invested as the others. He watches the way they interact, the way the touches between them, simple hand on a shoulder, a quick pat on the back, seem to come naturally. He doesn’t mind it, not really. It’s just a part of the group dynamic. 

As the days pass, Sunghoon falls into a rhythm with the others. It’s not a perfect rhythm, and sometimes he feels like he’s a beat behind, but it’s a rhythm nonetheless. The praise the others give him feels genuine, even if it’s not always directed solely at him. When Heeseung compliments his dancing after a particularly difficult routine, or when Jungwon gives him a small nod of approval, it’s enough to keep him going. There’s no pressure to be anything more than what he is.

But every now and then, Sunghoon catches himself watching the others—especially Ni-ki. The youngest member is quieter than the rest, but there’s something about him that makes Sunghoon curious. Ni-ki has this way of moving through the group, almost like he’s confident without trying. It’s not that Ni-ki does anything overt, but Sunghoon can’t help but notice the way he effortlessly glides into conversations, the way people listen when he speaks despite him being the youngest 

Ni-ki’s not overtly dominant, not in the way some of the others are, but Sunghoon sometimes wonders if there’s more to him than meets the eye. He never pushes Sunghoon, never makes him feel out of place. If anything, Ni-ki seems to be one of the few members who’s content to let Sunghoon be. 

“Hey, Sunghoon,” Ni-ki says one day after a particularly long practice, his voice light. “You should loosen up. You’re always so serious.”

Sunghoon blinks, a little caught off guard. Ni-ki’s gaze is casual, almost teasing, but there’s no judgment in his tone.

“I’m not serious,” Sunghoon says quickly, shrugging. “Just… tired.”

Ni-ki doesn’t push him further, just chuckles and turns back to the rest of the group. Sunghoon watches him for a moment, feeling that familiar tug in his chest, the pull to be something more, to be seen in a way that he’s never allowed himself to be. But for now, he doesn’t have to explain himself to anyone. Not yet, at least.

The group continues on, just as busy as ever. There are comebacks, interviews, and endless hours of practice. And through it all, Sunghoon keeps going, relying on the small moments of praise and connection he shares with the others to keep him grounded. He doesn’t need anything more. He can survive like this. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Chapter Text

Sunghoon wakes up feeling like he hasn’t slept at all. His eyes feel gritty, heavy, and there’s a pressure behind them that makes him wince when he blinks. He tries to shake it off, to roll his shoulders and sit up straight, but it doesn’t help. The room is already bright, the morning sun streaming through the thin curtains, and the sound of the other members moving around the dorm echoes down the hall. Everything feels too loud, like his senses are rubbing raw against his skin.

When he finally makes it to the kitchen, Jake is there, pouring cereal into a bowl. Sunoo is leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone, and Ni-ki is rifling through the cabinets for a clean glass.

“Morning,” Jake greets him, his tone light. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Thanks,” Sunghoon mutters, voice scratchy. He tries to force a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Late night?” Sunoo asks without looking up.

“Not really,” Sunghoon says. “Just… tired.”

Ni-ki glances over his shoulder, a brow raised. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon lies quickly. “Just one of those days, I guess.”

Jake hums sympathetically, but they don’t press him any further. Sunghoon is grateful for it, but the pressure in his head lingers as they all get ready to leave.

By the time they’re in the car, his nerves are frayed. Jay is talking loudly about some new show he started watching, and Ni-ki is teasing Jake about the way he butchered his Korean in an interview yesterday. Sunghoon stares out the window, his headphones in but no music playing, wishing for quiet. He doesn’t mean to be so snappish when Jungwon asks him a question — something about practice later — but it slips out before he can catch it.

“What’s up with you?” Jungwon asks, his tone light but curious.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon says, too quickly. “I’m fine.”

Jungwon’s eyes linger on him for a second, thoughtful, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he leans over and rests a hand on the back of Sunghoon’s neck, his touch firm and grounding. The weight of it settles something inside Sunghoon, untying the tension in his shoulders just a bit. The car is still loud, but it feels less sharp, the noise settling into the background. Sunghoon takes a breath, slow and steady, and lets it out quietly. He doesn’t think too hard about why it helps.

At the company building, practice is endless. Hours pass in stretches of strained silence and sharp commands. They’re learning new choreography, something complicated and demanding that pushes all of them to the edge of their patience. Sunghoon’s legs feel unsteady, his balance off. He keeps stumbling over his own feet, missing beats that should be easy. His timing is a second too slow, a half-count behind everyone else, and he can see the irritation growing in their dance teacher’s eyes.

Eventually, they’re told to take a break, but the frustration in the air is obvious. Sunghoon sinks against the mirrored wall, his back pressed to the cool glass, and scrubs his hands over his face. His head is spinning, and his muscles ache in a way that isn’t satisfying. It feels wrong, like something inside him is short-circuiting.

Jake is the first to come over. He nudges Sunghoon’s shoulder gently, his expression open and easy. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sunghoon mumbles. “Just… off today.”

Jake nods slowly, unconvinced, but he doesn’t push. Sunghoon thinks it’s over, that he can ride out the rest of the break in silence, but then Ni-ki slips down beside him. He’s sweaty and flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead, but his eyes are sharp as he looks at Sunghoon.

“All good?” Ni-ki asks, his tone casual but laced with concern.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says again. “Just tired.”

Ni-ki watches him for a moment longer, something unspoken flickering across his face, but he eventually nods and moves on. Sunghoon doesn’t watch him go.

When practice resumes, it’s worse. Sunghoon’s limbs are clumsy, his head pounding. The dance teacher’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and biting, calling out each mistake Sunghoon makes. The more he messes up, the more his mind spirals. He feels the heat behind his eyes building, his throat tightening, and he knows he’s on the verge of breaking. It’s humiliating, being scolded in front of everyone, feeling like the weak link dragging them all down.

He doesn’t make a conscious decision to leave — he just moves. His feet carry him out of the room, down the hall, his vision blurry and his heart hammering in his chest. He keeps his head down, in fear of running into staff or, god forbid, another idol, but the halls are thankfully empty. The bathroom is empty too, the fluorescent lights too bright, but it’s quiet. Safe. He grips the edge of the sink, his knuckles white, and breathes hard through his nose.

It’s not enough. The pressure in his chest is suffocating, the weight of inadequacy pressing down on him until it feels impossible to stand. He feels like he can't do anything right anymore. And they all know, his uselessness is obvious. His eyes burn, and he swallows hard, forcing back the tears that threaten to spill. The walls are too close, the air too thick. His reflection stares back at him, eyes red-rimmed and wide.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, fingers digging into the porcelain, his breathing ragged. The door creaks open, and he jerks, his head snapping up. Jake steps inside, his gaze catching on Sunghoon’s reflection before shifting to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” Jake says softly. “You good?”

Sunghoon forces a shaky breath, straightening up. “Yeah, just… needed a second.”

Jake’s eyes search his face, gentle and patient. “I get it. That was rough back there. Jungwon kind of went off on the teacher after you left.”

Sunghoon’s stomach twists, guilt mingling with the residual panic. “He did?”

“Yeah,” Jake says, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You know how he gets. He was pissed.”

A weak laugh slips out of Sunghoon, unsteady but real. Jake’s smile softens, and the tension in Sunghoon’s shoulders eases just a little. It’s not fixed — not even close — but it’s something.

By the time they make it back to the practice room, the others are gathering their bags, the teacher gone. Sunghoon doesn’t know if it’s luck or Jungwon’s intervention, but he’s grateful. All he wants is to go back to the dorm, to crawl under his blankets and sleep off the weight in his chest.

He doesn’t miss the way Jungwon’s eyes linger on him as they head out, a quiet, assessing gaze that Sunghoon doesn’t know how to meet.

Sunghoon’s relief at the end of practice is short-lived. He barely has time to gather his things before their manager steps in, clipboard in hand and expression unreadable.

“Doctors’ appointments today,” the manager announces, like it’s routine, and maybe it is. Sunghoon tries to remember if they were warned about this, but his head is still buzzing from the morning. He’s not prepared for more today.

They pile back into the van, the atmosphere subdued. Jake nudges Sunghoon’s arm gently, a silent check-in, and Sunghoon forces a nod that he hopes is reassuring. The drive to the clinic is quiet; for once, Sunghoon isn't the only one zoning out. He stares out the window, the city blurring by. He wonders if he’ll feel better by the end of the day or if this heaviness will cling to him like smoke.

At the clinic, they file into the waiting room, and their manager checks them in. The receptionist glances at all of them before focusing back on her screen, and Sunghoon feels that familiar flicker of curiosity from strangers. Just a group of idols, out in the world, scheduled for routine check-ups. Nothing to see.

They’re called back one by one, each member vanishing into the hall for their turn. Jake comes back after a while, nudging Sunghoon’s shoulder again before slumping back into a chair. Sunghoon’s head is throbbing, and his eyes are gritty, and he wants this to be over.

“Park Sunghoon?”

He stands, following the nurse through the winding corridor and into a small, sterile room. The walls are pale blue, dotted with health posters, and the faint scent of antiseptic hangs in the air. The nurse checks his weight and height, asks him a series of routine questions — any injuries, any medications, any allergies. Sunghoon answers automatically, his voice flat.

“We’ll need a urine sample,” the nurse says, handing him a small plastic cup. Sunghoon takes it with a nod, his mind barely present. He goes through the motions, returning the cup, and the nurse instructs him to sit tight while they finish up.

The doctor comes in a few minutes later, flipping through Sunghoon’s chart and asking a few more questions. The exam is routine — checking his reflexes, his breathing, listening to his heart. Sunghoon knows this drill. He’s done it a dozen times before.

“Just sit tight while we process the test results,” the doctor says, his tone neutral. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

Sunghoon nods, leaning back against the examination table and trying to focus on the buzzing light overhead. He doesn’t know how much time passes before there’s a knock on the door, and the doctor returns. This time, the manager steps in with him.

Sunghoon’s pulse quickens. The doctor has a folder in his hands, flipping through papers, his eyes darting between the pages. The manager stands beside him, his arms crossed. They share a look, a brief exchange that Sunghoon doesn’t understand.

“Is something wrong?” Sunghoon asks, the question sharp and tight.

The doctor glances at him, then back at the manager. “It says here you’re adynamic?”

The question is so casual, so straightforward, that Sunghoon’s brain takes a second to process it. He nods slowly, confusion tightening in his chest. “Yeah. I’m adynamic.”

The doctor’s gaze shifts back to the papers, his eyes skimming over something. He turns to the manager again, and they share a hushed conversation, their voices too low to catch. Sunghoon’s heart pounds, his skin prickling. He tries to swallow the unease climbing his throat.

“What’s going on?” he presses, his voice sharper.

The doctor finally faces him directly. “Your urine analysis showed elevated stress indicators — the kind typically seen in submissives who haven’t scened in a significant amount of time.”

Sunghoon’s stomach drops, cold and hollow. His mind reels, searching for an explanation that makes sense. It doesn’t. The words don’t fit.

“But I’m adynamic?” It comes out like a question, weak and wavering, and he hates it. He hates the way it sounds in his own ears, desperate and unconvincing.

The doctor’s expression doesn’t shift. He doesn’t believe him. Sunghoon can see it in the way his gaze lingers, assessing.

“Sometimes stress indicators can appear under other circumstances,” the doctor explains, his voice measured. “We’d like to do some more tests to rule those out.”

Sunghoon’s throat is dry. He looks at the manager, waiting for him to say something, to step in and explain this away. The manager just nods, voice steady as he agrees. Sunghoon forces himself to nod too, to play along, to convince them — and himself — that this is just a mistake, a misunderstanding. He’s adynamic. He’s always been adynamic.

When they leave the room, their manager tells the others that Sunghoon needs some more testing and that they should finish their own appointments. The plan is set quickly — the manager will drive the others home and then come back for Sunghoon.

“What’s wrong?” Sunoo asks, his eyes darting between Sunghoon and the manager.

Sunghoon forces a smile, his chest tightening. “It’s fine. Just… a mistake, probably.”

Ni-ki’s gaze lingers on him, sharp and unreadable. Sunghoon has to look away.

Back in the room, the doctor orders a blood test, and Sunghoon rolls up his sleeve, the cold alcohol swab stinging against his skin. The needle pricks, quick and sharp, and the nurse tells him to wait while they process the results. Sunghoon’s fingers dig into his thighs, his breath unsteady.

Minutes pass, dragging by like hours. The door opens, and a nurse steps in, a gentle smile on her face. “Don’t worry,” she says softly, her tone soothing. “It’s a lot, I know. If you need to ground yourself, we have kneeling cushions available.”

Sunghoon stares at her, his brain stalling. It’s such a simple offer, the kind of courtesy extended to any sub who needs it, but it sits heavy in his chest. The thought of it — of kneeling, of sinking into that space — sends a rush of longing through him that he immediately shoves away.

“No,” he says, too quickly. “I’m fine.”

The nurse nods, unfazed, and slips back out. Sunghoon’s head spins.

Eventually, the doctor returns, his expression neutral but his eyes watchful. He has a paper in his hand, one that Sunghoon realizes must be his results. Relief blooms, but it’s fleeting.

“Your results are in,” the doctor says, his tone measured. “But I need to wait for your manager to return before we discuss them.”

Sunghoon’s confusion spikes, panic sharp behind it. “But it’s… it’s my health? Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because the company is your legal guardian,” the doctor says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But I’m not under 18?” The protest slips out before Sunghoon can stop it.

The doctor’s expression doesn’t change. “We need to wait.”

Sunghoon’s heart thunders, his eyes locked on the paper in the doctor’s hand. There’s something there, something about him, and he can’t have it. He can’t know it. Not yet.

When the manager finally comes back, he shuts the door behind him with a quiet click before settling into the chair next to the doctor’s. The doctor glances between the two of them before finally speaking.

“Sunghoon, your bloodwork has come back,” he says gently. “And it shows that you’re not adynamic at all. You’re a submissive.”

The words land like a punch. Sunghoon’s heart skips, then hammers in his chest. The doctor’s expression is carefully neutral, but Sunghoon can’t process it, can’t make sense of anything. All he can think is that they know — everyone knows — and there’s no taking it back. It's all out in the open, like a puddle of spilled water, no hope of scooping it back into a bottle. 

“And,” the doctor continues, his tone measured but undeniably grave, “based on the stress indicators in your urine and the extremely low levels of recedone in your blood, you’re suffering from Submissive Suppression Syndrome.”

Sunghoon’s throat tightens. He feels the room closing in, the lights too bright, the air too thick. The doctor says something else — something about recedone being a hormone specific to submissives that maintains their stability — but it’s all just a blur. Submissive. Suppression. Syndrome.

His hands are shaking. The doctor pulls out that same kneeling cushion, the one Sunghoon had already refused, and this time he pushes it closer.

“Would this help?” the doctor asks softly.

“No,” Sunghoon snaps, his voice sharper than he intended. “I don’t want it.”

He can’t look at it. He knows exactly what he’s supposed to do with it, knows how it’s meant to make him feel, and it only makes the panic worse. His breath stutters, uneven and ragged.

There’s a conversation happening — the doctor and the manager exchanging words that barely reach his ears. Sunghoon’s eyes are on the cushion, burning a hole through it, his mind racing until a phrase finally cuts through.

“He’ll need to be paired with a dom and start scening as soon as possible.”

The panic snaps into place, his head jerking up.

“What?” His voice is high, strained. “I’m not kneeling for some random dom!”

The doctor shakes his head calmly. “No, of course not. It would be best if it was someone you’re already close with.” He glances at the manager, and that look twists Sunghoon’s stomach further.

The manager sighs. “All company staff and idols fill out dynamic preference sheets when they’re hired. The company can look through the files and see who would be a good match for you.”

Sunghoon’s chest feels like it’s caving in. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

The manager’s gaze hardens. “What, so you can lie about it for years? You’re done handling this on your own, kid.”

The room goes quiet. Sunghoon’s vision swims; it feels like everything around him is warped, out of focus. He tries to ground himself, to breathe, but his breaths are shallow and erratic. He doesn’t even know what he’d say if he had the chance.

The manager finally clears his throat, breaking the silence. “Why is this only showing up now?”

The doctor adjusts his glasses, flipping back through the file. “Recedone levels drop steadily the longer a submissive goes without scening, but the body compensates at first. It can take months or even years for the imbalance to appear as stress indicators. If Sunghoon has been suppressing himself for a long time, it’s likely that it only reached a critical point since your last appointment.”

Sunghoon’s ears ring. He tries to imagine how long it’s been — how long he’s been pretending, burying this part of himself. The last appointment wasn’t even that long ago. He hadn’t even thought about it then.

Eventually, the manager stands up and places a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder, guiding him out of the room. The doctor’s parting words — a gentle “Take care of yourself, Sunghoon” — barely register.

The drive is silent. Sunghoon’s gaze is fixed out the window, watching the scenery blur by. At first, he’s grateful for the lack of conversation, but as the minutes pass, dread builds in his stomach. He realizes they’re heading toward the company building, not the dorms.

“Why aren’t we going home?” he asks quietly.

The manager’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “You heard what the doctor said. You can’t go on like this. It can’t wait a day.”

Sunghoon’s hands tremble in his lap. He tries to swallow, but his throat is dry. There’s no room left to protest, no space to deny what’s coming. The thought of what waits for him — of who waits for him — sits heavy and suffocating.

The company building is eerily quiet when they walk in, a stark contrast to the buzzing energy it usually has. Sunghoon follows the manager through hallways that seem longer than ever, his footsteps heavy and unsteady. They reach a meeting room, and inside, there are a few staff members from the dynamics department — people Sunghoon has only seen in passing or during brief, impersonal assessments. He'd never needed to know them before. 

They’re already huddled around computers and thick folders, flipping through documents with practiced efficiency. One of them glances up when Sunghoon and the manager enter. They hand Sunghoon a piece of paper — a blank dynamic preference sheet.

“You need to fill this out,” they say. “Honestly, this time.”

Sunghoon stares at the paper, his eyes catching on the bold title at the top: DYNAMIC PREFERENCES: SUBMISSIVE.

His head spins. The room feels stuffy, the air too heavy to breathe. He’s so tired, his body worn out from the appointment, from the blood test, from everything. Now they expect him to fill this out like it’s just another formality, like they didn’t just turn his whole life inside out.

The manager’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. “Look, I know this is probably overwhelming, but this will be good for you.” The manager’s hand lands on Sunghoon’s shoulder, grounding but not heavy. “Just put whatever feels right, okay? You can always change it later, but please try to be as honest as you can.”

There’s something almost gentle in his tone — a softness Sunghoon has never heard before. Is this because he’s a sub now? Because he’s someone they think needs to be handled carefully?

A sub.

The word echoes in Sunghoon’s mind, louder than everything else. I’m a sub.

His stomach churns. He forces his eyes back to the preference sheet, his fingers trembling as he picks up a pen.

The sheet has a long list of activities — kinks — things a sub might enjoy or find comforting. Some of them are obvious, things he’s seen subs do with their doms countless times: kneeling, praise, hand-feeding. He marks ‘yes’ for those, his pen pressing hard enough that the tip of it nearly pierces the paper.

Further down, there are terms he barely recognizes or can’t even imagine applying to himself. Swatting, bondage, fisting. He puts ‘maybe’ for everything else, face burning. 

When he’s done, he hands the sheet back to the staff member. They don’t even look at him, immediately entering his answers into the computer. The sound of typing fills the room, frantic and urgent. Sunghoon’s stomach twists.

Why is everyone in such a hurry? How serious is this?

His eyes flick to the manager, but the man is busy speaking quietly with one of the staff members. Sunghoon’s mind wanders, anxiety gripping tighter with every second.

Who will they pair him with? There are so many doms in the company — staff, idols, people he’s seen around but never spoken to. The doctor said it should be someone he’s close with, but Sunghoon doesn’t even know what that means in this context. How small does that make the pool of options?

Minutes crawl by before one of the staff members approaches the manager, handing him a piece of paper. The manager scans it quickly, then nods, murmuring something back. Sunghoon tries to read his expression, but the manager’s face is unreadable as he approaches.

“It’s Ni-ki,” he says simply.

Sunghoon stares at him, the name processing slowly.

“Ni-ki?” he repeats, his voice almost a laugh. “I was matched with — with Ni-ki?”

“Yes,” the manager says firmly. “We’ve already called him. He’s on his way.”

Sunghoon’s heart races, his mind reeling. Ni-ki — his youngest member, barely an adult, but somehow always so assured, so confident. Sunghoon doesn’t know what to think.

“Does that mean the rest of the members know?” Sunghoon forces out, dread pooling in his stomach.

The manager’s gaze softens just slightly. “They only know what’s necessary. Telling them the full story is your choice.”

Sunghoon swallows. There’s some relief in that, but it’s smothered by the weight of the next question clawing at his throat.

“Does… does the whole company know?”

The manager sighs. “Yes. The company takes the health of our idols very seriously, Sunghoon. This is a serious matter.”

Sunghoon’s head feels like it’s splitting open. The entire company knows. His teammates know. Staff he’s passed in the halls, the people who manage their schedules, who oversee their training, everyone — they all know what he is now.

He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

Ni-ki arrives quickly, his hair a little messy and his breathing slightly labored, like he might have run part of the way. His eyes land on Sunghoon first, worry immediately clear in his expression.

“What’s going on? Why are we in the dynamics department?” Ni-ki asks, glancing around the room before looking back at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He doesn’t know how to explain this — doesn’t know how to put words to the chaos that’s been unraveling around him all day. The weight of it feels too heavy to voice, too real to face.

The manager steps in. “Today at the doctor’s, it was revealed that Sunghoon is a sub. He hasn’t been scening, obviously, and he has Subsmissive Suppression Syndrome.” 

Sunghoon shuffles his feet nervously, looking at the ground. Hearing it put so… bluntly, makes his stomach churn. 

Ni-ki’s eyes widen. “Wait, that’s— isn’t that, like, really bad?” He looks between Sunghoon and the manager, panic tightening his features. “Why am I here, then?” He asks, seeming to realize for the first time where they are. 

Sunghoon swallows hard, his pride burning hot and bitter in his throat. He doesn’t want Ni-ki to hear it from anyone else — not from the manager, not from the dynamic staff, no one but him.

“They matched me with you,” he says quietly.

Ni-ki blinks, stunned into silence. The moment stretches too long, Sunghoon’s heart pounding in his chest.

“For me to be your… dom?” Ni-ki finally asks, his voice uncertain. He looks just as lost as Sunghoon feels.

Before Sunghoon can answer, one of the dynamics team members approaches them. “It can be platonic,” she says gently. “Nothing more than what Sunghoon needs to get his recedone levels back up.”

That seems to ground Ni-ki, his gaze sharpening as the reality of the situation sinks in. He nods slowly, then more firmly. “Okay. Tell me what I need to do.”

The staff member nods back, a touch of relief crossing her face. She hands Ni-ki a piece of paper. “Just sign at the bottom, and then Sunghoon needs to sign. This is a preliminary contract — just a formality for consent before you can start scening. Later, you both work out a more comprehensive agreement on your own.”

Sunghoon’s eyes widen, alarm slicing through his dazed exhaustion. “Wait — we have to scene, like, right now?”

“Yes,” she says firmly. “It’s extremely important that you go under as soon as possible.”

Sunghoon’s mouth goes dry. The idea of scening — of kneeling, of giving in, of exposing himself like that in front of Ni-ki, of all people  — it’s terrifying. But he can’t ignore the desperation in everyone’s faces, the way the staff is watching him like he’s fragile, like he might break if they don’t handle him carefully enough.

Ni-ki’s eyes search Sunghoon’s face, his expression softening. He takes the pen and signs the paper, then hands it to Sunghoon.

Sunghoon’s hand trembles as he signs his name. The second the ink touches the paper, it feels like there’s no turning back.

The staff member takes the paper and steps back. “Whenever you’re ready, you can use the dynamics room.”

Ni-ki hesitates, his eyes flicking to Sunghoon, a silent question in them. When Sunghoon doesn’t move, Ni-ki places a careful hand on the small of his back, guiding him gently. The touch is unfamiliar — a reminder that everything has changed — but it doesn’t feel bad. It feels steady, grounding.

Ni-ki opens the door to the dynamics room and glances back at him. “I've got you, okay?” he says softly. “We can get through this.”

Sunghoon’s throat is tight, his thoughts scattered and racing, but he nods. He doesn’t know if he believes Ni-ki, but he follows him inside anyway.

Chapter Text

Sunghoon steps into the dynamics room, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes dart around. The walls are lined with various instruments—cushions, padded benches, ropes, restraints, things he barely recognizes. They’re all arranged neatly, meticulously, but they feel like they’re looming over him, silent reminders of what he is now. What he can’t deny anymore.  

His stomach twists, a heavy, tangled knot of nerves that pulls tighter with every second. He forces himself to look away, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as if trying to wring out the anxiety building beneath his skin.  

Ni-ki leads him toward a small loveseat, his steps steady and assured. He sinks into the cushion with a calmness that makes Sunghoon feel even more out of place. Sunghoon’s feet hesitate just behind the edge of the loveseat, stuck between wanting to move and fearing what comes next.  

Ni-ki looks up at him, waiting patiently, but Sunghoon can't bring himself to sit. He just stands there, awkward and exposed, like a misplaced object in a room that’s not meant for him.  

“Sit if you want,” Ni-ki finally says, but there’s no pressure in his voice. “I don’t want to do anything serious before we make a real contract. For now, I just want you to kneel.”  

Kneel.  

The word sticks in Sunghoon’s throat, thick and heavy. It shouldn’t be a big deal—just a position, just bending his knees—but it feels like so much more. This morning, he was adynamic. He wasn’t a sub. He was safe in the lie he had built for himself. And now, with one diagnosis, one test result, that safety is gone.  

Now, he’s about to kneel—submit—in front of someone younger than him, someone who’s supposed to be his dongsaeng. The very idea twists his pride and fear together in a way that makes his skin prickle.  

Ni-ki reaches for something beside him, pulling out a kneeling cushion. It’s simple, black, and unassuming, but the sight of it makes Sunghoon’s chest clench. The panic is sharper now, cutting through his rational thoughts and scattering them like leaves in a storm.  

His feet won’t move. His legs refuse to bend. The part of him that’s spent years resisting this, hiding from it, is screaming at him to stop, to turn around, to pretend this isn’t happening.  

Ni-ki’s eyes are steady, but there’s a hint of concern there. He leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Nothing bad is going to happen.”  

Sunghoon swallows hard, his throat dry. “I know that,” he forces out, but it’s a thin, unsteady attempt at confidence. It sounds weak—he sounds weak—and he hates it.  

Ni-ki sighs softly, the kind of patient exhale that sounds like he sees through Sunghoon completely. Sunghoon’s face burns with embarrassment, the weight of his own vulnerability pressing heavy against his chest.  

“Let’s try this,” Ni-ki says gently, his tone careful but firm. “Just kneel for a few minutes. Ten minutes tops. You don’t need to worry about going under, just kneel to get your body used to it. Do you think you can do that for me?”  

Sunghoon’s mind races, tangled with conflicting thoughts. If he kneels, it's real. If he kneels, he can’t pretend anymore. But Ni-ki’s voice—steady, reassuring—is like an anchor, keeping him from drifting too far.  

His breathing is still uneven, but he forces himself to focus on Ni-ki, on the way he’s watching him with steady patience. There’s no judgment, no impatience—just a willingness to wait.  

Sunghoon’s gaze drops to the cushion again, the sight of it making his pulse quicken. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Every second that passes feels like it makes the choice harder, the weight of expectation growing.  

But Ni-ki is waiting. Not pushing, not demanding—just waiting.  

Sunghoon forces a breath in, steadying himself. Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself onto his knees. The cushion is soft beneath him, but his body feels rigid, stiff. His fingers curl against his thighs, nails pressing into the fabric of his pants. His heart hammers so loudly he’s sure Ni-ki can hear it.  

The room feels too quiet now, the weight of what he’s just done settling over him like a heavy blanket. He can feel Ni-ki watching him, but he can’t bring himself to look up. His eyes focus on a spot on the floor, the blur of the pattern making his head spin.  

Ni-ki’s voice breaks through the quiet. “That’s it. You’re doing great.”  

Sunghoon’s breath shudders, his chest tight and his mind still caught between panic and disbelief. The praise is a salve, gentle and grounding, and it makes something in his chest ache. He doesn’t know what to do with the relief that washes over him, warm and confusing.  

Ni-ki leans back a little, giving him space while still keeping his attention. “Just stay there for a bit. Breathe, okay? You’re safe.”  

Safe. The word hits deeper than Sunghoon expects. He doesn’t feel safe—not entirely—but Ni-ki’s voice makes it easier to pretend, easier to believe that maybe, just maybe, he can do this.  

His knees tremble slightly, but he keeps his position. The weight of everything—the room, the diagnosis, Ni-ki's gaze—settles heavily on his shoulders.

Sunghoon’s knees lower slowly, carefully, until they press into the cushion beneath him. The movement feels foreign—awkward, like his body is working against him. He swallows, his throat tight, the nerves coiling in his chest. His hands hover uncertainly, then settle on his thighs, fingers curling tight enough that his nails bite into his palms. A small, foolish part of him expects something to happen the moment his knees touch the ground—some sudden, revelatory shift, a bolt of understanding that will make all of this make sense.  

But all he feels is the dull ache from practice lingering in his muscles, a faint reminder of the hours he spent pushing himself earlier today. It feels anticlimactic. Stupid, almost. Like he’s a kid playing pretend in a room far too serious for him. The reality of it is stark and plain—he’s kneeling on the ground, in front of Ni-ki of all people, his mind spinning from the weight of it.  

His gaze lifts hesitantly, searching for Ni-ki’s expression—searching for something, anything, to ground himself. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for—reassurance, approval, permission—but he needs it desperately, that invisible lifeline. What does Ni-ki think of him like this? Kneeling at his feet, unsure and exposed, when just this morning, Sunghoon was supposed to be the one with control over his own life.   

Ni-ki's eyes are already on him, soft and steady. There’s a gentle smile tugging at his lips, warm and genuine, and Sunghoon's chest tightens at the sight. That smile feels like sunlight filtering through heavy clouds, scattering warmth where there had only been cold uncertainty. Sunghoon’s hands uncurl slightly, his fingers loosening, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.  

A rush spreads through him, an unsteady but undeniable warmth that seeps through his bones. It shouldn’t be so easy to find comfort in someone else’s expression—especially in Ni-ki’s, someone younger, someone who should be looking to him for guidance. Yet, here he is, on his knees and looking up for approval, and the realization makes his face burn.  

Ni-ki's smile widens, a quiet understanding gleaming in his eyes. “Close your eyes,” he says gently, his voice coaxing but not demanding. “Take a deep breath.”  

Sunghoon obeys, eyelids fluttering shut as he pulls in a shaky breath, his lungs tight with tension. The air feels thick, heavy, but the act of closing his eyes blurs the room away—dulls the sharpness of his thoughts. His pulse drums in his ears, loud and frantic, but the sound of Ni-ki's voice cuts through it, steady and calm.  

“There we go,” Ni-ki’s voice reaches him, rich and gentle. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”  

Sweetheart. The word settles warmly in Sunghoon’s chest, heavy and comforting. It should embarrass him—maybe it does—but the praise, the simple, casual affection, tugs at something deep inside of him. A part that has been buried and ignored for so long that the recognition of it feels like a shock to his system.  

He tries to hold onto his thoughts, tries to keep his mind anchored, but they slip away, one by one, like sand through his fingers. His mind grows hazy, a gentle, persistent fog seeping in, loosening the tangled web of worries that have been clawing at him all day. The ache in his knees fades to a distant sensation, barely noticeable. Everything feels softer, muffled at the edges.  

Ni-ki’s fingers slip into his hair, careful and steady, grounding him. The touch is delicate yet sure, his fingers threading slowly through the strands. Sunghoon’s breath catches, his remaining conscious thoughts unraveling like loose thread. 

He feels light, like a piece of driftwood on a vast, endless ocean. The currents tug at him gently, rocking him back and forth. The room around him falls away completely, and his mind floats in a space that is neither here nor there, just an expanse of quiet, safe and still.

Ni-ki's hand in his hair is the only tether, the only thing keeping him from drifting too far. Each pass of Ni-ki’s fingers through his hair is a gentle reminder, a steady pulse of warmth that keeps him anchored. The sensation seeps into his skin, spreads through his chest, wraps around his ribs, and settles in his heart.  

The seconds slip by, uncounted and unbothered. There is no rush, no urgency. Just the steady, rhythmic slide of Ni-ki’s fingers through his hair, the warmth of his palm resting briefly against Sunghoon’s scalp. It feels like being held without arms, embraced without touch. Sunghoon’s body sags a little more, the last of his tension bleeding away.  

His breathing slows, each inhale and exhale drawing him deeper into the gentle haze. His limbs feel heavy, weighted but not burdensome, and his mind drifts in slow, unhurried circles. The fear, the anxiety that had been tightening his chest, that had been clawing at his throat, seems so far away now. Like it belongs to someone else entirely.  

He thinks, distantly, that this should be more frightening. That the feeling of being untethered should scare him, that the vulnerability of it should make him want to bolt, to tear himself away from this softness. But Ni-ki’s presence is steady, a grounding force that keeps him from floating too far. It feels like he’s sinking into a warm, endless sea—calm and dark and safe.  

Time slips away, each moment blurring into the next. The room is gone—there is no room, no instruments on the walls, no lingering soreness from practice. There’s just this—Ni-ki’s hand, Ni-ki’s voice, and the vast, floating quiet that Sunghoon sinks into.  

It’s dizzying, a gentle, lulling disconnection that feels like freedom. Like sinking into a pool of still, warm water, the surface far above, unreachable but not frightening. And still, Ni-ki's presence remains. A quiet constant in the vast, quiet dark. Sunghoon’s breathing slows, each exhale drawing him deeper, softer.  

His body feels weightless, his mind untethered, yet Ni-ki’s fingers keep gliding through his hair, a gentle rhythm that keeps him from floating away completely. A thought, small and almost imperceptible, drifts through the haze. He’s safe. Ni-ki will keep him safe.  

The realization spreads through him, settling deep in his bones, and for the first time all day, Sunghoon feels like he can breathe. Like he can exist in this space without shame, without fear. Just this: quiet and sheltered, with Ni-ki anchoring him gently to the present.  

Sunghoon’s shoulders slump further, the weight of his own guardedness finally slipping away. He doesn’t think of what comes next or what this means. He just stays here, in this quiet, steady place, floating yet grounded.

Sunghoon slowly begins to come back to himself, like the fog in his mind is lifting bit by bit. He’s aware of his body again, the weight of his limbs pressing down as though gravity is finally remembering to pull him back in. The room around him comes into sharper focus, and he realizes he’s breathing deeply, his face warm against something firm.

Ni-ki’s voice is the first thing he notices. Quiet, gentle murmurs that he isn’t entirely sure he was hearing before, or if he had just become too lost in the soft haze of subspace. Ni-ki’s words are soothing, low and steady, full of praise that Sunghoon isn’t sure he deserves but that feels impossibly good to hear. 

“That's it," Ni-ki whispers, fingers still moving carefully through Sunghoon’s hair. "You did so good, sweetheart. Just like that.”

Sunghoon’s thoughts feel thick and tangled. He can’t quite latch onto any one thing, his mind too floaty to keep any coherent thread. He tries to respond, but all that comes out is a soft, breathy sound, a vague acknowledgment of Ni-ki’s praise. He doesn’t have the energy to form words, not yet, his body still reeling from the unfamiliar sensation of subspace. Before, he hadn’t been sure if he’d even know what subspace was if he felt in himself. But there’s no amount of denial in the world to make him doubt that that’s what he just experienced.

Ni-ki lets out a fond chuckle, clearly aware of Sunghoon’s state. “How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice warm with concern. 

Sunghoon doesn’t know how to answer. His mouth feels dry, and when he tries to speak, only a faint noise slips out, too small to even be considered a word. But it’s enough for Ni-ki. 

"That good, huh?" Ni-ki’s voice softens even further, like he’s pleased by the silent response. His hand continues to stroke Sunghoon’s hair, a light pressure that calms him, keeps him tethered to reality.

Sunghoon sighs contentedly, his body still heavy and warm, melting further into the comfort of Ni-ki’s touch. He realizes that he’s now resting his cheek on Ni-ki’s leg, the softness of the fabric beneath his skin grounding him. He doesn’t feel the need to move. The stillness is peaceful, his thoughts quieting with each stroke of Ni-ki’s fingers. 

After a long moment of just breathing, Ni-ki shifts, but Sunghoon doesn’t move to adjust. Ni-ki’s hand stays in his hair, soothing him as though he’s afraid the moment might slip away if he doesn’t hold onto him. “Here,” Ni-ki says softly. “Drink a little.”

It takes Sunghoon a moment to understand what’s being asked. His head feels so light, his thoughts still swimming in that hazy space, but he accepts the bottle Ni-ki offers. The cold water is refreshing against his dry lips, and he sips slowly, not quite realizing how thirsty he is until the cool liquid calms the parched feeling in his throat. He leans into Ni-ki’s steady touch, his body grateful for the comfort.

Ni-ki smiles softly, his fingers brushing against Sunghoon’s scalp as he guides him to finish drinking. “Good,” he murmurs. “Just a little more.” Sunghoon follows his instructions, the small gesture grounding him even more.

“Let’s get you something to eat now,” Ni-ki says after a moment, as if it’s a natural follow-up to the comfort he’s already provided. Maybe it is. He offers Sunghoon a protein bar, breaking it into small pieces for him, making sure each bite is small enough for Sunghoon to chew carefully.

Sunghoon takes the small bites, and each piece seems to bring him back to himself just a little more. He still feels floaty, but the weightlessness is no longer unsettling. He feels lighter in a way that’s almost peaceful, like he’s been given permission to just exist for a while without the pressure to be anything else. 

When he’s finished eating, Ni-ki offers him more water, and this time Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. He drinks deeply, his hand steady as he holds the bottle with a slight tremor. 

“Better?” Ni-ki asks, looking down at him with a kind expression.

Sunghoon nods slowly, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a small, contented smile. He feels like he’s glowing from the inside out, the nervous tension that had gripped him earlier now faded, replaced by a quiet sense of well-being. He’s never felt so at ease, so deeply relaxed, and it’s a feeling he doesn’t want to lose. 

He lifts his head and looks up at Ni-ki, a question forming on his lips before he even realizes what he wants to ask. “Does it always feel this good?” he asks softly, still unsure if the sensation he’s experiencing is something he’ll get used to or if it’s something entirely new.

Ni-ki’s smile is warm, his eyes soft. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s supposed to.”

The weight of the answer settles over Sunghoon in a way that makes him feel even lighter. He has no words for how good it feels to hear that, to have someone like Ni-ki offer him such comfort without hesitation. But as soon as the words leave Ni-ki’s lips, Sunghoon catches the slight shift in Ni-ki’s posture. The change is subtle but undeniable; something in the way he clears his throat makes Sunghoon aware that they’re moving past the calm, easy space they’ve created.

He feels the nerves stir in his stomach, a small flutter of uncertainty. He wants to hang onto this moment for as long as possible, but he knows it’s time to talk. Ni-ki has already begun to move, pulling Sunghoon up gently and helping him settle next to him on the couch. 

Ni-ki doesn’t say anything for a moment, just pulls Sunghoon close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders like a safety net. Sunghoon melts into his side, letting himself relax into the warmth and the steady rhythm of Ni-ki’s breathing. He doesn’t want to face whatever comes next. He wants to stay here, feeling peaceful, cocooned in the comfort Ni-ki offers.

“So,” Ni-ki begins, his voice vibrating through Sunghoon’s chest, a soft vibration of tension that makes Sunghoon sigh, knowing what’s coming. “We need to talk about everything.”

Sunghoon tenses slightly but tries to hold onto the warmth Ni-ki is offering him. He doesn’t want to let the conversation spoil the calm they’ve found, but he knows Ni-ki is right. They can’t avoid it forever.

He stays quiet, leaning into Ni-ki’s side, wanting to soak up every last bit of this moment before reality inevitably sets in.

“Hey,” Ni-ki says gently, noticing the tension in Sunghoon’s body. “I’m not going to push you. We’ll take it slow. But we do need to talk about all of this — about the dynamic, about how you’re feeling. I promise, though, we’ll go at your pace. No rush.”

Sunghoon sighs softly, the nerves in his stomach simmering but not overwhelming him. He feels lighter, the fear and uncertainty slowly melting away with every word Ni-ki speaks. It’s not easy, not by any means, but he’s here with Ni-ki, and that makes everything seem a little more manageable.

Ni-ki’s voice is soft when he asks, "How long has it been since you’ve scened, before today?" The question takes Sunghoon off guard, not because of its directness, but because he’s never really stopped to think about it. He’s never given much thought to the idea of ‘scening’ before now. The very word feels foreign in his brain, unfamiliar despite what he just did. 

His body tenses in response, and for a moment, he doesn't know how to answer. He swallows, trying to steady himself, but the weight of his thoughts and emotions crashes over him all at once. He wants to lie, to say something that would make him feel like he belongs more comfortably in the world he’s found himself in. But something about Ni-ki’s question forces him to be honest, to face the truth he’s been avoiding for years. 

"I’m not sure I ever really have," Sunghoon says quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. The words feel heavy, too heavy, like they don’t quite belong to him. His stomach knots at the confession. 

He hears Ni-ki’s posture shift beside him, and Sunghoon doesn’t know if he imagines a stiffening in the air. "Like… never? Not even when you were little, just to try it out?" Ni-ki’s disbelief is clear, almost like he’s trying to reconcile the Sunghoon in front of him with some version of himself that he thought he knew.

Sunghoon’s throat tightens at the thought. It’s hard for him to talk about his childhood, the lessons his father drilled into him that he still can’t fully shake. “No. My-my dad kind of drilled it into my head from a young age that I didn’t need it.” He pauses, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into his voice. The memory stings, sharper than it should. "He said it wasn’t necessary. That it would make me weak." 

Ni-ki’s soft exhale is all that reaches Sunghoon’s ears. It’s a simple sound, but it speaks volumes. Ni-ki doesn’t rush to judge, and Sunghoon appreciates that, even if he doesn’t fully understand why. 

“I noticed the lack of… submission? In my life, but I guess it never got bad enough for me to really notice,” Sunghoon continues, his words slipping out more freely than he expects. It’s strange, but it’s easier to share this stuff when he’s not facing Ni-ki directly. It feels oddly liberating to admit this out loud, to share this part of himself with Ni-ki. 

Ni-ki remains quiet for a long moment, and Sunghoon’s head is spinning with the weight of what he’s just said. The silence hangs between them, heavy and thick, but not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence that allows room for understanding, for processing. 

“Has it really been fine though?” Ni-ki finally asks, his voice soft, but still holding a thread of concern. They’ve all seen how he’s been acting.

Sunghoon’s laugh is low, tinged with self-deprecation. "Not really," he admits, letting his head fall back against the couch. “But not bad enough to say something, you know? I just kind of… lived with it. Didn’t make a big deal out of it.” The words fall from his lips before he has time to question them, and for a moment, it’s like he’s seeing himself from an outside perspective. There’s something broken about it, something empty, and yet he feels a sense of peace now that he’s finally said it.

Ni-ki’s voice is gentle when he responds, “Yeah, sick days don’t come easy in this job." There’s an understanding there, and Sunghoon laughs softly, the sound more genuine than he expected. It’s a small laugh, but it feels like a weight has lifted off him.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he murmurs, angling his head up to look at Ni-ki. There’s a comfort in the way the young dom is always steady, always grounding him without even trying. It’s a strange feeling, and yet, it’s one that feels oddly natural.

There’s a slight shift in Ni-ki’s tone when he asks, “Do you feel ready to go back home?” 

At first, Sunghoon’s immediate reaction is to say yes. The thought of lying in his bed, away from the chaos of the day, sounds so appealing. He wants to rest, to let everything fade away for a while and simply exist in the quiet. But then, as he sits there, a thought sneaks into his mind. A question he’d forgotten to ask himself until this moment.

He looks up at Ni-ki, a hesitant look on his face. "Do... does everyone know?"

Ni-ki pauses for a moment, and Sunghoon feels a strange anxiety creep up his spine. There’s a shift in the air, a subtle tension that he can’t quite place. He watches Ni-ki carefully, waiting for an answer.

"I’m not sure," Ni-ki admits, his tone calm but thoughtful. “But I’m assuming the company told Jungwon. I mean, they asked him to ride with me to the company when I came in, so… I’m guessing they’re in the loop.”

The information settles into Sunghoon’s mind like a stone sinking in water. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or nervous. On the one hand, he appreciates Ni-ki’s honesty. On the other hand, the uncertainty still lingers in the air, clouding his thoughts. What does Jungwon know? Did he rush to tell the others, or hide it like a shameful secret? 

Sunghoon exhales slowly, his gaze wandering down to his hands. The weight of the unknown presses down on him, and the thought of facing it head-on feels overwhelming, but there’s something he has now that he didn’t before. He doesn’t have to carry this alone anymore. Ni-ki is here, steady and calm, a constant in the midst of everything. But even with Ni-ki’s reassurance, there’s still a part of him that isn’t quite sure what comes next.

He swallows hard, trying to push the rising nerves back down. "Do you think… they’ll understand?" His voice is quieter now, uncertain. He doesn’t want to feel embarrassed or out of place, but the thought of the others knowing—of them seeing him differently—makes something inside him twist.

Ni-ki’s hand rests on his shoulder, gentle but firm. "I don’t know," he says honestly, his voice soft and soothing. "But I do know that whatever happens, you’re not alone in this. You’ve got me. Like I said before: I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I mean that."

Sunghoon lets out a shaky breath at the reassurance, something inside him slowly unraveling. Ni-ki’s words are like a lifeline, a thread of calm in the storm of his thoughts. Even if everything is uncertain, even if he doesn’t know what the future holds, he knows that he’s not facing it alone.

For a moment, they sit in comfortable silence, the tension of the day easing just a little. Sunghoon leans into Ni-ki’s side, the warmth of his presence grounding him in ways he didn’t know he needed. 

“I guess... I just need some time to figure things out,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice small but steady. “To see what this all means.”

Ni-ki nods, understanding without needing further explanation. “Take all the time you need, Hoon,” he says quietly. "No pressure. I’m right here." 

The simple reassurance is everything Sunghoon needs, more than he ever expected.

The manager arrives to pick them up, and the familiar feeling of motion as the car pulls away from the company building is oddly grounding for Sunghoon. He doesn’t know what to make of everything that’s just happened. The uncertainty is still there, lingering at the edges of his mind, but it feels different now—less oppressive. Ni-ki, sensing his quiet, lets him sink into his side in the backseat. Sunghoon leans into him, feeling the steady rhythm of Ni-ki’s heartbeat through his clothes. It’s soothing. For the first time in what feels like forever, Sunghoon feels like he can breathe. 

He can’t believe it’s possible to feel this good, to feel this light. It’s almost surreal. For years, maybe even a decade, he’s felt like a rubber band stretched too thin, stretched until it was on the verge of snapping. But today, something shifted. He can’t explain it—something inside him just… broke. But in the best way. The pressure that’s been building up for so long has finally let go. 

When they get back to the dorm, Sunghoon expects the usual chaotic energy of the group, but to his surprise, the place is quiet. Everyone is gone except for Jungwon. The sight of him in the living room catches Sunghoon off guard, and a strange thought rises unbidden. He wonders if it’s a coincidence, or if the others were told to stay away until Ni-ki and Sunghoon got home. 

Jungwon stands up as they enter, offering a quiet smile. He seems calm, collected, but there’s something in his eyes—a concern, maybe curiosity, that Sunghoon can’t quite place. 

"I need to talk to you," Jungwon says, and Sunghoon feels a pang of nervousness. Ni-ki looks at Sunghoon, asking softly, "Do you want me to come with you?" 

The question hangs in the air for a moment, and Sunghoon’s instinct is to say yes. The thought of Ni-ki leaving him alone in this situation makes his stomach churn. He’s embarrassed, the vulnerability still raw, but the truth is, he doesn’t want Ni-ki to go. Not now. Not when everything feels so new and uncertain. 

"I—yeah," Sunghoon murmurs, and Ni-ki gives him a small, reassuring smile. Without another word, he moves to stand beside Sunghoon, his hand settling on his waist, grounding him. 

Jungwon watches them both, his eyes sharp but kind. “The company told me what’s going on with you,” he says, his voice neutral but careful. “You can come to me if you need anything.” The weight of his words hangs in the air, and Sunghoon feels a lump form in his throat. It’s comforting, but also overwhelming. He’s not used to this kind of openness. He’s never had people offering their support like this before. 

Jungwon’s eyes soften, and he shifts slightly, his gaze turning more focused on Sunghoon. “Are you okay? Mentally, physically?” 

Sunghoon hesitates, his heart pounding a little harder in his chest. The question feels heavy, but not in a bad way. It feels like an invitation to be honest, to not hide behind the walls he’s spent so long building. He looks up at Jungwon, and for the first time in longer than he can remember, he doesn’t have to lie. “Yeah,” he says quietly, and there’s no doubt in his voice. It’s the truth. For the first time in a long time, it’s really the truth. 

Jungwon nods, his expression thoughtful. There’s a pause before he turns his attention to Ni-ki. “Did you two actually scene?” 

The question makes Sunghoon freeze for a second, his cheeks flushing with sudden heat. He doesn’t know why, but the thought of this conversation being out in the open feels almost too much to handle. Ni-ki doesn’t hesitate to answer, though. 

“Yeah,” he says simply, his tone casual. “He kneeled for a bit, went pretty far under by the looks of it.” 

Sunghoon’s face burns at the words, the casual way Ni-ki talks about it. It’s almost too much, but there’s something about it—the way Ni-ki speaks so openly, without shame—that somehow makes it feel... right. There’s something comforting about it, too, especially when he looks over at Jungwon, who seems genuinely pleased by the information. 

Sunghoon clears his throat, trying to play it cool, but his voice is a little higher than usual when he whines, “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.” He crosses his arms and tries to look annoyed, but there’s no real heat behind it. It’s more for show than anything else. 

Ni-ki chuckles, his hand still resting on Sunghoon’s waist. “Please,” he corrects, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Scening isn’t something to be embarrassed about. And now that I’m your Dom, and Jungwon’s still your leader, we’ll probably be having more discussions about this.” 

Sunghoon huffs, but it’s more out of embarrassment than annoyance. He leans into Ni-ki’s side, hiding his face in his shoulder. He doesn’t know how to process all of this, but at least it feels like something he doesn’t have to figure out alone. Ni-ki’s right there, steady and supportive. And Jungwon’s here, too—someone who understands, someone who’s not judging him.

Sunghoon stays nestled against Ni-ki, letting the comfort of his presence wash over him. As Ni-ki and Jungwon continue talking about him, he can’t help but feel a warm flush spread across his cheeks. It’s not embarrassment—well, maybe a little—but more a strange sense of pleasure. They’re discussing him, but not in a way that makes him feel exposed or vulnerable. There’s no shame in their words, no judgment, just a quiet acknowledgment of what’s happened and a steady, understanding tone between them.

He leans into Ni-ki’s side more, taking in the steady presence of his body, and feels the tension inside him melt. There’s no need to speak or justify himself. He doesn’t have to be anything but Sunghoon here. He lets out a quiet hum of contentment, sinking deeper into Ni-ki’s side, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over him. Maybe he doesn’t need to have all the answers right now. Maybe it’s okay to just be. 

Chapter Text

Ni-ki’s room is quiet, the air still and warm. The morning light filters through the curtains in soft streaks, casting a golden glow over the space. It’s simple, nothing special, but it doesn’t need to be. A pillow rests on the floor, placed with quiet intention. That’s all they need.

Sunghoon kneels slowly, feeling the shift in his muscles as his weight settles. There’s no hesitation this time, no lingering doubt in his mind. Just the feeling of Ni-ki’s presence beside him, solid and steady. The moment his knees hit the pillow, a breath shudders out of him, his body already beginning to relax.

“That’s it,” Ni-ki murmurs, his voice soft but firm. His fingers brush against Sunghoon’s hair, a gentle reassurance. “You’re safe. Just breathe for me, sweetheart.”

Sunghoon exhales, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets himself sink into the warmth of those words. He doesn’t have to think. He doesn’t have to worry. There’s only the steady rise and fall of Ni-ki’s breathing, the feeling of fingers trailing through his hair, the quiet weight of the moment pressing down on him like a heavy, comforting blanket.

His mind drifts, thoughts slipping through his fingers before he can catch them. The world narrows down to a single point—Ni-ki’s touch, the anchor keeping him from floating away entirely. 

He feels light, unmoored, as if he’s no longer bound by the limitations of his own body. It’s like sinking into deep water, the kind that muffles every sound, every thought, until all that remains is the sensation of being held, weightless and free.

Ni-ki’s fingers continue their slow, rhythmic movements, dragging him deeper. Sunghoon barely registers the words being murmured to him, but he feels them. Warm and low, laced with something that makes his chest ache in a way that isn’t painful. He’s safe. He’s wanted. He’s good.

Time slips away. He doesn’t know how long he kneels there, mind quiet, body humming with warmth. It could be minutes. It could be an hour. He doesn’t care. He could disappear into this feeling, like he could become nothing at all, and still, Ni-ki would keep him grounded.

When he finally blinks back into himself, the edges of reality slowly sharpening, Ni-ki is still there. His touch hasn’t left. His presence is as steady as ever. The world feels softer now, less sharp around the edges.

Ni-ki cups the side of his face, tilting his chin up. Sunghoon looks at him, dazed and pliant, and Ni-ki smiles. “You did so well,” he says, thumb brushing over his cheek. “How do you feel?”

Sunghoon opens his mouth, but words don’t come. He feels too light, too warm, like he’s still half-lost in that space. A quiet sound escapes instead, something small and pleased, and Ni-ki chuckles.

“I’ll take that as a good.”

He guides Sunghoon carefully, helping him shift until he’s resting against him, cheek pressing into Ni-ki’s thigh. The warmth of his body is grounding, the slow, steady stroke of his fingers in Sunghoon’s hair keeping him tethered to reality. Sunghoon melts into the touch, eyes slipping shut again as his breathing evens out.

They stay like that for a while, neither of them speaking. There’s no rush to move, no need to break the moment.

After everything that happened at the company, the weight of returning home had loomed over Sunghoon like a shadow. He hadn’t known what to expect. But when they arrived, it became clear—the other members didn’t know. Not fully.

The company had told them he had a minor health issue, something vague and unimportant. They left the rest for Sunghoon to decide. Whether or not to tell them, how much to say, if he wanted to say anything at all.

For now, it didn’t matter. Ni-ki had made sure the dorm was empty before they started. The others had the morning off, technically meant to pack for their upcoming trip, but no one ever packed this early. Free time was rare, and they all used it to see friends while they could.

Which meant that for now, it was just the two of them. No expectations, no prying eyes, no one else to worry about. Just the quiet, just the warmth, just Ni-ki’s hand in his hair and the steady presence beside him.

Sunghoon lets out a slow, content sigh, pressing his face further against Ni-ki’s leg. He doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t want to think about what comes next. He just wants to stay here, weightless and safe, for as long as he can.

But unfortunately, he can't. Soon enough, he finds himself being carted to the company with the rest of the group. 

Practice feels different today. Sunghoon moves with an ease he hasn’t felt in a long time, his body lighter, his mind clearer. The weight that usually drags at his limbs is gone, replaced by something else—something warm, something steady. Every turn, every jump, every controlled movement feels smoother, like his body is finally working with him instead of against him.

He’s not sure what’s changed exactly. Well, he does, but there’s a looseness in his shoulders, a quiet energy running beneath his skin that wasn’t there before. He listens to the instructor’s corrections without the usual tight coil of frustration in his chest. 

Even when they’re drilling the same section over and over, he doesn’t feel the usual strain, the pressure that normally grinds him down. Instead, he feels… okay. More than okay.

The dance teacher notices. “Good, Sunghoon,” they say, nodding in approval. “Your movements are sharp today. You’re hitting your marks well.”

The words send a quick flicker of pride through him. The other members notice too.

Jay claps him on the back as they break for water. “You’re on fire today, dude.”

Heeseung, always observant, studies him for a second before nodding. “You seem more focused. Feels like you’ve been more in sync with the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” Jake chimes in, grinning. “You actually look like you got a full night’s sleep for once.”

Sunghoon lets out a small laugh, shaking his head as he takes a sip from his water bottle. He doesn’t say much in response, just hums in acknowledgment. But inside, something stirs. He likes the praise, even if he won’t admit it out loud. It feels good to be seen, to be noticed in a positive light by the doms. 

But then Ni-ki steps closer.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, his voice low, just for Sunghoon to hear.

The words hit differently.

Sunghoon swallows, his grip tightening slightly around his bottle. There was praise before, plenty of it, but something about Ni-ki’s voice—his tone, his certainty—sinks deeper, settling somewhere in Sunghoon’s chest and staying there.

It’s strange. He’s been praised his whole life. Compliments about his dancing, his visuals, his stage presence—he’s used to them. He’s learned to take them in stride, to nod and move on. 

But this… this is different. It’s not just about how he’s performing. It’s not about how he looks or how well he fits into the routine. It’s just Ni-ki, speaking directly to him, telling him he’s doing well.

Sunghoon doesn’t know how to respond. His skin feels warm, his heartbeat a little too loud in his ears. He doesn’t let himself look at Ni-ki, afraid that if he does, something might give him away.

Instead, he just nods, eyes fixed on the studio mirror as the music starts up again.

But even as he throws himself back into the routine, pushing his body to match the rhythm, Ni-ki’s words linger. They weave into the music, into his movements, into the steady burn of his muscles.

The morning of the trip to Japan, Sunghoon moves through his usual routine, but everything feels slightly different. There’s an energy between him and Ni-ki that he can’t quite put into words—one that isn’t new but feels more tangible now.

Sunghoon can’t deny the way Ni-ki seems to gravitate toward him, always near, always present. Or maybe it’s Sunghoon that's doing the gravitating. Either way, they never seem to be more than a foot apart through the whole morning. He’s not sure if it’s because of the scenes they’ve had or just how much more aware Ni-ki is of him now—maybe a little bit of both. Either way, it’s hard to ignore.

He's given it some thought, and he's not sure he's ever heard Ni-ki talk about his scening in the past. Maybe he had, but Sunghoon had tuned it out, uninterested in the topic. He doubts Ni-ki’s never scened before, but with the way he's acting… there's no way it's just because it's Sunghoon he's scening with now, right? 

As they make their way to the van for the ride to the airport, Sunghoon notices that Ni-ki is already taking the seat next to him, settling down without a second thought. The other members, still oblivious to the changes in their dynamic, look over at the two of them with raised eyebrows, exchanging teasing glances.

“You two are really attached at the hip lately,” Sunoo comments, his voice light with amusement. Sunghoon flushes, caught off guard by the sudden attention. He hasn’t expected it to be so noticeable, but there it is—the quiet shift that’s become so natural to him and Ni-ki, even after only a couple of days. 

Sunghoon shifts uncomfortably, glancing over at Ni-ki, but the younger’s expression is calm, unfazed. “It’s fine,” Ni-ki whispers low, close enough for only Sunghoon to hear, his voice as steady as always. “You can tell them whenever you’re ready.”

The words are comforting, but Sunghoon isn’t ready yet. “I will,” he murmurs back, though part of him secretly likes how it feels to just be here with Ni-ki, in their own little world. No explanations, no expectations—just the two of them. The rest of the members have no idea what’s really going on between them, and Sunghoon isn’t sure if they ever will. 

He figures eventually he’ll end up telling them. He does love them, and it feels like he's hiding a huge part of him from them now. But for now, he's content to live in this bubble he and Ni-ki have created for themselves. 

As the van pulls out and makes its way toward the airport, the others chat amongst themselves, but Sunghoon feels like the space between him and Ni-ki has expanded, just enough to make everything else fade. It’s as though the noise of the world has quieted, and it’s just him, Ni-ki, and the comforting weight of his presence. Sunghoon isn’t sure if it’s the quiet assurance Ni-ki always seems to exude or if it’s something deeper—something he hasn’t allowed himself to truly consider before—but he feels… held, in a way.

The flight itself is uneventful, but Sunghoon finds that every time he catches a glimpse of Ni-ki’s attention—how the younger’s eyes seem to always be on him, even when they aren’t speaking—he feels a little steadier, more grounded. It’s more than just proximity, more than the fact that Ni-ki always chooses to sit next to him. There’s a silent understanding between them, something that Sunghoon has never experience before, with anyone.

When they land and head to the hotel, Ni-ki suggests, as casually as ever, that they share a room. Sunghoon hesitates. He doesn’t want to draw attention, not yet. They've already turned heads with their behavior today, and he's afraid this will push the members past curiosity into suspicion.

“I’d rather not raise any more questions,” Sunghoon replies, his voice quieter than usual.

Ni-ki doesn’t push, but there’s a brief flicker of concern in his eyes before he nods. “Okay,” he says, glancing over at the members discussing rooming assignments. His gaze shifts to meet Sunghoon’s again, steady and focused. “Will you at least room with Jungwon? He knows what’s going on, and it’ll make me feel better knowing someone’s there if anything happens.”

Sunghoon is momentarily caught off guard. The genuine concern in Ni-ki’s voice stirs something deep inside him. He’s never had someone care so much about his well-being, never had someone worry about what might happen to him in a way that feels so… real. It’s not overwhelming, but he’s not sure how to process it. It’s flattering in a way that makes him want to meet Ni-ki’s eyes and never look away. He’s used to caring for himself, to dealing with things on his own, but Ni-ki’s care feels different—like it’s a comfort he didn’t even know he needed.

Sunghoon agrees without hesitation. He doesn’t mind rooming with Jungwon, especially since Jungwon is the only other member who knows the truth. It’s the compromise they’ve both settled on, a way to keep things low-key, at least for now. Ni-ki’s concern is something Sunghoon doesn’t take lightly, but he knows it’s safer this way. Rooming with Ni-ki would only raise more questions, something Sunghoon isn’t ready for. He nods again, this time with more certainty. “I’ll room with Jungwon.”

Later, when the group settles into their rooms and the evening stretches on, Sunghoon lies in bed, his thoughts drifting despite the comfort of his surroundings. The night goes smoothly—Jungwon is fine company, and everything is as it should be.

As the quiet hum of the dorm surrounds him, Sunghoon finds his mind drifting back to earlier, to the moments he shared with Ni-ki. He wonders, briefly, if they could have slipped into that space again, the one where he feels completely taken care of, completely seen. 

Maybe it’s just the emptiness of the room that makes him feel this way, he tells himself. Maybe it’s the quietness, the lack of that steady presence he’s come to rely on. He closes his eyes, willing the thoughts to fade, but they linger, like an unspoken wish that refuses to be ignored. He’ll room with Ni-ki next time. 

The next morning, Sunghoon wakes with a sharp breath, his eyes flying open. The room around him is unfamiliar, and he blinks, trying to piece together his surroundings. The white walls seem plain but vaguely familiar, so he knows he must be in a hotel. The bed beneath him is soft, the blankets a bit too warm, and his mind struggles to latch onto any sense of familiarity. He doesn’t know how he got here, or even where here is. His pulse quickens, when he realizes he can’t tell what year it is or where he’s supposed to be.

Confusion fills his head, making it hard to focus. His gaze darts around the room. There’s a simple dresser, a desk scattered with a few papers, and a chair near the window. The curtains are drawn, and soft morning light filters through the cracks. None of it feels familiar to him, and the foreignness goes beyond it being a hotel room. He’s never been here before. He blinks again, trying to clear the haze, but nothing clicks.

He shifts in bed, the sheets rustling as he pushes them aside, but it only worsens the sense of disorientation. His hands are unsteady as he rests them on the edge of the mattress, and a tightness forms in his chest. Anxiety rises, his breath shallow, making the room feel even more disjointed. He stands, but his legs feel unsteady, as though they’re not quite his.

With a faint tremor, he stumbles toward the window, hoping to ground himself in something familiar. He pulls the curtains back, but the view outside is just as disorienting as the room itself. The streets below are unfamiliar, and the sight of a few cars and distant buildings only adds to the unease. Nothing makes sense. He doesn’t know where he is, or how he got here.

It’s then that a figure stirs in the bed opposite the one he woke up in. Sunghoon watches the mop of dark brown hair shift a little, and then a head pops up, staring at Sunghoon with worried eyes. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He barely registers the question, and Sunghoon freezes. He looks up, but the face before him doesn’t connect any dots. His mind can’t place the person, and panic flares up in his chest.

“Who—who are you?” Sunghoon asks, the words spilling out before he can stop them.

The boy in front of him blinks in surprise, a flicker of worry crossing his face. Without a word, he pulls out his phone, calling someone else. Sunghoon watches, his heart racing, but the conversation happens too quickly for him to follow.

“Ni-ki is on his way. Do you remember Ni-ki?” The boy says gently, his brows furrowed in what looks like pity. 

Ni-ki. Sunghoon mouths out the word, but it feels foreign on his lips. He feels the weight of it though, and he takes that as a good sign. He knows he's supposed to know Ni-ki, and that's a start. 

“I'm Jungwon. I'm- do you know who you are?” The boy across from him asks.

Sunghoon scowls, “I'm Sunghoon.” He answers, as if it's obvious. He supposes with the fact that that's about all he knows to be true, the question isn't absurd. 

The boy, Jungwon, nods, looking relieved. “Okay, that's good. You're going to be okay. Ni-ki, he's your friend. So am I. You're safe with us.” 

Sunghoon knows with how muddled his thoughts are, Jungwon could easily lie to him and he'd have no way of fact-checking the boy. But something about his presence, the suredness of his voice, makes him believe him. 

Within another minute or two, there's a sharp series of knocks the door. Sunghoon jumps at the noise, but Jungwon stands up immediately, like he was expecting them. 

He opens it just as another figure steps inside—another boy who looks just familiar enough that Sunghoon knows he must know him. He looks at Sunghoon, and though there’s an edge of concern in his gaze, there’s something calming about him too. This must be Ni-ki.

“Ni-ki,” Jungwon says, confirming Sunghoon’s thoughts, and steps aside to let him in. Ni-ki nods but doesn’t take his eyes off Sunghoon.

The room falls quiet for a moment as Ni-ki closes the door softly behind him, his attention fully on Sunghoon. He crosses the room, crouching down on the floor before Sunghoon. His presence is a steadying force, even from the floor. Like a silent anchor, and Sunghoon feels something inside of him, a small relief, that helps clear the fog just a little.

“Hey,” Ni-ki says, his voice gentle. He gently takes hold of Sunghoon’s hands, slowing their shaking. “You’re alright.”

Sunghoon nods slowly, the word ‘Ni-ki’ repeating in his head as though he’s trying to make sense of it. He knows he’s supposed to recognize him, but the connection feels fragile, like something half-remembered.

Without missing a beat, Ni-ki turns to Jungwon. “The staff said this might happen. They were hoping the light scenes would be enough, but…” His voice trails off, his expression tight with worry.

Jungwon’s gaze shifts between the two of them. “You only did it once, though, right?” he asks, his voice low. “Is that enough? Or should you have done more?”

Ni-ki looks back at Sunghoon. “We did it again the day before we left for Japan. It should have been enough.” He pauses for a moment, studying Sunghoon’s face closely, then adds, his tone softening, “Do you remember kneeling for me?”

Sunghoon’s brow furrows. Kneeling. The word stirs something deep inside him, like it’s tied to an instinct he can’t fully recall. He's a sub, that much he knows. But his thoughts scramble, trying to pull the rest of the pieces together.

“I… kind of do,” Sunghoon says, his voice weak. “But it feels like a dream. I remember kneeling, but I don’t remember… you specifically.” He pauses, and a flash of something appears in his mind. “Are you… my dom?” 

Ni-ki nods slowly, a fragment of a smile blooming on his face. “Yeah, I am.” he says gently. “And I need you to kneel for me again. Just for a few minutes. It’ll help, I promise.”

Sunghoon hesitates. He doesn’t fully understand why the request feels so important, but there’s something about Ni-ki’s calm demeanor that eases his uncertainty.

Ni-ki shifts to stand up, leaving the floor in front of the bed open for Sunghoon. He moves without thinking, his knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. The movement feels familiar, like slipping back into a well-known routine. Jungwon said they only did this twice though, right? So why does it feel like he's meant to be here?

As soon as he’s down, a wave of calm washes over him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. The edges of his confusion start to dull, and for the first time since waking up, the room feels less disorienting.

Ni-ki watches him closely, his voice steady. “Breathe. You’re doing well, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon closes his eyes, the calming atmosphere wrapping around him like a soft blanket. The quiet murmur of Ni-ki’s voice is the only thing he can focus on. Ni-ki’s hand finds its place in his hair, fingers threading through the strands with a practiced gentleness that feels so familiar, so comforting. It’s like he’s done this a thousand times, and Sunghoon instinctively leans into the touch, his breath slowing as he surrenders to the sensation.

The world around him blurs as he sinks deeper into that peaceful place, his body still awake but his mind floating, detached from everything but the warmth of Ni-ki’s presence. It’s serene, the confusion slipping away with each second, until there’s only a quiet, steady calm in his mind.

He doesn’t know how much time passes. It could have been minutes or hours, and yet, when he finally begins to come up, it feels like he’s been in this peaceful place for much longer than he expected. 

His eyes flutter open, and the first thing he sees is the soft, dim morning light of the room and the figures of Jungwon and the manager sitting on the other bed, talking quietly to each other. He first wonders when the manager came in, and then realizes he recognized the manager immediately, no confusion at the new appearance. 

Ni-ki is still sitting on the bed in front of him, his hand remaining where it’s resting in Sunghoon’s hair, murmuring quiet praises to him. His voice is like a gentle breeze, soothing and calm. Sunghoon’s cheeks flush a little as he realizes the others were witness to him kneeling, scening. 

The peaceful haze he was floating in begins to shift, and a sudden shyness overtakes him. His face burns with embarrassment, and instinctively, he ducks his head and hides it in Ni-ki’s thighs, his body curling up slightly. He wishes he could go back to that space, that deep calm where he didn’t have to worry about anything.

Memories start to filter back in with his ability to form coherent thoughts—the confusion when he woke up earlier, how he couldn’t recognize anything, didn’t remember anything.

A wave of guilt hits him. He feels like he’s caused so much trouble, a burden. Ni-ki’s soft pajama pants beneath his face are a reminder that the young dom must've been woken up and rushed in here to help. Sunghoon made him do that. 

Ni-ki notices the way Sunghoon curls in on himself and runs his fingers gently through Sunghoon’s hair again, this time slower, as if to comfort him. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice still low but filled with care. “Do you remember what happened?”

Sunghoon nods, though his words are quiet. “Yeah… I remember,” he mutters, his voice muffled by Ni-ki’s legs.

Ni-ki watches him closely for a moment, his expression full of patience. “Are you okay?” He asks again. 

Sunghoon’s voice drops to barely a whisper, just enough for Ni-ki to hear. “I’m embarrassed… I caused so much trouble.” The words hang between them. His face burns even more as he realizes just how much he must’ve worried everyone.

Ni-ki gives a small, understanding nod, leaning down and squeezing the back of Sunghoon’s neck gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Your health is the most important thing.”

Just then, the soft shift of movement between them catches the attention of Jungwon and the manager. They both get up from the other bed, coming over slowly, but Sunghoon, still feeling the soft, cushy weight of embarrassment, hides his face back in the safe cocoon of Ni-ki’s legs.

Jungwon, his voice soft, asks, “Sunghoon, are you okay?” The words are kind, but Sunghoon feels like he’s still floating somewhere between that peaceful space and reality. His body feels light, but the sudden shift of attention makes him feel exposed, too vulnerable to speak. 

Ni-ki looks up at Jungwon, his tone reassuring. “He’s fine. Just needs some aftercare now." He pairs it with another soft squeeze of Sunghoon’s neck, and Sunghoon does everything he can not to make a pleased sound at the gesture.

The manager, who had been quietly observing, stands up, nodding slowly. “Ah, okay. Well, I’ll leave you guys to it, then. If everything’s good, we can talk later.”

Jungwon follows the manager out of the room, leaving Ni-ki and Sunghoon alone. The door clicks shut softly, and the room is quiet again, save for the steady, grounding rhythm of Ni-ki’s breathing.

Sunghoon slowly pulls his face from Ni-ki’s thighs, his cheeks still burning, but he doesn’t protest when Ni-ki gently pulls him up to sit next to him on the bed. Ni-ki scoots back, leaning against the headboard, and pulls Sunghoon to sit on his lap, like they’ve done before, like it’s nothing new. The shift in position makes Sunghoon feel even more exposed, but Ni-ki’s steady presence is a constant comfort.

Ni-ki reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of chocolate, unwrapping it with one hand. He feeds it to Sunghoon, piece by piece, slow and deliberate, as if savoring each moment.

Sunghoon doesn’t care where Ni-ki got the chocolate from, why he had it with him in the early hours of the morning. He’s too focused on the sweet taste melting on his tongue and the feeling of Ni-ki’s hand resting lightly on his back, keeping him grounded.

After the chocolate, Ni-ki offers him a bottle of water, holding it out with a small, encouraging smile. Sunghoon takes it, drinking deeply, feeling the coolness of the water settle in his chest. Once he’s finished, he leans into Ni-ki, his body relaxing against his warmth.

The rest of the trip, Sunghoon can sense it. On Ni-ki’s face in the hotel room (after the first night, he couldn't even put up a fight when Ni-ki requested to switch the rooming assignments so he'd be in Sunghoon’s room with him), in the way Ni-ki shared multiple, whispered conversations with Jungwon in their down-time. It's no question what, or who, the topic is. 

Ni-ki is normal around him, still the comforting presence Sunghoon has grown familiar with, but there’s something in his eyes, like he’s on the verge of saying something important. 

But luckily, the schedule is packed—interviews, rehearsals, performances—and there’s no time for a serious conversation. Sunghoon doesn’t know if that’s a relief or if it only makes him more anxious.

The minute they step back into their dorm after the whirlwind of the trip, though, Ni-ki doesn’t waste a second. As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, he pulls Sunghoon into the dom’s room, his gaze steady but unreadable.  

“Can we talk?” Ni-ki asks, his voice low but not harsh, just serious.

Sunghoon’s stomach tightens, but he nods. He’s been expecting this moment, but the weight of it still hits him like a wave. He had severe memory loss, in a random hotel room without Ni-ki there at first. He would be a fool if he thought that didn't warrant at least a conversation. 

Ni-ki sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling Sunghoon close. “I think it's time for us to make a real contract. The kneeling—it's clearly not enough. If it was, that wouldn't have happened. And I don't want to do anything more serious without having a more detailed contract between us. Does that make sense?” 

Sunghoon wishes it didn't. He wishes the idea of a contract didn't feel like a looming cloud of dread hanging over the simple arrangement they've created. But, it does make sense, so he says as much. 

“Okay, give me one sec.” Ni-ki says before unlatching himself from Sunghoon and standing up. He rifles through some papers on his desk, pulling out two sheets of paper and returning to slot himself next to Sunghoon. 

Sunghoon gets a quick look at the papers and his stomach drops. They're identical, both printed with the same extensive lists of kinks that the company ones had. Only these have a section of blank lines at the bottom, presumably waiting for the involved parties to fill in whatever they'd like. 

“Have you ever filled one of these out? Before the one at the company last week?” Ni-ki asks, as if the answer isn't obvious. 

Sunghoon shakes his head. 

Ni-ki hands Sunghoon one of the sheets, and Sunghoon’s hands tremble slightly as he takes it. The thick paper feels heavier than it should, the words on it intimidating in their stark simplicity. He doesn’t know where to begin.

“I don’t know what I like. Or what I don’t like.” Sunghoon admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Ni-ki’s gaze softens, and he shifts closer to Sunghoon, his voice gentle but reassuring. “That’s okay. You’ve never had any reason to think about it. We’ll go through it together.” He taps the first section of the sheet, the one labeled Preferences. “This is about what you enjoy, what feels good to you. I’ll help you fill it out. It’s okay to imagine us doing some of these things, just take your time.”

Sunghoon nods slowly, his heart thumping harder as Ni-ki guides him through the first few activities. There's all different types of bondage, restraints, things that go inside of his body and outside of it. Things Sunghoon’s never really thought about before. It’s hard to imagine them, but Ni-ki’s calm, steady voice makes it easier to focus.

Ni-ki gives him space to think about each one, encouraging him to visualize what it would feel like. “Imagine it,” Ni-ki murmurs. “How do you feel when you’re on your own, with no guidance? Versus when I, or someone else, gives you a little push?” 

Sunghoon breathes in, thinking, feeling the knot of nerves in his stomach start to loosen. “I… I think I like that,” he says softly, his face heating with embarrassment at how exposed he feels. “The… guidance. Not too much, though.”

Ni-ki smiles, nodding. “That’s good, Sunghoon. And we’ll keep it light, like we’ve been doing. There’s no rush to go further, okay?”

As they go through the sheet, Sunghoon finds it difficult to imagine certain things. He’s never thought about what kind of rewards or punishments he might like, or how he wants to be treated in moments of discipline. His stomach twists when he sees those sections.

Ni-ki senses his hesitation and tucks him into his side. “I don’t think we need to worry about punishments quite yet. And this contract isn't final, we can always add to it or take things out if they end up not working.” 

Sunghoon nods in understanding. He imagines in the future, he'll have different opinions than he does right now. He knows the answers he put on the one he filled out at the company just a week ago already differ greatly to what he's checking off now.

There's a section of kinks labeled as Public and his eyes graze over the words for the hundredth time. All the boxes are left blank, Sunghoon not having the strength to inquire about their meanings. 

“What would exhibition look like?” He forces out, his curiosity getting the best of him at the last second. 

Ni-ki clears his throat, clearly not expecting the question. He hums, “Well, it would be like people watching. Either sex, or just scening in general.” He pauses, thinking over his next words. “You know how in restaurants there will be subs kneeling, or sitting on their dom’s lap to be hand-fed?” He waits for Sunghoon to nod, which he does. He recalls seeing that countless times over the years, and the longing he'd buried each time. 

“Well,” Ni-ki continues, “all of those people probably would've had exhibition marked yes on these sheets. Is that… something that interests you?” 

Sunghoon blushes, feeling the weight of the question settle over him. He'd never allowed himself to think this far, to see himself as someone who could even be in a situation like that. But that door’s been blown wide open, and now his mind is reeling with the possibility. 

“I kind of liked that the manager and Jungwon were there when I was kneeling.” He mutters, “And when you and Jungwon were talking about me like I wasn't there. It was embarrassing, but like, it felt good?" He tacks on, because if he doesn't admit it now, the boxes might get left unchecked. 

Ni-ki hums again, taking in what Sunghoon just said. “I understand that. So just people you already know, seeing you in subspace?” 

Sunghoon’s blush deepens, but he nods. “I guess.” He admits shakily, grateful for the steady presence of Ni-ki to lean on. 

“If you’re not sure, you don’t have to pick anything right now. We’ll take it slow. And, just so you know,” he adds quietly, like he's telling a secret, “submission doesn’t have to be sexual. It can be about trust, about peace, about being cared for.”

He’s relieved by Ni-ki’s understanding, but it’s still hard to ask for what he needs. “I think I’m sure about the—exhibition. But I don’t want it to go further than this,” Sunghoon whispers, his voice small. “I’m not ready for that yet. I don’t want to—”

Ni-ki interrupts gently, his fingers brushing against Sunghoon’s cheek, lifting his chin so their eyes meet. “It’s okay, Sunghoon. We’ll go at your pace, always. I’ll respect that. We can do whatever feels comfortable for you. Submission is about connection, not sex.” His voice is steady, unwavering.

Sunghoon nods, his face a deep shade of red, his heart still racing, but somehow, he feels a little lighter. After he shakily checks off exhibition as a Yes, they continue filling out the rest of the sheet, going over each section slowly. 

Sunghoon’s embarrassment slowly gives way to a sense of safety he hasn’t felt in a long time. By the time they’re done, his head is spinning with the sheer mental exertion, but there’s a small sense of relief, too.

Ni-ki looks at him with a soft smile. “You did great,” he says, his voice warm with praise.

Sunghoon barely meets his eyes, the embarrassment from how vulnerable he feels lighting a warm, comforting fire deep inside of him. 

Ni-ki shifts, releasing himself from Sunghoon. “You should get some rest, Sunghoon,” he says gently, but then pauses, noticing the way Sunghoon is staring at him, as though he’s hesitating to let him leave.

“Ni-ki,” Sunghoon says quietly, almost timid. “Could I stay… just for a little longer?”

The words are out before Sunghoon can stop them, and he feels his heart race again, a wave of vulnerability crashing over him. He’s not sure why he said it, but the thought of being alone after such an intimate conversation feels unbearable.

Ni-ki doesn’t hesitate. He smiles, his eyes soft. Without saying anything more, he opens his arms, a silent invitation. Sunghoon, still red and embarrassed, hesitates for only a moment before crawling back into Ni-ki’s embrace.

Ni-ki pulls him close, wrapping his arms around him in a way that feels safe and secure as the dom leans back to lie them both down. Sunghoon closes his eyes, feeling the warmth of Ni-ki’s body against his, and for the first time in a while, he feels completely at ease. No more confusion, no more fear. Just the steady rhythm of Ni-ki’s breathing and the comforting weight of his presence.

They both drift to sleep like that, quiet and close, the peace of the moment settling over them.

Chapter Text

Sunghoon is only half-listening, his mind drifting as the others talk. It isn’t that the conversation is boring—he just doesn’t have much to add. Plans for the week, schedules, a discussion about where they should eat later. It all moves around him like background noise, unimportant, easy to ignore.

Until Ni-ki speaks.

“Eyes on me, Sunghoon.”

The words aren’t harsh, barely even firm, but they hold weight. Sunghoon’s body reacts before his mind catches up, his gaze snapping to Ni-ki, posture straightening instinctively.

Ni-ki doesn’t look at him. He just continues talking, like the moment never happened.

The others don’t react either. No one turns to glance at him, no one even seems to notice the way his breath stutters or the warmth creeping up his neck. To them, it’s just Ni-ki keeping the conversation on track, keeping Sunghoon from zoning out.

But Sunghoon feels it everywhere.

His stomach knots, shame curling tight and sweet in his chest. The sheer casualness of it—the ease with which Ni-ki corrected him, the way he didn’t need to raise his voice or change his expression, the fact that no one else even found it odd—makes it worse. Makes it better.

Heat lingers in his face, his hands flexing against his thighs, desperate for something to ground him. It should be humiliating. It is humiliating. But instead of shrinking away from it, he feels himself sink into it, warmth pooling low in his stomach.

He forces himself to stay still, to act normal, to pretend he isn’t affected. But every time Ni-ki speaks again, his voice smooth and controlled, Sunghoon can still hear it underneath. The quiet authority, the certainty, the way his name had rolled off Ni-ki’s tongue like a leash being pulled tight.

The conversation continues without him. Sunghoon doesn’t hear a word of it.

The feeling dissipates throughout the day, but gradually. It’s only after hours of practice that the soreness in his body truly wins over priority in his mind.

His body feels sluggish, limbs weighed down with exhaustion as he struggles to keep up with the routine. The mirrors in the practice room reflect his faltering movements back at him, each misstep, each fraction of a second he lags behind the others. He tries to shake off the stiffness, to will his body into fluidity, but his mind keeps drifting, thoughts unraveling with every beat of the music.

Ni-ki, as always, is the first to notice.

The moment Sunghoon stutters through another step, Ni-ki moves in without hesitation. His presence is sudden but not startling, a quiet force slipping into place behind Sunghoon. 

Hands find his waist, fingers pressing lightly into his sides, guiding him into the correct position with unspoken assurance. The warmth of his touch seeps through Sunghoon’s damp shirt, grounding him in a way nothing else has.

“Focus,” Ni-ki murmurs, voice low but firm.

The word cuts through the haze in Sunghoon’s mind like a tether pulling him back to solid ground. His breath catches, and before he can think about it, he straightens, his body instinctively falling into sync with Ni-ki’s guidance.

Ni-ki lingers just a second longer than necessary before stepping back, letting Sunghoon take control of his own movements again. But the weight of his presence doesn’t fade. Even without his hands steadying him, Sunghoon can still feel the ghost of his touch, a silent promise of structure, of direction.

In the mirror, Sunghoon catches Jungwon’s gaze. His leader is watching, eyes sharp, expression knowing but otherwise unreadable. The other members must have noticed too—must be wondering why Ni-ki’s presence alone is enough to snap Sunghoon back into focus. But no one says anything. They’re used to Ni-ki stepping in during practice, used to the way he corrects Sunghoon with casual touches and murmured words now. Maybe they think nothing of it.

Sunghoon wishes he could say the same.

Even when the instructor steps in with his own corrections—adjusting Sunghoon’s stance, repositioning his arms, giving direct, structured advice—it doesn’t settle the same way. The words slip past him, technical and impersonal.

But Ni-ki’s command, the one single word, still echoes in his head, unwavering.

Sunghoon kneels before Ni-ki, his body loose and pliant, his mind drifting deeper into the warmth of subspace. His world has narrowed down to the sound of Ni-ki’s voice, steady and reassuring, as if the world outside no longer matters.

Sunghoon doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate before the word slips out of him. 

“Sir.” Nothing follows it, as if Sunghoon’s cushy, spacey mind just wanted to call out to Ni-ki. 

Sunghoon is too far gone to notice the way Ni-ki watches him. The way his eyes darken, like he’s just been given something precious, as his eyes widen just a fraction. A flicker of surprise crosses his face before he quickly hides it, his expression melting into something warmer. Something pleased. 

He doesn’t say a word about it, not now. He lets Sunghoon exist in that space, guides him through it, and when the time comes, he brings him up gently—offering water, murmuring quiet reassurances as he eases Sunghoon out of the haze.

Later, after the fog has lifted and Sunghoon feels the coolness of reality again, Ni-ki sits beside him, his touch gentle as he brushes Sunghoon’s hair from his forehead.

“Hey,” Ni-ki starts softly, his voice a low murmur. “You called me ‘sir’ earlier.” He smiles, but it’s not teasing—it’s something more fond, a soft warmth in his gaze. “It’s okay.” He continues, as if he already knows how Sunghoon will react. “You don’t have to feel embarrassed about it.”

Sunghoon feels the rush of heat flood his face anyway, his heart racing. He looks away, words escaping him, but Ni-ki doesn’t rush him. Instead, he moves a little closer, his hand warm on Sunghoon’s arm.

“It’s okay,” Ni-ki repeats, his voice a soothing balm. “I should’ve asked you about a title when we were making the contract, but I wanted to keep things simple for you. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.” His tone is so kind, so patient, like he’s trying to reassure Sunghoon that nothing is wrong here. That it’s all okay.

Sunghoon fidgets with his hands, still unsure of what to say. “I— I didn’t mean to,” he mumbles, his voice barely a whisper.

Ni-ki leans in, his eyes soft and understanding. “I know,” he says, his voice tender. “But, if you want, we can talk about it now. You can call me anything you want.”

Sunghoon looks up at him, his mind swirling. The idea of a title feels so unfamiliar, yet Ni-ki’s words make it feel like the most natural thing.

Ni-ki smiles warmly, the kind of smile that makes Sunghoon feel safe, protected. “If you don’t want to use ‘sir,’ that’s fine. It can just be my name. Or…” He pauses, his gaze softening as if he’s thinking carefully. “What if you called me ‘hyung’?”

Sunghoon blinks, surprised by the suggestion. His mind takes a moment to process it, and Ni-ki explains gently, “You’re older than me, Sunghoon. Outside of scenes, you’re the hyung. But in these moments, when we’re in our space, I take care of you, like a hyung would.”

The words settle in Sunghoon’s chest, warm and grounding. It makes sense, in a way that no other title would. Something about it feels like it fits—like it speaks to the balance between them, the way Ni-ki guides him and yet makes him feel cared for in a way only a hyung could.

A slow breath escapes Sunghoon, and his lips curve into a tentative smile. “I think… I think I like that,” he says, the words coming out almost shyly, but there’s a sense of calm in them. “Hyung.”

Ni-ki’s smile deepens, and for a moment, there’s a softness in his eyes that makes Sunghoon feel seen, truly seen. “Hyung,” he repeats, the word a whisper between them, warm and intimate.

Sunghoon feels a rush of heat at the thought of using the honorific on Ni-ki, the younger one. There’s a deep satisfaction there, the kind that makes his heart flutter, mixed with the quiet embarrassment of calling someone younger than him something so intimate. But it’s not a bad feeling. It feels… right.

“Good,” Ni-ki murmurs, his voice full of tenderness. “We’ll take it slow, Sunghoon. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

And Sunghoon lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, feeling the comfort in Ni-ki’s words settle into him like a promise.

The van hums softly as the group piles in, voices low with the lingering exhaustion of rehearsal. Sunghoon moves on autopilot, feet carrying him toward the open door where Ni-ki waits.  

Ni-ki doesn’t say anything, just slides into the backseat, and for a fleeting second, Sunghoon hesitates. It’s not uncertainty—he already knows where he wants to sit—but the awareness of it sends a quiet thrill through him. He follows, slipping into the seat beside Ni-ki.  

A moment later, Jungwon climbs in after him, settling in with a casual ease. The space closes around them, just the three of them in the back, and Sunghoon feels a rush of gratitude. Jungwon doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge the choice outright, but it’s clear—he’s given them privacy.  

Ni-ki shifts beside him, and before Sunghoon can process it, an arm slides around his waist. A steady, familiar warmth pulls him in, guiding him effortlessly against Ni-ki’s side. Sunghoon exhales, tension melting from his shoulders as he allows himself to relax into the touch.  

The others are talking up front, filling the space with idle conversation, but back here, it’s quieter. Ni-ki doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a show of it—he just holds Sunghoon close, presence firm and unwavering.  

Sunghoon lets his head rest against Ni-ki’s shoulder, not caring if it makes his face burn. He doesn’t need to say thank you. Ni-ki already knows.  

They stay like that, pressed close in the dim glow of the van, the steady rhythm of the road beneath them lulling Sunghoon into something weightless, something quiet. His eyelids grow heavy, the warmth of Ni-ki’s side pulling him under. He isn’t sure if he actually sleeps, but the moment feels like a dream—soft, suspended in time, safe.  

The dorms come into view too soon. Sunghoon barely registers the shift as the van slows, the glow of passing streetlights flickering across Ni-ki’s face. A quiet sigh escapes him when Ni-ki’s arm slips away, when the cold creeps in between them. He doesn’t move right away, lingers in the space they’ve made until the others start filing out.  

Their moment must have gone undetected, because no one mentions it. No one even gives them a second look as they pile out of the van and head into the dorm.  

But the next morning, when Sunghoon wakes up alone, irritation curls tight in his chest. His bed feels too cold, too big, and the restless sleep he got only made it worse. He curled up under his own blankets last night, convincing himself it was necessary. If he kept crawling into Ni-ki’s bed, someone was bound to notice. He needed to stop before it became too obvious.  

Now though, in the dim hush of morning, the absence of warmth, of steady breathing beside him, gnaws at his mood. It drapes over him like a heavy fog, making everything feel sharp-edged and wrong before the day has even begun.

By the time they start unit practice, everything is grating on his nerves. The music is too loud. The mirrors are too bright. Jay’s voice sounds sharper than usual, and Jake’s laugh is just a little too much. Sunghoon feels wound too tight, every little thing setting his teeth on edge.  

“Sunghoon, you’re a little off on that last move,” Jay says after they run through the choreo again.  

“I know,” Sunghoon snaps before he can stop himself. His own voice sounds harsh, cutting through the space. The moment the words leave his mouth, he regrets them, but he doesn’t apologize.  

Jay blinks at him, but he doesn’t bite back. Jake, standing beside him, gives a small frown. “Dude, what’s with you today?”  

“I don’t know,” Sunghoon mutters, yanking at the hem of his shirt. “I just—” He exhales sharply, annoyed at himself for not having an answer.  

They go again, but the irritation doesn’t fade. If anything, it worsens, crawling under his skin, making his movements feel too tight, too forced. The choreography isn’t difficult, but everything feels wrong. He can’t get into the rhythm, can’t sink into the movement.  

Jake sighs as they take a break, grabbing his water bottle. “Seriously, what’s up with you?”  

Jay huffs, half-joking, “He’s just being a brat today.”  

The word stops Sunghoon cold.  

Brat. 

His breath catches, stomach twisting. It’s not an insult—it’s just a word. A teasing remark thrown out like nothing. But *he* knows the weight it carries. Knows that it’s not a word people use lightly. Not here. Not in this world.  

He forces a laugh, but it sounds thin. “Whatever.”  

He tries to rein himself in after that, tries to soften the edges of his mood. But the restlessness is still there, making his hands twitch, making his body itch with something he doesn’t have a name for. He just wants—  

He doesn’t even know.  

Practice eventually ends, but the feeling doesn’t. It follows him as they return to the dorm, hanging heavy over him. The moment they step inside, Jungwon glances at them from the couch. “How was it?”  

“Good,” Jake answers, kicking off his shoes.  

Jay smirks, shaking his head. “Yeah, the choreo is sick. It would've been a perfect practice if Sunghoon hadn’t been bratting all day.” He laughs to himself, the words flowing out carelessly, unknowing of their impact.

Sunghoon freezes.  

The word rings in his ears, louder than before. His face flushes instantly, heat crawling up his neck. His gaze flickers up on instinct—and meets Ni-ki’s eyes.  

Ni-ki, standing by the hall, hands in his pockets, watching him. Sunghoon’s stomach twists again, this time for an entirely different reason.  

Ni-ki’s expression is unreadable, but his head tilts slightly. Then, casually, he says, “I’m gonna be in my room for a bit.”  

It’s not a request, not an order. But Sunghoon knows. He knows exactly what Ni-ki is saying.  

He barely waits a minute before following. 

The dom is already sitting on the bed when Sunghoon steps inside, leaning back against the pillows. He looks up as Sunghoon enters, then pats the space beside him.  

“Come here.”  

Sunghoon moves without thinking, climbing onto the bed, sinking into the space next to Ni-ki. Instinct takes over before he can second-guess himself—his body angles toward Ni-ki, head dipping slightly. Ni-ki doesn’t hesitate, fingers slipping into Sunghoon’s hair, carding through it with slow, careful movements.  

Sunghoon exhales, shoulders loosening.  

Ni-ki’s voice is soft when he asks, “You okay?”  

The answer is right there, ready on Sunghoon’s tongue. I’m fine. It would be easy to say. But Ni-ki would know. Ni-ki always knows.  

“…I don’t know,” Sunghoon admits. “I just—felt off all day.”  

Ni-ki hums, fingers still threading through his hair. “Do you think kneeling will help?”  

Again, the lie comes first. Again, Sunghoon catches himself before it slips out.  

“…I don’t know if just kneeling will be enough.”  

Ni-ki nods, as if he expected that. “We can try something else,” he says easily. “Something a little more intense.”  

Sunghoon tenses. Not out of fear—out of uncertainty.  

Ni-ki must notice because his voice stays light, soothing. “Nothing overwhelming,” he assures him. “I was thinking… maybe just a blindfold. And cuffs, but not tied to anything. Just something to feel.”  

Sunghoon hesitates. His heart beats faster, but it’s not panic.  

“I think I can do that,” he says quietly.  

Ni-ki’s fingers slip from his hair. “Okay.” His voice is soft, but there’s an unspoken command beneath it, something steady, something grounding.  

His hands find Sunghoon’s shoulders, a silent guide as he shifts back. The absence of Ni-ki’s touch is brief—just enough to make Sunghoon feel the difference, to make him crave the contact again.  

“Kneel for me.”  

Sunghoon moves before he fully registers the words, his body responding to Ni-ki’s voice like it’s instinct. He sinks down, the weight of the position settling over him like a blanket, warm and secure. His breathing slows, his muscles unwinding as he settles into something that feels like his own. 

The shift is immediate—his body knows this, recognizes the position, settles into it like second nature. His hands rest lightly on his thighs, fingers twitching, but he forces them to still. Above him, Ni-ki moves, quiet but not silent. The sound of a drawer opening, the faint rustling of fabric. 

The dom keeps talking, grounding him with his voice. “I’m grabbing the blindfold now,” he says, and Sunghoon can hear the smile in his tone. “I’ll put it on you slowly.”  

Sunghoon nods automatically, then corrects himself. “Yes, hyung. It’s okay.”  

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for Sunghoon to second-guess himself. But then Ni-ki is kneeling in front of him, and his fingers brush lightly against Sunghoon’s cheek, tilting his face up.  

“Good,” Ni-ki murmurs. His touch lingers for a moment longer, thumb tracing over Sunghoon’s cheekbone. Then, with careful movements, he presses the blindfold into place.  

The world goes dark.  

Sunghoon’s breath hitches. He hadn’t expected it to hit so fast, but suddenly, everything else fades. The studio, the dorm, the restless edge of his mood—it’s all gone, swallowed by the steady warmth of Ni-ki’s presence.  

A hand ghosts over the inside of his wrist. “I’m putting the cuffs on now,” Ni-ki tells him. “They won’t be attached to anything. Just for you to feel.”  

Sunghoon exhales slowly. “Okay, hyung.”  

The leather wraps around one wrist, then the other, snug but not tight. Sunghoon flexes his fingers, feeling the weight of them.  

Ni-ki hums in approval. “You’re doing so well.”  

Sunghoon swallows. His body is already sinking, mind quieting, but he forces himself to stay present. He wants to hold onto this moment a little longer, wants to hear more of Ni-ki’s voice, wants—  

“Sunghoon.”  

Sunghoon shivers. “Yes, hyung?”  

“You trust me, right?”  

Sunghoon nods immediately. “Of course.”  

Ni-ki’s hand is back on his face, tilting his chin up. “Then listen to me. You don’t have to hold back.” His voice drops lower, gentler. “You’re safe, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Just let go, okay?”  

Something inside Sunghoon unknots. His hands unclench, shoulders dropping, his whole body finally releasing the tension he’s been carrying all day.  

Ni-ki’s thumb brushes over his lips, the touch featherlight. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good boy, just like that.”  

Sunghoon exhales. His heartbeat slows, his mind softens, and before he even realizes it, he’s slipping—deeper, deeper—until everything else fades completely.  

Sunghoon sinks.  

It’s like stepping into deep water, the kind that swallows sound and weight and worry. His body is light, floating, the tension that had coiled in his limbs dissolving like salt in the tide. He drifts, carried by something warmer than the ocean, steadier than a current.  

Ni-ki is the anchor. The pulse he orbits around. Even in the darkness of the blindfold, Sunghoon feels the shape of him—his presence, his voice, the careful way his fingers trace over Sunghoon’s wrists.  

He is not empty. He is full.  

Full of Ni-ki’s words, of the weight of the cuffs on his wrists, of the quiet strength in Ni-ki’s touch. He doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to be anything other than this: still, silent, safe.  

The air is thick, not with tension, but with something deeper. Something that wraps around Sunghoon like warmth, like comfort, like home. His heartbeat, erratic and uneven before, slows to match the steady rhythm of Ni-ki’s breaths. The space between them doesn’t feel like space at all—it’s a thread, pulling him in, tying him down in the gentlest way.  

He barely registers the way he leans forward until Ni-ki catches him, steady hands guiding him down, down, down. His head finds Ni-ki’s lap, and he exhales, the sound barely more than a sigh. Every part of him settles, the last lingering edges of restlessness smoothing over like ripples fading on still water.  

Fingers thread through his hair, slow and deliberate. Sunghoon thinks, vaguely, that this is what it means to belong. Not just in the abstract sense—not just as part of a group, or a team, or a family. But to someone. To Ni-ki.  

The words come distant, like they’re slipping through the haze in his mind.  

“That’s it,” Ni-ki murmurs, voice a soft weight against the quiet. “You’re okay, Sunghoon. I’ve got you.”  

He does. And Sunghoon, for the first time all day, lets himself believe it.  

He barely notices when Ni-ki shifts, adjusting him carefully, making sure he’s comfortable. He only knows warmth—the steady press of Ni-ki’s body against his own, the secure weight of an arm draped over him, the rhythmic rise and fall of the chest beneath his cheek.  

A piece of fruit brushes his lips. Sunghoon parts them instinctively, letting Ni-ki press the bite past them. He chews slowly, barely tasting it, lulled by the gentle rhythm of Ni-ki’s touch, the quiet praise that follows.  

“You did so well,” Ni-ki murmurs. “I’m so proud of you.”  

Sunghoon’s eyelids are heavy, the world fading into something softer, quieter, safer.  

Ni-ki’s fingers continue to comb through his hair, slow and rhythmic, guiding him toward sleep. Sunghoon doesn’t fight it. He lets it pull him under, secure in the knowledge that when he wakes up, Ni-ki will still be here.

Chapter Text

Sunghoon’s gaze catches on Ni-ki’s reflection in the mirror. It’s not intentional. At least, he tells himself it isn’t. But once his eyes land, they don’t move. Ni-ki is completely in sync with the music, his movements sharp and effortless, like the rhythm lives under his skin.

Sunghoon watches without meaning to. Something about it makes his chest feel too tight.

His own form in the mirror looks stiff by comparison. He shifts his stance, adjusts his grip, anything to ground himself. Maybe he just needs to scene. Maybe that’s all this is. He takes a breath, wills himself to look away, but something in him resists.

He doesn’t see the way Ni-ki glances back at him. Doesn’t catch the quiet softness in his expression, the way his fingers twitch, like they want to reach out.

The air outside is cool when they step out of the building, a sharp contrast to the heat lingering in Sunghoon’s skin. He lets himself move on autopilot, still too caught up in his own thoughts to register much.

Then, Ni-ki’s hand slips around his wrist, fingers lacing through his own.

Sunghoon’s breath stutters. His mind blanks, every thought crashing into white noise. He stares down at their hands like they belong to someone else. The warmth of Ni-ki’s palm spreads through him, sinking into every inch of exposed skin.

“Why are you holding my hand?” His voice comes out quieter than he means it to. The question of whether the others will see doesn’t even cross his mind. All he can focus on is the way Ni-ki’s hand fits against his own, steady and sure.

“Because I want to,” Ni-ki says simply.

Sunghoon should pull away. That’s what makes sense. Instead, his fingers tighten, just slightly.

He doesn’t let go.

The van ride is quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that settles when the day has stretched too long. Sunghoon’s fingers stay curled around Ni-ki’s, his grip loose but unwilling to let go. He doesn’t think about it. He just holds on, feeling the slow, steady warmth of Ni-ki’s palm against his own.

Neither of them let go, not when they pull up to the dorm, not when they climb out of the van. Sunghoon only realizes he’s been following Ni-ki’s lead when they’re already inside, their hands still linked as Ni-ki tugs him toward his room.

Sunghoon doesn’t question it. He figures they’re about to scene. It’s been long enough since the last time, and the moment Ni-ki shuts the door, he moves automatically to the storage drawer, pulling out the kneeling cushion they picked together. The soft memory foam curves under his hands as he sets it down, a small, quiet ritual.

The kneeling cushion had been a quiet, mutual decision. One night, sprawled out on Ni-ki’s bed with his phone in hand, Ni-ki had casually brought it up—“You should have something more comfortable to kneel on”—and Sunghoon had hummed in agreement, letting Ni-ki scroll through options.

They’d gone back and forth, debating firmness levels and colors, until Sunghoon pointed at a simple, memory foam cushion in a neutral shade. 

“That one,” he’d said, and Ni-ki had ordered it without question. 

When it arrived, Sunghoon hadn’t thought much of it, but the first time he knelt on it, feeling the way it cushioned his weight, something warm curled in his chest. It wasn’t just his—it was theirs, something they’d picked together, a quiet understanding made tangible.

But Ni-ki doesn’t step into place in front of him. Instead, he tilts his head, eyes flickering between the cushion and Sunghoon’s face. “Oh—I thought we could just hang out for a little bit?”

Sunghoon stills. It’s not an unfamiliar idea—he’s spent plenty of time around doms without scening—but with Ni-ki, it’s different. Recently, everything between them has revolved around his dynamic. The contract, the scenes, the quiet moments of care. It’s the foundation they’ve built, the space where Sunghoon has learned to exist.

This feels like before.

Like when he was still pretending.

Ni-ki must see something in his expression, because his face softens. “What’s wrong?”

Sunghoon hesitates. It’s easier to brush things off, to say it’s nothing, but Ni-ki knows him too well for that. So he’s honest. “I don’t mind just hanging out,” he admits. “It just… feels weird. Like I’m going backwards.”

Ni-ki’s gaze lingers on him, steady and thoughtful. He doesn’t answer right away, giving Sunghoon the space to keep going if he wants to.

Sunghoon exhales. “Could we just—hang out, but with me on my knees?”

There’s no judgment in Ni-ki’s expression, just the same quiet consideration. Then he nods. “Yeah, of course.”

Relief unwinds something small and knotted in Sunghoon’s chest. He moves back to the cushion, sinking onto his knees, adjusting his posture until it feels right. It’s not the same as a full scene—he doesn’t drop deep, doesn’t feel his mind go quiet—but it’s enough.

He breathes.

Ni-ki sits on the bed, watching him with something unreadable in his eyes. But he doesn’t say anything. He just lets Sunghoon exist, right where he needs to be.

The door swings open without warning.

Jake steps in, mid-sentence, his voice too loud in the quiet. “Hey, Ni-ki, have you seen—”

He stops. Sunghoon freezes.

The shift is immediate, like being shoved from warmth into ice water. His body locks up, his breath catches, his fingers press so hard into his thighs he might bruise. Jake’s eyes are on him, wide with something unreadable, flicking between him and Ni-ki.

Sunghoon doesn’t even register the way Ni-ki tenses beside him.

“Jake.” Ni-ki’s voice is firm, steady. “Out.”

Jake hesitates. “I—”

“Now.”

Something in Ni-ki’s tone makes Jake’s mouth snap shut. He blinks once, then takes a step back, fumbling for the door handle. He looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it and slips out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The second they’re alone, Sunghoon’s chest tightens. The warmth he’d been wrapped in only moments ago is gone, ripped away too fast, leaving him untethered, too aware of how exposed he feels.

Jake saw.

His stomach churns. He needs to fix this. He needs to go after him, to say something, to—

“I should go,” he says, voice stiff. “I need to—”

“Sunghoon, stop.”

Ni-ki’s voice is quiet, pleading, but the weight of it presses against Sunghoon’s skin, solid and certain.

Sunghoon shakes his head, already pushing himself up. “I just need to talk to him, make sure he doesn’t—”

Ni-ki moves before he can get far, hands curling around Sunghoon’s wrists, grounding. “Hoon.” His voice is softer now, no edge, just quiet control. “Slow down.”

Sunghoon barely hears him over the noise in his head. His chest is too tight, his skin too hot, the rush of everything happening too fast. He needs to move, to do something, but Ni-ki’s hands are firm where they hold him.

“Breathe, sweetheart.” Ni-ki shifts closer, dipping his head to catch Sunghoon’s eyes. “You don’t have to go right now. Just take a second.”

Sunghoon exhales sharply, still wound tight. “I’m fine.”

Ni-ki’s fingers brush against the inside of his wrists, slow and steady. “You’re not.” He doesn’t say it unkindly.

Sunghoon clenches his jaw. He hates this feeling, the way the warmth has been replaced with cold, the way his own skin feels too tight. He can’t sit here, he can’t—

Ni-ki tilts his head, his voice softer now, smoothing over the sharp edges inside Sunghoon’s chest. “Let me bring you up slow.”

Sunghoon exhales, shaking. His shoulders twitch like he wants to pull away, but Ni-ki’s touch is there, grounding him, guiding him back down.

“You don’t have to think about anything else right now.” Ni-ki shifts his grip, threading their fingers together. His hands are warm, anchoring. “Just stay with me.”

Sunghoon squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to admit how badly he wants that. How much easier it would be to just let Ni-ki hold him here, away from everything.

“…Okay, hyung,” he breathes.

Ni-ki’s thumb smooths over his knuckles. “Good boy, good job.”

The silence stretches, but it isn’t heavy. It isn’t cold.

Ni-ki shifts closer, letting Sunghoon lean his head against the dom's legs, keeping him steady. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Sunghoon exhales again, slower this time. His fingers twitch where they’re laced with Ni-ki’s. 

Ni-ki’s touch lingers even as they step out of the room, once Sunghoon feels ready to stand on two feet again. The dom doesn’t let go of Sunghoon’s wrist right away, fingers tracing over his pulse like he’s still anchoring him, still making sure he’s steady before they move forward.

The dorm is quiet as they walk through it, the low hum of the AC the only sound between them. Ni-ki leads the way, his steps unhurried, giving Sunghoon time. When they reach Jake’s door, Ni-ki knocks once before pushing it open.

Jake is sitting on his bed, phone in hand, but it’s clear he hasn’t been using it. His eyes lift the second they step inside, and he exhales like he’d been waiting for them.

Ni-ki doesn’t waste time. “Can we talk?”

Jake nods. “Yeah.”

Silence settles over the room. No one speaks.

Sunghoon shifts, fingers pressing against his palms. His skin still feels too thin, the echoes of earlier still clinging to him.

Jake exhales and looks at him directly. “Are you really adynamic?”

Sunghoon’s breath catches. He knew this was coming, but hearing it out loud still makes his chest tighten. He glances at Ni-ki, who’s already looking at him, waiting—giving him the space to answer for himself.

Sunghoon swallows. His throat feels tight, like the words will choke him on the way out.

“…No,” he says. It’s quiet. Almost too quiet. But it’s real. “I’m not.” His fingers twitch at his sides. “I’m a sub.”

Saying it feels like ripping something open, forcing himself to look at a part of him he’s spent years keeping buried.

Jake watches him, his expression unreadable.

Ni-ki doesn’t speak. He’s still watching, still letting Sunghoon lead.

Sunghoon exhales and pushes forward. “I lied,” he says, voice steadier now. “I’ve been lying since I was a kid.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “I told everyone I was adynamic because…” His fingers flex like he wants to grasp something, hold onto something steady. “I thought I had to be.”

Jake’s brows pull together. “Why?”

Sunghoon hesitates, trying to gather the right words. “Because of my dad,” he admits. The weight of it presses into his chest, but he keeps going. “Because I thought I had to be strong. Because I thought being a sub was—” He stops himself, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know. I just thought I couldn’t be one.”

Jake frowns, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Sunghoon takes a slow breath before continuing. “But I got sick.” His voice wavers, but he forces himself to keep going. “I went to the doctor a couple months ago and found out I had Submissive Suppression Syndrome.”

Jake straightens slightly. “Wait, you—” He stops, exhaling sharply. “That’s why you were so out of it for a while?”

Sunghoon nods.

Jake runs a hand through his hair, looking somewhere between concerned and frustrated. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Sunghoon bites the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t know how.”

Jake shakes his head, but there’s no anger in it. Just something quieter, something closer to hurt.

Ni-ki finally steps in, his voice calm and steady. “The company found out about it and matched him with me.” He glances at Sunghoon before looking back at Jake. “We’ve been scening since then.”

Jake’s expression shifts, brows drawing together like he’s processing it all. “So… you’ve been doing this in secret?”

Ni-ki doesn’t blink. “He wanted to tell you in his own time.”

Jake exhales, looking at Sunghoon again. “Are you still sick?”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “No. We’ve been to the doctor a few times. My levels are better now.”

Jake nods slowly, absorbing the information. “That’s good.” He leans back slightly, exhaling. “But why haven’t you told the others?”

Sunghoon hesitates. He doesn’t have an answer for that—not one that makes sense, not even to himself. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I just…” He exhales. “I’m nervous.”

Jake frowns. “You know they won’t judge you, right? You’re family.”

Sunghoon nods, but the unease in his chest doesn’t disappear.

Jake watches him, then looks at Ni-ki. “And you’re the only one who’s scened with him?”

Ni-ki nods. “Yeah.”

Jake’s eyes flick between them before settling on Sunghoon. “And it helps?”

Sunghoon nods without hesitation. “Yeah. It does.”

Jake exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay.” His voice is quiet. “I just… I just want to make sure you’re okay, man.”

Sunghoon swallows. The tension in his chest eases slightly.

Ni-ki sees that, and he and Sunghoon leave after asking Jake not to tell anyone.

Jake doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Of course.”

Sunghoon exhales, something in his chest loosening, but not completely.

They don’t linger much longer. As they leave, Ni-ki stays close, his shoulder brushing Sunghoon’s, quiet reassurance without words.

As Ni-ki leads Sunghoon back to his room, the silence between them is comfortable, but there’s a lingering tension in the air. Ni-ki doesn’t break it immediately, but his fingers are gentle on Sunghoon’s wrist, as though he’s grounding him with every step they take.

Once inside, Ni-ki sits down beside Sunghoon, his voice soft but firm. “I think you should tell the rest of the members.”

Sunghoon stares at the floor for a moment, trying to process the weight of it. “Okay,” he says, though his voice is quieter than usual. “It’s better to just rip the bandage off quick.”

Ni-ki shakes his head. “I don’t think you should see it like that.” His voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s not a bandage you’re pulling off. It’s just something that’s part of who you are.”

Sunghoon nods, though the unease still hums quietly beneath his skin. “It just feels easier that way.”

Ni-ki sighs, and for a moment, his hand brushes against Sunghoon’s arm, a light touch, the sort of reassurance that doesn’t need to be said out loud.

“Okay,” Ni-ki says finally, standing up. “Let’s go to the living room. I’ll gather everyone.”

Sunghoon watches him leave, his heart thudding a little faster in his chest. He doesn’t want to do this—doesn’t want to lay himself bare like this, but Ni-ki’s right. It’s time. He just needs to breathe.

He steps into the living room and sits down on the couch, folding his hands in his lap. The room feels suddenly too big, and the weight of the coming conversation settles like a stone in his stomach.

The minutes tick by as Sunghoon waits, his mind racing, heart trying to calm itself. Ni-ki returns shortly, with the others trickling in behind him. Sunghoon doesn’t look at any of them yet, keeping his eyes focused on the floor, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

The group assembles around him, and Ni-ki sits beside him on the couch, his hand resting lightly on Sunghoon’s thigh in a silent act of support.

“Sunghoon has something he wants to tell you,” Ni-ki says softly, his voice smooth but steady. “And I’m here to help him.”

For a long beat, no one says anything. Sunghoon’s pulse races as he takes a deep breath, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He can hear the others shifting in place, the soft rustle of fabric, the quiet sounds of their anticipation.

Sunghoon looks up, finally meeting their eyes, one by one. He swallows hard before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I’m not adynamic. I’m a sub.” His fingers curl into his palms as he waits, his breath catching in his throat.

There’s a collective pause, a shift in the air, as the others take a moment to process the words. He feels their eyes on him, but it’s not as judgmental as he expected. Just… waiting.

Ni-ki speaks, his voice gentle, guiding. “Sunghoon’s been living with a lie for a long time, but we’ve been working through it. He was  diagnosed with Submissive Suppression Syndrome. That’s why he was struggling before.”

Ni-ki explains everything—the suppression, the match with him, the moments they’ve shared, though he keeps the details of their scenes vague. Sunghoon is grateful for that. The explanation flows smoothly between them, their words coming easily now that the first hurdle has been crossed.

Sunghoon can feel the tension in the room as they listen, their eyes now soft with understanding.

After a moment, Jay is the first to speak, his voice quiet but concerned. “Are you okay now? Health-wise?”

Sunghoon nods quickly. “Yeah. We’ve seen doctors. My levels are better now.”

Sunghoon’s heart beats in his chest like a drum, but it’s steady now. He looks around the room at all of them, each face filled with care. The worry is still there, but it’s not because they care about the sub part. It’s because they care about him.

“You’re happy?” Sunghoon hears Heeseung ask, his voice gentle, warm.

Sunghoon nods again, more confident this time. “Yeah. I’m really happy.” His lips curl into a small, shaky smile. “I’m happy with… everything.” He looks at Ni-ki, who meets his gaze with an unspoken understanding.

The others seem to settle into that answer, their worry dissipating, replaced by something softer, something more reassuring.

And then, without another word, Ni-ki reaches over and takes Sunghoon’s hand in his. His grip is steady, grounding, a reminder that Sunghoon isn’t alone in this—he doesn’t have to carry this weight by himself.

Sunghoon breathes in slowly, his pulse still a little faster than usual, but calmer now.

No one speaks again for a long time. The other members seem to be deep in thought, and it's no question what they're thinking about. 

The conversation has left Sunghoon feeling a little off-kilter. His confession has been made, the truth finally out in the open. But even with the members’ support, even with their assurance that they don’t care about his dynamic, it still feels like a lot to process. His emotions, which had been tied up tight for so long, are all untangled now, and there’s a strange mix of relief and vulnerability hanging in the air. 

In a way, he feels like he’s back at the start of the journey, right back at the doctor’s office, at the company when Ni-ki found out, when he kneeled for the first time. Only this time, the journey promises to be easier, and filled with more love and understanding than he ever thought he was worth. 

Ni-ki is sitting next to him on the couch, his presence warm and grounding. Sunghoon can’t quite shake the tension from his shoulders, but he’s trying.

The members are scattered around the room, the atmosphere light despite everything that’s just been shared. They’re no longer asking questions, no longer worrying, but there’s a quiet understanding among them all now.

Jungwon is the first to break the silence. He stretches his arms out and gives a tired yawn, his voice casual. “Well, that was a lot. How about we just chill for a bit? Movie night?”

The others murmur their agreement, the air starting to feel lighter again. It’s an easy suggestion, one that doesn’t demand much. Just something to help them wind down, to put the events of the night in a box and set them aside for a while.

“We haven’t had a night like this in forever,” Sunghoon hears Heeseung comment, the flicker of a smile tugging at his lips as he looks at the others. “Let’s just… enjoy it.”

The idea of a movie, of something so normal and ordinary, feels like just what they need. After the weight of the conversation, after everything that’s been shared, it’s nice to settle into something so simple. 

Everyone gathers their things and shifts around, finding their places on the couch. Sunghoon hesitates for a moment, still feeling the quiet buzz of his racing thoughts, but Ni-ki’s presence at his side is a steadying force. 

Without really thinking, Sunghoon slides down a little on the couch, putting just enough distance between himself and the rest of the group to be comfortable, but not too far. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s hiding, but the quiet of the night is more than enough for him right now.

The movie starts, the opening credits rolling across the screen, but Sunghoon’s attention isn’t entirely on it. He’s still a little too distracted, a little too tangled up in his head to focus completely. The events of the day feel close—still too close. He knows that he needs time to fully process it all. He’s grateful for the group’s support, but everything is still new, still unfamiliar.

Ni-ki, ever the steadying force, notices the shift in Sunghoon’s demeanor before anyone else does. He glances over at him, his eyes soft but concerned. Sunghoon doesn’t pull away when Ni-ki’s hand gently rests on his shoulder. It’s a quiet gesture, a grounding one, but it feels like everything he needs right now.

“Hey,” Ni-ki murmurs, his voice low and calm, “You should sleep. Today’s been a lot for you.”

Sunghoon looks up at him, meeting his gaze for a moment. There’s something in Ni-ki’s eyes that makes him feel safe, a softness that eases the tension that’s still hanging in his chest. 

Without another thought, Sunghoon shifts slightly, his head finding its way to Ni-ki’s shoulder, the warmth of his body offering the reassurance he’s been searching for all night.

It’s quiet, the movie still playing in the background, but everything else fades. Sunghoon can feel his body relaxing, his muscles finally releasing their tight grip, and before he knows it, he’s asleep.

The next thing Sunghoon knows, he’s waking up with the soft hum of the dorm around him, the low light of early morning creeping through the blinds. He’s still nestled against Ni-ki’s shoulder, the steady presence of him an anchor.

He doesn’t move at first, not wanting to disturb the quiet peace of the moment. Ni-ki hasn’t moved either, his body still there, solid and warm beside him. It’s comforting, grounding in a way Sunghoon hadn’t realized he needed.

He blinks slowly, taking in the scene. The others must have all cleared out at some point in the night. He can't be mad at their desire to sleep in their own beds. Not when Sunghoon’s neck is already sore from his position of the night.

Ni-ki shifts beside him, groaning quietly as he wakes up, his eyes blinking open with that sleepy, almost dazed look. He blinks a few times before turning his head toward Sunghoon, a sleepy smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Morning,” Ni-ki mutters, his voice thick with sleep.

Sunghoon chuckles softly, stretching his arms out. “Morning. You’re still half asleep, huh?”

Ni-ki grins, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m not a morning person.” He pauses for a moment, then glances down at their position on the couch. “You good? You look… peaceful.”

Sunghoon shrugs lightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I guess I am. I haven’t felt this calm in a while.” He looks up at Ni-ki and adds, “I think it’s because you’re here.”

Ni-ki’s smile softens, and he shifts slightly, making room for Sunghoon to sit up. “Well, I’m glad I could help.”

Sunghoon sits up, stretching out his legs and then turning back to Ni-ki. “You know, I think this might be the most relaxed I’ve felt in a long time.”

Ni-ki raises an eyebrow. “Even after last night?”

Sunghoon laughs lightly, leaning back against the couch. “Yeah, even after that. It wasn’t all bad, right?”

Ni-ki chuckles, then suddenly his expression turns more serious. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this vulnerable. But it’s good, you know? Letting all of that out.”

Sunghoon nods, the lightness between them not fading. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I was a little scared about how everyone would take it, but they were good about it. I think it helped to have you there.”

“Always,” Ni-ki says softly, then reaches out, lightly brushing Sunghoon’s hair out of his face.

Sunghoon’s gaze flickers to the dom’s lips, and before he can fully process what’s happening, he leans in. The kiss is soft and slow, just the barest hint of something more lingering behind it. When he pulls back, his heart races, but the air between them feels different now, lighter.

Ni-ki just looks at him, a smile tugging at his lips as he murmurs, “You’re a handful, you know that?”

Sunghoon grins, a little embarrassed but mostly relieved. “Maybe. But I’m glad I’ve got you to handle me.”

Ni-ki’s hand rests on his shoulder, giving him a playful squeeze. “Guess I don’t mind the challenge."

Chapter Text

Now that the whole group knows, the shift is immediate. It weaves itself into the way they speak, into the way they move around him. Subtle, but unmistakable. Sunghoon had spent so long convincing himself that being seen as a sub would make him feel lesser, but instead, it’s the opposite. It doesn’t feel like a weight pressing down on him. It feels like being carried.

At breakfast, he reaches up to grab a bowl from the cabinet, and Jay, who is already standing nearby, simply steps in and gets it for him. There is no teasing, no second thought, just a quiet assurance in the way he hands it over. “Here,” Jay says, placing it in front of him before Sunghoon can protest.

Sunghoon’s fingers brush against the smooth ceramic. He had expected—what? A joke about how he’s a sub now, so he gets things handed to him? A remark about how he should be doing it himself? But Jay just turns back to the stove, acting as if nothing happened at all.

Jake slides a cup of coffee toward him. “Drink,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Sunghoon blinks at him, at the way his voice dips just slightly into something firm, and then he lifts the cup to his lips without thinking. It’s warm against his palms, grounding in a way he didn’t realize he needed.

Later, they’re getting ready to leave for practice, and Sunghoon, still half-distracted tying his shoe, barely notices the way Jake nudges him toward the door before he can even think about trailing behind. “Come on, we’re heading out,” Jake says. It’s not a command, but it settles over Sunghoon like one. Like something to fall into.

They walk to the car, and Jungwon doesn’t hesitate before pressing a hand to the back of Sunghoon’s neck, steering him toward the seat in the middle—safer, surrounded. The touch is fleeting but deliberate, and it leaves warmth in its wake.

During practice, it’s the little things. Someone passing him a water bottle before he even realizes he’s thirsty. Jay and Heeseung subtly adjusting their movements, making space for him in the formation like they aren’t even thinking about it. Ni-ki fixing the hem of Sunghoon’s sleeve when it rides up his arm, smoothing it down with a touch so casual it makes Sunghoon’s head spin.

He had always thought that if they ever found out, he’d feel boxed in, stuck under their expectations. But instead, it feels like he’s been wrapped in something careful, something steady. Like he’s being taken care of. 

It almost feels too good to be true, and then he finds out it is. 

The numbers on the keypad swim in and out of focus. Sunghoon blinks hard, but his vision won’t clear, his fingers trembling too much to hit the right buttons. He tries again. Misses. Again. Misses. A frustrated sound slips from his throat, barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears.

His breathing is wrong—shallow, too fast, chest rising and falling in a way that doesn’t feel natural, like he’s forgotten how to do something his body should know instinctively. His limbs feel weak, disconnected, like he’s only half in his body, the rest of him floating somewhere just out of reach.

Finally, the lock beeps, and the door gives under his weight as he stumbles inside. His vision tunnels, and the walls feel too close, the air too thin. His fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt at his chest, trying to ground himself, but it isn’t working. The panic is still there, swelling in his throat, making it harder to breathe, harder to think—

“Sunghoon?”

The voice barely registers through the static. He flinches when a hand touches his arm, the contact sudden and solid in a way that makes everything else feel even more unreal. His gaze jerks up, unfocused, and Sunoo’s face swims in front of him, brows furrowed, mouth pulled into something that looks like concern.

“Hey—what’s wrong?”

Sunghoon’s mouth opens, but no words come out. His throat feels tight, like something is lodged there, pressing against his vocal cords. The panic surges higher, tightening around his ribs, and suddenly, tears are burning at his eyes. 

He blinks rapidly, trying to stop them, but they spill over anyway, hot tracks down his cheeks. His breath hitches, then stutters into something broken, something raw, and then he’s sobbing. It isn’t quiet. The tears are heavy, ragged, pulled from somewhere deep, somewhere Sunghoon can’t reach or control.

“Sunghoon,” Sunoo says, alarmed now, his grip tightening. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Sunghoon shakes his head, barely able to process the words. His body is shaking, his fingers clutching desperately at Sunoo’s sleeve as another sob wracks through him. “Want hyung,” he chokes out.

Sunoo stills. A pause, then— “Heeseung-hyung?”

Sunghoon’s breath hitches sharply. No, no, no—a whimper catches in his throat, and his whole body curls inward, panic blooming into something unbearable. Sunoo doesn’t understand. He’ll never understand. He’ll never figure it out, never get Ni-ki, never bring him here. Sunghoon is drowning, free-falling, his body spiraling further out of control. The ground sways beneath him.

His gasps turn sharp, erratic, his vision flickering between blinding brightness and suffocating darkness. He barely notices when Sunoo slips out of his grasp, barely hears the rushed, “I’ll be right back, okay? Just—just hold on,” before he’s gone.

The room tilts. The ground shifts under him, and he presses himself against the wall, his body desperate for something solid, something unmoving, something real. But nothing feels real. His own limbs feel foreign, shaking uncontrollably, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts that aren’t enough, aren’t helping. He can’t pull himself out of it. He’s trapped inside his own mind, drowning, spiraling—

Then footsteps. A shift in the air.

His head snaps up, and suddenly, the world sharpens, just a little. Ni-ki is there, breathless, eyes scanning him with an intensity that cuts through the haze, grounding him instantly.

“He’s dropping,” Sunoo says, distressed, from somewhere behind him, but Sunghoon barely registers it.

Because Ni-ki is here. And then, without thinking, without hesitation, his body moves on its own. His knees hit the floor hard enough to sting, but the pain barely registers. The cold tile is a shock against his skin, sending a shiver up his spine, but it doesn’t matter. The position is the only thing that feels right, the only thing that makes sense.

His body still trembles, his limbs uncooperative, and he struggles to find the right posture, hands twitching where they rest on his thighs. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus, trying to ground himself, but everything still feels off, like he’s teetering on the edge of a precipice.

A warmth settles in front of him. A hand, gentle and firm, cupping his jaw.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ni-ki’s voice is so full of emotion it nearly breaks. Soft and sure, but aching, like it physically hurts him to see Sunghoon like this. His thumb sweeps gently over Sunghoon’s cheek, a quiet reassurance. “Let’s get you off the floor, okay?” His tone is coaxing, careful, like he's talking to a wounded animal. 

Sunghoon doesn’t move. He can’t. His mind is still too far gone, still too caught in the desperate need to stay where he is, to hold onto the only thing that makes sense right now.

Ni-ki doesn’t let Sunghoon’s silence deter him. “Sunoo, help me get him up,” he says, already slipping an arm around Sunghoon’s back, hand splayed warm and steady between his shoulder blades. 

Sunghoon barely registers it when the two of them lift him from the floor. The world is distant, sounds too sharp and too muffled all at once, body heavy and uncooperative. His legs feel useless beneath him, his limbs moving only because Ni-ki and Sunoo are guiding them. His mind lags, floating somewhere between awareness and nothingness.

“There we go, baby. We’ve got you.” Ni-ki says gently, smoothing over Sunghoon’s skin in his hold. 

Sunghoon’s breath is shaky, his hands curled uselessly into Ni-ki’s shirt, but he moves when they do, pliant in their hold. Ni-ki leads him toward the couch, his touch never leaving, his voice never stopping.

“Almost there, sweetheart,” Ni-ki murmurs, voice warm and grounding. “Just sit down for me, okay?”

Sunghoon’s body obeys before he can process the words, sinking onto the couch. His legs tremble beneath him, useless now that they aren’t being held up. The room tilts, and for a brief moment, he thinks he’s falling.

Ni-ki’s hands are back on him then, steady, firm but careful, the pressure a lifeline in the chaos. Sunghoon barely notices anything else, only that Ni-ki is close, that his hands are warm, that they anchor him to something solid when everything else is slipping away.

“Let me take these off, sweetheart.” Ni-ki’s voice is quiet, but it cuts through the haze in a way nothing else does. He feels the shift of air as Ni-ki kneels in front of him, hands gentle as they work at his shoes. 

The laces come undone, the pressure around his feet easing. One shoe off. Then the other. His socks slide away, and Ni-ki’s fingers press softly against the tops of his feet, rubbing slow, grounding circles.

“Breathe, baby,” Ni-ki murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Sunghoon tries, but his breath stutters, chest tight, body unsure if it wants to shake or go completely still. It’s too much. His thoughts are slow, sluggish, like they’re struggling through water, but the panic is still sharp, scraping at his edges.

Ni-ki’s touch stays steady. “Good boy. You’re doing so well.”

A warmth spreads through him at the words, faint but noticeable, cutting through some of the fog. He clings to it.

Sunoo’s voice comes from somewhere beside him, distant but not unfamiliar. “I heard someone at the door, kept getting the code wrong. I looked through the peephole and saw it was Sunghoon, but when I opened the door, he just—” A pause. “He just broke down. He said he wanted ‘hyung.’”

Hyung. The word echoes in Sunghoon’s mind, but it barely means anything now except Ni-ki. Ni-ki, Ni-ki, Ni-ki.

He doesn’t react to Sunoo’s words, barely even processes them, but when Sunoo hesitates and says, “Should I get Heeseung?” something in Sunghoon twists.

No, no, no. He tries to shake his head, tries to say something, but his throat is too tight, his body too sluggish. It’s wrong. It’s not Heeseung. He doesn’t want Heeseung. He wants—

“He meant me,” Ni-ki says, voice steady, not even surprised. “He calls me ‘hyung’ when we scene.”

Relief. Sunghoon doesn’t fully understand it, but it washes over him, loosening something deep in his chest.

Ni-ki thanks Sunoo, but Sunghoon barely hears it. All he knows is that Ni-ki is still here, still close, still with him.

“Sweetheart,” Ni-ki murmurs. “Can you look at me?”

Sunghoon’s muscles feel heavy, head lolling slightly to the side. But slowly, slowly, his eyes flicker up.

“There you are.” Ni-ki’s smile is soft, voice warm and full of something Sunghoon doesn’t have words for. His hands are so gentle, holding Sunghoon like he’s something precious. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

A sound leaves him, small and broken. He doesn’t know what it means, only that he needs Ni-ki to keep talking, keep holding him, keep being here.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Ni-ki soothes. “You don’t have to talk. Just listen to me, okay?” A hand cups his cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone, and Sunghoon leans into it instinctively. “You’re so good. The best sub I could ever ask for.” The words sink into him like warmth in the cold. “Always so good for me, baby.”

Sunghoon’s body tilts slightly forward, like it’s being pulled in by Ni-ki’s voice, his presence, his everything.

“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart,” Ni-ki whispers. “You need to rest.”

Sunghoon doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t resist when Ni-ki moves, strong arms sliding under his knees and around his back. He’s lifted effortlessly, body cradled against Ni-ki’s chest. The warmth of it seeps into him, and without thinking, his fingers weakly grasp at Ni-ki’s hoodie.

“Good boy,” Ni-ki breathes, lips brushing against his hair. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just hold on.”

Sunghoon feels the world shift around him as Ni-ki carries him, but it doesn’t feel like falling this time. It feels safe.

By the time Ni-ki lays him down on the bed, exhaustion is pulling him under. His eyelids are heavy, his body limp against the sheets.

“Hyung,” he breathes, the only word he has left.

“I’m right here, baby.” Ni-ki presses a soft kiss to his temple. “Go to sleep. You’re safe.”

The last of the tension melts from Sunghoon’s body. He feels Ni-ki’s fingers carding through his hair, hears the soft murmur of his voice, but he’s already drifting, pulled under by warmth and safety and Ni-ki, Ni-ki, Ni-ki.

Sunghoon wakes slowly, the weight of sleep pressing down on him like a thick blanket. His body is warm, comforted, held. It takes him a moment to register why—to realize that the steady rise and fall beneath his cheek isn’t a pillow, that the warmth surrounding him isn’t just from the blankets.

It’s Ni-ki.

Sunghoon is wrapped around him, their legs tangled together, his arms tucked close between them, face pressed against Ni-ki’s chest. The dom is still asleep, breath deep and even, his grip on Sunghoon loose but secure, like even unconscious, he’s making sure Sunghoon knows he’s safe.

For a moment, Sunghoon lets himself stay there, lets himself feel the comfort of it, the quiet reassurance of being held. But then last night crashes back into him, and his stomach twists.

As the haze of sleep clears, the events from last night come rushing back, and the familiar tightness creeps into his chest. His thoughts swirl, and for a second, he wishes he could forget—wishes that the memories would slip away from him like they did before, so he wouldn’t have to face them.

Shame creeps in at the edges of his mind, slow and suffocating. It’s not what happened after he saw Ni-ki that makes him sick—it’s everything that led up to it. 

There’s a shift beneath him. Then, a quiet, groggy voice. “You awake?”

Sunghoon doesn’t move.

Ni-ki shifts again, stretching slightly, then settles, his voice softer this time. “Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak yet.

The weight of Ni-ki’s gaze presses down on him, but it’s not demanding—just patient. “Do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?”

The question lingers, soft and open. Ni-ki isn’t pushing him, isn’t rushing him to explain, but there’s a quiet insistence there. The kind that makes Sunghoon want to do it, want to open up even though every part of him feels raw, exposed.

Sunghoon inhales shakily, and for a moment, the words are stuck in his throat. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not really. But Ni-ki’s right there, steady, and Sunghoon knows he doesn’t have to hide. Not from him. Not ever.

So he swallows and speaks, his voice low and hesitant. “It was the photoshoot.”

The dom hums, encouraging. “Yeah?”

Sunghoon nods against Ni-ki’s chest, then forces himself to keep going. “The brand was selling something… subby.” The word tastes strange in his mouth, but Ni-ki just keeps listening, thumb rubbing slow circles into his back. “They wanted me to kneel.”

The hand on his back stills. Just for a second. Then, Ni-ki shifts, turning his head slightly, voice careful. “Did you?”

“No.” The word is immediate. Too immediate. “I didn’t want to. It felt—wrong. Kneeling for someone else. Someone that wasn't… you.”

Ni-ki doesn’t respond right away. But his hand starts moving again, slow, reassuring strokes. “I get that.” His voice is quiet, even, but there’s something solid underneath it.

Sunghoon exhales shakily. “They kept pushing, though. Kept trying to convince me.”

He feels Ni-ki tense. Just barely. But it’s enough.

“They gave up eventually,” Sunghoon continues, voice dull. “Laughed about it. Said it was probably for the best, since I wouldn’t look good kneeling anyway.”

The dom goes completely still beneath him.

“They kept bringing it up,” Sunghoon murmurs. “The whole shoot, for hours. Joking about how bad I’d be as a sub.”

He pauses again, the memory choking him. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way they said them. Like he wasn’t even human. Like he wasn’t worth the effort.

Sunghoon draws in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. “I tried not to let it get to me. I tried so hard, but by the time I got back here, it felt like my head was going to explode. It was like all the words, all the looks… they just kept ringing in my ears.”

There’s a moment of silence, thick and heavy, before Ni-ki speaks again. His voice is soft, but the tension in it is undeniable, and it sends a shiver through Sunghoon’s body.

“No one should ever make you feel like that,” Ni-ki says, his tone low, possessive, a quiet anger laced beneath the tenderness. “You don’t ever kneel for anyone but me, sweetheart. You hear me?”

Sunghoon doesn’t respond right away, feeling the weight of Ni-ki’s words settle into him. He does hear him. He knows it in his bones. But hearing it now, so firmly, from Ni-ki, makes something inside him stir.

He nods, but the dom’s anger just seems to grow. He sits up, and the absence of his touch leaves Sunghoon feeling cold. 

“They didn't just— how could they even say that to you, to anyone? That's completely— god, that's so fucked up, Hoon.” His tone is sharp and it sends fear up Sunghoon’s spine. 

Sunghoon can't catch the flinch fast enough when Ni-ki raises his arm to stroke the sub’s back. Ni-ki’s face immediately softens, his hand finding perch in Sunghoon’s hair, as gentle as the words that follow. 

“Oh, sweetheart, no. I'm not mad at you.” He pulls Sunghoon close, laying a soft kiss on his forehead. “Hyung’s not mad at you,” he says, his voice low and warm, full of love.

The words cut through the last remnants of his panic. Sunghoon breathes shakily, and his body, which had been trembling from the weight of everything, settles slightly. He’s still getting used to it, how Ni-ki’s words—his presence—make the storm inside him quiet just a little.

He tries to steady himself, but it’s no use. His chest still feels tight, and before he can stop himself, the tears are spilling again, silent and hot.

“Shhh…” Ni-ki soothes, pressing his lips to Sunghoon’s forehead once more, and his voice is soft, like a breath against Sunghoon’s ear. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

The weight of Ni-ki’s hands on him, the steady pressure of his body close to his own, pulls Sunghoon further from the edge of his breakdown, but it’s not enough to stop the tears. Ni-ki doesn’t rush him, doesn’t expect anything from him but to be here, now.

It’s not about the breakdown. It’s not about what happened in the past. In this moment, it’s just Ni-ki, holding him together with soft, tender words.

“Let’s get you some food, hm?” Ni-ki suggests, his voice still soothing, but the gentle authority in it settles over Sunghoon like a promise.

Sunghoon, despite himself, nods weakly. The thought of getting up, of facing the world outside this room, feels like too much. But the thought of staying here, wrapped in Ni-ki’s presence, is all too tempting.

“Can we stay here a little longer?” Sunghoon tries, his voice small, almost a whisper.

Ni-ki hums thoughtfully, brushing Sunghoon’s hair back gently. “No, sweetheart. We have to get up. You need to eat, okay?”

It’s not a suggestion. It’s gentle but firm, the kind of authority that Sunghoon knows he’s meant to obey. And in this moment, he wants nothing more than to follow. So he nods again, even though the thought of leaving this comfort feels like a weight on his chest.

When they step out of Ni-ki’s room, the soft hum of voices from the living room greets them. The other members are scattered around the space, lounging casually, but Sunghoon doesn’t feel like he can be far from Ni-ki. 

Without even thinking, he stays close, arms instinctively wrapping around Ni-ki’s back, pulling himself as close as he can. It’s a silent request, a need to feel grounded, and Ni-ki doesn’t hesitate to accept the closeness.

As they move toward the kitchen, Sunghoon holds on to Ni-ki, his chest pressing into Ni-ki’s back, his arms locked tightly around him. Ni-ki’s steady presence is like an anchor, and Sunghoon feels almost desperate to stay in that warmth, feeling the rhythm of Ni-ki’s breath and the heat from his body. He holds on as if the simple act of being so close is the only thing keeping him from floating away.

Ni-ki doesn’t say anything at first. He moves effortlessly through the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make something simple for breakfast. Sunghoon stays attached to him, arms still around Ni-ki’s waist, his cheek resting against the back of Ni-ki’s shoulder as he watches the movements. 

The closeness is comforting, more soothing than Sunghoon can explain. The way Ni-ki’s body feels solid beneath him, the way Ni-ki’s steady hands work so carefully, it all calms the jagged edges of Sunghoon’s mind.

Sunghoon’s grip tightens a little as Ni-ki shifts to the stove. He can’t help it. His fingers curl into the fabric of Ni-ki’s shirt, holding on like a lifeline. Ni-ki notices, but he doesn’t rush to pull away. He simply reaches back, a gentle hand brushing over Sunghoon’s arm in silent reassurance.

“Hungry, sweetheart?” Ni-ki asks softly, his voice warm as he glances back at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon mumbles something too soft for words, but it’s enough for Ni-ki to understand. Sunghoon doesn’t want to speak much—he’s still a little disoriented, still feeling the remnants of the tension from earlier—but he nods, his head resting heavier against Ni-ki’s shoulder.

As Ni-ki prepares food, Sunghoon stays wrapped around him, anchored by the steady beat of his presence. It’s like everything outside of this moment fades away. There’s no pressure to do anything, no need to act or speak, only the quiet intimacy of being here with Ni-ki, wrapped up in his arms, feeling the warmth of Ni-ki’s body against his own.

It’s Sunoo who speaks up first, breaking the quiet tension in the room. He approaches, his expression filled with concern, and asks gently, “Sunghoon, are you okay?”

Sunghoon doesn’t feel the need to mask the way he’s clinging to Ni-ki’s back. He knows how it must look—the way he’s wrapped around him like he can’t be separated, the clear way it’s more than just comfort. It’s a need, a silent plea for reassurance. 

Sunghoon shrugs slightly, “Yeah… I’m fine,” he murmurs, but even as he says it, he knows it’s not entirely convincing. Not when his arms are still tightly wound around Ni-ki’s waist.

Sunoo doesn’t press it, though. He turns to Ni-ki instead, his voice dropping into something softer. “Is he okay? Really?”

Sunghoon feels something shift in his chest, something comforting. Sunoo asked Ni-ki, not him. That subtle gesture, that trust in Ni-ki’s care, makes something warm settle in Sunghoon’s belly. He likes it, the way it feels like Ni-ki is his keeper, the one everyone knows is the person Sunghoon turns to. The idea of it makes him feel safe, secure, like he doesn’t need to explain himself to anyone else right now.

Ni-ki doesn’t hesitate. He answers with certainty, his voice low and reassuring. “He’s doing a lot better. Just needs some extra care today, right?” His hand rests on Sunghoon’s arm, a small squeeze that sends a ripple of warmth through Sunghoon’s skin.

Sunghoon nods at the reassurance, the feeling of being seen and cared for, and the subtle way Ni-ki grounds him with the touch. He presses closer, leaning his cheek against Ni-ki’s back again, his arms tightening around him in silent gratitude.

Once breakfast is ready, Ni-ki encourages Sunghoon to eat, but he stays close, hovering at Sunghoon’s side as he eats, always ready to intervene if needed. When Sunghoon has eaten enough, Ni-ki leads him back into the main room, where the other members are still lounging.

Without thinking, Sunghoon immediately drifts back to Ni-ki’s side. This time, instead of staying so tightly wrapped around him as he had in the kitchen, Sunghoon lets himself sink into Ni-ki’s lap, resting his head against the dom’s chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The others are talking, but the noise feels distant, muffled, like it’s all happening somewhere else.

Ni-ki doesn’t mind, of course. He lets Sunghoon settle against him, a hand gently brushing through Sunghoon’s hair, the touch slow and soothing. Sunghoon closes his eyes, allowing the comfort to wash over him, his body melting into the safety Ni-ki offers.

The conversation around them continues, but it’s soft now, and Sunghoon doesn’t need to pay attention to it. He feels Ni-ki’s hand in his hair, feels the steady beat of his presence keeping him grounded, keeping him from fully slipping away. He doesn’t think about anything else. He doesn’t need to.

His body is relaxed, almost weightless, lulled in and out of consciousness. The sounds of the other members, faint chatter and the rustling of quiet movement, seem far away now. The space between them feels perfect—quiet, safe, and calming.

Sunghoon is still, his eyes barely open, drifting in that soft state where everything outside of Ni-ki feels distant and unimportant. Ni-ki’s hand moves slowly through his hair, each touch gentle, like he’s carefully coaxing Sunghoon back to a place where everything feels okay.

After a while, though, a voice breaks the calm. It’s Jake, his footsteps soft on the floor as he approaches from behind Ni-ki on the couch.

“Ni-ki,” Jake says, quiet but full of care. “Should he kneel?”

Sunghoon’s heart stirs at the question, a deep, instinctive pull in his chest. His body shifts ever so slightly, but before he can move, his mind catches up, and he suddenly becomes aware of the larger picture. 

He lifts his head slightly from Ni-ki’s shoulder, his voice soft, almost tentative. “Don’t we have to leave soon?” he asks, glancing at Jake, his gaze unfocused.

Jake’s response comes quickly, offering Sunghoon a sense of relief. “No,” he says, reassuring. “Jungwon got us most of the day off after Sunoo told us what happened last night. No schedule until later tonight.”

The weight in Sunghoon’s chest lightens at the news, his thoughts slowing again as he processes it. His body, however, knows what it wants, and it’s already shifting, moving instinctively. There’s no hesitation now. The desire to kneel is too strong, too comforting to ignore.

Ni-ki looks down at Sunghoon, his gaze soft but certain. “Kneel for me, sweetheart.”

The command, warm and steady, wraps around Sunghoon like a blanket. He doesn’t need to be told twice. Without any further thought, Sunghoon’s body obeys, moving to the floor in front of Ni-ki, kneeling with a quiet grace. The feeling of submission, of offering himself so completely to Ni-ki, eases the tightness in his chest. There’s no need to overthink it, no need to worry about the other members watching.

As Sunghoon settles into the kneeling position, the world around him begins to blur at the edges. His body lowers, instinctively obeying Ni-ki’s gentle command, and the warmth of the room fades. His focus narrows to the pressure on his scalp where Ni-ki’s hand rests, a soothing anchor in the gentle storm of his mind.

The soft hum of the room around him becomes muffled, like he’s sinking further into the space that only Ni-ki occupies. The world outside is distant now. He’s here, with Ni-ki, and that’s all that matters. The others, the members, are just a backdrop to this moment.

Ni-ki’s voice comes to him, muffled, like it’s being spoken through a thick veil. “Good boy,” he says, his tone laced with warmth. “So perfect for me.”

The words are soft, distant, but they stir something deep within Sunghoon. He leans into the touch, his body heavy and unburdened, like he’s sinking deeper into something soft and warm. He doesn’t need to respond, doesn’t need to say anything. Just hearing Ni-ki’s voice, feeling that steady hand in his hair, makes everything feel right. It feels like floating. A deep, slow fall into peace, like being cradled in the most comforting, gentle embrace.

Ni-ki continues speaking, but the words are blurred, the sound of his voice vibrating through Sunghoon’s chest more than in his ears. The intensity of the moment presses down on him, but in a way that feels safe, that feels right. Everything that isn’t Ni-ki, isn’t here, isn’t now, is far away.

“You’re mine, sweetheart,” Ni-ki murmurs, voice low and intimate. “Always. Just like this. So good for me.”

Sunghoon’s thoughts scatter, disjointed, lost in the haze of his submission. He’s not entirely aware of his own body anymore, just the feeling of being held by Ni-ki, tethered by the weight of his touch. His body hums with a quiet vibration, a satisfaction that curls around his spine and settles in his bones. Everything outside of this moment is distant, fading away with each soft stroke of Ni-ki’s hand. The world feels smaller now, reduced to the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth surrounding him. He’s floating.

“Let go, sweetheart,” Ni-ki’s voice drifts to him again, impossibly soft, a soft murmur that feels like it’s sinking into Sunghoon’s skin. “Just breathe.”

And Sunghoon does. The air feels thicker, each breath a little deeper, more steady, the world above him far away. His mind stretches and floats, drifting through the gentle pull of Ni-ki’s words, anchored only by the pressure on his head. His body surrenders without resistance, accepting the peace in the quiet, the stillness of the moment.

Ni-ki’s voice wraps around him, a melody in the distance. “You’re perfect like this, sweetheart. Just like this. Nothing else matters.”

Sunghoon’s body relaxes into the kneeling position, everything softening around him. He’s floating, weightless, held by Ni-ki’s care and affection, suspended in this space where only the dom’s voice exists, only Ni-ki’s presence is real.

And for a moment, Sunghoon is nothing but a quiet, still being, drifting in the safety of the space they’ve created.

Chapter Text

It’s been a few days since everything happened. Since Sunghoon showed up at the dorm in shambles, since he fell apart in Ni-ki’s arms, since he dropped worse than he ever has.

Ni-ki convinced him to tell the rest of the group what happened at the photoshoot, and Sunghoon had been hesitant at first—he didn’t want their pity, didn’t want them to see him as weak. But they weren’t pitying him. They were angry, all of them, the kind of anger that burns in quiet glares and muttered cursing, that makes Jungwon rub a hand down his face and sigh before saying, “We’re talking to the company.”

Sunghoon didn’t fight it. He let Ni-ki and Jungwon handle it, let them talk to managers and staff and higher-ups until the situation was settled, until their company smoothed things over and made sure it wouldn’t happen again. He hasn’t heard anything else about it, and he doesn’t care to. It’s over now. He just never wants to work with that brand again.

Now, things are… different. Not in a bad way. Just different.

The shift is subtle, but Sunghoon notices.

At breakfast, Sunoo sets a plate in front of him without asking if he’s hungry. Jay shifts a chair over without comment, making space for him next to Ni-ki. The others do little things too—Jungwon squeezing his shoulder as he walks past, Jake sliding him a glass of water like it’s second nature.

They aren’t pushing. They aren’t treating him like he’s fragile. They just… know. And they’re acting accordingly.

Sunghoon doesn’t mind it. In fact, he kind of likes it.

He picks at his food absentmindedly, dragging his spoon through his rice without taking a bite. Ni-ki nudges him, voice gentle but firm. “Eat, sweetheart.”

The words settle over Sunghoon like warm hands smoothing over his shoulders. He listens without thinking, without hesitating. He eats.

Later, at dance practice, Sunghoon feels like his skin doesn’t fit right.

It’s not the choreography—his body knows the moves, follows the rhythm like muscle memory. It’s everything else. The way the members move around him, the way he catches them watching him, the way his own body reacts before he even realizes it.

It’s subtle. It’s in the way Jay passes him a water bottle before he can grab one himself. In the way Jake adjusts his form with a firm touch on his shoulder, holding it there for a second longer than necessary. In the way Sunoo shifts so he’s standing just a little closer than before.

It’s the way his own body responds to it, the way he finds himself waiting for these small moments, settling into them without resistance.

At one point, Jungwon tells him to take a break.

“You look exhausted. Sit for a minute.”

Sunghoon hesitates. He doesn’t want to stop—doesn’t want to be the only one taking a break when everyone else is still going.

Jungwon just raises an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

A week ago, Sunghoon would’ve rolled his eyes and kept going. But now, his body reacts before his mind does. He steps back, sits down, takes the break like he was told to.

And he hates it.

Not the break itself, but the fact that he hadn’t fought it. The fact that he barely even considered fighting it.

He knows they’re caring for him out of love. He knows it’s natural for doms to look after the subs close to them, especially when he’s the only one. But sometimes it makes him feel so—

Useless.

He used to be independent. He used to handle things on his own. Now, it feels like everything is done for him, decisions made before he even realizes there was a choice to begin with.

And worst of all—he doesn’t know if he really minds. Does that make him as selfish as it feels? 

He barely has time to untangle that thought before Ni-ki steps in front of him, crouching down to meet his eyes.

“You okay?” The question is soft, but there’s no room for anything but the truth. “Do you need to kneel?”

Sunghoon startles a little at the offer. He blinks up at Ni-ki, shaking his head quickly. “No. I’m fine.”

Ni-ki doesn’t look convinced.

For a second, Sunghoon thinks he’s going to push, going to tell him to kneel right here, in front of everyone. But he doesn’t. He just nods, standing back up, lingering for a moment before stepping away.

Still, Sunghoon knows this isn’t over.

Ni-ki is going to bring it up again later, when they’re back at the dorm, when there’s no one else around. Sunghoon can already hear the question waiting for him, see the patient, knowing look in Ni-ki’s eyes.

It’s exactly as Sunghoon expects when they get back that night. The second he steps through the door, Ni-ki pulls him into his room, effortlessly guiding him through the door without a word.

The other members don’t even glance their way—too used to Sunghoon spending most of his time in Ni-ki’s room. There’s no need for explanation. No one asks. It’s just normal now, in a way that feels strange, even if Sunghoon hasn’t quite figured out why. 

Ni-ki closes the door behind them, the sound soft but final. He doesn’t wait for Sunghoon to speak—just steps closer, his gaze steady and calm. “What’s wrong?”

Sunghoon hesitates, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. It’s hard to put the swirling mess of feelings into words. He’s always been independent, always handled things on his own. But now, he feels like he’s being carried by everyone around him, like the weight of their care is becoming more than he can bear. And he hates it.

But there's something about Ni-ki’s eyes—those dark, steady eyes—that make him feel like he can’t hide. Not from Ni-ki. He’s always been able to lie to others, to hold things back, but not here. Not with him.

And he knows they all care for him. He knows it’s out of love, but it’s also become suffocating.

“I feel like a burden,” he says quietly, his voice betraying the frustration bubbling inside him. “Like I’m just… taking up space. You guys are all bending over backwards to take care of me, and I don’t even need it half the time. I don’t want to be the reason everything’s different. I don’t want to be the one holding you all back. I don’t want to be the reason you guys are always thinking about me.”

Ni-ki doesn’t say anything at first, and Sunghoon feels the silence stretch between them. He wants to look away, but he doesn’t. Ni-ki’s eyes are always so steady, always so there. Sunghoon can never hide anything from him.

When Ni-ki finally speaks, his voice is softer than Sunghoon expects, but still firm. “You do need it, though. You need us. And we want to take care of you. We’re not doing it because we have to. We’re doing it because we want to.”

Sunghoon wants to argue, to explain that it’s not about needing it—it’s about not wanting to feel like a weight. But Ni-ki’s steady gaze holds him in place, and before he can say anything, Ni-ki steps closer, his hand gently cupping Sunghoon’s face, guiding him to meet his eyes.

“You’re not a burden,” Ni-ki continues, his voice quiet but unwavering. “None of this is a sacrifice. We care about you. And we’re here because we want to be.”

Sunghoon feels a lump form in his throat. He wants to believe him, wants to let go of the frustration, but the words feel too big, too heavy to say aloud. He doesn’t know how to explain that it’s hard to let go of his independence, that it feels like a part of him is disappearing under the weight of all the care he’s been given.

Sunghoon shakes his head, more frustration building in his chest. “No, you don’t get it. I hate that you guys are putting me before your own lives. It’s not fair of me to make you guys do this, to force you to—”

“Who said anything about forcing us?” Ni-ki interrupts, his words quiet but powerful. There’s a subtle dominance in the way he speaks, like he’s not letting Sunghoon slip away from this. “We’re doing this because we want to. All of us. And I—” He pauses, stepping even closer, his hands moving to cup Sunghoon’s face, his thumb gently brushing over his cheek. “I want to take care of you.”

Sunghoon’s chest tightens, and his breath catches in his throat. His mind tries to argue with the simple truth of Ni-ki’s words, but the feeling in his chest—warm, tender, and unwavering—makes it harder to hold onto that frustration. The tenderness in Ni-ki’s gaze isn’t something Sunghoon’s used to, and it has a way of pulling him in, of softening the sharp edges of his thoughts.

“Promise me, Ni-ki,” Sunghoon whispers, almost desperately. “Promise me you’re not just saying that.”

Ni-ki doesn’t hesitate. He pulls Sunghoon into his arms, holding him close, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against Sunghoon’s ear a comforting lull. He presses a soft kiss to the top of Sunghoon’s head, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I promise, sweetheart. I promise.”

Sunghoon closes his eyes, letting the words settle deep inside of him, finally allowing himself to believe them, just for a moment. He feels the steady rhythm of Ni-ki’s heartbeat against his own, and for the first time all day, he allows himself to relax completely. There’s still uncertainty, still that weight on his chest, but in this moment, it feels like it might be okay. It feels like he’s not as much of a burden as he thought.

Sunghoon takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past few days slowly lift off his shoulders. Ni-ki’s arms are still wrapped around him, and the warmth from his embrace is grounding, but Sunghoon’s mind is clearing. The constant ache of uncertainty in his chest from before is now dulling, and he feels a new wave of clarity. It’s not perfect, but he’s starting to find his footing again.

He shifts slightly in Ni-ki’s arms, his voice quiet but clear. “Can we, um… scene?”

The words come out in a rush, his cheeks heating immediately after he says them. It’s still a little strange, this vulnerability, even after everything that’s happened. He’s still adjusting to asking for what he needs, especially now that he can recognize the moments when he needs it. But it feels better to say it than to bottle it up.

Ni-ki’s grip tightens around him, pulling him closer for a brief moment before he leans back just enough to catch Sunghoon’s gaze. His eyes flicker with something dark and tender, and Sunghoon can feel the subtle shift in the air—the way everything around them seems to slow down when Ni-ki looks at him like this.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Ni-ki murmurs, his voice low and smooth. “What do you want to do?”

Sunghoon freezes, his heart skipping a beat. It’s one thing to ask for it, but now that it’s out there, the weight of actually deciding what happens next settles over him. He hadn’t thought this far.

He looks down, feeling a heat rise in his face. His fingers twitch nervously, unsure of where to start, how to express what he’s feeling without stumbling over the words. He knows Ni-ki won’t judge him—Ni-ki has never judged him—but the idea of laying out what he wants feels almost too intimate. A part of him wants to hide, to retreat, but he pushes those thoughts aside. He’s allowed to ask for what he needs. Ni-ki wants him to.

“I—I don’t know,” Sunghoon admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I don’t know what to say.”

Ni-ki chuckles softly, the sound low and warm, like honey dripping into Sunghoon’s chest. He watches Sunghoon with that same gentle, understanding expression he always has—like he sees everything, and it’s all okay.

“Well,” Ni-ki says with a smile, his thumb brushing over Sunghoon’s cheek in a light, affectionate motion, “how about I come up with something and surprise you? How does that sound?”

Sunghoon feels a knot in his stomach loosen, a mixture of nerves and excitement swirling inside him. The idea of not knowing exactly what’s going to happen next makes him a little anxious, but he trusts Ni-ki completely. There’s no one else he’d want to be in this situation with, no one else who makes him feel this safe, this seen.

“Okay…” Sunghoon agrees softly, his voice still carrying a note of uncertainty, but there’s no fear in it—just the rawness of his trust.

Ni-ki’s smile softens, and he leans in to kiss the top of Sunghoon’s head, lingering there for just a second before pulling away.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, his voice calm but laced with that familiar authority. “Wait here for me. Get undressed and kneel next to the bed until I come back.”

Sunghoon nods, the simple command sending a shiver down his spine. He watches as Ni-ki stands, his movements slow and purposeful. Ni-ki’s presence feels like a steady weight in the room, and Sunghoon can’t help but feel his pulse quicken, the anticipation building in the space between them.

Sunghoon lingers in the stillness for a moment, the quiet growing heavier. He takes a deep breath, a slight tremor running through him as he begins to unbutton his shirt. The room feels suddenly warmer, and he feels the familiar tug of vulnerability creeping in. But this time, it doesn’t feel suffocating—it feels like the right kind of exposure. He knows Ni-ki is coming back to him, to guide him through this.

As the fabric slides from his shoulders, he feels a strange mix of emotions. Nervousness, yes, but also something else—something softer, a warmth that spreads through his chest. He feels his body shift, a deep, instinctual need rising to the surface. He’s done this before, but each time it’s different, more personal. He knows what’s coming, but that doesn’t make it any less powerful.

His fingers fidget with the waistband of his pants as he steps out of them, his thoughts swirling as his movements become automatic. When he’s completely bare, he moves toward the bed, his knees already trembling as they touch the cool floor. The sensation of the carpet beneath him is grounding, but his body is still alight with anticipation, each second stretching longer than the last. His hands rest on his thighs, fingers fidgeting nervously as he waits.

It’s not just the act of kneeling that makes his heart race—it’s the way Ni-ki’s presence surrounds him, the way everything in him is pulled toward Ni-ki’s control. The weight of the waiting feels like an electric charge in the air, making every breath more intense than the last.

His heart thuds in his chest, but there’s no fear. No shame. Just the quiet, steady pulse of anticipation.

Sunghoon remains perfectly still, his body tense with anticipation, every muscle locked in place. He can hear Ni-ki’s footsteps as the door opens and closes softly, a familiar presence filling the space around him. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t turn his head to look.

He wants to be good. He’s waiting, focused on the feeling of the carpet under his knees, the warmth of his skin against the cool floor, the rush of his own breath in his chest.

Ni-ki’s voice breaks through the silence, warm and intimate, carrying a layer of something tender, something commanding. “Such a good boy, doing exactly what you’re told,” he murmurs, the words wrapping around Sunghoon like a soft, weighted blanket.

The praise makes something inside Sunghoon stir, a quiet thrill curling in his chest. He stays in place, listening closely as Ni-ki sets things down, the soft clink of objects on the nightstand and the bed—a rustle of fabric, the quiet shift of movement.

The next sound is a faint swish, followed by the cool, smooth sensation of a strip of frantic being drawn down in front of his eyes. A blindfold. 

Sunghoon’s pulse spikes in his throat as the fabric covers his vision, the world turning into a soft, comforting darkness. He feels the blindfold adjust, soft fingers smoothing it into place around his head. Ni-ki’s touch is gentle, careful, and he leans in, his voice low, like a secret just between them.

“Is it too tight?” Ni-ki asks, his tone soft but insistent, as if checking for Sunghoon’s comfort is just another natural part of what they do together. And it is, when he thinks about it. 

Sunghoon swallows, heart pounding louder than it has in a while. He shakes his head, his breath coming quicker now that he can’t see anything—just the echoes of Ni-ki’s voice, the sound of his movements. 

“No, hyung,” he answers, the words slipping out almost automatically. “It’s fine.”

The air around him feels heavier now, charged with the subtle, unspoken power of Ni-ki’s presence. Sunghoon’s shoulders are suddenly acutely aware of the light touch of Ni-ki’s hands, fingers grazing the skin there, massaging slowly, tenderly. The sensation is grounding, but it also makes his pulse stutter. Every brush of Ni-ki’s touch feels magnified, and Sunghoon can’t help the way his body reacts to it.

He’s hyperaware of the smallest things—the sound of Ni-ki moving around the room, the soft rustling of fabric, the way his own breath seems louder, more frantic in his ears as the seconds stretch on. The anticipation clings to him like a second skin. He can feel it growing in his chest, twisting around his ribs.

Then, Ni-ki is back in front of him, his presence filling the air like the promise of something beautiful and intense. His voice, steady and calm, is like an anchor in the swirling, hazy space Sunghoon’s mind has become.

“Lift your arms,” Ni-ki instructs, his tone low and firm, but threaded with care.

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. His arms rise slowly, his fingers trembling slightly as he holds them in place, waiting for whatever Ni-ki is about to do. His heart is racing now, every second more intense than the last. He feels a flutter in his chest, but it’s not fear—it’s trust. He knows Ni-ki will take care of him. He knows he’s safe, that nothing will happen here that he doesn’t want.

Then, before he really has time to prepare, the sensation of rope touches his skin. The rough slide of it against his arms, and then a sudden but gentle pressure as it winds around his chest. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, something Sunghoon has never experienced before, and it sends a rush of heat through him. His heart rate quickens, a wave of excitement and nervousness mixing in his veins. He feels the rope tighten slightly, but it’s not painful, not at all. It’s… safe.

He’s never been bound like this before, and a part of him is surprised by how much it makes him feel—how much it makes him want it. There’s something about the way Ni-ki is doing it, the carefulness of each motion, the deliberate way he works with Sunghoon’s body, that makes Sunghoon feel even more deeply cared for.

He can’t see, but he can feel Ni-ki’s hands move with precision, fingers brushing the skin of his chest as the rope winds around him, and it feels like it’s not just around his body, but around his very soul, binding him to Ni-ki in a way that goes deeper than he ever expected.

Sunghoon swallows again, trying to keep his breath steady, but it’s becoming harder. His body feels alive with every movement, every touch. He trusts Ni-ki completely, but he’s never felt anything quite like this before. The tightness in his chest is nothing compared to the anticipation, the fluttering in his stomach as Ni-ki’s hands work with the rope, securing it, making sure it’s just right.

It’s thrilling, this mix of submission and trust, of knowing he’s safe while also being vulnerable. He’s never been more aware of himself than in this moment, of his body and his need for Ni-ki’s care. It’s almost overwhelming, but in the best way.

When Ni-ki finishes, the rope snug around his chest, Sunghoon hears him step back for just a moment. Sunghoon is left with the quiet sound of his own breathing, the pressure of the rope against his skin, and the subtle, comforting weight of the blindfold over his eyes.

In the silence, Sunghoon’s mind races. He imagines how he must look, naked, bound, and vulnerable. The image of himself like this—stripped down to nothing but skin and rope, a blindfold obscuring his vision—makes his stomach flip with a strange mix of embarrassment and something else. 

He’s been naked in front of Ni-ki before, of course, in the casual way that comes with shared showers or dressing rooms after practice, all part of idol life. But never like this. Never in a way that feels so exposed. This is different. His body is laid bare, every inch of him open to Ni-ki’s gaze, and it stirs something deep inside him.

A heat pools deep in his belly, and while part of him wants to shrink away, to hide from the vulnerability of it all, there’s another part of him that wants to stay like this forever, wrapped in the safety of Ni-ki’s touch, the knowledge that he’s cared for, cherished even. Still, the embarrassment is there, subtle, but undeniable.

Ni-ki’s voice comes again, smooth and calm. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks, the question so simple, but laden with care.

Sunghoon’s breath catches, and he doesn’t need to think long before the answer slips out. “Good… really good, hyung.”

The words are soft, but there’s no mistaking the sincerity in them. Every fiber of his being is attuned to Ni-ki now, to the way his body responds, to the way Ni-ki’s hands—his hands—have the power to soothe him, to guide him, to give him exactly what he needs.

Sunghoon teeters on the edge of subspace, his mind floating, each breath growing deeper and slower. The world around him is beginning to fade, his body sinking into the gentle pressure of the ropes against his skin. The weight of the blindfold over his eyes intensifies his sense of isolation, but it’s a comforting isolation, a soft cocoon that lulls him closer to the edge of release. 

His thoughts are muddled, the sharpness of reality blurring just enough to let him slip further into the haze. He feels the pull of the moment, the promise of surrender, but he’s not fully there yet.

Then Ni-ki pulls him. The knot on his back is all that connects him to the world, and Ni-ki tugs gently, but with purpose, drawing him back. The motion is enough to plunge him into subspace, sudden and deep. 

It’s like the floor drops out from beneath him, his senses overloaded, his mind going blissfully blank. The ropes around him feel tight, binding him to the present, but everything else slips away—his body, his thoughts, the world. It all fades into the background as he falls, fast and hard, into the comforting darkness that only Ni-ki can pull him into.

In that moment, Sunghoon’s awareness narrows sharply, and all that remains is the sound of Ni-ki’s voice. It’s smooth and steady, like a wave pulling him deeper, holding him in place. 

“Good boy,” Ni-ki murmurs, the words flooding Sunghoon’s mind with warmth and security. “There we go, sweetheart.” 

The words don’t fully register in Sunghoon’s foggy state, but the tone, the care behind it, is everything. It grounds him, anchors him to Ni-ki, and that’s enough.

Ni-ki doesn’t wait for Sunghoon to adjust; he guides him easily, pulling him to sit on the bed. Sunghoon’s legs are stiff but pliable as he’s gracefully dropped into a cross-legged position, the ropes pressing tighter against his chest, making the world feel just a little more anchored. Ni-ki’s hands slide over him, rubbing his back gently, over the ropes, and it makes Sunghoon sigh into the touch, leaning into it like a comfort he never knew he needed so badly.

His body hums with the tension of the moment, the mix of excitement and uncertainty swirling beneath the calm surface of his thoughts. 

But the moment the first scrape of Ni-ki’s nails brushes down his legs, everything stops. His heart rate spikes, his breath catches. The sensation is sudden, tender. 

He gets lost in the feeling, the repetitive motion, until one pass digs a little deeper than the rest. It sends heat flooding through his body, right to his core. 

His body trembles, unable to suppress the low, needy moan that slips from his lips.

Ni-ki’s voice drifts back to him, low and steady. “Does that feel good, baby?”

Sunghoon barely registers the words—they’re muffled in his mind, lost to the haze that’s growing thicker with every passing second. All he knows is the way his body responds to Ni-ki’s touch. Every scrape of nails, every slow glide of Ni-ki’s hands, makes his body tighten and react in ways that both comfort and confuse him. 

He’s vaguely aware of the growing pressure between his legs, the heat pooling deep inside him, but he can’t do anything about it. He’s too far gone, too deep into subspace, to do anything but let it happen.

He’s hard for the rest of the scene, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of everything that just happened. He feels the weight of it as he’s gently guided through aftercare, Ni-ki’s hands never leaving his body, always attentive, always careful. He feels the soft brush of Ni-ki’s fingers as he redresses him, the fabric of the clothes soothing against his sensitized skin. Ni-ki feeds him, guiding the fork to his lips with a tenderness that makes Sunghoon’s heart flutter. 

Afterward, Ni-ki insists on making sure he drinks enough water, always keeping an eye on Sunghoon as though everything he does is out of love, from his careful nudges to adjust his position to the gentle way he pulls Sunghoon closer in for a cuddle afterward.

Neither of them bring it up. The silence between them is comfortable, soothing, but Sunghoon can’t ignore the pressure that's lingering between his legs. He knows, without a doubt, that Ni-ki must feel it now—the hardness pressing against the dom’s body as they cuddle. But he also knows Ni-ki must’ve seen it earlier, when Sunghoon was sitting on the bed, exposed and vulnerable during the scene. It’s hard to ignore, to pretend it’s not there. 

He wills it to go down, to fade back into the background of his body, but it’s insistent, impossible to ignore. Sunghoon doesn’t want to leave the comfort of Ni-ki’s embrace, but he knows what he needs to do.

After a quiet, hesitant breath, Sunghoon excuses himself. He slips out of Ni-ki’s arms and walks to the bathroom, trying to ignore the way his heart skips in his chest. Inside, he handles the situation as quickly as he can, the action almost mechanical, a way to ease the tension, but even after, something still lingers, something that wasn’t there before.

He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment. The reality of everything feels heavy now. The scene, the aftercare, the touch—it was all so new, and he’s not sure how to process it. 

He debates returning to his own room, escaping the conversation that’s bound to come, but deep down, he knows he doesn’t want to be apart from Ni-ki. His body aches for the comfort of his presence, for the safety that Ni-ki’s always provided.

With a sigh, Sunghoon walks back into Ni-ki’s room. The tension coils in his stomach, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. He’s hoping, maybe, that Ni-ki won’t bring it up. Maybe they can just pretend it didn’t happen. But as soon as he steps inside, Ni-ki’s voice cuts through the stillness, smooth and steady, like always, but with that quiet edge of knowing.

“You know, Sunghoon,” Ni-ki starts, his gaze never leaving him, “What we’ve been doing so far has been pretty platonic, hasn’t it?”

Sunghoon freezes in place, his heart pounding in his chest. His throat tightens as he wonders where this conversation is going, what Ni-ki is thinking. Ni-ki continues, his voice softer now, like he’s reading Sunghoon’s mind.

“Things can stay like this, just like this, if that’s what you want. No pressure. But if you want to take things further, we can.”

Sunghoon feels his chest tighten at the words. He can hear the care in Ni-ki’s voice, but there’s something else too—an unspoken question, maybe one that’s always been there, just waiting for Sunghoon to accept it. He opens his mouth to respond, but it’s like the words don’t come easily. He just doesn’t know what to say.

“What do you want to do?” Sunghoon asks, almost as if the question slipped out without him thinking about it. His heart beats faster, nerves tightening in his stomach. He’s still figuring out what he even wants from this moment.

Ni-ki raises an eyebrow, that teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Are you kidding me?” he says, his voice low but playful, “Do you have any idea how hard it was not to pounce on you earlier?”

Sunghoon whines, the embarrassment creeping up his neck. “Then why didn’t you?” The words are out before he can stop them, and they sound so small, so unsure. He wants to kick himself for asking, for sounding so needy.

Ni-ki’s smile falters for a moment, his expression serious. “Because we hadn’t talked about that yet,” he says gently, taking a step closer to Sunghoon. “You were too deep under to give proper consent. I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon’s heart swells at the consideration in Ni-ki’s words, the deep respect for him that Ni-ki always carries, even in the most intimate of moments. He feels his cheeks flush, the weight of his gratitude making him shiver. He appreciates it—appreciates how Ni-ki always makes sure he’s comfortable, always makes sure he’s safe.

“Okay,” Sunghoon breathes out, a little unsure. “So if we both agree to take the next step… Can I kiss you?”

The question escapes him so casually, so naturally, that for a split second, Sunghoon wonders if he imagined it. It doesn’t feel like he should have asked, not in the moment, but it was the truth—the thought that had been lingering in his mind. He swallows nervously, but before he can second guess himself, Ni-ki steps in, closing the distance between them.

Ni-ki’s expression softens, a warm, fond smile spreading across his face. He leans in, his hand gently cupping the back of Sunghoon’s neck, and with a softness that takes Sunghoon’s breath away, he presses his lips against his.

It’s a quick kiss, a simple peck that’s barely there, but it sends a rush of heat straight through Sunghoon’s body, the fire igniting in his chest. His pulse quickens, the lingering ache from earlier flaring to life, and for a moment, he forgets everything else. He only knows Ni-ki’s warmth, the feeling of his lips, and the way his whole body seems to light up at the touch.

Ni-ki pulls back just slightly, his breath catching in his throat as he stares down at Sunghoon, the sub’s chest heaving. 

He knows this is just the beginning, the first step into something more, something new. His mind races with the possibilities, with the anticipation of what’s to come, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Sunghoon feels like he’s ready to take the next step with Ni-ki.

Chapter Text

After their almost-confession, something shifts.

It’s not loud or dramatic—just a quiet shift in gravity, a subtle bend in the axis between them. Sunghoon feels it in the soft way Ni-ki looks at him now, and in the way his own chest lifts a little lighter when Ni-ki is near.

He’s sitting on the floor next to Jake, surrounded by the gentle hum of the dorm—TV flickering, snacks half-open on the table—when Ni-ki walks in.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just crosses the room to grab something from the shelf. His presence brushes over Sunghoon like a warm breeze, familiar and grounding. And as he turns to leave, Ni-ki leans down, casual and unhurried, and kisses him.

The shift was this. They kiss now. 

It’s always like this, brief. Barely a brush of lips. But it pulls the breath right out of Sunghoon’s lungs every time.

He blinks at the closed door Ni-ki leaves behind, heartbeat thudding hard in his ears.

“So,” Jake says, eyes narrow and amused. “You two finally took the next step?”

Sunghoon chokes on a laugh, cheeks heating. “If kissing counts. I mean… we haven’t talked about feelings.”

Jay, who’s lounging a few feet away, raises an eyebrow. “Do you like him?”

“Of course I do.” The answer slips out so easily it surprises him. There’s no hesitation in it. Not anymore.

“Then what’s stopping you from saying something?” Jay asks. “He clearly likes you too.”

Sunghoon frowns, staring at the spot where Ni-ki stood just moments ago. “I don’t know. If he felt the same, wouldn’t he have said something by now? He’s the…”

He trails off. Doesn’t say the word. But it hangs there, unspoken.

Jay just sighs. “Come on. Just because he’s a dom doesn’t mean you can’t make the first move here. If anything, he’s probably waiting to make sure you’re ready. He’s always careful with you.”

And that’s true. Ni-ki has never once rushed him. Has never crossed a line. He always asks. Always waits. Always makes space for Sunghoon to come to him.

Sunghoon looks down at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. “He says we’re going at my pace.”

“Exactly,” Jay says. “So maybe it’s your turn to take a step.”

The thought lodges itself somewhere deep in Sunghoon’s chest. Heavy, but not unpleasant.

He wants to say something. He glances at the door again, where Ni-ki had kissed him without hesitation. As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sunghoon touches his lips, where the warmth still lingers.

Yeah. He’ll say something.

When the moment feels right.

But the right moment doesn’t come.

Not for a while.

The comeback preparations start, and with them, the whirlwind of rehearsals, fittings, filming, interviews. Days blur into nights, and sleep is more of a rumor than a guarantee. Even downtime doesn’t feel restful—it’s eaten up by small tasks, packed schedules, people constantly around.

Sunghoon doesn’t have space to think about feelings, let alone talk about them. The idea of pulling Ni-ki aside, of having that kind of conversation now, feels impossible. Why would he risk emotional overwhelm when every hour of rest is precious? When he’s already starving for time to kneel, to breathe, to be?

So he lets it go. He tells himself it’s just for now. His feelings can wait.

But something about this comeback feels different.

It’s the first one since he started scening regularly. Since he started being a sub, instead of just hiding it. And even if he’s still not open to the public about it—even if fans don’t know, even if the members would never say anything—Sunghoon still feels like he’s standing under a spotlight, exposed.

He notices the way things have changed. The way the others shift around him more carefully. Jungwon stepping in when the manager’s tone gets sharp. Heeseung reaching for his water bottle before he realizes he’s thirsty. Jay sitting next to him on the couch so he doesn’t end up sandwiched between too much noise.

And then there’s Ni-ki. Always there. Always near. Not touching, not clinging—just… present. Watching. Waiting. Grounding him with nothing more than a glance.

Sunghoon should be grateful. He is grateful. But some ugly, unspoken part of him whispers that maybe he’s too obvious now. That maybe everyone sees it. That he’s not doing a good enough job pretending.

He tries not to spiral. He focuses on dancing, on singing, on smiling when the cameras roll. But the pit in his stomach grows heavier with every day.

It hits hardest at the fansign.

They’re sitting in a line, members spread across a long table. The crowd is loud and cheerful, full of lightsticks and laughter and sharpies being passed down. Most fans come and go in a blur of small talk and compliments, but then one stops in front of him and holds something out.

A black silk blindfold.

“Can you wear this for a photo?” she asks sweetly, smiling wide.

Sunghoon hesitates. Just a beat. Then he smiles too, because that’s what he’s supposed to do. He nods, fingers trembling slightly as he takes it from her and lifts it over his eyes.

The moment it settles over his face, his heart starts to pound.

He feels like he’s been peeled open.

The blindfold is harmless, he knows that. He’s worn them in photoshoots before. But this one feels different. Like someone’s thrown a bucket of ice water over his nerves. Like somehow everyone in the room knows. That he’s a sub. That he’s been kneeling in private, letting Ni-ki tie him up, whisper into his ear. That this isn’t just a prop anymore.

He can’t breathe right.

He holds the pose for the camera, manages a smile, and takes it off as soon as he can. His hands shake as he passes it back.

None of the members seem to notice. No one says anything. So neither does he.

But the fear clings to him like static for the rest of the day. By the time they’re back at the dorm, he’s bone-deep exhausted. Quiet. Needing.

Ni-ki notices. Of course he does.

The lights are low in his room when Sunghoon walks in, muscles aching, skin tight with tension. Ni-ki’s already waiting, warm eyes and open arms, steady in a way that makes Sunghoon’s heart tremble.

“You wanna scene tonight?” Ni-ki asks gently, already laying out a hoodie and sweatpants for Sunghoon to change into. His voice is soft, coaxing. “Thought maybe we could use the blindfold again.”

Sunghoon freezes.

He swallows once. Twice. Tries to push down the image of the fansign, the feeling of the silk sliding over his face, the fear of being known too deeply.

“No,” he says, voice tight.

Ni-ki pauses, head tilting slightly. “Okay. No blindfold,” he says, just like that. No questions, no pressure. He steps forward instead, thumb brushing gently over Sunghoon’s shoulder. “You don’t have to explain, baby. We’ll do something else.”

The pet name lands soft and warm in his chest. But Sunghoon still can’t shake the guilt pressing down on him.

He closes his eyes, wishing his skin didn’t feel so thin. That he didn’t feel like this. That it didn’t matter so much.

But Ni-ki’s already moving, already adjusting. Already reaching for something else—something easier. A hand on his wrist. A whisper close to his ear.

“Come here,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you settled.”

And Sunghoon goes, wordless.

Because no matter how shaken he feels, Ni-ki’s voice still anchors him.

The next day is packed. They’ve got a scheduled livestream, one of those planned lives where they all sit in front of a phone and pretend they aren’t running on four hours of sleep. The only reprieve is that it's at their own dorm, not in a cold room at the company. 

Sunghoon’s tired but steady, keeping his expression light as the group answers questions, jokes around, and waves at the camera.

He’s not even thinking about the cushion.

It’s Ni-ki’s laugh that draws his attention—slightly too tight, a beat too loud. Then the shift in energy across the couch. Jay’s hand flicks the phone subtly, like he’s changing the angle.

Sunghoon’s stomach drops before he even sees the comment.

is that a kneeling cushion in the background??

He freezes. He knows exactly what they’re seeing, because he used it the night before. The dark velvet cushion in the corner of the living room, tucked next to the shelf—not hidden well enough. Not hidden at all.

More comments flood in after that, rapid-fire and overwhelming.

looks like a sub cushion to me lol

whose is it??

there’s no subs in enhypen so what is that doing there?

His blood runs cold.

Jake jumps in with a joke before the others can react. “Oh? That’s just, uh… part of the set. You know how our dorm is basically a storage unit right now.”

Jay’s already moved the camera, and Sunoo laughs in that high, breezy way that means he’s panicking too. They’re all professionals. They know how to pivot. They change the subject immediately, launching into a bit about Ni-ki’s socks not matching and how he lost a bet with Jungwon.

It should be fine.

But the comment is already in the air, buried under thousands of hearts and emojis and questions, but not gone. Not forgotten. Sunghoon can feel it sticking to his skin, sharp and humming like static.

He barely hears the rest of the live.

Afterward, the moment they’re off camera, Heeseung blows out a breath. “That was close.”

Ni-ki doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon can’t meet his eyes.

By the time they get back to the dorm, it’s already happening. The fans online are clipping the livestream, freezing the frame, zooming in. People are arguing in the comments—some saying it’s just a normal cushion, others pointing out the shape, the way it’s placed on the floor, how no one sits there. Theory accounts are posting threads with timestamps and cross-references.

The company sends a message in the group chat an hour later. No social media for a few days. Let it pass. Don’t engage.

But it doesn’t pass.

The media starts picking it up. Not major news outlets, not yet, but gossip columns and entertainment blogs. There’s no official narrative, so everyone is building their own. Some say it’s a hint that someone in the group is dating a sub. Others speculate that a friend or stylist left it there by mistake. A few of the more unhinged accounts are convinced it’s proof Enhypen is covering something up—because if no one in the group is a sub, why is it in their dorm?

Sunghoon feels like he’s suffocating.

A couple of nights later,, lying in Ni-ki’s bed with his face pressed to Ni-ki’s chest, Sunghoon wants to say something. He wants to say sorry. He wants to ask if Ni-ki’s mad. He wants to curl up even tighter and disappear completely. But all he manages is a soft, strained breath.

Ni-ki runs his hand through Sunghoon’s hair, fingers gentle but firm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Figures he already knows exactly what Sunghoon is thinking about. 

Sunghoon closes his eyes. “I should’ve put it away.”

“You were tired. We both forgot.” Ni-ki’s voice is steady, low and warm. “It’s not your fault, baby.”

Sunghoon feels a flush climb up his neck at the pet name, the affection tucked into it, the ownership. He clings to it like a lifeline.

“But now everyone’s talking,” he mumbles.

“I know.”

“They’re going to find out.”

Ni-ki pauses. Then, “Maybe. Maybe not. But even if they do, we’ll handle it.”

The quiet in the van on the way to the company is different this time. Not tense exactly, but suspended—like everyone’s holding their breath at once, waiting for something they can’t name.

When they’re ushered into the meeting room, the managers and PR team already waiting, Sunghoon’s palms start to sweat. He wipes them on his jeans and keeps his eyes low as they all sit. The table is long and cold, the lights above too bright, casting the room in clinical white.

One of the staff members looks down at a tablet, then back up. “Alright,” she says carefully. “We all know why we’re here. We need to figure out how to approach the kneeling cushion situation.”

Sunghoon’s stomach turns at the phrase. “Situation.” As if it wasn’t his life.

The woman turns her attention to him gently. “Sunghoon. Is it yours?”

He nods once. “Yeah,” he says, small. “It’s mine.”

A flicker of something—guilt, maybe—rises in his chest, but before it can settle, Ni-ki speaks.

“It’s not just his fault,” Ni-ki says firmly. “I was there. I should’ve reminded him to move it, or moved it myself. I should’ve made sure.”

He’s so calm when he says it, so certain, like he’s not just defending Sunghoon but claiming him outright. His voice leaves no room for argument.

And then the others join in—Jay saying they were all in and out of the living room that night, Jake adding that anyone could’ve moved it, Heeseung muttering that he literally sat next to it that morning and didn’t even notice. 

Finally Jungwon says, “If this is about blame, we’re all at fault.”

Sunghoon feels something tighten in his throat, and he looks down again, blinking hard.

“We’re not here to blame anyone,” another staff member says, voice gentler now. “What’s done is done. We just need to figure out how to move forward from here without making it worse.”

The room stills. The quiet stretches.

Sunghoon doesn’t know what he’s waiting for—someone to tell him what to do, maybe. Someone to decide for him so he doesn’t have to. But instead, all he feels is Ni-ki’s hand sliding under the table and curling around his.

Warm, steady, grounding.

Sunghoon exhales. And then, before he can talk himself out of it, he says, “I’ll announce it.”

The room stills again. He hears the words echo in his own head before they even finish leaving his mouth. “I’ll tell them I’m a sub.”

“No one’s asking you to do that,” one of the managers says quickly. “That’s not necessarily the route we’re taking. We can think of other narratives. It doesn’t have to fall on you.”

Sunghoon swallows. “But what else is there? If people think someone in the group has a sub, that could spiral. The only way to control the story is to be honest.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that unless you’re sure,” says another voice from across the table. “You deserve privacy.”

He nods. “I know. But… it’ll come out eventually. People are already guessing. It’s not going to stop.”

The staff goes quiet, exchanging glances. No one rushes to respond. It’s not an easy decision—Sunghoon doesn’t expect it to be. After a long pause, one of the senior PR coordinators finally speaks.

“Alright,” she says, carefully. “Give us a few days to consider the options. In the meantime, talk it over with the group. And—if this does go forward—you might want to contact your family. Just so they’re not blindsided.”

Sunghoon lets out a small, breathy laugh. yeah, he moves his mouth around the silent words. that'll be the last thing I do.

The meeting ends soon after. The members file out one by one, slow and quiet.

Outside in the hallway, Ni-ki nudges him gently. “Hey.”

Sunghoon looks over.

“What you did in there,” Ni-ki says. “That was brave.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “It was gonna happen eventually.”

Ni-ki watches him for a moment, like he sees straight through him, and then reaches over to take his hand again. Doesn’t say anything else—just holds it as they make their way out together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Back at the dorm, the lights are low and the mood is quiet. No one talks much. It’s the kind of silence that hums with exhaustion—not the bad kind, just the kind that comes after something big. Something that still needs time to settle.

Sunghoon changes into something more comfortable and sinks into the corner of the couch, pulling a blanket over his legs. His heart is still moving too fast, too loud, but Ni-ki settles beside him again, like always. And when their shoulders touch, something in Sunghoon finally slows.

Later that night, after the others have filtered out to their rooms, after the last pot has been rinsed and the kitchen lights dimmed, Sunghoon and Ni-ki stay behind on the couch. The TV is on, volume low, flickering light painting soft shadows on their faces, but neither of them is really watching.

Ni-ki shifts beside him, resting an arm on the back of the couch, and looks over. “Are you going to call your parents?”

Sunghoon snorts before he can help it. “And talk to my dad?” he says. “Tell him his adynamic son is actually a sub, and the whole world is about to know it?”

He turns his head, meets Ni-ki’s eyes.

“No,” he says. “I think I’ll pass on that.”

Ni-ki doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches him, gaze steady, thoughtful. There’s no judgment there. Just patience. Care.

“Was it really that bad?” he asks after a beat. “Growing up, I mean.”

Sunghoon pulls the blanket tighter around himself and lets out a slow breath. He wasn’t planning to get into this tonight. But maybe that’s why it slips out so easily now—because he’s too tired to guard it anymore.

“Yeah,” he says. “It was.”

Ni-ki waits. Sunghoon feels the weight of his silence—open, gentle, coaxing.

“It was obvious early on,” Sunghoon murmurs, voice quieter now. “I liked following orders. I was quiet, sensitive. My teachers noticed. Some of the other parents even mentioned it to mine.”

His throat tightens.

“My dad didn’t want to hear it. Said I needed to toughen up. That no one would take me seriously if I was soft. Said subs could never be leaders, couldn’t survive in the industry.”

He glances down at his hands, fingers twisting in the edge of the blanket. “So I worked harder. Spoke less. Tried to unlearn every instinct that made me feel safe. Got really good at faking it.”

Ni-ki shifts closer. Their knees bump. Sunghoon doesn’t move away.

“I’m sorry,” Ni-ki says, voice thick with something quiet and warm. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “It worked, didn’t it? I made it this far.”

“That doesn’t mean it was right,” Ni-ki says. Then, softer: “You know being a sub doesn’t make you weak, right?”

The words land with more weight than Sunghoon expects. Not because he doesn’t know it—he’s heard it before. But because it’s Ni-ki saying it. Ni-ki, who’s seen him in space. Held him through it. Given him back pieces of himself he didn’t even realize were missing.

Sunghoon blinks, trying to find the right words. “I don’t think I’m weak,” he says, slowly. “But I think… I was trained to believe other people would see me that way. And sometimes it’s hard to shake the fear that they’re right.”

Ni-ki nods, then leans in a little more, speaking low and steady. “You’re strong, Sunghoon. Not because you hide your feelings. Not because you fake being okay. But because you keep showing up—even when it’s hard. Even when you’re scared.”

Sunghoon swallows. His chest aches with the weight of that truth.

Ni-ki’s hand finds his under the blanket. “You’re mine to take care of,” he says, softer still, “and I don’t see anything in you I’d ever want to change.”

Sunghoon exhales shakily. He doesn’t respond right away—he can’t. Not with words. So he leans into Ni-ki’s side instead, letting his head fall onto his shoulder.

The moment holds. Warm and quiet and safe.

The outside world still exists, with all its noise and pressure and spinning headlines. But for now, here, there’s only this: Ni-ki’s hand in his. A heartbeat against his cheek. A place to rest.

They stay like that for a while—Sunghoon’s head resting on Ni-ki’s shoulder, the soft quiet of the room wrapping around them. Sunghoon’s mind starts to slow, the weight of the day easing a little. His body still feels tight with the nerves of everything that’s been happening, but with Ni-ki so close, it’s easier to breathe. Easier to think.

Finally, Ni-ki shifts again, standing up and offering his hand to Sunghoon. “Come on. Let’s get some rest. You’re gonna need it for tomorrow.”

Sunghoon looks up at him, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re right.”

Ni-ki smiles back, his gaze soft but steady. “Of course I am. Now come on, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

Sunghoon feels a warmth spread through him, a feeling of safety that he’s come to crave. He takes Ni-ki’s hand and stands up, the small but significant act of trusting someone with his weight, his space, making his heart beat just a little faster.

As they walk toward the bathroom, Sunghoon’s mind is quieter than it’s been all day. His body aches from the long day, the tension of everything weighing on him, but his mind is silent. 

Ni-ki moves beside him, as effortless as ever, his presence a constant comfort. He doesn’t say much, just leads Sunghoon to the bathroom with a gentle push, guiding him through the motions.

“Brush your teeth,” Ni-ki says softly, voice like velvet, but still carrying that subtle authority that it always has. “I’ll be right here.”

Sunghoon nods and reaches for his toothbrush, the motion almost automatic. The toothpaste tastes faintly minty, but it’s not enough to clear the taste of the day from his mouth. He brushes quickly, his thoughts scattered, but he can feel Ni-ki’s eyes on him, steady and patient.

When he finishes, Ni-ki’s waiting, leaning casually against the doorframe, watching him in that way that makes Sunghoon feel like he’s the only one in the room.  

Ni-ki tilts his head toward the counter, silently asking him to finish the rest of his routine. Sunghoon can’t quite bring himself to meet his gaze but nods and reaches for his skincare products.

“Drink some water too,” Ni-ki says, his voice low, but there’s an undeniable tenderness in it. “You need it. You’re dehydrated.”

Sunghoon feels the weight of those words, a little surprised by the attention to something so small. But he knows Ni-ki’s right. He hasn’t been taking care of himself, not really, not with everything that’s been happening. He grabs the water bottle sitting on the counter and takes a long, steady drink, feeling the cool liquid slide down his throat, settling in his stomach.

“Good,” Ni-ki says when Sunghoon finishes, a soft, satisfied smile on his face. “Now the rest.”

The rest. The words settle on Sunghoon’s shoulders, such a simple command, but one he’s happy to follow. He does his routine quickly, still tired, but now with a sense of purpose, as if Ni-ki’s calm presence makes everything a little easier. 

He’s always had his own routine, but tonight it feels different. It feels like he’s being looked after in a way that’s both subtle and deeply comforting. Like Ni-ki is gently guiding him, making sure he’s okay in the little things.

By the time he’s finished, Ni-ki is already changing into his pajamas, the soft fabric of his shirt and sweatpants making Sunghoon feel a little more at ease. He feels exhausted, but there’s something about the quiet of the room, the intimacy of their shared space, that settles over him like a blanket.

“Come on,” Ni-ki says softly, reaching out to pull back the covers. “Let’s get some rest. You’ve had enough for one day.”

Sunghoon lets out a tired breath, finally allowing himself to relax, the constant hum of his mind slowing down. He slips into the bed beside Ni-ki, the sheets cool against his skin, and for a moment, everything feels still. No more questions, no more worries—just the warmth of the bed, the steady presence of Ni-ki beside him.

He closes his eyes, feeling Ni-ki’s hand settle on his back, a light but steady touch. “Sleep well, Sunghoon,” Ni-ki murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to calm the last of the restless thoughts in Sunghoon’s mind.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon replies, his voice a little hoarse, but he’s too tired to say anything more. “Goodnight, Ni-ki.”

As he feels himself drifting off, the weight of everything pressing on his body, he knows that tomorrow will come with its own challenges, its own complications. But for tonight, with Ni-ki close, everything feels like it’s in the right place. Maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

Chapter Text

The tension still lingers in the air, heavy and unspoken, even as the members gather for their next meeting with the company. Sunghoon knows what they’re about to decide. They’ve talked it through for days now, the pros and cons, the consequences, and the endless “what-ifs.” 

It’s not easy, not by any means, but it’s what needs to happen. He can’t keep hiding, not anymore. Not when it’s all spilling out of the cracks, threatening to tear everything apart. He’s done waiting.

Sunghoon sits the table, his hands resting on the surface, knuckles pale and tight as he stares at the staff's serious faces. It feels unreal. The media, the protests, the fans flooding every corner of social media—none of it has stopped. The discussions haven’t died down. If anything, they’ve only gotten louder. His stomach churns with the weight of it all.

“We need to do this fast,” Sunghoon says, his voice steady despite the nerves creeping up his spine. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, but he’s determined not to let them see it. He’s made up his mind.

The company team doesn’t hesitate. There’s a slight nod from the CEO, a gesture of agreement from the PR team. They’ve been watching this situation for days, and they know it’s only getting messier.

“You’re right,” the CEO says, his tone calm but serious. “The longer we wait, the worse it will get. The fans are getting impatient, and the longer we stay silent, the more rumors will spin out of control.”

Sunghoon can feel the pressure building, the way the room seems to close in on him. It’s hard to breathe, but he doesn’t back down. He’s done pretending. He has to take control of this, even if it scares him.

They begin to hash out the wording of the statement, going over each line, each phrase, carefully, as if it could mean the difference between everything falling apart or somehow staying intact. 

Sunghoon offers suggestions, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table as he thinks it through. The tension in his chest doesn’t lessen, but he feels a strange sense of control settling in. This is his decision. His choice. He’s no longer the one being controlled.

Ni-ki is beside him through it all, just a little quieter than usual, but Sunghoon knows what that means. Ni-ki’s always the quiet one when he’s processing, when he’s letting everything settle into place. He doesn’t speak up often, but when he does, Sunghoon knows it’s with purpose. 

Ni-ki’s presence is comforting, and every time Sunghoon catches a glimpse of him, there’s an unspoken reassurance, a steady hand on his shoulder, a silent promise that he’s not in this alone.

The statement is eventually agreed upon. It’s simple. Direct. No frills, no flowery language—just the truth, spoken plainly for everyone to see.

“We’ll post it tonight,” a staff member says, almost like an afterthought, but it’s clear that it’s been decided. There’s no turning back now.

Sunghoon nods, his lips pressed into a thin line. His mind starts to spin again, thinking about what comes next. His head is full of doubts, but they’re fleeting. They have to be. He can’t let himself linger on them.

Ni-ki’s hand brushes his as they stand to leave the meeting, the contact brief but enough to ground him. His thumb brushes over Sunghoon’s knuckles, almost absentmindedly, but it still sends a warm pulse through his chest.

The room empties slowly, one member at a time, until it’s just Sunghoon and Ni-ki left behind. The rest of the group has long since scattered, leaving them alone in the quiet aftermath of the meeting.

Sunghoon lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his shoulders sagging as he slumps against the table, exhausted. The weight of everything has finally hit him. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel. Relief? Fear? Maybe both, at once.

Ni-ki watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable, but his eyes soft with something that Sunghoon can’t quite place. It’s only when Sunghoon looks up at him that Ni-ki speaks, his voice low and steady.

“You okay?” Ni-ki asks, his eyes searching Sunghoon’s face like he’s trying to decipher every unreadable line. There’s a softness there, something warm, a quiet understanding that only Ni-ki seems to know how to express without words.

Sunghoon doesn’t answer right away. He wants to say something, but he’s not sure what. Instead, he just shakes his head slightly, offering a small, tired smile. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to let Ni-ki know that, for all the weight in his chest, he’s not breaking down.

“I think I will be,” he says quietly, but there’s a strength in his voice now, one he didn’t have before.

Ni-ki doesn’t say anything in response, but he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair out of Sunghoon’s face with gentle fingers. His touch is soft, intimate, but there’s a quiet command in the way he does it, like he’s taking care of Sunghoon, making sure he’s okay.

“You’re doing great,” Ni-ki says after a long beat, his voice low and full of reassurance. “We’re in this together, alright?”

Sunghoon looks up at him, feeling something in his chest settle. Ni-ki’s gaze is steady, unwavering, as though he’s already made up his mind about everything. Sunghoon feels a sudden swell of gratitude, a deep warmth that spreads through his chest.

“I know,” Sunghoon replies, and for the first time in days, he really does know.

Ni-ki smiles, just a small curve of his lips, but it’s enough to make Sunghoon feel lighter. “Good. Now, let’s get some rest. Tomorrow’s another day.”

The quiet of the dorm feels suffocating. The silence hangs heavy in Sunghoon’s empty room. He's hardly ever in here anymore, not for more than few minutes when he's grabbing a fresh pair of clothes.

He can feel the nervous energy thrumming through him, like he’s vibrating with anticipation. His fingers keep scrolling through Twitter, refreshing every few seconds as if that will change something. As if the statement will suddenly appear on the screen and take all this unease away, or triple it. His stomach is tied in knots, but he can’t seem to stop. The need to know what’s coming next feels almost consuming.

The door to his room creaks open, and he doesn’t even look up. It’s Ni-ki, he can tell by the quiet steps, the calm energy that seems to settle the air the second he enters. Sunghoon doesn’t acknowledge him at first, but then his phone buzzes, another notification, another potential sign that the statement is about to drop. His heart jumps, but he’s too impatient, too anxious to wait for it to show up on his own.

“They haven't posted it yet.” he says before he even looks at Ni-ki, his voice tight with frustration.

Ni-ki stands still for a moment, his gaze soft but unwavering. “Sunghoon,” he says, calm, but there’s a subtle edge to his voice. “Stop checking. Reading the comments isn’t going to help you. Whether they’re good or bad, it’s not good for you.”

Sunghoon’s thumb stills on the screen, but his eyes narrow, frustration creeping up his throat. “I want to know what people are saying about me, though,” he mutters, his voice a little more defensive than he intended.

Ni-ki’s gaze doesn’t falter. He’s used to this—Sunghoon’s need to know, his compulsion to dive into everything even when it isn’t in his best interest. “And why do you care?” Ni-ki counters, voice patient but firm. “Their opinions of you don’t matter.”

Sunghoon’s hands tighten around the phone. “They matter to me,” he snaps, his nerves fraying, the tension building. “You don’t get it. I have to know what they think. I need to be prepared for it.”

Ni-ki steps closer, his presence settling into the space between them like a calm wave breaking against a restless shore. His voice drops low, soothing but assertive, the way it always does when he wants to make sure Sunghoon listens, really listens. 

“No. You don’t need to prepare for what they think. What they think doesn’t change who you are. And right now? All you need to focus on is taking care of yourself. Not what strangers on the internet say.”

Sunghoon clenches his jaw, refusing to back down, his face flush with frustration. “You can’t just tell me not to care.”

Without another word, Ni-ki moves, his hand swift and deliberate as it reaches for Sunghoon’s phone. It’s a simple motion, but it’s final. 

“Give me your phone,” Ni-ki says, his tone soft but commanding, no room for argument. His fingers close around the device, taking it away before Sunghoon can react.

Sunghoon looks up at him, mouth open in protest, but the words get stuck. There’s a brief, sharp pause as the air between them shifts, and Ni-ki holds his gaze, steady, unyielding. 

“You’ll get it back tomorrow morning,” Ni-ki says, voice steady and calm. “But not right now. You’re going to focus on what matters.”

Sunghoon opens his mouth, ready to argue, but the words fall flat. The way Ni-ki looks at him, that quiet strength in his eyes, makes him pause. His annoyance flares, but it’s no match for the steady calm in Ni-ki’s presence. He’s not used to this, not used to being so… controlled. But something in Ni-ki’s gaze tells him it’s for his own good.

He scoffs, unable to fully swallow his irritation. “Is this a punishment?” he asks, half-teasing, half-defiant, but even in the midst of his anger, he knows it’s not the same as what he’s been used to before. Ni-ki’s not playing games with him; there’s a level of care in what he’s doing, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Ni-ki’s lips quirk, just a little, the ghost of a smile, but his eyes remain serious. “No, it’s me looking out for your best interests when you don’t have the mind to,” he says, his voice soft, but laced with that unspoken dominance Sunghoon can’t escape. It’s the quiet authority that’s never harsh, but it still makes Sunghoon pause, stills his thoughts for just a moment.

Sunghoon swallows, the lump in his throat hard to push down, but he doesn’t argue. He’s still annoyed, but part of him knows Ni-ki’s right. His mind is too scrambled, too full of noise, and this is the calm he needs, even if he doesn’t like it. The fact that Ni-ki can do this with such ease, with such quiet certainty, is what really gets to him. He doesn’t like it. But he can’t deny it’s exactly what he needs.

Ni-ki doesn’t wait for a response. He stands up, his hand lingering for just a second on Sunghoon’s shoulder, a gesture that’s both grounding and possessive. “I’m going to go put this in my room,” he says. “And if I catch you on it before I give it back to you, you will be punished. Okay?”

The words settle like a weight in Sunghoon’s chest. He’s never been actually punished before, not in the way Ni-ki means it. It’s not the threat that’s unsettling, but the certainty in Ni-ki’s voice, the unspoken promise that he’ll follow through, no matter what.

Sunghoon nods, his voice quiet as he answers, “Okay.”

Ni-ki gives him a small nod, his gaze softening, just for a moment. Then he turns, walking out of the room with Sunghoon’s phone in hand. The door clicks shut behind him, and Sunghoon remains where he is, staring at the empty space in front of him, his heart still pounding.

He sits back down on his bed, legs curling up under him, but the stillness is unbearable. He can’t keep his mind from running. The statement is coming out any minute now, but the waiting feels endless. 

With his phone gone, the distraction it provided is gone with it, and now he’s left with nothing but his thoughts. His heart is hammering in his chest, the anticipation of what’s to come gnawing at his nerves until they’re raw.

He waits, watching the clock tick by, but Ni-ki doesn’t return to his room. The quiet starts to feel oppressive, like the walls are closing in on him. He needs to move, needs to do something, but he’s not sure what. The frustration builds, tightens around his chest, and before he even knows it, he’s up, standing in the doorway, his feet moving almost without his permission.

He heads down the hall, walking slowly at first, the anxiety crawling up his spine. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, but he can’t stay in his room. Not now. Not like this. Not with the silence pressing down on him, suffocating him.

When he finds Ni-ki, it’s not the reunion he expected. Ni-ki is sitting on his bed, back to the door, and Heeseung is beside him, both of them watching something on Heeseung’s laptop. 

The sight of them together, comfortable in their own world, only makes Sunghoon’s chest tighten. He doesn’t know why, but he feels a pang of annoyance. The one person who’s been his anchor, the one person he trusts with everything, has just… walked away. Left him alone in a room to stew in his own anxiety.

He didn’t want to be alone. That’s the thing. He didn’t know what he wanted, but it wasn’t to be left alone, not now. He wasn’t ready for it, not with everything hanging over his head.

As soon as Ni-ki notices him standing in the doorway, he doesn’t even look up. His voice is low, but firm. “I’m not giving you the phone.”

Sunghoon stops, blinking, unsure how to respond. It’s like Ni-ki already knew what he’d been planning. He hadn’t even thought about it consciously, but now that the phone is there, sitting on the desk in front of him, the temptation becomes almost unbearable. 

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even know what to say. His chest tightens, but he can’t stop himself from walking over to the desk, eyes trained on the phone. The screen is dark, but it feels like it’s pulling him in, like it’s calling to him.

Ni-ki doesn’t raise his voice. Instead, he lifts his head slowly, eyes locking on Sunghoon with a calm intensity that makes Sunghoon freeze. “Sunghoon,” Ni-ki’s voice is low, but it carries an edge. “What did I just say?”

Sunghoon hesitates, his fingers hovering over the phone, but his heart is racing. His body responds to Ni-ki’s presence in ways he doesn’t fully understand, but the tone of his voice—it cuts through everything. He still doesn’t want to back down. The urge to break the rules, to test Ni-ki, pulls at him like a magnetic force.

Without looking at Ni-ki, Sunghoon picks the phone up, the weight of it strange in his hands. He doesn’t turn it on, not yet. He just holds it, feeling the cool surface of the device under his fingers.

Ni-ki doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches Sunghoon, his gaze unwavering. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for Sunghoon to make the next move, his silence more powerful than any words could be.

Then, finally, Ni-ki speaks again, and this time, there’s a definitive authority in his voice. “If you turn that on, I will punish you. Don’t think I won’t.”

Sunghoon’s pulse spikes at the words, a shiver running down his spine. The promise in Ni-ki’s voice isn’t an empty one, and for the briefest moment, part of him wonders if he should back down, if he should put the phone down and listen. But the other part of him, the part that’s always wanted to test boundaries, to see just how far he can go, whispers at him. It’s just a phone. Just a button to press.

And if he does it, if he turns it on, he can see what Ni-ki will do.

His fingers hover over the screen. He doesn’t even care about the comments or the notifications anymore. It’s the control. It’s the game. Ni-ki’s gaze is so steady, so knowing, and Sunghoon feels like he’s on the edge of something, the space between them charged with an electric tension.

Without thinking, he presses the button, and the phone lights up in his hands.

Ni-ki’s eyes flicker for the briefest moment, and he stands up. “Alright,” he says, his voice steady. It’s as if he was prepared for this. He takes a step toward Sunghoon, his presence suddenly filling the room, drawing all of the sub’s attention to him.

Ni-ki turns his head toward Heeseung, who’s been watching the entire exchange with mild curiosity. “Can you give us a minute?” Ni-ki asks, his tone polite but final.

Heeseung looks between the two of them, clearly sensing the shift, before he nods and stands up, giving Sunghoon a soft pat on the shoulder as he leaves the room. 

“Good luck, bud,” he says with a grin, but there’s a quiet understanding in his eyes that makes Sunghoon’s stomach turn. The farewell makes him painfully aware of the weight of this moment.

As soon as Heeseung is out of the room, the door clicks shut, and the tension between them becomes palpable, thick enough to cut through. 

Ni-ki tilts his head, observing Sunghoon with a softness that only sharpens the discomfort churning in Sunghoon’s stomach. He crosses the room slowly, and every step feels like it’s drawing Sunghoon in closer to whatever comes next, whatever Ni-ki is going to decide.

“Why did you do that?” Ni-ki’s voice is steady, a quiet question that carries an underlying weight to it.

Sunghoon doesn’t answer right away. The heat from his earlier defiance has started to settle into an awkward, uncomfortable tension. He feels exposed, too vulnerable, but the defiance in him refuses to go quietly. He scoffs, trying to mask the nervous energy bubbling up inside.

“Well, aren’t you going to punish me?” he asks, his words a little sharper than he intended.

Ni-ki lets out a long, exasperated sigh, his gaze softening. “If you wanted to be spanked so bad, why didn’t you just ask?”

The words hang in the air like a taunt, but Sunghoon’s face turns a deep shade of red. Spanking? He hadn’t even thought of that, not at all. His heart stammers in his chest, and he sputters, unable to form a coherent response.

Ni-ki’s eyes glint with something dangerous and playful as he steps closer. “Come on. Let’s get you settled. Over my knee.” His voice is low and commanding, but there’s a tenderness to it, like a protective layer that wraps around the edge of his authority.

Sunghoon’s breath catches in his throat, the words not making sense at first, but before he can think it through, Ni-ki sits on the edge of the bed. The sight is almost too much. 

The calmness of Ni-ki, the certainty in his movements—it’s the exact opposite of how Sunghoon feels right now, but his body moves of its own accord, like it’s been waiting for this moment.

His heart pounds as he rushes to lie flat over Ni-ki’s knee, his body trembling slightly with a mix of nerves and anticipation. Ni-ki’s hand, warm and firm, rests gently on Sunghoon’s lower back for a moment, grounding him. The touch is comforting, but Sunghoon can feel the quiet command behind it, telling him to stay still, to submit to whatever comes next.

Sunghoon’s mind races, his body burning with embarrassment as he feels Ni-ki tug his pants and underwear down to his knees, exposing his core to the cool air of the room. His breath catches in his throat again, his chest tight as he fidgets, unsure where to put his hands or how to breathe through the rising heat flooding his cheeks.

Ni-ki’s voice breaks through his spiraling thoughts, calm and steady. “How many swats do you want, Sunghoon?”

The question hangs there, loaded with intent, and Sunghoon’s face reddens further. 

“I— I don’t want any,” he says quickly, too quickly, and his voice shakes a little. He can’t want this, can he? Can he really want to be here, in this position, with Ni-ki holding this kind of control over him?

Ni-ki raises an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “We both know that’s not true. Or you wouldn’t be here right now.” His voice doesn’t change, but the edge in it is unmistakable. “So, how many do you want?”

Sunghoon’s breath falters, the weight of the question settling deep in his chest. He’s conflicted, every part of him wanting to resist, to fight, but he knows Ni-ki’s right. He asked for this in the way he couldn’t stop himself from pushing boundaries. So much of him had been testing, looking for something he couldn’t articulate, and now, here it was, laid bare.

“Y-You choose,” he says finally, his voice small but steady.

Ni-ki hums softly in response, his hand gently rubbing circles over Sunghoon’s bare skin, sending a wave of warmth through Sunghoon’s body. He can’t stop the shiver that runs through him, can’t stop the fluttering in his stomach as Ni-ki’s touch is both comforting and intense.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Ni-ki says, the word slipping out with a tenderness that Sunghoon isn’t prepared for. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Sunghoon’s heart skips in his chest. He feels a rush of conflicting emotions—embarrassment, desire, something else he doesn’t have the words for. His breath hitches as Ni-ki’s fingers trail across his skin, a subtle reminder of the control that Ni-ki holds over him. Sunghoon’s mind spins, but he can’t seem to pull himself away from the feeling. There’s a part of him, deep down, that is craving this, craving the certainty that Ni-ki is providing.

Ni-ki’s hand lingers on Sunghoon’s skin for a moment longer, a soothing touch before he lands the first swat. The sharpness of it makes Sunghoon’s whole body jerk, his breath catching in a gasp as the sting radiates through him. He’s surprised at how intense the sensation is, how it makes his body react so strongly.

“Stay still,” Ni-ki says, his voice firm but calm, and somehow it cuts through the haze of sensation clouding Sunghoon’s mind.

Sunghoon struggles to obey, to hold still, but his body betrays him. The second swat lands, and his body flinches involuntarily, reacting in a way he can’t control. He feels like he’s caught between two worlds—the sting of each swat pulling him deeper into something overwhelming, but at the same time, his body aches to respond, to move, to escape the pressure that builds with every touch.

Ni-ki sees the struggle, the way Sunghoon’s arms twitch as if trying to protect himself, and without hesitation, Ni-ki reaches for him, holding his wrists firmly behind his back. The restraint is immediate, almost comforting in its certainty. Sunghoon’s breath hitches as Ni-ki’s grip tightens, his voice calm but unyielding.

“I said stay still, baby,” Ni-ki murmurs, his tone a quiet warning. “Do I need to call someone to come in here and help you stay still, since you can’t do it yourself?”

The humiliation of that thought sends a shudder through Sunghoon’s body. He moans involuntarily, the sound escaping before he can stop it, a mixture of frustration and something deeper—a desire he doesn’t know how to name. 

Ni-ki chuckles softly, a sound that’s not unkind, but that only deepens Sunghoon’s sense of vulnerability. The sound feels like a promise, a quiet acknowledgment of Sunghoon’s deepest, most secret desires.

Ni-ki rubs his skin gently, as if reassuring him, before landing a couple of lighter swats, alternating the placement, paying attention to every inch of Sunghoon’s backside.

Sunghoon does his best to stay still, to honor Ni-ki’s command, but it’s harder than he thought. His tears start to well up, a mix of emotional and physical release, paired with an embarrassingly large amount of blood rushing to his groin. He's getting hard from a spanking, and if he didn't feel like his brain is operating outside of his own body, that fact would embarrass him to no end. 

He tries to hold himself together, but his body reacts, betrays him in ways he can’t control. The heat of his skin, the flutter of his heart, everything is too much, and he feels the warmth of his face flush, knowing that Ni-ki can likely feel every bit of his growing cock pressed against their legs.

Ni-ki’s hand continues to land swats, each one stinging more than the last, the skin of his ass growing more tender. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the quiet room, but it’s the warmth that radiates from Ni-ki’s hand that overwhelms Sunghoon the most. Each spank sends another wave of emotion through him, another wave of heat that goes straight to his cock. It’s a strange mix of pain and pleasure, and it makes his chest tighten.

Sunghoon’s breath catches, his body jerking with each impact. He tries to hold back, but it’s impossible. The pressure of everything, the overwhelming feelings—he’s losing control. His chest heaves, and then, with no warning, the tears begin. Hot, desperate sobs pour from him, his body shaking in earnest now, the sobs ripping through him like a dam breaking open.

Ni-ki doesn’t stop. He doesn’t pull away or slow down; instead, his hand moves with the same careful, deliberate pace. But he watches Sunghoon, his eyes soft with concern, even as the sobs grow louder, heavier. His hand comes to a stop, just for a moment, resting on Sunghoon’s trembling back.

“Shhh…” Ni-ki’s voice is low, soothing. “It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so well. Only a couple more.”

But Sunghoon can’t hold it in anymore. He’s sobbing uncontrollably, his breath ragged, and he can barely form words through the tears. The weight of everything, the intensity of the emotions, is too much, and he’s overwhelmed. His body feels like it’s coming undone.

The final swat lands, harder than the rest, and Sunghoon flinches, his breath hitching in his throat as come spills from him, coating the front of his legs that are still pressed against Ni-ki’s lap. He feels the warm wetness of it against his skin, and suddenly it’s not just the physical pain he's crying over. His whole body is a mess of emotions—confusion, relief, shame. 

“Good boy,” Ni-ki whispers softly once the last spank has settled, his voice low and warm. “You did so well.”

Ni-ki pulls Sunghoon up gently, paying no mind to the sticky mess between them. Sunghoon is still shaking, still crying, but Ni-ki’s embrace feels like a steady anchor, something real and grounding. His arms wrap around Sunghoon tightly, pulling him close, keeping him safe.

Sunghoon’s sobs don’t stop, but the sound of Ni-ki’s voice helps. “It’s okay. It’s all over now. You’re so good, my good boy.” Ni-ki’s hand strokes the back of his head, his thumb brushing through Sunghoon’s hair in a slow, comforting rhythm.

Sunghoon clings to Ni-ki, his hands trembling as they grasp at the fabric of Ni-ki’s shirt, needing something solid to hold on to. His voice cracks when he says it, but it’s all he can manage through his tears: “Thank you, hyung… thank you, hyung…”

“Shhh, Baby.” Ni-ki presses a kiss to the top of Sunghoon’s head, his hands soothing, calm. “You don’t need to thank me. You never need to thank me for this, sweetheart. I’m here for you, always.”

Sunghoon doesn’t know how many times he says it. His words are broken, trembling with gratitude, “Thank you, hyung… thank you…”

“Good boy, Hoon. You’re such a good boy for me,” Ni-ki murmurs, his voice soft but steady, full of affection. His hands are gentle on Sunghoon’s back, rubbing comforting circles into his skin. “You’re so strong. I’m so proud of you.”

Sunghoon’s sobs have softened now, but his body is still tightly wound with emotion. The warmth of Ni-ki’s voice, the gentle pressure of his hands, feels like the only thing holding him together at the moment. It’s so much to process, so many emotions that are swirling around him, but with Ni-ki’s reassurance, he feels like he can breathe again.

Ni-ki doesn’t stop comforting him. He continues to speak softly, each word like a balm to Sunghoon’s battered heart. 

Sunghoon clings to him tighter, repeating the same words through his tears, “Thank you, hyung… thank you…” His voice is barely a whisper now, thick with exhaustion and emotion, but it’s all he can offer in this moment.

Ni-ki presses his lips gently against Sunghoon’s forehead, a soft, lingering kiss, then another kiss lands on one of his cheeks, and then the other. Before long, he's being peppered in kisses, and Sunghoon can't help the wet laugh that bubbles out of him. 

“You’re my good boy,” Ni-ki whispers against his skin, his voice still full of tenderness. “Always, Hoon. Always.”

After some time, the comfort of Ni-ki’s embrace and his gentle reassurances starts to ease the tightness in Sunghoon’s chest. His sobs quiet to soft sniffles, and he shifts in Ni-ki’s arms, still feeling the remnants of his sobs lingering within him. Despite the comfort, there’s an undeniable pull in his body, a need for rest, for sleep, that his tired mind keeps urging him toward. 

Reluctantly, he pulls himself from Ni-ki’s arms, his body a little unsteady as he slowly climbs into Ni-ki’s bed. The soft sheets feel like a gentle embrace against his skin, but the moment his sore bottom touches the fabric, he winces—each shift sends a sting of discomfort through him, reminding him of how sensitive he is. 

He curls up on the bed, facing the wall, still feeling the remnants of his sobs lingering within him. The tears have stopped, but there’s an ache that settles deep within his bones. He wants to sleep—he needs to sleep—but his body is too heavy, his mind too clouded by everything that just happened.

Ni-ki’s voice pulls him back, steady and reassuring. “Baby, you need to eat something,” Ni-ki says softly, stepping into the room with a quiet confidence that calms the last of Sunghoon’s restlessness. “And I’m going to take care of you. You need to get cleaned up first, and then I’ll rub some cream on the redness.”

Sunghoon whines softly, his voice muffled by the pillow. “I don’t want to, hyung… I just want to sleep…”

Ni-ki’s voice is gentle but firm, that subtle dominance shining through even in his care. “You can sleep after, sweetheart,” he says, his words steady but full of concern. “I’m not letting you sleep without eating something first and getting your bottom looked after.”

It’s not a question—it’s a statement, and Sunghoon knows better than to argue. Ni-ki’s tone is loving but unwavering, the kind of care that makes Sunghoon feel small in the best possible way. There’s a warmth that spreads through him, an understanding in Ni-ki’s words that makes him want to comply, want to be cared for, even if it’s hard to admit it.

He nods weakly, slowly turning over to face Ni-ki. He can’t deny the hunger, the need for rest, but there’s also a comfort in knowing Ni-ki won’t let him skip this part. His eyes flutter closed, and he allows Ni-ki to sit beside him. He doesn’t resist when Ni-ki carefully reaches for a warm, damp washcloth and gently begins to clean his front.

Sunghoon flinches at first, the coolness of the cloth making him shiver, but Ni-ki’s touch is tender, soothing. Ni-ki works slowly, wiping gently across Sunghoon’s spent cock, the area around it, making sure to remove any lingering evidence of his unexpected orgasm earlier. The soft, rhythmic motions are calming, and Sunghoon finds his body relaxing into the touch, though his thoughts remain clouded.

“There,” Ni-ki murmurs after a moment, giving Sunghoon’s front one last gentle pass with the washcloth before dropping it into the nearby basket. He looks at Sunghoon with a soft smile, his eyes full of affection. “Now, you’re all cleaned up.”

Sunghoon doesn’t reply, too exhausted to form coherent thoughts. His body feels weightless, drifting on the edge of sleep, but Ni-ki’s presence keeps him tethered to the moment, reminding him that he is safe, cared for. Ni-ki’s voice breaks the quiet again.

“Now, let’s get some food in you, alright?” Ni-ki says, his voice soft, a gentle command wrapped in affection.

He helps Sunghoon sit up a little, and as Sunghoon shifts to sit, he winces again. The fabric of the bed rubs against his sore bottom, sending a sharp reminder of his sensitivity. He takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the discomfort, and lets Ni-ki gently feed him small, tender pieces of fruit. The cool sweetness offers a refreshing contrast to the softness of the bed. 

Sunghoon allows himself to be fed, each bite sliding easily into his mouth. It feels so comforting, the intimacy of the moment, Ni-ki’s hands brushing against his lips with every bite, his eyes filled with that same deep, quiet affection.

“Good boy,” Ni-ki murmurs, his voice as soft as the touch of his hand on Sunghoon’s cheek. “You’re doing so well. Just a little more, and then you can rest. Let me take care of you.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flutter closed again, feeling the last bit of his tension slip away with each bite. His mind is heavy, and the need for sleep becomes stronger with every passing second, but Ni-ki’s steady presence keeps him grounded.

Once the food is finished, Ni-ki gently hands him a small glass of water, urging him to drink. “Water now,” Ni-ki says softly, brushing a strand of hair from Sunghoon’s forehead. “Drink the whole thing, please.”

Sunghoon doesn’t argue. His hand trembles slightly as he takes the glass, feeling the weight of his exhaustion even as the cool water slides down his throat. He doesn’t speak; he just follows Ni-ki’s gentle guidance, his body too tired to do anything but comply.

With the food and water finished, Ni-ki helps Sunghoon turn over to lie on his stomach and carefully lowers his pants and underwear from where they’ve rested on his calves. Sunghoon is glad for it, he doesn't think he could get a minute of sleep with the fabric of his underwear rubbing against his sore skin. 

Ni-ki’s touch is tender, his fingers gentle as he applies a soothing cream to Sunghoon’s backside. The cream cools the ache, soothing the soreness with slow, deliberate strokes.

The sensation is comforting in a way that Sunghoon can’t fully describe—Ni-ki’s hands moving with the kind of care that’s reserved for something truly precious. Each movement is deliberate, his touch lingering just enough to ease Sunghoon’s soreness without causing further discomfort. Sunghoon lets out a soft sigh, his eyes half-closed, lulled by the tender rhythm of Ni-ki’s touch.

“There,” Ni-ki says quietly after a moment, a smile tugging at his lips as he finishes. “All better now.”

Sunghoon doesn’t reply, his body sinking deeper into the bed. The sensation of Ni-ki’s hands on him, the feeling of being cared for so thoroughly, is enough to send him into a state of contented exhaustion. He feels utterly sated, utterly safe, and as Ni-ki presses a soft kiss to his forehead, Sunghoon’s breathing slows.

The world outside fades as he slips into a peaceful sleep, feeling the weight of everything—his worries, his fears—drift away. He’s forgotten the statement and all the stress that accompanied waiting for it, lost to the gentle care and the feeling of being truly loved and looked after.

Chapter Text

Sunghoon wakes slowly, the comforting warmth of the bed wrapping around him like a soft embrace. The early morning light filters gently through the curtains, casting a quiet glow across the room. He feels a familiar presence beside him, and without opening his eyes, he senses Ni-ki’s nearness. Ni-ki’s hand is on his shoulder, shaking him gently, coaxing him from his peaceful sleep.

“Hoon,” Ni-ki murmurs softly, his voice low and warm, “wake up, baby. You need to see something.”

Sunghoon stirs, blinking his eyes open, still heavy with sleep. He doesn’t immediately register what’s happening, only that Ni-ki’s voice sounds different today, softer somehow, yet still carrying that same steady confidence that always makes Sunghoon feel safe. He yawns, turning to face Ni-ki, and immediately notices his phone in the dom’s hand.

Ni-ki holds it out toward him. “Here,” he says, his tone gentle but insistent. “Take it.”

Sunghoon frowns, a little confused. His brain still feels fuzzy from sleep, and he instinctively reaches out to push the phone away. “I don’t want it right now, Ni-ki, I just woke up. Maybe later…” His words trail off, his voice thick with sleep, but Ni-ki’s gentle but firm gaze keeps him rooted in place.

Ni-ki doesn’t pull back. He holds the phone steady, waiting for Sunghoon to understand. “No, you need to check it now. Trust me.”

Something about Ni-ki’s tone makes Sunghoon’s heart skip. There’s a weight to his words, a gentle insistence that feels like an order, but one that Sunghoon knows is wrapped in care. He takes the phone from Ni-ki’s hand, his fingers brushing against Ni-ki’s for a brief moment that sends a small shiver of warmth through him. Sunghoon’s confusion deepens, but he opens his eyes fully now, turning the phone over in his hands.

It’s already open to Twitter, the familiar blue and white of the app staring back at him. Sunghoon blinks, his heart stuttering in his chest. Twitter? 

His confusion deepens as his eyes skim the screen. The statement. The one that had been weighing on his mind the entire night. He’d been so caught up in everything that happened last night that he’d completely forgotten Ni-ki had even taken his phone. 

The statement had been posted late last night, probably after he’d fallen asleep. Sunghoon wonders if the company had waited to release it so late, maybe trying to avoid the worst of the country’s awake hours. Maybe it was calculated. Maybe it wasn’t.

His heart pounds as he scrolls, the familiar buzz of anxiety creeping in, but as his eyes skim the responses, something unexpected hits him. The response is overwhelming. Positive. People are talking about it, and it’s not the backlash he thought he’d see. No, it’s the opposite.

Sunghoon, you’re a sub?! One tweet reads, with a string of heart emojis and supportive messages beneath it. Another says, I’ve been suspecting this for a while now, but I’m so proud of him for being so open about it.

Good for you, Hoon! It’s so brave to be true to yourself. We support you.

The more Sunghoon reads, the more his confusion dissipates. He hadn’t expected this. Not from the public. He hadn’t expected the idol world to be so accepting of something like this, even if it was becoming more common. 

Maybe it was just him—his own fear, his own self-doubt that told him it would be different for him. Maybe he had assumed his own truth would be too much for fans to accept. But here it was, a cascade of love and support, wrapping him up in a warmth he hadn’t anticipated.

Sunghoon sets the phone down beside him on the bed, his hands trembling slightly. He looks up at Ni-ki, a smile breaking out across his face before he even realizes it. 

Ni-ki’s gaze is already fixed on him, a soft, knowing smile on his lips, and those eyes—those deep, steady eyes—speak volumes. There’s pride in them. There’s love. There’s something that makes Sunghoon feel seen in a way he’s never quite experienced before.

Ni-ki opens his arms, that same warmth in his expression, his presence pulling Sunghoon in like a magnet. 

“See? I told you, you were so brave, Hoon.” His voice is warm, affectionate, but there’s a trace of quiet dominance beneath it, a subtle command that makes Sunghoon feel safe. “I’m so proud of you. We all are.”

Sunghoon feels a rush of emotions flood over him, and before he can stop himself, he’s lunging forward into Ni-ki’s embrace. Ni-ki catches him effortlessly, his arms surrounding him with that same strength and care that’s always been a constant in Sunghoon’s life. He buries his face into Ni-ki’s chest, breathing in the scent of him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his ear.

“Thank you.” Sunghoon’s voice cracks slightly, the weight of everything making his throat tight. 

He pulls back slightly, eyes brimming with emotion, and before he can second-guess himself, he leans up and kisses Ni-ki softly on the lips. The kiss is slow, unhurried, but filled with so much emotion that Sunghoon can’t quite explain it. It’s an overwhelming mix of relief, gratitude, and affection—words he doesn’t even have to say because the kiss itself says everything.

They briefly pull away from each other to catch their breath, and Sunghoon feels his pulse quicken as their lips meet again, the kiss slow and deep where it was light and simple before. 

He’s not sure when it becomes more than just a kiss, when it shifts into something else entirely—intensity building with every passing second. His hands find their way into Ni-ki’s hair, tugging him closer, pulling them even tighter together. Ni-ki responds instantly, his touch reassuring and grounded, never hurried. Each kiss is a soft, lingering promise.

Sunghoon’s breath hitches as his body presses closer, his skin sensitive to the warmth of Ni-ki’s hands on him. The soreness from last night still lingers—his bottom a dull throb that flares when he moves too much—but the intensity of the moment drowns it out, or at least, makes it secondary.

Ni-ki pulls away just enough to murmur against his lips, “Take it easy, Hoon. Let me guide you.” There’s that subtle authority again, wrapped in tenderness, and it’s enough to make Sunghoon’s heart skip.

Sunghoon’s chest tightens at the words, and he lets out a soft exhale, nodding, needing to hear more. Ni-ki’s hand slides down his back, fingertips brushing against the sensitive spots of his skin under his sleep shirt, grounding him in the here and now.

They break away again, and Sunghoon holds back the whine that wants to escape him. Ni-ki pulls his own shirt off first, his movements smooth and deliberate. The fabric slides easily over his head, revealing his toned chest. Sunghoon’s gaze lingers for a moment, eyes tracing the lines of muscle beneath the skin. His heart skips a beat, his breath catching as Ni-ki looks back at him with a soft, approving smile, almost as if he knows exactly how Sunghoon’s mind is racing.

Ni-ki’s hands then find their way to Sunghoon’s shirt, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric before gently pulling it up. Sunghoon hesitates just for a moment, his pulse quickening, but then he lifts his arms, letting the shirt slide over his head. 

The cool air immediately hits his skin, leaving him feeling exposed. He’s still undressed from the waist down, and the contrast of the softness of the sheets against his bare skin makes him acutely aware of the vulnerability he feels in this moment. Ni-ki’s chest brushes against his as they both settle into a closer space, Sunghoon’s breath catching slightly, the proximity making his heart race faster.

Their lips meet again in a slow, lingering kiss, the pressure soft at first but building as Sunghoon shifts closer, his body pressing against Ni-ki’s. He can feel the warmth of Ni-ki’s chest against his, the soft rise and fall of his breath as their mouths move together. Sunghoon’s hands find Ni-ki’s shoulders, holding him steady as he deepens the kiss, parting his lips slightly, giving Ni-ki access to swirl his tongue in the heat of Sunghoon’s mouth.

Ni-ki responds immediately, his hands sliding down Sunghoon’s back, caressing the bare skin there with a tenderness that makes Sunghoon shiver. Every movement feels deliberate, each touch a reminder of the care that Ni-ki gives him, and it only heightens the intensity between them. Sunghoon can’t help but feel overwhelmed, the lingering soreness from last night’s actions mixing with the electric charge of the kiss, the deep connection between them building with each passing second.

As the kiss deepens, Sunghoon’s mind goes hazy. The feel of Ni-ki’s lips against his, the way his touch sends warmth radiating through him—it’s all too much, and yet he wants more. He can’t remember the last time he felt this needed, this cared for. He leans into Ni-ki, his chest pressing against his with each inhale, every second dragging him further into this blissful haze.

Sunghoon’s thoughts swirl—he should be feeling more nervous, right? But instead, all he feels is a deep, aching need for this, for Ni-ki’s closeness. The soreness in his bottom from the night before barely registers now; it’s swallowed up by the overwhelming sensation of being here, in this moment, with Ni-ki. It’s like nothing else matters except this connection, this raw intimacy.

The kiss feels like a promise, something both intimate and gentle, yet full of desire—Ni-ki’s hands continue to roam, pulling him in closer, and Sunghoon follows, his body instinctively aligning with Ni-ki’s, as though this moment was the only one that mattered.

Sunghoon’s thoughts race as he feels Ni-ki’s hands on his skin, the warmth of his body, the heat of their kiss. Is this it? Sunghoon wonders, a sudden jolt of anticipation shooting through him. Is this when we finally—

But before he can finish the thought, the door suddenly creaks open.

“Ah!” Sunghoon yelps in shock, his heart leaping into his throat. Ni-ki freezes, and for a split second, time seems to stand still. Jungwon, standing in the doorway, has his hand quickly raised in front of his face, eyes wide in surprise.

“I—oh—sorry!” Jungwon stammers, his face turning a bright shade of red. He quickly covers his eyes with both hands, his voice tinged with amusement as he tries to step back. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you two were—” He winces, his voice trailing off as he quickly attempts to backpedal. “I’ll just… um, I’ll leave you to it.”

Jungwon begins to fumble with the door, his hand still awkwardly covering his eyes, and in his rush to escape, the door swings halfway closed before he realizes he’s blocking the way.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he apologizes again, fumbling to fix it, and finally manages to pull the door shut.

Sunghoon’s face is burning, heart still pounding in his chest. He looks at Ni-ki, his mind still spinning from the interruption, and lets out a soft laugh of disbelief.

Ni-ki hands Sunghoon his shirt, and without hesitation, Sunghoon slips it back on, the fabric feeling a bit too loose after their heated moment. They both slide out of the bed, the room still thick with the tension of what almost happened.

Sunghoon quickly grabs his pants, pulling them on with haste. He skips the underwear, feeling the soreness from last night’s events, not wanting anything rubbing against his already tender skin. His movements are a little more rushed than usual, and he can’t help but feel a bit frustrated that the moment was interrupted.

Ni-ki swats Jungwon on the head playfully as he walks past him, a teasing smile on his face. “You’re so dramatic,” he says, still chuckling.

Jungwon rolls his eyes but grins. “Hey, I can be happy for you guys and not want to see that at the same time.”

Sunghoon lets out a small laugh, still feeling the embarrassment creeping up on him. All three of them walk into the kitchen together. As they pass through the doorway, Jungwon turns to Sunghoon.

“Did you see the news?” Jungwon asks, voice casually interested.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon responds, his mind rearing back to everything that happened earlier. “I’m just surprised the fans are taking it so well.”

Jungwon shrugs. “They love you for you, not because you’re dynamic or a sub or anything. That’s just part of who you are. They like you because you’re Sunghoon.”

Ni-ki chimes in, nodding. “He’s right. The fans see the real you.”

Sunghoon lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, if you say so.” He’s still feeling a little annoyed that their make-out session was cut short. 

How far would it have gone if we hadn’t been interrupted? He wonders, the thought still lingering in his mind as they sit down at the kitchen table, the air between them a little less charged but still full of unspoken words.

A call from the company brings a much-needed distraction. A phone buzzes on the counter, the screen lighting up with a call from the management. Jungwon, who’s been sitting next to him, glances at the screen before picking it up.

“It’s the company,” Jungwon says, his voice casual, “Yeah, he's right here,” he continues, before putting the phone on speaker. Sunghoon straightens up slightly, his stomach fluttering at the thought of the next steps, his nerves a little more evident as the phone rings a few times before the voice of their manager comes through.

“Sunghoon, good morning. I just wanted to confirm that you’ve seen the media reactions? It’s been very positive—overwhelmingly so. Fans are embracing you. It’s all gone better than we anticipated.”

Sunghoon exhales slowly, relief flooding through him as he glances at Ni-ki, whose calm gaze immediately helps ease the tension in Sunghoon’s shoulders. This was the confirmation he needed—that the world, or at least the fans, were on his side.

“Yes, I’ve seen it,” Sunghoon replies softly. “I’m… surprised by how well it’s been received. I didn’t expect that.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the call. “You should be proud,” the manager continues. “The reaction is overwhelmingly supportive. You’re in a good position, and from here. You’re cleared to post again, if you want.”

Sunghoon’s heart skips a beat at that, and he looks over at Ni-ki, who’s leaning back, watching him with those soft, reassuring eyes. Ni-ki knows what this means to him, and his calm presence makes everything feel a little more manageable.

After the call ends, Sunghoon picks up his phone. His fingers hesitate for a moment as he opens up Weverse, staring at the screen. He takes a deep breath, then posts a selfie, something simple but warm. His stomach churns nervously as the minutes tick by, but the responses begin flooding in faster than he expected.

So proud of you, Sunghoon!💖 one comment says. Another reads, You’re so brave for being yourself! We love you no matter what.

Sunghoon smiles softly, but then the realization hits him—he’s tearing up. His fingers hover over the screen for a moment as his throat tightens, and for a second, he has to blink away the tears. I really did it. I really did it, and they love me for me, he thinks, feeling a wave of relief and pride wash over him.

Ni-ki catches his eye as he leans in, wrapping an arm around Sunghoon’s shoulder. “See?” he murmurs, his voice quiet but firm. “They love you just as you are.”

Sunghoon nods, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, feeling so overwhelmed by the outpouring of support. He responds to a couple of comments, his fingers tapping quickly across the screen. I can’t believe my bias is a sub like me! one of the comments reads, echoing his thoughts from earlier.

He types back a response, his heart swelling in a way he hasn’t felt in a while. He smiles, showing Ni-ki the comment before setting his phone down, feeling his cheeks warm.

Later that day, the nerves return as they prepare for the scheduled interview. The thought of being seen publicly as a sub makes Sunghoon uneasy, but Ni-ki’s quiet presence offers him some comfort. Still, the reality is hard to shake. It’s one thing to post on social media, where people can just scroll past him, but this—this is an interview, one that will be watched by thousands on broadcast television.

Sunghoon barely feels his legs as he walks into the studio, the lights blindingly bright and the cameras focused directly on him. He can feel his heart racing, the faint prickle of sweat starting to form along his neck. He quickly glances at Ni-ki, whose confident and steady demeanor makes him feel a little steadier. Ni-ki’s hand rests lightly on his back, grounding him, reminding him that he doesn’t have to do this alone.

The interviewer greets them all with a warm smile, but it’s clear from the start that her focus is going to be on Sunghoon. He’s the center of attention now, and he can feel his stomach tighten in response.

“So, Sunghoon,” the interviewer begins, her voice smooth and professionally neutral, but there’s an underlying edge to her tone. “We’ve seen your recent statement, and you’ve openly acknowledged being a sub. How do you think that will change your dynamic with the rest of the group? How has it affected your relationships with the other members of Enhypen?”

Sunghoon feels his heart rate spike, and the warmth in his chest quickly shifts to unease. He shifts in his seat, his hands suddenly feeling clammy as he tries to compose himself. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about publicly. Not like this.

The other members, sensing his discomfort, quickly step in to try and shift the focus. Jungwon jokes lightly about the group dynamic, but the interviewer doesn’t take the hint.

“And can you tell us how it feels to be the only sub in a group like Enhypen? Is it difficult for you to navigate those relationships, or has it made you closer to your members?” The questions keep coming, each one a little more pointed than the last, and Sunghoon starts to feel like he’s drowning. He doesn’t want to answer these questions—not like this, not in front of the cameras.

The interviewer presses on. “Do you think being a sub in a public setting, especially as an idol, is more difficult than being a dominant? Or are there challenges that come with being both in the spotlight and so personal about your subgender?”

Sunghoon can feel his face flush, and his discomfort is almost palpable. He wants to look at Ni-ki, to feel his grounding presence, but the interviewer’s gaze never leaves him. This is so personal—things he never thought he’d have to talk about in front of strangers, especially not in front of so many cameras.

Seeing Sunghoon’s discomfort, Ni-ki’s expression hardens ever so slightly. He steps forward, placing a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder in a silent gesture of support before speaking up.

“That’s enough,” Ni-ki says, his voice calm but firm, laced with an authority that immediately commands the room’s attention. “You’re crossing boundaries with these questions.” His tone is smooth, but there’s an edge to it—something that tells the interviewer that this is not a discussion they’re going to continue.

The interviewer blinks, slightly caught off guard, and for a moment, the studio feels eerily silent. Ni-ki’s presence in the room is undeniable—he’s the one who has the ability to make everything settle, to calm the storm.

With an awkward apology, the interviewer quickly moves on to the next topic, the questions shifting away from Sunghoon’s personal life. Sunghoon exhales a quiet breath of relief as the tension begins to fade. He can feel his shoulders loosen, the weight of the conversation lifting as the focus turns elsewhere.

Afterward, Ni-ki leans in closer, whispering just loud enough for Sunghoon to hear, “You did great. Don’t let them get to you.”

Sunghoon’s heart races, but this time, it’s from the warmth of Ni-ki’s words rather than the nerves. He smiles softly, still processing everything, but feeling infinitely safer with Ni-ki at his side.

The van ride back to the dorm is quiet except for the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of someone shifting in their seat. Sunghoon stares out the window, his mind buzzing with everything that just happened. The interview had gone better than expected after the invasive questions had stopped—thanks to Ni-ki and the other members stepping in to protect him—but he still feels the weight of what just happened.

Ni-ki, who’s sitting next to him, glances over, his sharp eyes noticing the way Sunghoon is lost in thought. 

After a few minutes, he leans in slightly, his voice low and comforting. “Hey, are you okay?” His tone is soft, but there’s a hint of something more—an undeniable assurance that he’s there for Sunghoon, no matter what.

Sunghoon turns to him, a small smile playing at his lips as he nods. “Surprisingly, I am. I thought I’d be more shaken up about it, but… I guess I’m alright. I’m just thankful that you stepped in when the interviewer wouldn’t stop.”

Ni-ki gives a small, approving smile, the corners of his lips softening. “You did well. You didn’t say anything more than you wanted to, and that's exactly what you should've done.” His voice is warm, and there’s a definite undercurrent of approval that sends a shiver down Sunghoon’s spine.

Sunghoon nods again, but he can’t shake the unease creeping up on him. The rest of the ride home is quiet, save for the occasional hum of the van’s engine and the sound of tires on the road. 

His mind wanders again, the same thought looping in his head. Is this what it’s going to be like from now on? It’s not just about being a sub—it’s the fact that he switched his dynamic so publicly, so suddenly. He wonders if the media will start picking apart everything he does, searching for answers that aren’t theirs to ask for.

By the time the van pulls up in front of the dorm, Sunghoon feels the familiar weight of exhaustion in his body, and yet his mind is still buzzing with worries. He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t even realize he’s been walking down the hall until he’s at Ni-ki’s door. At this point, it feels like second nature. Sunghoon can’t even remember the last time he’d slept in his own room, let alone when he hadn’t ended up in Ni-ki’s.

He slips inside, he moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his body still aching a little from the night before. His bottom is still sore, the slight sting a reminder of how vulnerable and open he had felt in those moments with Ni-ki. The pain is a dull throb, but it only reminds him of how safe Ni-ki made him feel. It’s strange how something that hurt could also make him feel so cared for.

Ni-ki enters behind him, closing the door softly as he watches Sunghoon, his brow furrowing in concern. “Hey, you were quiet the whole way home. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

His voice, gentle and warm, fills the space around them. His presence is a quiet comfort, but Sunghoon can sense the careful edge beneath it, like Ni-ki is waiting for him to open up.

Sunghoon sighs, flopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. The room is dim, the only light coming from the cracks in the curtains and the soft glow of the streetlights outside. 

“I don’t know,” he admits after a moment. “I just keep thinking about what happened today. I keep wondering if this is how it’s going to be from now on. People asking questions, prying into things that should be private.”

Ni-ki walks over and sits down beside him, the bed dipping under his weight. His hand gently rests on Sunghoon’s shoulder, a grounding touch that makes Sunghoon feel both comforted and… owned, in the best way. 

“It’ll probably be like this for a little while,” Ni-ki murmurs, his voice full of understanding. “But you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. You don’t owe them anything. We’ll make sure you’re protected.”

Sunghoon lets out a groan of frustration, turning his head to look at Ni-ki. His hand comes up to rub at his eyes, his other hand subconsciously grazing the fabric of his pants. The soreness in his bottom is still there, just enough to remind him of how vulnerable he’d felt last night. 

He groans again. “Why can’t they just mind their own business? What we do in private should stay private. It’s not anyone’s right to know.” His voice cracks a little, though he tries to mask it with irritation.

“I know, baby, I know. It sucks. But it won't always be like this, right?” He waits for Sunghoon to nod against his shoulder. “And until it stops, you have me to help. And the rest of the group. Don't forget that, okay?”

Sunghoon exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction as Ni-ki’s words settle in his mind. He leans back into the bed, his eyes fluttering closed. The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the night outside.

Ni-ki shifts beside him, pulling him closer until their bodies are pressed together, impossibly close. His arm wraps around Sunghoon’s waist, pulling him into the warmth of his chest. The rhythmic beat of Ni-ki’s heart is steady, grounding. Sunghoon melts into the embrace, his breath slowing, the weight of the day lifting, replaced by a sense of calm.

He nestles his head further into the crook of Ni-ki’s neck, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. The warmth, the closeness, is everything he needs right now—more than anything else he could say. His eyes flutter shut, his body finally relaxing into the safe cocoon of Ni-ki’s arms.

Ni-ki tightens his hold just slightly, a silent promise of protection, of never letting go. And with that, they both drift into a peaceful sleep, the world outside forgotten for now. 

Chapter Text

The morning sun filters through the blinds, casting a soft glow on the room. Sunghoon stirs, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but his mind already racing. The day ahead looms over him, and his stomach twists with the familiar knot of nerves. Today marks something new—his first trip, first performance publicly as a sub. It’s a strange mix of anticipation and anxiety. Everything feels different now, and though the support from the fans has been overwhelming, he’s still not sure how to navigate all the new attention.

Ni-ki is already awake, packing with his usual efficiency. His movements are calm, collected—nothing like the swirl of nerves in Sunghoon’s chest. Sunghoon sits on the edge of the bed, watching him, trying to quiet the jittery feeling inside. Ni-ki glances over at him, sensing the tension immediately.

“You okay?” Ni-ki’s voice is low, comforting—exactly what Sunghoon needs.

Sunghoon nods, but the unease lingers. “Just nervous,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s my first time performing as… well, you know. As a sub. In front of everyone.”

Ni-ki’s expression softens, and he walks over, placing a hand gently on Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Hey, the response has been so good so far. Everyone’s been so supportive.” He squeezes Sunghoon’s shoulder, a quiet reassurance. 

Sunghoon sighs, leaning into the touch, letting himself find comfort in Ni-ki’s presence. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in. Ni-ki’s voice is always the anchor he needs when everything feels like it might spin out of control.

“Minus the interview,” Sunghoon adds, his lips curling into a small, wry smile.

Ni-ki chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Minus the interview, yeah. But other than that, everyone’s been great. The fans are all so supportive of you.”

“I guess you’re right,” Sunghoon admits, a bit of the tension in his shoulders easing. “I don’t know why I’m still freaking out about it. Everyone’s been so good, and you’ve been so good to me. It’s just… everything’s changing so fast. It’s hard to keep up.”

Ni-ki’s hand slides from Sunghoon’s shoulder to the back of his neck, his thumb tracing soft, comforting circles on the skin there. “It’s okay to feel that way,” Ni-ki says, his voice soothing, like a balm for Sunghoon’s frazzled nerves. “We’ll take it one step at a time. And if you ever feel overwhelmed, just let me know. I’m here. Always.”

Sunghoon looks up at him, his eyes soft with gratitude. Ni-ki’s care, the way he’s always so attuned to Sunghoon’s needs—it means everything. “Thanks, Ni-ki,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “You always know what to say.”

Ni-ki smiles, a quiet warmth in his eyes. “I know you better than you think, Hoon.”

By the time they’re packed and ready to leave, Sunghoon’s nerves have eased a little, but the anxiety still buzzes faintly in the back of his mind. As they make their way to the van that will take them to the airport, Sunghoon feels something different this time. 

Unlike the last trip to Japan, when he had kept his distance from Ni-ki, this time, there’s no hesitation. He wants to sit next to Ni-ki. Needs to, really. The thought of being near him, of feeling that quiet security he brings, is the only thing that calms his racing thoughts.

As the others pile into the van, Sunghoon doesn’t wait. He slides in next to Ni-ki, who glances at him with a soft smile.

“You okay?” Ni-ki asks, his voice laced with that same caring tone.

Sunghoon nods, his heart settling in the warmth of Ni-ki’s presence. “Yeah. Just wanted to sit with you.”

Ni-ki’s hand finds its way to Sunghoon’s, his fingers curling around his gently. He doesn’t need to say anything more; the gesture alone is enough.

The airport is a blur of activity, but luckily, they’re ushered through a private entrance to avoid the crowd. Sunghoon keeps his head down, staying close to Ni-ki as they make their way through the terminal. The usual nerves come back as they board the plane, but with Ni-ki beside him, Sunghoon feels more grounded.

When they arrive at the hotel in the new country, Sunghoon’s exhaustion hits him like a wave. It’s been a long day, and all he wants is a moment to breathe. They make their way to their room, dropping off their bags before heading out to join the rest of the group. Heeseung had managed to get a single room, which meant the group would be hanging out in his space tonight.

The chatter and laughter from the rest of the guys fill the air as Sunghoon and Ni-ki enter Heeseung’s room. The group is spread out, and Sunoo is the loudest, excited about a movie he’s been wanting to watch. Sunghoon slinks quietly onto the floor, sitting next to Ni-ki, feeling the soft weight of his hand resting on his back. He doesn’t need to say much—just having Ni-ki close by makes everything feel just a little bit easier.

They watch the entire movie with the group. Sunghoon finds himself getting lost in the story, but his mind isn’t fully there. There’s something inside him—something quiet and insistent—that wants more than just the warmth of the group. The pull of Ni-ki’s presence, the need for his care, starts to weigh heavier on him. 

As the credits roll, and the talk of starting another movie drifts through the room, Sunghoon can’t hold back any longer. He shifts, leaning into Ni-ki, his voice quiet but firm.

“Ni-ki,” he says, his tone soft but carrying a hint of desperation. “Can we go back to our room? I… I want to scene.”

The words are out before he can stop them, and it’s almost a relief. Sunghoon’s chest tightens as he watches the others react, realizes his words weren't as quiet as he intended.  There’s no longer the blush of embarrassment though, no hint of hesitation in his voice. This is what he needs. This is what he wants.

A collective groan sounds from the group anyways. “You guys seriously can’t wait?” someone mutters, probably Jake, his tone teasing but fond.

Sunghoon, unbothered, whines a little. “I want to scene now,” he says, playful but firm. “Unless you want us to do it here?” The cheeky edge to his voice is unmistakable.

The group groans again, laughing. “Ugh, fine, go scene, you lovebirds.”

Ni-ki chuckles, the low, amused sound sending a shiver through Sunghoon. He looks down at him, his fingers brushing gently through Sunghoon’s hair. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, his voice soft but commanding, and with a sense of care that only Sunghoon can fully appreciate.

Sunghoon stands, slipping his hand into Ni-ki’s as they make their way toward the door. Their room waits for them, just the two of them, away from the noise and the chaos.

Sunghoon and Ni-ki leave Heeseung’s room quietly, the soft hum of conversation from the others fading as the door clicks shut behind them. The space between them feels like a quiet promise, something intimate and personal. Ni-ki leads him back to their room, where they drop their bags on the bed. The familiarity of the space—just the two of them—settles around them, and Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate.

Ni-ki looks at him for a long moment, his eyes filled with that same softness that always makes Sunghoon feel seen, cared for. Then, with a gentle yet commanding tone, he speaks. “Get undressed, sweetheart.”

The words are simple, but the way Ni-ki says them, soft but unyielding, makes Sunghoon’s heart beat a little faster. There’s no hesitation in his movements; he knows this rhythm by heart now. The quiet command is a comfort, a reminder of the trust they share, and Sunghoon slips out of his clothes, one piece at a time, feeling both vulnerable and safe in Ni-ki’s presence.

Once Sunghoon is fully undressed, standing there before him, Ni-ki smiles gently. “You look so beautiful like this.” His voice is soft, almost reverent, but there’s still that underlying control, the ownership that Sunghoon’s come to crave.

“Do you wanna just kneel tonight, baby?” Ni-ki asks, settling onto the bed, his tone warm and inviting but still holding that quiet authority. He’s giving Sunghoon the space to choose, but the decision, deep down, is already made. Sunghoon knows what he wants.

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate, his voice soft but clear. “Hyung… can I warm you?” The offer comes naturally, a way for him to give back, to feel connected in a way that doesn’t demand more than he can give.

Ni-ki’s eyes darken just a fraction, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Are you sure?” He asks, his gaze steady and attentive, watching Sunghoon with a quiet intensity.

Sunghoon nods, swallowing the flutter of nerves that stirs within him. “I’m not ready for… everything yet, but I want to feel you. This is the next best thing.” He says it without shame, without the hesitation that used to creep in. There’s nothing to hide, nothing to be embarrassed about. This is them, here, in this moment.

He’s not sure he’s ready for more, for the next step—sex, the thing he feels both desperate for and terrified of. But this? This is something he can give, something he can do to show his trust, to feel connected to Ni-ki in a way that feels safe,

Ni-ki’s smile widens, and he leans forward, brushing his fingers through Sunghoon’s hair in a tender gesture. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

He reaches over to the side of the bed, grabbing the hotel-provided kneeling cushion and placing it in front of where he sits. “Come on, baby,” he says softly, guiding Sunghoon into position. “Kneel for me.”

Sunghoon immediately drops to his knees, the familiar sensation of the cushion beneath him grounding him, pulling him deeper into the moment. The act of kneeling is second nature now—there’s no fear, no hesitation, just the comfortable submission to Ni-ki’s presence.

As Sunghoon settles into position, Ni-ki shuffles off his bottoms, just enough for his soft cock to spring out. He raises an arm, his hand smooth and warm as he reaches down to gently guide Sunghoon’s head forward. 

“Open up,” Ni-ki says softly, his voice low but commanding, a quiet invitation that Sunghoon knows exactly how to respond to.

Sunghoon tilts his head, leaning forward, and Ni-ki’s cock slips into his mouth. It’s warm, solid, and comforting, and immediately, Sunghoon feels a wave of calm wash over him. The softness of Ni-ki’s cock, the steady pressure against his tongue, pulls him into the moment.

Everything else fades away. The noise of the day, the lingering tension from the interview, the uncertainty of what’s to come—none of it matters. All that exists now is the feeling of Ni-ki in his mouth, the warmth that surrounds him, the sense of being held and cared for.

The world around him becomes distant, muted, like the sound of waves crashing far off in the distance, the sensation of being caught between reality and something else. He’s floating, suspended in the quiet, in the space where time doesn’t matter. The rhythm of his breathing slows, matching the steady pulse of the cock in his mouth, and with each breath, Sunghoon sinks deeper, the weight of everything else lifted from his shoulders.

Ni-ki’s presence is a constant, a soothing, grounding force that pulls him further into that space. Sunghoon isn’t thinking anymore, just feeling—feeling the soft slide of Ni-ki’s cock, feeling the calm that settles over him, feeling the safety in submission. His mind floats like a leaf on a river, the gentle flow of Ni-ki’s touch the only thing guiding him.

It could be minutes, or maybe hours—time doesn’t have meaning this deep in subspace. Sunghoon doesn’t know how long he’s been lost in the feeling, but when Ni-ki finally slides himself out, he surfaces slowly, the fog lifting just enough for him to register the words.

“Feel good?” Ni-ki asks, his voice low, a hint of concern hidden behind his calm demeanor.

Sunghoon nods, his voice thick with the lingering warmth of the moment. “Yeah,” he breathes, a soft smile curling at the corners of his lips. It’s a small word, but it holds so much more. Yes, it felt good. Yes, this is what he needed. Yes, he trusts Ni-ki in ways he never thought possible.

Ni-ki’s hand moves to cup his cheek, his touch gentle but possessive in the best way. “Good boy,” he murmurs, his voice laced with affection. “You did so well.”

Sunghoon’s heart stutters at the praise, his chest swelling with warmth. It’s the kind of reassurance he didn’t know he craved, and it makes him feel safe, grounded, and loved.

But Ni-ki’s gaze softens, his thumb brushing across Sunghoon’s lips as he leans closer. “We’re not done yet, baby. We’ve got time. Let me take care of you.”

The room is still, save for the soft rustle of fabric as Ni-ki pulls his pants back up. The familiar sound of it—his movements steady, controlled—snaps Sunghoon out of his gentle haze. The warmth that had settled in his body still lingers, but it’s slowly fading, like the last traces of sunlight slipping below the horizon.

Ni-ki watches him carefully, eyes soft with the understanding only a partner can give, but there’s something else there, too. He doesn’t say anything at first, only steps closer, his presence solid and unwavering as Sunghoon remains where he kneels. There’s no need for words—Ni-ki’s just here, and that’s enough.

“You did well, baby,” he murmurs after a beat, his voice low and full of approval, as though his praise is a quiet reward that’s given only when it’s earned. The words settle into Sunghoon’s chest, like a heavy blanket of comfort, and he breathes in deeply. This, too, feels like something Ni-ki has chosen for him—has chosen for them—and Sunghoon doesn’t need to think about it. He’s just there, letting Ni-ki guide him.

Ni-ki doesn’t rush him. He moves to stand, and as Sunghoon follows his gaze, Ni-ki takes a slow step toward him, his hands finding their way to Sunghoon’s shoulders with a quiet ease. 

“Let’s get you dressed now, okay?” It’s more of a soft instruction than a question, but it doesn’t feel demanding. It feels like a promise—a promise to take care of what Sunghoon can’t do for himself right now. A promise that Sunghoon doesn’t need to decide anything, that Ni-ki will handle it all.

The way Ni-ki’s fingers brush lightly against Sunghoon’s skin as he helps him get dressed again isn’t rushed. It’s careful, deliberate, almost reverent, as if Ni-ki is savoring this slow return to normalcy, taking his time to make sure Sunghoon is comfortable. Sunghoon stands still, letting Ni-ki make the choices, the decisions, knowing that his comfort is in good hands. He doesn’t need to ask for help, because Ni-ki already knows.

As Ni-ki finishes adjusting the last button on Sunghoon’s pajamas, his fingers slide down Sunghoon’s back, warm and possessive, but gentle. There’s nothing harsh in it—just a grounding, steadying touch that brings Sunghoon’s focus back to the present moment. 

“You’re perfect,” Ni-ki whispers as he moves to fetch a protein bar from the nearby table, “You’ve done so well.” His praise is a balm, soothing the edges of Sunghoon’s fading headspace.

Sunghoon nods quietly, still floating in a soft afterglow, and watches as Ni-ki breaks off a piece of the bar, offering it to him without a word. Sunghoon takes it, his hands steady but his mind still lingering in the calm space Ni-ki had pulled him into. He doesn’t need to ask for food; Ni-ki already knows what he needs. He doesn’t need to make the decision—Ni-ki’s already chosen for him.

“Drink some water now,” Ni-ki says, his tone firm but tender, and Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. He accepts the bottle, letting Ni-ki hold it up to his lips. The cool water slides down his throat, quenching the thirst that had slowly crept up. Ni-ki’s thumb brushes over Sunghoon’s lips afterward, lingering there for a moment, as if making sure Sunghoon has taken everything he needs.

Ni-ki’s movements are a constant presence, an anchor that keeps Sunghoon grounded. His touch, his care, his words—they all remind Sunghoon that he doesn’t have to do anything on his own. Ni-ki has taken care of everything.

When it’s time to return to bed, Ni-ki doesn’t wait for Sunghoon to make the decision to climb in. He simply holds out his hand, the invitation clear, and Sunghoon takes it, slipping back under the covers with Ni-ki close by his side. Ni-ki tucks him in carefully, his hand resting lightly on Sunghoon’s back, guiding him closer as he curls up next to him.

“Sleep now,” Ni-ki whispers, brushing a stray lock of hair from Sunghoon’s face. There’s nothing more to say, nothing Sunghoon needs to do or think about. He’s already given it all to Ni-ki, and that’s enough. He’s enough.

The soft press of Ni-ki’s body against his is a comfort, the weight of him a promise that Sunghoon will always be cared for. He lets the warmth of the room and Ni-ki’s presence lull him into sleep, trusting, surrendering, not needing to worry about anything but the moment they share together.

The next day comes quickly, and with it, the performance. Sunghoon feels the familiar rush of excitement mixed with nervousness, but it’s different this time. There’s no shame in his submission, no need to hide who he is. He knows Ni-ki is there, just behind him, always supporting him. His presence, subtle but constant, steadies him.

The performance goes smoothly, the cheers of the crowd a testament to their hard work and dedication. Sunghoon can feel the energy of the audience, the way they respond to him—there’s something different in the air today. Maybe it’s just the weight of everything finally sinking in, but he can’t help but notice a few signs in the crowd. Signs that mention him being a sub.

At first, the sight of it causes his stomach to tighten, but then he realizes—no one’s staring, no one’s pointing. The energy in the venue doesn’t change. If anything, it feels like they’ve all just accepted it. He can breathe a little easier, the tension lifting. The world is still spinning, but it’s a little quieter now, a little more comfortable.

The rest of the performance goes without incident, and Sunghoon finds himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, the media and the fans have gotten used to it. The thought is strange, but also freeing.

By the time they board the plane to fly back to Korea, Sunghoon is feeling a bit more at ease. The trip had been a whirlwind—excitement, nerves, the performance, and everything in between—but now, in the quiet of the plane, he allows himself to relax. Ni-ki sits next to him, his hand resting gently on Sunghoon’s leg. It’s a comforting, grounding touch, one that reminds Sunghoon that he’s not alone. He doesn’t have to be.

But as the plane descends toward Korea, the reality of their return hits Sunghoon all at once. The airport awaits them, and with it, the waiting crowd. Memories of the chaotic airport experiences from before rush back, from before he was even out as a sub, how bad they can be. It’s a far cry from the peaceful moment they shared in their hotel room, but Sunghoon knows they’ll face it together.

Ni-ki turns to him, his eyes soft, yet there’s a slight edge of possessiveness there, something that sends a thrill through Sunghoon’s chest. “Ready for this?” Ni-ki asks, his voice low and quiet, a quiet command beneath the words.

Sunghoon swallows, nodding. “Yeah.”

Ni-ki’s hand tightens on his leg just a little, a silent promise that they’re in this together. Sunghoon feels the weight of it settle in his chest—a mix of nerves, but also something stronger. He’s not afraid. Not anymore.

They’re ready. And whatever happens when they land, whatever the world throws at them, they’ll face it together.

The airport is chaos. 

There's no chance for a private exit this time. Flashes go off like lightning, rapid and disorienting. Fans scream from every direction, their voices colliding with each other in a high-pitched storm. Bodyguards are forming a wall, pushing through the crowd as Enhypen moves forward in a tight line, heads down. Sunghoon clutches the strap of his bag so tightly his knuckles are white, the fabric biting into his palm.

Someone grabs at his sleeve—just for a second, but it’s enough. Enough to send his heart lurching into his throat. Enough to make his breath hitch. Enough to make everything spin a little too fast.

“Sunghoon, are you really a sub?” one fan calls out.

The sudden mention of it makes Sunghoon stiffen, but he doesn’t allow himself to stop moving. He keeps his head low, following Ni-ki, trying to push the words out of his head, though it’s impossible to ignore the rapid-fire questions coming from the crowd.

“Ni-ki, are you Sunghoon’s dom?” another voice yells.

Sunghoon feels his breath catch in his throat. His grip tightens involuntarily around Ni-ki’s sleeve, fingers wrapping around the fabric, desperate for something solid, something to anchor him. Ni-ki glances down, his hand gently covering Sunghoon’s as they continue through the crowd. Sunghoon is so focused on the ground, on avoiding the eyes that feel like they’re burning through him, that he barely notices how tightly he’s holding on until Ni-ki squeezes his hand back in a way that sends a small, quiet comfort through him.

The voices don’t stop. “Are you really together? Do you guys do it in private? Does Ni-ki dominate you, Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon’s heart pounds harder. It feels like everything’s happening too fast, like the world has sped up and left him behind. And then he feels the grip on Ni-ki’s sleeve loosen.

He pulls away, just slightly, his fingers trembling. It’s like a jolt of clarity—this is what they want to see, isn’t it? He has to face them, he has to be strong. So he steps away from Ni-ki, not wanting to look weak in front of anyone.

The second he lets go, though, a cold wave of vulnerability crashes over him, harder than before. Without Ni-ki’s steady presence, he feels exposed, raw. The questions keep coming, louder, more invasive, and it only makes him want to shrink even further.

Sunghoon quickens his pace, head still down, trying to push through the anxiety building in his chest. His stomach churns, and with each step, he can feel the weight of the attention pressing down on him more and more.

By the time they’re ushered into the van, the door shutting behind them with a muffled thud, Sunghoon’s shaking. He’s sitting beside Ni-ki, staring at his lap, his fingers twitching where they rest on his knees.

“Hey,” Ni-ki murmurs once the van starts moving. His hand finds Sunghoon’s wrist, gentle but firm. “Are you okay?”

Sunghoon nods. Too fast, too tight. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He’s not. His breathing’s shallow. There’s a tremble in his shoulders he can’t suppress. Ni-ki doesn’t say anything else—he just shifts closer, placing a grounding hand on Sunghoon’s back. The touch alone makes Sunghoon’s chest tighten.

He doesn’t say anything else the whole ride home.

Back at the dorm, the moment they step inside, Sunghoon’s knees nearly buckle. He’s still shaking from the airport, and as soon as the door closes behind them, the floodgates open. His face crumples, and the tears come in thick, uncontrollable waves. His chest feels tight, his throat burning as he gasps for air, but he can’t seem to catch his breath. The weight of everything crashes down on him—the airport, the fans, the constant pressure. He’s not sure why it’s all hitting him like this—he doesn’t even know where to begin.

Ni-ki is quick to react, his presence grounding. He doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he steps forward, his hands gently gripping Sunghoon’s shoulders. “Hoon,” he says softly, guiding him to the couch. “Breathe with me, okay?” His voice is calm, steady—everything that Sunghoon isn’t right now.

Sunghoon doesn’t respond at first, his hands trembling as he holds onto his own chest, trying to steady his breathing but failing.

“Look at me,” Ni-ki instructs gently, his hand on Sunghoon’s chin, tilting it upward. “Breathe in slowly, deep breaths. In… one, two, three. Now out… one, two, three.” He guides Sunghoon through the process, his voice smooth and constant. Slowly, Sunghoon’s erratic breathing begins to calm, the shallow gasps turning into something steadier.

Ni-ki doesn’t let go of him. He rubs Sunghoon’s back in slow circles, easing the tension in his shoulders.

“There you go, Hoon,” Ni-ki murmurs, his tone still soothing. “Good boy. You’re okay.”

Sunghoon’s head drops forward, his forehead resting against Ni-ki’s shoulder, feeling the warmth and steadiness of him in every inch of his body. He’s still trembling, but it’s quieter now, less frantic.

Ni-ki runs a hand through Sunghoon’s hair gently, his touch deliberate and comforting. “You’ve been through a lot,” he says softly. “But we’re home now. We’re safe. Let’s get you cleaned up, alright? I’m right here.”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer immediately, but his nod is slight, enough to show he trusts Ni-ki to help him.

Without another word, Ni-ki helps him to his feet, guiding him towards the bathroom. He’s careful with each step, supporting Sunghoon as he leans on him. Sunghoon is still dazed, his body moving on autopilot, but he doesn’t resist. Ni-ki helps him undress slowly, his movements gentle, deliberate, as though Sunghoon is made of glass.

The shower is hot, the steam thick, but Ni-ki is there every step of the way, his hands steady on Sunghoon’s body as he helps him wash off the grime of the airport—the sweat, the tears, the tension. There’s nothing sexual in the way Ni-ki touches him. It’s all about care, about keeping Sunghoon grounded.

Ni-ki’s hands slide down his back, under his arms, over his ribs, washing him in soft strokes, never lingering longer than necessary but making sure every inch of Sunghoon feels taken care of. Sunghoon stands still, his eyes closed, his breath still ragged, but the warmth of the water, the gentleness of Ni-ki’s touch, is beginning to calm him.

“Almost done,” Ni-ki whispers, rinsing off the last of the soap from Sunghoon’s body. He carefully tilts Sunghoon’s head back to rinse his hair, his hands gentle as they work through the strands. It’s quiet, just the sound of the water and the soft, comforting rhythm of Ni-ki’s voice guiding him.

As Sunghoon starts to feel more stable, he’s almost startled by the bathroom door gently swinging open. “Everything okay in here?” Jungwon’s voice is concerned but quiet, his presence a calm interruption to the steady hum of the water.

Ni-ki doesn’t take his eyes off Sunghoon as he responds calmly, “Yeah, we’re good. Just making sure he’s okay.” He gently guides Sunghoon’s back under the stream of water, his hands steady and reassuring.

“I can bring you guys clean clothes if you need them,” Jungwon offers, his voice muffled slightly by the rush of water in Sunghoon’s ears.

Ni-ki nods, glancing over his shoulder. “Actually, that would be great. Just get both of us stuff from mine, okay?”

“Got it,” Jungwon replies, his footsteps soft as he moves away to grab the clothes.

Sunghoon, still trembling slightly, feels the weight of Ni-ki’s attention on him, the way the younger boy’s hands guide him with care through each step. It’s more than just physical touch—there’s a sense of protection, a quiet understanding in the way Ni-ki holds him. 

The intimacy of it, the way Ni-ki never seems to rush, makes Sunghoon feel safe. Something inside him, something he’s tried to push down, unfurls at the softness of it all. He hasn’t felt like this in so long—like he’s not alone, like someone really sees him, even the parts he tries to hide. It’s a comfort he can’t put into words, but it calms the storm inside him, inch by inch.

Ni-ki finishes rinsing him off, then gently helps Sunghoon step out of the shower. He wraps a towel around him, his touch warm and firm as he presses Sunghoon’s body against his own, providing an anchor. He doesn’t let go, continuing to dry Sunghoon’s skin with slow, gentle strokes, careful not to rush. The lingering scent of the soap, the warmth of the steam, and the steady rhythm of Ni-ki’s care fill the small space, creating a cocoon of safety Sunghoon never wants to leave.

Sunghoon stands there for a moment, his breathing steadier, though his mind still feels like it’s in a fog. The words are quiet, barely a whisper, but they carry the weight of his fears. “You’re… you’re not leaving, right?” His voice is still shaky, desperate for reassurance, afraid that if he lets go, Ni-ki will disappear.

Ni-ki pauses, his hands soft as they finish smoothing down the towel. “I’m not going anywhere, Hoon,” he promises, his voice low and steady.

Once Sunghoon is dry, Ni-ki helps him into the dom’s own underwear—soft, fitted, and clearly his—and then pulls on a shirt of his, the fabric smooth and familiar against Sunghoon’s skin. 

The intimacy of the moment is not lost on him. Every piece of clothing Ni-ki gives him feels like a quiet offering, like he’s being wrapped in Ni-ki’s world. The shirt is a little bigger than it should be, the sleeves falling past his wrists, but the way it smells, the softness of it, makes Sunghoon feel protected. 

Then, Ni-ki slides his own pants onto Sunghoon’s legs, the fabric stretching perfectly over his body, and it feels like more than just getting dressed—it feels like being enveloped in Ni-ki, like he’s becoming part of him.

Ni-ki doesn’t stop there. He pulls out a pair of socks—his own—and carefully slides them onto Sunghoon’s feet, the fabric clean but worn from being used by Ni-ki, and Sunghoon feels the weight of the gesture deep in his chest. 

It’s not just the clothes themselves—it’s the act of Ni-ki dressing him in everything, from his underwear to his socks, his clothes surrounding him like a shield. It’s a quiet, unspoken claim, a subtle but undeniable message that Ni-ki is taking care of him in a way that feels deeply personal, deeply intimate.

Sunghoon can’t help but feel small under the attention, but in the best way. Each piece of Ni-ki’s clothing feels like a layer of security, a tangible reminder that Ni-ki is there for him, taking ownership of his comfort, making sure he’s safe. The warmth from the clothes isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, wrapping him up in a way that makes him feel cared for, protected, like he belongs. Sunghoon exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding, letting himself sink into the feeling of being utterly cared for, completely seen.

When Ni-ki finishes dressing him, he pauses for a moment, his hands resting on Sunghoon’s shoulders, keeping him grounded. Sunghoon feels steady now, surrounded by the familiar, comforting scent of Ni-ki’s clothes, his body warm in them, the tightness in his chest finally easing. It’s a quiet promise, unspoken but clear: Ni-ki will take care of him, will always be there to wrap him up in his protection, in his care.

Once Ni-ki dresses himself quickly, before leading Sunghoon to the dom’s bedroom. The lights are dimmed low, the quiet hum of the air conditioner the only sound as Ni-ki pulls back the covers. He slides into bed beside Sunghoon, pulling him close in a gentle embrace. Ni-ki doesn’t say anything right away, just holds him, his warmth and steady heartbeat a contrast to Sunghoon’s jittery energy. Sunghoon rests his head on Ni-ki’s chest, and for a moment, everything feels a little more still.

Ni-ki’s voice is a soft murmur as he speaks. “You don’t have to say anything. Just rest.”

Sunghoon takes a deep breath, the air filling his lungs slowly but steadily. He can feel the rise and fall of Ni-ki’s chest, and with each breath, he feels himself relax just a little more. The tremors still shake through him, but it’s not as intense now.

He closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself just feel the steady presence of Ni-ki beside him. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, “I don’t know how to be okay.”

Ni-ki presses a soft kiss to the top of Sunghoon’s head, his arms tightening just slightly around him. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Sunghoon pauses. Takes a breath. “It’s not just today,” He finally mumbles, wiping at his eyes even though it's been hours since the last year has fallen. “It’s everything. Ever since the statement… it’s like I’m under a microscope. The performance went so well, and then….”

“I know,” Ni-ki says. His voice is calm, understanding. He reaches up, brushing his thumb under Sunghoon’s eye. “I’ve seen it. I hate that you’re going through this.”

Sunghoon lets his eyes close. He doesn’t realize he’s leaning forward until Ni-ki catches him, arms steady around his waist. He lets himself be held.

“I hate this,” Sunghoon mumbles, voice hoarse. “I hate how people look at me. Like I’m—like I’m weak. Like I don’t belong here.”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Ni-ki says, gentle but firm. “Not to them. Not to anyone.”

Sunghoon swallows, shaky and small in Ni-ki’s arms. “But I want to. I want to be good enough.”

“You already are,” Ni-ki murmurs, and then his voice lowers. “You don’t even see it, do you? How strong you are for letting yourself be seen.”

Sunghoon shifts, just slightly, and Ni-ki takes the opening to cup his face.

“You’re not weak for needing comfort. Or for needing me.”

Something cracks open in Sunghoon then. “I do need you.”

“I know.”

Ni-ki brushes his thumb over Sunghoon’s cheekbone. “I think about you all the time.”

Sunghoon looks up at him, dazed, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “You do?”

“I notice everything,” Ni-ki says. “When you’re quiet, when you’re trying to pretend you’re fine. I know what you sound like when you’re hurting. I know what makes you feel safe. I—” He cuts himself off with a small exhale. “I just care about you a lot.”

Then, quieter:

“And I know the difference between when you’re leaning on me and when you’re reaching for me.”

That’s the line that catches in Sunghoon’s chest. Because it’s true—he’s done both. He didn’t know Ni-ki could tell the difference. He didn’t know someone could see him that clearly.

He blinks, breath catching, lips parting to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. His throat is too tight. His heart feels too big in his chest, like it’s taking up all the space where his voice should be.

Ni-ki doesn’t look away. He reaches up, brushing Sunghoon’s hair back from his forehead, the motion slow and steady. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to say anything.”

But Sunghoon wants to. He wants to say something—everything—because it’s not just that Ni-ki sees him. It’s that Ni-ki knows him, and not in the way people usually claim to. Not in the rehearsed, filtered, surface-level way. Ni-ki knows the parts of him he doesn’t even like admitting exist.

Sunghoon’s lip trembles. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispers.

Ni-ki smiles, warm and soft and unshakable. “You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “No, I… I want to.” He takes a breath, then another, trying to quiet the rush of feeling in his chest. His fingers curl lightly into Ni-ki’s sleeve. “It’s just—no one’s ever said that to me. Not like this. Not… when I’m like this.”

Ni-ki’s eyes darken slightly with something fond, something aching. “Like what?”

Sunghoon swallows. “Messy. Needy. Weak.” He’s ashamed as soon as he says it.

But Ni-ki doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. “You’re not weak, Sunghoon.”

“I’ve been crying for like two hours.”

“You’ve been brave for like two years.”

Sunghoon chokes on a laugh that’s almost a sob. His eyes are suddenly wet, but his chest feels a little looser. A little fuller.

Ni-ki’s hand finds his again, thumb brushing across the back of it. “You don’t have to earn love by being okay all the time.”

Sunghoon stares at him, chest aching. “You really mean it?”

“I’ve never meant anything more.” A pause. Then, so gently: “I love you.”

And suddenly everything quiets. The buzzing in Sunghoon’s ears, the tightness in his body—it all hushes like the world holding its breath.

His lips part but nothing comes out. Not yet. He’s overwhelmed, but not in a bad way. It’s the kind of overwhelmed that feels like floating, like standing right on the edge of something big and warm and terrifying in the best possible way.

He shifts closer. Leans in until their foreheads are touching. “I love you too,” he breathes.

It’s not polished. It’s not grand. But it’s real. It’s raw. And the way Ni-ki looks at him in that moment—like he’s the only thing in the room that matters—makes Sunghoon feel braver than he’s ever been.