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Chapter Text

Today was one of those evenings where Gyuvin stayed over at Ricky’s apartment — a habit that had slowly shifted from occasional to expected ever since Ricky had casually given him the door code. At this point, it wasn’t just a sleepover anymore. Half of Gyuvin’s clothes lived in Ricky’s wardrobe, his extra toothbrush leaned against Ricky’s in the bathroom. One extra blanket, Gyuvin’s favorite lay folded at the foot of the bed.
They hadn’t called it anything official, but it was clear to anyone paying attention:
This was Gyuvin’s home too. And Ricky made sure he knew it.

As usual, Gyuvin lay sprawled across Ricky’s bed like a sea star, scrolling aimlessly through his phone while Ricky washed up in the bathroom. The room smelled faintly like Ricky’s body wash, and distant water noises echoed through the slightly ajar door.

Then his phone rang.

Hanbin.

Gyuvin answered with a lazy smile. “What’s up, loser?”

“Are you home?” Hanbin’s voice came through way too fast. In the background, Gyuvin could hear sloshing sounds, a dog barking (?), and someone yelling “Turn it off, TURN IT OFF!”

Gyuvin sat up straight. “What…?”

“Yes or no! Are you home or not?” Hanbin pressed.

“No?? Why, what’s going on?”

Hanbin exhaled, not even bothering to hide the chaos. “So… I might have caused a teeny-tiny explosion and now my apartment is kind of… flooded.”

“…Bro,” Gyuvin blinked. “How?”

Hanbin let out a nervous laugh. “Honestly? Don’t ask. I don’t know. One minute I was making noodles, the next—Niagara Falls.”

Gyuvin dragged a hand down his face. “You can crash at mine if you want, but I’m staying at Ricky’s tonight. It’s all yours.”

“Awww. The boyfriend,” Hanbin teased with the tone of someone who was absolutely going to bring this up again.

Gyuvin rolled his eyes. “Don’t start—”

“Gyuvin and Ricky sitting on a tree….K.I.S.S.I.N.G”

They bickered like that for another minute or two, Gyuvin tossing in half-hearted threats while Hanbin complained about being abandoned in his time of need.

Then Ricky walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying his damp hair. He was wearing one of Gyuvin’s oversized hoodies, the pastel purple one that hung past his thighs and a pair of his own sweatpants. He looked soft and sleepy, like a dream pulled out of a warm dryer.

Gyuvin’s eyes followed him automatically, his voice faltering just a second.

Hanbin picked up on it. “…Are you still on the call or did I lose you to some sexy boyfriend moment?”

Gyuvin ignored him, eyes still on Ricky. “What do you want to eat tonight?” he asked, lowering the phone slightly.

Hanbin’s indignant voice crackled on the line. “You’re literally talking about dinner with him while I’m on the phone having a life crisis?!”

Ricky let out a soft laugh as he rubbed toner into his cheeks. “You should probably finish your business with your friend before we order anything.”

Hanbin, clearly still on the line, yelled, “RICKY, YOUR BOYFRIEND IS ABANDONING ME—”

Without missing a beat, Gyuvin lifted the phone and said sweetly, “Okay, bye,” before hanging up.

He looked sheepishly at Ricky.

“You just hung up on him?” Ricky asked, amused.

“He’ll live.”

Twenty minutes later, they were curled up on the couch under a blanket, eating pizza while a new Korean drama played on the TV. Gyuvin had tucked his cold feet under Ricky’s thigh, the way he always did when he wanted to steal heat. Ricky didn’t complain.

Gyuvin’s phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

Hanbin had declared war in the group chat.

He finally gave in and checked it, laughing out loud when he saw the group chat.

Hanbin: You traitor
Hanbin: i got ghosted by my best friend for his boyfriend
Hanbin: My apartment is wet and so are my eyes
Hanbin: You hung up on me mid-sentence
Hanbin: Tell your BF to stop being the reason I get ghosted.
Hanbin: I’m telling Yujin
Hanbin: This is friendship betrayal
Hanbin: this is how villains are born
Hanbin: I hope you get mild food poisoning from the pizza
Hanbin: Just mild, though. I still love you
Yujin: lmaooo
Yujin: are you homeless now?
Gunwook: i mean you did flood your own house
Jiwoong: is this a friendship breakup or a romcom?

Gyuvin snorted, typing back something equally ridiculous. Ricky glanced over, curious. “What’s so funny?”

Gyuvin held up the phone. “Hanbin’s having a meltdown because I ignored him.”

Ricky read a few more lines and then said, almost absentmindedly, “You know… I still haven’t met any of them.”

Gyuvin blinked.

Oh.

“I met your parents,” Ricky continued, “But now that I think about it… we kinda skipped the friend stage. You haven’t met mine either..”

There was a pause.

“Let’s fix that,” Ricky finally said.

Gyuvin sat up, suddenly competitive. “Okay. But we decide who goes first with a proper method.”

Ricky raised a brow. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Best of three,” Gyuvin said immediately.

They both formed fists.

Ricky won.

Twice.

Gyuvin flopped back on the couch. “Rigged.”

Ricky smirked. “Looks like I get to judge your friends first.”

And just like that, the planning began.

Chapter Text

Gyuvin was pacing.

To the untrained eye, it looked like he was just stretching his legs in front of the bowling lanes. To Ricky, who had known him long enough to recognize every micro-expression, it was clear: he was spiraling.

“They’re late,” Gyuvin muttered, checking the time for the fifth time in four minutes. “If Jiwoong shows up late again, I’m changing the group chat name to ‘Cancelled.’ Permanently.”

Ricky, sitting on the edge of a bench with his fingers laced around a cold soda cup, raised an amused brow. “Did you threaten your friends?”

Gyuvin paused, dead serious. “…Just mildly. With love.”

Before Ricky could answer, the front door swung open like a dramatic movie scene. Jiwoong strutted in wearing sunglasses—indoors—with the aura of someone who thought he was the main character. Right behind him, Yujin shuffled in with two bubble teas in hand and a look of betrayal etched across his face.

“He made me late,” Yujin announced, jabbing a thumb at Jiwoong.

“I was accessorizing,” Jiwoong said simply, not removing his shades.

Yujin opened his mouth to retort—but the entrance flared open again.

Gunwook walked in quietly, hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie. His eyes scanned the room, then landed on Ricky. He gave a small nod.

There was something in the way he looked at him—familiarity, maybe? Like he knew him from somewhere. Ricky tilted his head, but Gunwook had already moved on to greet Yujin with a ruffle of his hair.

Then, chaos.

“HELLOOOO!”

Hanbin flew through the door like he was on a gameshow, arms wide. “You must be Ricky. The Ricky. The boyfriend. I have so many questions, like how did this loser—” he gestured at Gyuvin, “—bag you?”

Gyuvin immediately shoved him. “Hanbin, I swear—”

“It’s okay,” Hanbin stage-whispered to Ricky. “Blink twice if he tricked you.”

“HEY,” Gyuvin snapped, scandalized.

Ricky just laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Hanbin grinned, slinging an arm around Ricky. “He’s been unbearable since you started dating. We all suffered. You’ve ruined him—in a good way.”

Bowling chaos began almost immediately. Jiwoong had hijacked the scoreboard and was dramatically drawing up teams.

“We are Team Hot Dads,” he declared, pointing at himself, Ricky, and Yujin (who was busy sipping his drink and ignoring all of it). “The other team is Emotional Support Animals.”

“Why are we Emotional Support Animals?” Hanbin asked.

“Because you’re emotionally unstable, and Gunwook has support dog vibes,” Jiwoong replied.

After hearing his explanation Hanbin shrugged convincingly.“Fair.“

“I still don’t get it. Why do you get Ricky?” Gyuvin complained, clearly wants his boyfriend in his team.

“Because he’s calm. We’re chaotic. We need grounding. You my friend are clearly in love and only half functioning.”

“Bold of you to assume—”

“Babe,” Ricky said, sipping his soda. “He’s right.”

Gyuvin deflated. “Ugh.”

The game finally began.

Yujin kept trying to bowl backwards while insisting on bumpers “for the drama,” and Hanbin provided loud, color commentary whether or not it was his turn.

“No shame,” Gyuvin said proudly, adjusting the rails. “My son deserves success.”

“I’m not your son.”

“You are and Ricky’s your stepdad now. Learn to cope.”

Gunwook, it turned out, was a secret bowling prodigy. He knocked strikes like he did taxes—clean, quiet, ruthless. Until he tripped over his own shoelace and landed flat on the floor.

Hanbin shrieked. “NERF HIM!”
Yujin filmed everything for his private Instagram.

Gyuvin was too flustered to score properly, and Ricky ended up quietly fixing it for him but halfway through the game, hanbin pulled out a video from a karaoke night where Gyuvin dramatically sang IU and flung his jacket like it was a stage prop.

“Oh my god,” Ricky whispered, eyes sparkling with delight. “You did a mic drop?”

Gyuvin collapsed into his seat. “I was emotionally compromised that night!”

“Because you had three strawberry sojus and texted Ricky ‘I miss u’ before you even started dating?” Yujin said sweetly.

“Stop,” Gyuvin groaned into his hands.

“Oh my god,” Hanbin gasped. “Remember when he made us take aesthetic hand pics so he could post a soft boyfriend vibe before he even had a boyfriend?”

Ricky looked over at Gyuvin.

“You… did that?”

Gyuvin chill on blushing now. “It was preemptive manifestation.”

Hanbin was on a roll. “Also, once he cried because we forgot to say goodnight in the chat and said, and I quote, ‘How will I sleep without emotional closure.’”

“STOP!”

“Playlist confession!” Jiwoong yelled. “Tell him about the Taeyeon playlist!”

Ricky was crying from laughter. “What was it called?”

Gyuvin groaned into his palms. “Songs to Be Gay and Sad To.”

“We don’t talk about that!” he yelled as Hanbin screeched and tried to shield himself with a bowling pin.

Ricky was… genuinely entertained.

He watched Gyuvin in the middle of the chaos — cheeks flushed, laughing until he snorted, dimples deep and real. He watched his friends talk over each other, toss popcorn into each other’s mouths, yell at the screen when someone got a strike.

He thought: Oh. This is why he’s soft. This is why he loves so hard.

And when Gyuvin looked up, a little breathless, Ricky was watching him like he’d hung the moon.

Jiwoong caught the moment but said nothing. Just smirked into his soda.

Dinner afterwards was meant to be chill. Key word: meant.

They ended up at a cozy Korean BBQ palace, the kind with buzzing lamps and loud laughter bleeding from every table.

Gyuvin had reserved in advance, and by the time they arrived, he was a ball of nerves again.

The meat started sizzling. Hanbin flipped it like a pro, while Gunwook sat beside Ricky, unusually quiet, occasionally glancing his way.

The conversation stayed wild memes, exes, college chaos but Ricky found himself strangely at ease. This wasn’t just a friend group. This was a family with shared jokes, coded language, and a whole lot of heart.

And they’d made space for him.

It was when they were midway through grilling a second plate of pork belly that Hanbin struck.

“Excuse me. It’s my friend’s birthday today.”

Ricky blinked. “Wait, what?”

Gunwook looked straight at the waitress. “It’s his birthday. Special service please.”

Jiwoong smiled. “Happy birthday, Ricky.”

Gyuvin dropped his chopsticks. “YOU PICKED MY BOYFRIEND?”

“You’re too obvious,” Jiwoong shrugged. “Ricky has mysterious energy. More believable.”

Then the lights dimmed and music started.

And a parade of waiters came out with a sparkler cake, tambourines, and a song in the loudest off-key chorus Ricky had ever heard. Hanbin led the chorus at maximum volume and proud.

Gyuvin hid behind his hands as the table erupted.

Yujin filmed the whole thing like it was his second job. Hanbin threw an arm around Ricky. “You’re one of us now. If you can survive a fake birthday, you can survive anything.”

They took a hundred blurry pictures. Jiwoong handed Ricky the knife. “Boyfriend tax. First slice goes to you.”

Ricky cut the tiniest corner and held it up to Gyuvin’s mouth.

“Say ‘I love fake birthdays,’” he teased.

“I say nothing,” Gyuvin said, but took the bite anyway, eyes crinkling.

The entire table erupted in boo’s and fake gags. Yujin dramatically covered his eyes. Jiwoong threatened to call the police.

Later, when the laughter faded and the grill cooled, the staff politely asked them to lower their volume… and then, not-so-politely, kicked them out when Jiwoong started leading a conga line.

All of them where now standing outside, still eating gaze cake with plastic forks, passing the box like it was a sacred ritual.

Eventually someone snapped a group photo. Yujin posted it with a caption:

“family dinner gone wrong @sh.qr welcome to the madness.”

Ricky didn’t say much. Just kept glancing at Gyuvin, who was laughing, mouth full of frosting, arguing with Hanbin about sparkler safety.

And in that moment, Ricky knew—

He wasn’t just falling for Gyuvin.

He was falling for this

Chapter Text

Gyuvin was curled up sideways on his couch, a half-eaten cup of instant noodles in one hand and a stress headache blooming in his temples. Hanbin’s apartment was still semi-flooded something about a busted pipe and an even more busted landlord, so they were sharing space while bickering about an upcoming campus event.

“You’re absolutely not wearing that to the mixer,” Hanbin was saying. “You look like you just lost custody.”

“You’re one to talk,” Gyuvin muttered. “You’re wearing socks with fish on them and you’re not even trying to be ironic and besides I have a boyfriend. I don’t want to be a part of your non existent relationships”

Before Hanbin could throw a pillow at his head, Gyuvin’s phone lit up with a familiar glow. FaceTime: Ricky.

He answered immediately.

He angled the screen away from Hanbin, who was currently trying to steam the water out of his hoodie using a borrowed rice cooker.

“Hey, Rwick—” Gyuvin started, slurping loudly.

Ricky, glowing in soft lighting, damp-haired and hoodie-clad, looked like a peaceful domestic dream. He was lounging on the couch like nothing in the world could shake him.

“Dress nice tomorrow,” Ricky said, unbothered.

Gyuvin froze mid-bite. “Why? Are we going somewhere?”

“You’re meeting my friends.”

Gyuvin nearly choked. “Tomorrow?!”

From across the room, Hanbin dropped the rice cooker lid. “Oh, he’s gonna die. Does he need a will? A prayer circle?”

Gyuvin flailed. “What kind of ‘dress nice’? First-date nice? Funeral nice? Courtroom nice?”

Ricky smiled too calmly. “You’ll figure it out.”

And just like that, he hung up.

“YOU’RE MEETING THE INNER CIRCLE?!” Hanbin practically threw himself on the couch. “You need to alpha up. Wear sunglasses. Speak in riddles. Bring bribes—I’m serious! You have to make a good first impression. Say something intellectual. Wear dark colors. Avoid eye contact. Or too much eye contact. Actually, maybe—”

Gyuvin shoved him off “Stop talking.” and opened the group chat with shaking thumbs.

gyuvin: i’m meeting ricky’s friends.
gyuvin: do i bring gifts or is that unhinged?
gyuvin: i’m sweating.
Yujin: 💀 💀 💀
gyuvin: what if they hate me.
gyuvin: what if they think i’m cringe.
gyuvin: do i bring wine. or incense. what is the vibe???
jiwoong: bring roses.
jiwoong: if they hate you, you can die dramatically with flair.
jiwoong: i want slow-mo. violin music.
hanbin: i second the roses.
hanbin: and maybe a fake diploma.
Gunwook: …good luck?
Hanbin: bring snacks. all humans love snacks and also a dog if possible.
Gunwook: don’t say “greetings.” you did that once and scared my aunt.
Yujin: also wear cologne. not axe. we’re not in high school.

“I swear to God Hanbin! You are not helping!“ Gyuvin complained.

“I could,” Hanbin offered dramatically, “teach you how to bow at the right angle for emotional manipulation.”

“Get Out!“

By the next evening, Ricky’s apartment was absurdly clean. Candles flickered gently on the windowsill. The air smelled like basil, lemon, and preemptive doom.

Gyuvin stood in the kitchen, wearing a tucked-in white polo shirt, gifts carefully arranged on the counter like he was presenting them at an altar. One bouquet of red roses for Ricky. Three individual gift bags for the unnamed terrors known only as “Ricky’s friends.”

“I can’t breathe,” he muttered, checking his hair in the oven door.

Ricky leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Relax. You’re fine.”

“I’m not fine,” Gyuvin whispered. “I feel like I’m about to meet your dissertation committee.”

“If you can’t survive Hao, Matthew, and Taerae,” Ricky teased, “how will you ever survive my parents in Shanghai?”

“I won’t,” Gyuvin mumbled. “You’ll bury me in your courtyard.”

Then came the doorbell.

Ricky opened the door. Gyuvin braced himself and three people walked in.

Sunglasses indoors. Suits and wine bottles.

It was giving Mean Girls if they had law degrees.

Gyuvin blinked. “Wow. You guys look—”

“Formal?” Matthew offered, stepping inside. “We came to judge.”

“Ricky’s too nice,” Taerae added, removing his sunglasses slowly. “We’re not.”

“We’ve been dating for almost a year,” Gyuvin offered weakly, as if logic could help him now.

Hao, already uncorking wine and sipping with disturbing elegance, arched a brow. “And yet, we only meet you now. Sit down. Introduce yourself. Boy.”

Gyuvin sat.

And began to sweat.

Ricky, the traitor he was, lounged on the couch, wine in hand, absolutely no intention of intervening, watching the interrogation unfold like it was premium content and enjoying every minute of it.

“What’s your five-year plan?” Taerae asked, tone mild but eyes sharp.

“Would you die for him or kill for him?” Matthew added, serious.

“How do you feel about the peach-flavored candy?” Hao asked.

Gyuvin blinked. “Um… it’s my favorite?”

“Interesting,” Hao muttered, scribbling something down. He was holding a notebook. No one questioned it.

“Do you cry during arguments?”

“Only if it’s emotionally constructive?”

In a panic, Gyuvin reached for the gift bags and handed them out like offerings to angry gods. “I—I got these for you guys. Just small things. Skincare sets and snacks. I—I didn’t know what wine you liked so—”

They blinked.

He had done his research.

“You got us gifts?” Matthew said, narrowing his eyes. “We weren’t prepared for that.”

“He’s disrupting the power balance,” Taerae murmured.

Matthew stared at the tissue paper, already bribed.“…Okay. I kind of love him. He flinched when I frowned. He respects fear.”

Taerae nodded, inspecting his gift. “And he said I looked like a genius earlier. He gets it.”

Only Hao remained unreadable, arms crossed, one brow raised as he listened to Gyuvin softly explain how he wakes up early to make Ricky coffee, or how he leaves sticky notes with dumb little doodles on the fridge before class.

Ricky, from the couch, clearly not helping his shaking boyfriend.“He once left me a note that just said ‘I love you, pls don’t die <3.’ Very romantic.”

“Hey!” Gyuvin protested. “It was sincere!”

Hao sighed. “You’re ridiculous. But I see it.”

At some point Ricky couldn’t bear seeing his boyfriend so stressed and stood up wrapping his arms, chin resting on his head around Gyuvin’s neck. Gyuvin melted at the touch.

“Stop tormenting him, he is doing his best and he makes me happy, which I’m sure is the only real question you really wanted to ask.“

Three pairs of eyes were staring at them for a moment and then finally the energy shifted.

“Can we tell him now?” Matthew asked, grinning now.

“No,” Ricky said.

“We’re telling him,” Hao replied.

Taerae leaned forward. “When Ricky first met you, he texted us saying, and I quote, ‘I think I’ve met someone who makes the air feel warmer.’”

Gyuvin melted into the chair, clutching his heart. “Oh my god.”

Matthew jumped in. “He sent a photo of a peach candy and said ‘this flavor reminds me of him, I shall give him these from now on.’ Like he was imprinting on you.”

Hao added, with zero mercy, “It was textbook psychological conditioning. Pavlov’s dog, but romantic.”

“Rude,” Ricky muttered, but not denying it.

Taerae wasn’t done. “He also rearranged his schedule to maybe bump into you on campus. High school behavior, if you ask me.”

“I was subtle.”

“You were delusional,” Hao corrected.

Gyuvin looked at him with adoration. “You liked me that much?”

“I still do, idiot.”

Dinner turned into game night, and soon, competitive Uno replaced the interrogation.

There were snacks. Loud cackles. Uno games that turned into diplomatic warfare. Taerae and Gyuvin teamed up and immediately became the most chaotic duo at the table.

At one point, Hao helped Gyuvin shuffle the cards without being asked.

Matthew leaned back in his chair and announced, “Okay, I’d let him date you.”

Ricky smirked. “That’s generous, considering we technically live together.”

The trio, in unison: “Which we don’t approve of. Yet.”

Much later, the board games were forgotten, the snacks half-eaten, and the lights dimmed down to movie-night levels. The three left with some half-threats and congratulations.

Ricky bumped Gyuvin’s shoulder gently. “You did well.”

Gyuvin, mock-offended: “You thought I’d fail?”

“No. I thought they’d eat you alive.”

“They almost did.”

Ricky grinned. “But you gave them tea and compliments. That’s how you tame dragons.”

Gyuvin leaned his head against Ricky’s shoulder, finally relaxed. “I love your dragons, but next time,” he murmured, “I’m wearing armor.”

“Next time,” Ricky said, “just bring more chocolate.”

Chapter Text

The apartment smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, a mix of warm holiday cheer that was just beginning to fill the corners of Ricky’s otherwise minimalist space. The Christmas tree, which stood in the center of the living room, was lopsided and slightly leaning to the left. Ricky, arms outstretched and aggressively fluffing the branches, muttered under his breath as Gyuvin carefully draped tinsel over the tree.

“It’s leaning,” Ricky said, stepping back and squinting at it.

“It’s festive,” Gyuvin corrected, already hanging a glittery reindeer ornament that looked like it had been attacked by sequins.

“I swear, if that thing falls on the TV—”

“It won’t! Have some faith in gravity.”

“Gyuvin.”

Gyuvin turned from the tree, arms crossed, tinsel dramatically falling across his shoulder like a sash.

“Is this really happening?” Gyuvin muttered to himself, his voice betraying a mix of disbelief and amusement. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“You’re the one who insisted on a tree,” Ricky shot back, adjusting a branch with the precision of someone who had far too much time on their hands.

Gyuvin paused mid-sentence and turned his head, tinsel still caught in his hair. “I didn’t say this tree. It looks like a bird’s nest that’s been abandoned for the winter.” He grimaced, reaching up to rework the tangled mess on his head.

Ricky sighed, his fingers working with the tree as if it had personally wronged him. “You know, you could’ve helped fluff the branches instead of… whatever this is.”

“This is a very festive look, thank you,” Gyuvin replied, raising a hand and gesturing to his own sparkly disaster of a hairstyle. “What’s your excuse for looking like you’re about to lecture us about minimalism at a Thanksgiving dinner?”

Ricky smirked, dropping the branch he was adjusting. “I’m just trying to get in the Christmas spirit. You know, the one where you don’t invite a dozen people into your apartment just to watch them judge your tree.”

“I’m sure they won’t judge the tree,” Gyuvin said optimistically, but the corner of his lips twitched. “It’s Christmas! The season of hope and irrational optimism.”

“Hope and irrational optimism don’t fix cracked vases and broken shelves,” Ricky replied, raising an eyebrow.

Gyuvin frowned, turning back to the tree as he adjusted another loose piece of tinsel.

“Is that what you think of our friends?” Gyuvin shot back, hands on his hips, the holiday cheer almost entirely gone from his tone. “It’s Christmas!
“We’ll survive.”

“I’m all for optimism,” Ricky muttered, tossing another branch into place, “but we’re talking about nine people in my apartment. And you think my place is ‘ready’ for nine people?”

“Eight if Yujin forgets. Seven if Hao bails at the last minute. But come on! Imagine it. Hot cocoa. Secret Santa. Matching pajamas. The glow of community and seasonal trauma.”

“You can’t just merge our friend groups like you’re doing a software update,” Ricky said, standing. “They’re not compatible. It’s cats and dogs in a hot tub.”

Gyuvin shot him a sidelong glance. “That’s part of the charm. Besides, they’ll all be fine. Have more faith in them.”

“I don’t trust your definition of ‘fine.’ And I don’t trust Hanbin around my stuff.” Ricky ran a hand through his hair, giving the tree a pointed look.

“Well, we won’t break anything this time. I promise.”

Ricky crossed his arms, leaning against the edge of the couch with a skeptical look on his face. “Do you know how small this place is? Nine people? My apartment is not built for that kind of… chaos. Plus, Hanbin.” He shuddered.“Hanbin breaks things. Hao hates noise. Jiwoong will try to control the playlist. And Matthew has strong opinions about ornaments—don’t look at me like that, it’s happened before.”

“Well then,” Gyuvin said brightly, stepping down from the stool and brushing tinsel off his jeans, “let’s not do it here.”

Ricky paused. “What?”

“We could, like… rent a venue or something. A hall?” Gyuvin suggested, but even he knew that was just a terrible idea the moment the words left his mouth. “Okay, not that. But what if we just—”

He paused, a wild idea hitting him like a freight train.

“Let’s take a trip,” Gyuvin blurted out suddenly, eyes wide with excitement as if he’d just discovered the best solution ever.

A beat. The room went still. Ricky’s hand twitched toward the ornament box, which promptly slipped through his fingers and hit the floor with a crash, scattering tiny shards of ceramic Santa across the hardwood.

They both froze.

Gyuvin winced. “Oops?”

Ricky stared at the broken ornament like it had personally betrayed him. Then, slowly, he looked up.

“You’re either insane,” he said, “or a genius.”

Gyuvin grinned. “So… is that a yes? I mean, we’ve been talking about doing something bigger, something more memorable. Why not make it a trip? Everyone can bond, no one can judge anyone’s tree, and it’ll be… fun.”

Ricky exhaled through his nose, a familiar sign of resignation. “Where were you thinking?”

“Jeju? Perfect getaway, right? A little space, a little time to breathe… and no one can run away from the group.”

Ricky sighed and picked up a piece of shattered Santa.

“You know this could go very, very wrong, right? We’ll be stuck on an island with all of our friends, who are already a ticking time bomb of awkwardness and competitive energy.”

“I know,” Gyuvin said with a dramatic flourish. “But what’s the worst that could happen? It’s Christmas. We either survive and have an amazing trip, or we end up with new stories for next year’s Christmas dinner.”

Ricky let out a quiet laugh, then leaned against the tree for support. “Okay, fine. Let’s do it. But you handle the details. If we end up stranded, I’m blaming you.”

Gyuvin, ever the optimist, grinned. “It’s a win-win either way. We have a Christmas adventure, or we’re bonding over an emergency rescue. Either way, we’ll make it memorable.”

With a quick movement, Ricky wrapped his arms around Gyuvin’s waist, pulling him into a tight hug.

“We’re seriously doing this, huh?”

“Christmas with the whole gang. A little chaos, a little bonding… what could go wrong?” Gyuvin teased, clearly loving the idea of throwing everything into a trip that felt both crazy and perfect.

The tension between them dissolved, replaced with a sense of shared adventure and unspoken understanding. Whatever happened next—chaos or calm—they’d figure it out together.

Chapter Text

Morning light spilled into the apartment, soft and golden, casting slow-moving shadows over Ricky’s desk. He sat hunched over his laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard, eyes narrowed in the way they always were when an essay deadline loomed.

From the kitchen, the faint sound of the kettle whistling broke the silence. Gyuvin stood by the counter, humming a Christmas tune as he poured hot water over ground coffee in the French press—Ricky’s favorite.

“Extra shot of love in this one,” Gyuvin said as he set the mug beside Ricky’s hand, beaming like he’d just crafted a masterpiece.

“I need caffeine, not affection,” Ricky mumbled, but he took a sip anyway. “Mm. Tastes like affection.”

Gyuvin leaned against the counter, arms crossed, clearly holding back a smile. “So. About Jeju.”

Ricky didn’t look up. “What about it?”

“I told my friends last night.”

“Of course you did.”

“They’re all in.”

“Makes sense.”

“I might’ve…” Gyuvin hesitated, “not told them that your friends are coming, too.”

That got Ricky’s attention. He looked up, one brow arched. “Coward.”

“It’s strategic omission. I mean… it might have slipped my mind. You know how fast things move in group chats.” Gyuvin defended. “Besides, your friends are the ones who’ll need more convincing.”

⸻

Cue Flashback – Last Night, Group Chat

The moment Ricky had agreed to the trip, Gyuvin had practically teleported to his phone.

Gyuvin: guysss LISTEN. Ricky and I want to book a trip to Jeju Island and I had the BRILLIANT idea to invite my utterly wonderful and amazing friends (aka you) and after some minor convincing, he said yes!!

The chat had exploded instantly.

Hanbin: I’M BRINGING UNO AND CHAOS.
Gunwook: I’m NOT sharing a bed with Hanbin again.
Yujin: Group photos. Matching pajamas. Let’s gooo.
Jiwoong: I can make an itinerary? Color-coded?
Gyuvin: This is why I love you guys.

⸻
The clock read 12:03 PM.
Ricky closed his laptop, glanced at the door, Gyuvin had gone out to pick up groceries.

He took a deep breath and tapped “FaceTime” on a group chat titled: Wine and Fine.

The screen lit up with familiar faces—Matthew, Taerae, and Hao, all in various states of laziness.

“Gyuvin convinced me to a Christmas trip to Jeju,” Ricky said dryly, holding the phone up as Hao’s face appeared.

“Wow,” Hao said, sipping something aggressively. “Flexing your love life, I see.”

“Gross,” Taerae muttered off-camera.

“Truly nauseating,” Matthew added, sipping from a suspiciously large mug.

Ricky rolled his eyes. “It’s not a couple’s thing. It’s a… friendcation. Both our groups. One house. One holiday. One chance to not kill each other.”

There was a pause. Then, in perfect sync:

“No,” Taerae said flatly.

“Absolutely not,” Hao followed.

“Hard Pass“ Matthew added.

“Why?” Ricky groaned.

“Because I like your boyfriend, but I do not want to get ambushed by strangers in matching sweaters,” Matthew replied. “And last time we tried a shared trip? Hao ended up sleeping in the bathtub.”

“Your snoring is ungodly,” Hao muttered. “And you sleep-talk.”

“I was reciting poetry!”

“In Latin. Loudly.”

Ricky buried his face in his hands. “Focus. Are you in or not? I already said yes. Gyuvin was really happy and excited and—“

“Whipped,” Matthew coughed.

“Do you want me to hang up?“

What followed was a solid 45 minutes of arguments, counterpoints, horror stories, and side tangents. Ricky nearly gave up.

Just as the debate reached peak chaos, the apartment door opened.

Gyuvin returned, bags of snacks in his arms and wind in his hair.

“Hey, babe,” he called, stepping inside. “Did your friends say yes?”

Ricky pointed silently to his phone, still on FaceTime.

“Oh,” Gyuvin said. “Still ongoing?”

“two hours..” Ricky muttered. “You deal with them.”

Gyuvin slid onto the couch, phone angled toward him. “Hi! I know this sounds like a nightmare, but I promise my friends are super chill. Okay, some are. Hanbin… not so much. But I’m supervising.”

“Not helping,” Ricky whispered.

The chaos didn’t stop, but it softened into banter.

“Separate sleeping spaces,” Hao demanded.

“No team-building exercises,” Matthew added.

“No karaoke unless we’re drunk,” Taerae said.

“No icebreakers!” all three chorused.

“Deal,”Gyuvin said quickly.

Matthew leaned in. “Can I control the playlist?”

“If it keeps you from Latin poetry at 3AM, sure,” Hao muttered.

There was a pause. Then slowly, one by one, Ricky’s friends nodded.

“…Fine.”

Ricky shut his phone and leaned back against the couch, exhausted but victorious.

“They said yes,” he said. “Eventually.”

“You doubted me.” Gyuvin beamed.

Ricky rolled his eyes but smiled, and they shared a soft high-five that morphed into a quiet forehead touch.

Peace. For now.

Gyuvin, already energized again, grabbed a notepad. “Okay, so we’ll need a packing checklist, an itinerary, and maybe color-coded name tags for the rooms—”

“No—stop—give me that,” Ricky reached over.

Gyuvin held it out of reach.

“I swear, if you make a PowerPoint—”

“It’s a Canva,” Gyuvin said proudly.

Chapter Text

The hotel search started as a cute couple activity.

Late at night, Gyuvin and Ricky sat cross-legged on their bed, an iPad propped between them. Fairy lights glowed faintly from the window, and Ricky’s laptop still buzzed quietly on the side table from earlier essay writing. Gyuvin was half under the covers, stylus in hand like he was planning a war strategy.

“Okay,” he said, squinting at the screen. “This one has a karaoke mic in every room. That’s either genius or terrifying.”

“No,” Ricky replied instantly, not even glancing. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? Think of the midnight ballads!”

“Think of me breaking your kneecaps.”

Gyuvin laughed and nudged him with his shoulder. “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Dead. Buried. Under a pile of hotel towels.” Ricky took the iPad, swiping past more overpriced listings. “We need something decent, close to the beach, with enough space for everyone—and a strict no-microphone policy.”

“I still say we wing it.” Gyuvin flopped back dramatically on the bed. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

Ricky slowly turned his head, eyes narrowed. “Did you just suggest nine people show up in peak Christmas season with no reservation?”

“…Right. Planning,” Gyuvin amended. “We love that.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

The moment they got to room logistics, everything went downhill.

“So,” Gyuvin began, chewing on the cap of a pen, “we’ve got nine people. That’s… a lot of bodies.”

“Brilliant deduction,” Ricky muttered, typing notes on his phone. “Now, how many rooms?”

Gyuvin grinned. “Let’s just get a big room with bunk beds. Like summer camp.”

Ricky blinked. “That sounds like a social experiment waiting to go wrong.”

“We could make memories!”

“Absolutely not. I am not responsible for emotional damage.”

They started listing everyone out loud:

“Hao’s going to need his own quiet space,” Ricky said.
“He once filed a noise complaint because a bird chirped outside his window.”

“Hanbin shouldn’t room with anything breakable,” Gyuvin added.

“Matthew talks in his sleep.”

“Poetry.”

“In Latin.”

“Taerae snores like a dying vacuum cleaner.”

“Jiwoong has control issues. He will fight someone for the Bluetooth speaker.”

“Why are we friends with these people again? Gunwook is so far the normal one”

Ricky sighed, holding his forehead. “We need four rooms. At least.”

They argued for a good twenty minutes—about sleep habits, who could survive in the same room without spontaneous combustion, and how many bathrooms were legally required to avoid murder.

Eventually, after several “absolutely nots,” mostly coming from Ricky, they landed on a setup:
• Three rooms with two beds each.
• One room with three beds.
• And the cherry on top: a penthouse suite.

“It’s Christmas,” Ricky reasoned, typing in his card info. “And I’m not sharing a bathroom with seven other boys. I refuse.”

Gyuvin threw himself dramatically across Ricky’s lap. “You spoil me.”

“You’re paying me back in emotional stability.”

Gyuvin pouted. “But I wanted to recreate the hostel bonding experience.”

“We are not ‘bonding’ over moldy tile and someone else’s loofah.”

Gyuvin grinned again. “Should we send out a roommate compatibility quiz?”

Ricky looked at him, deadpan. “Don’t tempt me.”

After some needed break Ricky jotted down roommate ideas in notes app, he muttered, “I should just make a separate group chat for this.”

Gyuvin immediately sat up. “Wait. What if we made one big group chat?”

Ricky looked horrified. “No.”

“Why not?”

“My friends will kill me. Hao will mute it before I hit send.”

“But imagine the chaos! It would make everything worth it.”

Ricky shook his head, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

Chapter Text

Group Chat: Jeju Trip Official Planning

Gyuvin: Welcome everyone to the official Jeju trip group! I hope you’re ready for bonding, snow, and matching scarves!!!

Hao: Matching scarves? Are you deadass?

Matthew: Is this what we signed up for?

Taerae: are we actually wearing scarves or is this a joke?

Gyuvin: No joke! Matching scarves for the group pictures, of course. Gotta look cute for the memories!

Hao: I didn’t sign up for fashion week.

Gyuvin: Well, you’re here now, deal with it!

Ricky: I told you they’d react like this.

Gyuvin: You also said they’d “warm up eventually,” which was a bold-faced lie.

Gunwook: do we get to pick the scarf color or are we just trusting Gyuvin’s fashion sense?

Matthew: Is there a vote to kick Gyuvin out of his own group chat? Just curious.

Gunwook: I second that vote.

Hanbin: Thirded. Respectfully.

Gyuvin: Excuse you? I’m the glue holding this disaster together.

Taerae: Bold claim for someone who just introduced mandatory accessories.

Yujin: I vote pastel blue! Like soft snow vibes!

Gyuvin: Thank you, Yujin! One wholesome soul among wolves.

Hao: If I end up in baby blue, I’m walking home from Jeju.

Matthew: lmaoooo. I’d pay to see that. Give us atleast baby pink.

Taerae: What if we just go full ski-lodge aesthetic? All beige and cozy knit vibes.

Jiwoong: Do we have to match spiritually too or just visually?

Hanbin: What does that even mean.

Gyuvin: Omg wait. Should we?? Like red for anger, blue for chill, yellow for chaos—

Ricky: Absolutely not.

Hao: That’s it. I’m reporting this group to the Ministry of Fashion Crimes.

Gunwook: Statistically, group coordination increases perceived friendship. I read a study.

Hao: This is why no one invites Gunwook to parties.

Gunwook: You’re just mad because I bring charts.

Ricky: It’s literally a scarf. Why are we fighting like it’s the Hunger Games?

Hao: Because it always starts with a scarf, and ends with a Pinterest itinerary and forced sunrise hikes.

Gyuvin: …Okay that last part is fair.

Gunwook: I’d just like to say I’m pro-matching scarves.

Matthew: This is why you’re getting voted off the island first.

Jiwoong: There’s no island?? It’s Jeju.

Hao: are you fr?

Taerae: are we deadass rn?

Matthew:….

Ricky: It’s literally an island.

Gyuvin: …Okay you know what, MOVING ON.
[Attached: “Roommate Compatibility – Holiday Edition” (Canva link)]

Hao: I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man more desperate for approval.

Hanbin: lmaoo

Ricky: If I get stuck with someone who snores, Gyuvin, I’m throwing you in a snowbank. I told you I won’t share a bed.

Matthew: This is like one of those personality quizzes that tells you which Hogwarts house you belong to but 10x worse.

Taerae: I’ll do it if it gets me out of matching scarves.

Gyuvin: Come on, it’ll be fun! Just a few easy questions…

Hao: Yeah, like “do you enjoy suffering?.”

Gunwook: Does this really matter though? We’re all adults. Who needs a test to figure out who sleeps with the lights on?

Jiwoong: Honestly, I’m more concerned if we’re all going to get along for the next four days…

Gyuvin: What happened to the spirit of teamwork? The holiday joy?

Taerae: It died at “Matching scarves.”

Jiwoong: RIP. 2025-2025.

Yujin: I mean, we’ve made it this far. We’ll be fine!

Ricky: I’m seriously starting to regret all of this. Gyuvin, did you have to make a quiz?

Gyuvin: I thought it would be fun!

Ricky: It’s not. Just pick the rooms already.

Gyuvin: But then someone’s gonna blame me when they end up rooming with someone who sings in their sleep.

Taerae: Wait, is that a real thing?

Matthew: If someone in this group sings in their sleep, I need it documented for science.

Gunwook: There’s a section in the quiz for “nocturnal quirks,” by the way. I skimmed it.

Hao: Of course there is.

Gunwook: Some of these questions are oddly specific. “Do you prefer sleeping with a white noise machine or the screams of your enemies?”

Gyuvin: I needed to cover all possibilities!

Matthew: Okay but question six is literally just “Are you emotionally stable?” with no follow-up. What are we doing here.

Hao: Chaos. We’re doing chaos.

Jiwoong: This feels like the beginning of a Netflix original. One of us is definitely getting murdered by day two.

Gyuvin: Okay, that’s a little dramatic.

Ricky: Is it? IS it??

Hao: So, Hanbin’s apparently incompatible with anyone who doesn’t respect boundaries? Good luck with that.

Hanbin: I don’t need boundaries. I’m a free spirit.

Yujin: I filled out the quiz already. I think I’m gonna be a great roommate!

Matthew: That’s adorable, Yujin. But this feels less like a holiday trip and more like a social experiment.

Hanbin: Gyuvin, you made a BuzzFeed quiz for room assignments. Let that sink in.

Gyuvin: Okay but did it look cute?

Gunwook: It had snowflakes as bullet points. I’ll give you that.

Gyuvin: Look, everyone is doing the quiz. That means it’s working.

Hanbin: It means we’re coping. There’s a difference.

Hao: If we end up bunking in a cabin of emotional instability, I’m blaming the Canva.

Gyuvin: You’re all so ungrateful. This trip is going to be magical. Whether you like it or not.

Gyuvin: We need to figure out the activities. What’s everyone in the mood for?

Jiwoong: No hiking before 10AM. Or ever, if I’m being honest.

Gunwook: Can we submit activity proposals with full pros and cons lists?

Yujin: Do we get to build snowmen?

Taerae: Yujin, you like snowmen that much?

Yujin: I like anything that involves snow. Snowmen, snowball fights, snow angels…

Hao: I vote we trap Hanbin in a snowball bunker and leave him there.

Hanbin: You’re dead, Hao.

Gyuvin: Okay, let’s keep it civil, people. We’re trying to make memories, not start a war.

Matthew: At this point, I’ll just stay inside and binge-watch something. Send me a message when you guys are done throwing snowballs at each other.

Gyuvin: You’re not going to join the snowball fight?

Matthew: Nope. I’m the one who’ll be eating hot cocoa inside like a civilized person.

Taerae: I’ll bring extra marshmallows for the cocoa.

Yujin: I vote for extra marshmallows, too!

Ricky: I’ll bring hot cocoa if it keeps you guys from burning the place down.

Gunwook: Okay, I’m sending over the trip expectations document now. Everyone better read it. I swear if anyone doesn’t, I’ll be forced to do a full-on lecture on trip etiquette.

Hao: It’s not a real trip until Mr. Gunwook has an Excel spreadsheet about it or what?

Gyuvin: Gunwook, no one’s going to read that. But we appreciate the effort.

Ricky: I’m scared of the next PDF Gunwook sends. Will it be 20 pages?

Gunwook: It’s a concise 12-page outline with a clear structure and bullet points. You’ll thank me later.

Matthew: I’m going to lose my mind.

Jiwoong: 12 pages of what? Is there a section on personal space?

Gunwook: Yes, actually. There’s an entire section on respecting personal boundaries.

Hao: Just say “don’t go through my stuff.”

Gunwook: That’s one of the points, yes.

Gyuvin: Okay, okay. Let’s get back to activities before Gunwook sends us a 12-page PowerPoint on the “Science of Snowball Fights.”

Taerae: I’ll take that PowerPoint. Honestly.

Ricky: I’ll take anything that doesn’t involve a 5 AM meeting with charts.

Yujin: Can we just have a day where we don’t have to plan? Like, just let the day happen?

Gunwook: I’ve planned free time into the schedule.

Matthew: Gunwook, no one’s going to follow a schedule. That’s not the vibe.

Gunwook: You’ll be surprised. I’m very persuasive.

Taerae: I vote for a spontaneous nap instead.

Yujin: Is that an option?

Matthew: It is now.

Ricky: I’m just gonna say it if this group goes down in flames, it’s not my fault. Gyuvin made me do it.

Gyuvin: BABE!?

Hao: This entire trip is a mistake.

Gunwook: I vote we all get separate rooms. No one needs to be traumatized by anyone else’s sleep habits.

Taerae: Gunwook, I love you for that idea but that’s not how trips work.

Yujin: I’m just here for the marshmallows and snowmen.

Matthew: Is there a section about “how to survive Gunwook’s lectures?”

Gunwook: I’m just trying to keep things organized. I’m a professional at this.

Taerae: Professional what, exactly?

Gunwook: Professional trip planner, obviously.

Taerae: Is that a real job?

Gyuvin: It’s called “organized chaos,” Taerae. Look it up.

Gunwook: Honestly, if anyone doesn’t read my trip document, I’m going to assume you’re all here to sabotage me.

Gunwook: You’ll thank me when everything goes smoothly, trust me.

Matthew: Gunwook, you’re not fooling anyone.

Jiwoong: We’ll survive this. Somehow.

Ricky: If we make it through the next 48 hours without a complete breakdown, it’ll be a miracle.

Gyuvin: Miracle or not, we’re going to have a blast. I’m determined. Let’s go, team Jeju!

Chapter Text

Group Chat: Jeju Trip Official Planning

Gyuvin: Okay, I’ve got the final roommate pairings ready! After much debate and a lot of deep thought and test results here we go…

Gyuvin: Ricky and I are obviously sticking together.

Ricky: Thank God. I don’t think I could survive in the same room as either of those two.

Gyuvin: Hanbin and Hao.

Hao: Wait, what?

Hanbin: Did you just say me and Hao?

Gyuvin: It’s already done, guys. Next up: Yujin, Taerae, and Gunwook.

Taerae: Well, that’s a dream team right there. I’m just here for the marshmallows.

Gunwook: I expect order, not chaos, in our room, Yujin. I’ve already planned our sleeping arrangements.

Yujin: As long as there are marshmallows, I’m in.

Gyuvin: And finally, Matthew and Jiwoong.

Matthew: I feel like I’m going to need an extra blanket for this one.

Jiwoong: I have a system of my own for the perfect nap. Don’t mess it up, Matthew.

Hao: You’ve got to be kidding me. Hanbin and I? Are you out of your mind?

Hao: I swear to God, Gyuvin, this quiz is rigged. It literally says Hanbin and I are the least compatible.

Hanbin: Oh, so you’re the problem, huh?

Gyuvin: Guys, guys, relax. I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll survive.

Hao: Survive? Are you kidding me? The quiz literally said I was the more compatible with Matthew than Hanbin. That’s how bad this is.

Matthew: valid.

Yujin: I think it’s kind of funny. I mean, I get along with everyone, but watching you two argue is a show in itself.

Hao: I can’t believe I’m stuck with him. This is a mistake, Gyuvin.

Hanbin: You think I want to be with you? This is like putting oil and water in the same bottle.

Hao: This is going to be worse than my worst roommate nightmare.

Ricky: We’re going to be fine, guys. It’s just a room. Not a marriage.

Hao: It’s a very important room though.

Hanbin: Okay, but seriously, Gyuvin, you couldn’t have paired us with someone else?

Gyuvin: I thought you two were adults! Can’t you just have some patience?

Hao: You know, maybe this quiz was a horrible idea, Gyuvin. I want to file a formal complaint.

Hanbin: Oh, please, do. I’d love to hear how this gets “fixed” for us.

Gyuvin: Okay, okay, no one’s fixing anything. This is happening. You’ll just have to learn to coexist. Like mature, reasonable humans.

Hao: “Mature and reasonable” is not something I think of when I look at Hanbin. I’m getting earplugs for the whole trip.

Gyuvin: Alright, alright, I see this is gonna be a process. But I’m not changing the pairings. If you can’t handle the heat, move out of the couch!

Matthew: Okay but like… hear me out.

Matthew: What if this is just enemies-to-lovers in real time?

Hanbin: WHAT.

Hao: Delete that message right now.

Matthew: No but seriously, the bickering? The tension? The forced proximity? It’s giving fanfic.

Yujin: Wait wait wait, he’s kind of right. You guys do have that dynamic.

Hanbin: I’m blocking all of you.

Hao: You guys have lost your minds. I am not starring in a rom-com with this man.

Hanbin: You’re not even lead-role material, relax.

Matthew: OHHHHHH THE CHEMISTRY.

Gyuvin: Please. Please don’t encourage them. I’m already holding this group together with duct tape and wishful thinking.

Ricky: Honestly, I’m not even mad. I’d watch that drama.

Hao: I’m logging off.

Hao has left the group.

Matthew: Okay but now that he’s gone, what’s the ship name?

Yujin: HaoBin or HanHao?

Taerae: HaoBin flows better. Sounds like a forbidden power couple.

Jiwoong: HanHao sounds like a low-budget K-pop subunit that never made it past debut.

Gunwook: Why are we naming them like Pokémon evolutions?

Matthew: Because they’re evolving from enemies to something… more.

Gyuvin: STOP. He left for one second. Don’t summon chaos while he’s out.

Ricky added Hao.

Ricky: Try me.

Hao: I was gone for ONE second.

Matthew: Not fast enough. You missed the part where we decided your ship name is “HanHao.”

Yujin: Or “HaoBin.” We’re still workshopping it.

Hanbin: This is actual cyberbullying.

Hao: Gyuvin. Control your friends.

Hanbin: This is your fault, Gyuvin. All of it. The quiz. The room. The emotional damage.

Gyuvin: I just wanted us to match scarves and be wholesome.

Matthew: Plot twist: the scarf is what finally brings Hanbin and Hao together. Symbol of peace. Shared warmth. One scarf, two angry people.

Hao: I’m going back to pretending this trip doesn’t exist.

Hanbin: Tell me where you’re going. I’ll go somewhere else.

Yujin: See? Couple behavior.

Hao: Block me. Please.

Matthew: I’m emotionally invested.

Chapter Text

Incheon International Airport, 7:14 AM.

The wheels of Gyuvin and Ricky’s suitcase squeaked every third step like clockwork, echoing painfully through the near-empty terminal. A cute detail, if you weren’t the one dragging it. Gyuvin didn’t seem to notice, practically bouncing as he pointed out duty-free stores they wouldn’t shop at and seating areas they didn’t need to sit in.

Ricky hadn’t slept. That was clear from the matching bags under his eyes and the silence he wore like a hoodie pulled too tight. He had agreed to this. Voluntarily. For love.

He regretted it.

The first wave of Gyuvin’s crew arrived in clumps—Gunwook, clutching a backpack and a suspiciously full duffel bag. Jiwoong with earbuds in, hoodie up.
Hanbin looking like he had been up all night debating whether to come at all and Yujin, who nearly crashes into them because he was filming a story about the airport ceiling.

“Morning!” Gyuvin chirped, throwing his arms out dramatically like he’d won something.

They all greeted Ricky which he offered with polite nods and a raised hand. Words were a luxury he wasn’t ready to afford this early.

Then come Matthew and Taerae, perfectly on time and looking like they’re walking into an enemy base camp. Their expressions are unreadable. Ricky gives them a warning look, and Taerae gives him a “don’t worry, I’m judging silently” nod.

Gyuvin beams like a camp counselor. “Yay! Everyone’s here!”

Except they’re not.

They all stood there, two friend groups side-by-side, exchanging the kind of half-hearted greetings that screamed I have no idea how to talk to you but I’m trying not to look like a jerk. The tension was palpable like a high school group project with forced pairings. Everyone trying to figure out who was the threat, the chaos agent, the one they’d bond with by day three, and the one they’d be avoiding forever.

Then—

“Wait… Matthew-hyung??”

Gunwook’s voice sliced through the social awkwardness.

Matthew blinked. “Gunwookie??”

“Matthew-hyung?! As in, my English tutor Matthew-hyung?!”

Gunwook bowed so fast his backpack nearly took someone out behind him.

“I didn’t know you were that Matthew! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Ricky, who had been silently scanning for nearby exits, just blinked slowly.
Oh. That’s why your face was familiar.

The sudden recognition broke something open in the group. Unfortunately, it was sanity.

“Oh my god, does that mean Gunwook’s, like, been infiltrating our circle all along?” Taerae teased.

“Traitor,” Jiwoong deadpanned, already leaning into it.

Yujin’s jaw dropped. “Gunwook, you didn’t tell us you were fluent!”

“I’m not!” Gunwook said, flustered. “He just helps me with grammar sometimes!”

Matthew, now more amused, grinned. “We’ve had, like, six lessons.”

“Still counts,” Yujin declared, before launching into a very loud and unnecessary: “Hello! My name is Yujin!”

Taerae smirks. “Look at this teacher’s pet. Mr. Fluent in aisle 3.”

“Please stop,” Ricky muttered.

Meanwhile, Jiwoong tries to bond with Matthew by asking about his favorite playlists—only to recoil at the mention of 2010s EDM. “So… taste skipped a generation, huh?”

“I’m just saying,” Jiwoong said, “you can’t have both the La La Land soundtrack and 90s hip hop on one playlist. There’s no thematic cohesion.”

“It’s a vibe,” Matthew muttered, mildly wounded.

Yujin tries to calm things down by offering jelly snacks. Jiwoong accepts. Matthew politely declines. Hanbin just glares at the snack like it personally offended him.

He eyes Gunwook warily. The realization that someone from his group now has a direct connection to Ricky’s side and by extension, Hao—is not sitting well.

“Cool,” Hanbin says flatly. “Guess we’re all one big happy family now.”

Which is when someone definitely Yujin asked, “Where’s Hao?”

Ricky sighed. “Work. He’s joining us later. Don’t worry. He’ll bring the attitude.”

Hanbin’s eye-roll could be seen from the next gate. “Great. Just what we needed.”

The jokes started fast:

“We should do a welcome banner.”

“I’m holding an intervention when he lands.”

“Let’s change his name to ‘Hanbin 2’ in the group chat.”

Ricky looked at Gyuvin. “Tell them I’m going to cancel this trip if they keep talking.”

Gyuvin tried to redirect. “Let’s go get snacks together! Group bonding moment!”

No one listened.

Yujin made a beeline to a keychain display and immediately got stuck between two racks.
Gunwook and Hanbin wandered off mid-argument about something no one dares to ask.
Jiwoong and Matthew started ranking terminal lighting aesthetics like judges on a reality show.

Gyuvin, determined, tried to take a selfie. Half the group was mid-bicker. The other half wasn’t in frame.
Gunwook looked confused. Matthew blinked mid-laugh. Jiwoong was blurry. Ricky looked like a man held hostage.

“I’m not going through security unless someone swears I’m not sitting near Matthew,“ Hanbin said flatly, arms crossed.

Everyone freezes.

“It’s not about Matthew,” Jiwoong whispered. “It’s about Hao.”

“I heard that,” Hanbin snapped. “I just… need to be near the window.”

Gyuvin squints at him. “Since when?”

“Since now.”

Everyone side-eyed him.

Security opened. They shuffled forward like an awkward school trip. Nothing coordinated. Nothing cohesive. And somehow, deeply them.

Just as the gate number buzzed and they prepared to board, the group chat pinged.

Hao: On the way soon. If you guys not rearranged my room assignment, I’m going home.

Gyuvin sighed so loudly, three people turned to look.

“Can we fake a delay?” Ricky asked.

“I’m making the HanHao sign,” Yujin grinned, typing furiously.

Welcome to the Jeju trip and they hadn’t even boarded yet.

Chapter Text

Jeju International Airport, 12:03 PM

The group shuffled out of the arrival gate, blinking against the soft, overcast light that filtered through the terminal’s glass walls. The flight had been mercifully uneventful, with most of them dozing off shortly after takeoff. Even Ricky had managed to catch a few minutes of sleep, his head occasionally lolling onto Gyuvin’s shoulder, much to the latter’s quiet delight.

But now they had a problem: they’d landed too early. Check-in at their accommodation wasn’t available for hours, and the prospect of dragging their luggage around Jeju City was less than ideal.

They lingered at baggage claim in existential silence, surrounded by their own overpacked luggage and increasingly short patience.

“What if we just… sat in a line on the floor until they let us in?” Jiwoong offered.

“Gunwook will unionize us by 2 PM,” Taerae replied.

“Can we eat?” Yujin asked, already chewing something.

“Let’s find a place we can bring our bags,” Gyuvin said, ever the peacemaker. “Like a café. With food. And chairs. And caffeine. Lots of caffeine.”

After some debate, they settled on the airport’s Caffe Bene — a familiar franchise with enough seating, warm lighting, and high enough prices to feel like a proper tourist trap. They commandeered a cluster of tables, their luggage forming a makeshift barricade. Orders were placed: americanos, green tea lattes, and flaky pastries no one would finish.

Ricky, still half-asleep, ended up sharing a seat with Gyuvin, his head drooping onto the younger’s shoulder like a sleepy child on a long field trip. Gunwook was organizing power banks in a shared spreadsheet. Jiwoong had one earbud in. Hanbin… was just sitting. Waiting.

As the group settled into a comfortable lull, the entrance bell chimed, drawing their attention to the figure stepping into the café.

The kind of entrance that demanded attention without asking for it.

A figure stepped in.

Hao had arrived.

Hair perfect. Luggage sleek. Expression unimpressed.

He looked like he’d just stepped off the set of a luxury travel commercial and was personally offended by the existence of economy class.

He didn’t greet the group immediately.

“Hao! Over here!”Gyuvin waved, standing up — to Ricky’s displeasure.

Hao glanced over, offering a polite nod before returning to his phone. He approached the group still typing, muttering, “Flight was a nightmare. Turbulence the whole way. Legroom? Nonexistent.”

He greeted Matthew and Taerae with a quick hug, gave Ricky a casual shoulder bump, but didn’t even glance at the others — particularly not at Hanbin, who had gone stiff in his seat the moment Hao walked in.

Gyuvin’s smile faltered but stayed firmly in place.

“Why do they always seat me next to the bathroom?” Hao continued, sighing as he slumped into a chair. “Do I look like someone who deserves that kind of suffering?”

Ricky leaned in, speaking in mandarin under his breath. “Can you at least pretend to greet them?”

Hao paused. A smile spread across his face charming, practiced, and just a touch too perfect. He slipped his phone into his pocket and addressed the group.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Hao. It’s great to finally meet you all…more or less.”

The group responded with a chorus of greetings. Yujin offered a wave, Gunwook gave a respectful nod, and Jiwoong managed a friendly smile.

When it was Hanbin’s turn, his expression was unreadable. “Hanbin,” he said curtly, his voice devoid of warmth.

The name hit the air like a dropped match.

Hao looked at him — really looked.

Their eyes locked for just a second too long.

And then Hao nodded, that same soft smile still on his face. But it had changed. Smaller. Sharper. Like he’d just found something interesting in a place he hadn’t expected.

Then he turned back to Ricky, leaned in, and whispered in Mandarin:

“Hanbin’s my type.”

Ricky choked on his coffee.

Hao calmly sipped from Ricky’s cup like he hadn’t just set fire to the air.

“Too bad he has a nasty attitude.”

Across the table, Hanbin shifted. He hadn’t heard the words — but he felt them. Felt the shift. The attention. The weight.

“You’re a menace,” Ricky muttered in Mandarin.

Hao smiled wider. “And yet, here I am. Invited.”

Everyone else went back to sipping drinks, the group settling into a rhythm — but something had cracked. Or sparked. Or combusted, invisibly.

Gyuvin checked his phone, then glanced around the café like a tour guide desperate to keep spirits up. “Check-in’s finally open. Should we…?”

“Please,” Ricky groaned, stretching. “Let’s go before I fall asleep on this table and dream of smothering Hao with a neck pillow.”

Hao raised an eyebrow. “You say that like I’d mind.”

Ricky muttered something in mandarin that Hao pretended not to hear.

Bags were dragged. Jackets thrown on. Yujin nearly left without his phone charger until Gunwook shouted across the café. Jiwoong attempted to balance his iced drink on top of his suitcase like a challenge issued to gravity itself.

Outside, the wind hit them like a reminder that, yes, they were still near the ocean and no, they weren’t dressed for it.

Two matte black rental vans waited in the parking lot like ominous chariots of bonding.

“Who’s driving?” Jiwoong asked, eyeing the keys like they might bite.

“Me and Taerae,” Hanbin said, already unlocking one van.

Taerae twirled the second key around his finger. “I get to pick my passengers, right?”

“I call Ricky,” Gyuvin announced immediately, clinging to Ricky’s arm.

But Taerae threw a wrench in that plan. “Nope. We’re doing balance. I’m not driving with an entire couple. You’ll crash the van with the force of your codependency.”

“That’s rude,” Ricky muttered.

“And accurate,” Jiwoong added.

Ricky spun to Gyuvin. “Say something.”

Gyuvin hesitated.“You’ll survive. It’s only, like, a 45-minute drive.”

“Its too long,” Ricky said, clearly already plotting an escape. “We’re a set! A matched pair! A limited edition! Do not separate the dolls—!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being separated.”

In the end, Taerae’s van got Ricky, Hao, and Matthew. It was a clean split. Unmixed. Like oil and water had politely agreed to stay in separate containers.

“Call it enforced character development. You can survive a car drive without your boyfriend” Taerae muttered.

“Call it betrayal,” Ricky said, half to himself, as he tossed his bag into Taerae’s van a little more aggressively than necessary.

Gyuvin looked betrayed too. “What happened to unity?”

Yujin clapped him on the back. “You can unify with me, bro.”

“Don’t make it weird,” Gunwook warned.

“That leaves Hanbin, Jiwoong, Gunwook and Yujin in the second van,” Gyuvin continued. “Which… is basically just the original friend group.”

“Love that for us,” Jiwoong said, already making his way to the second van. “Less drama.”

Taerae’s van was quieter. Hao slipped into the passenger seat like he belonged there, arms folded.

Matthew climbed in next, taking the second-row seat and pulling his hoodie up.

Ricky sulked dramatically in the back seat like he’d been banished.“I hope Gyuvin misses me,” he said loudly.

“He won’t,” Matthew replied.

“I hope he regrets everything,” Ricky continued. “Like, right now.”

Hao, not even looking, said, “You know he probably doesn’t even know you’re gone, right?”

Ricky turned slowly. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” Hao said casually. “He was really focused on those jelly snacks.”

Taerae smirked. “And you wonder why no one wanted to ride with you.”

Ricky crossed his arms. “This is my villain origin story.”

Back in the second van, the vibe was less chaotic, but not exactly peaceful.

Hanbin was focused, driving like the road had personally wronged him. Gunwook was attempting to pull up the directions on three different apps. Jiwoong was narrating everyone’s vibes like it was a documentary. Yujin was already humming a song he hadn’t written yet.

“So,” Jiwoong said eventually, glancing at Hanbin. “You okay?”

Hanbin didn’t answer right away. Just shifted lanes and said, “Fine.”

“Are we really not going to talk about Hao?” Yujin said suddenly.

“Nope,” Hanbin said.

“But—”

“Nope.”

Gunwook sighed. “Someone’s repressing real loud back there.”

“I can pull over and make you walk.”

Gunwook, watching the GPS, chuckled. “You’re gonna need to say something eventually. You’re rooming with him.”

“I don’t plan on speaking to him,” Hanbin said flatly.

Yujin raised his eyebrows. “That’s healthy.”

“I tried being nice,” Hanbin continued. “In the group chat. I was civil. And he still came for me like I’d kicked his cat.”

The road to the penthouse twisted through coastal roads and sleepy streets. The sea glinted in the distance. The sun was warm yet cold. Jeju was beautiful.

Chapter Text

Ricky had resigned himself to misery. He sprawled across the back row of the van like a Victorian orphan, dramatically sighing every few minutes as the sea blurred past the window.

“This is what abandonment feels like,” he muttered.

“You’re literally in a car full of your friends,” Matthew said, not looking up from his phone.

“It’s not the same.”

“You’re acting like Gyuvin died.”

Ricky didn’t reply. Just made a quiet noise of suffering and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head like a shroud.

Taerae glanced in the rearview mirror. “This is why I separated you two.”

Ricky sat up just enough to glare. “You’re a villain.”

Taerae shrugged. “And yet I’m the only one responsible enough to drive your dramatic ass to a penthouse.”

“How could you do that to me?!“

“You could use some reflection.”

“I reflect plenty! Mostly on how my boyfriend abandoned me to a van full of passive-aggressive men.”

“I’m not passive-aggressive,” Hao said calmly from the passenger seat. “I’m just aggressive.”

Everyone groaned.

“God, he speaks and it’s instantly annoying,” Taerae muttered.

Hao turned slightly in his seat, clearly unfazed. “You’re welcome.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by Matthew asking, “Okay, real question — what’s going on between you and Hanbin?”

Ricky sat up straighter. “Yes. Please explain why you were being a jerk for no reason over the chat.”

“Oh my god,” Taerae said, slapping the steering wheel. “That group chat. I blocked notifications. I just saw Hao roasting Hanbin about, like, snowflake-shaped cookies?”

“I wasn’t being mean,” Hao said flatly. “I was being observant. There’s a difference. And do we really need to relive that? It’s not like I was the only one who wasn’t thrilled about sharing a room.”

“Sure, if you’re a Bond villain,” Ricky shot back.

Taerae glanced at Hao. “What even is your deal with Hanbin? Like, sincerely. Did he steal your skincare fridge or something?”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m never dramatic,” Taerae replied, deadpan. “You just make me feel like I need to scream sometimes.”

Matthew said, “The tension in that café? I almost choked on my croissant.”

Taerae snorted. “I thought Hanbin was going to punch you in the neck.”

Ricky muttered, “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Not physically,” Matthew said. “But emotionally? You’re a pancake now.”

“You were so weird,” Ricky added. “Like… weirder than usual.”

Hao blinked innocently. “I was charming.”

“You were antagonistic,” Taerae corrected.

“You were thirsty,” Matthew chimed in. “What was that ‘Hanbin’s my type’ comment? In Mandarin?”

“Just for dramatic effect,” Hao said with a smirk. “Had to keep Ricky on his toes.”

Ricky scowled. “Why am I even in this car?”

“Because I like you,” Hao replied sweetly. “And Taerae wouldn’t let you ride with your boyfriend.”

“I should’ve walked.”

Taerae made a turn, eyes still on the road. “So are you gonna tell us what the deal is? With you and Hanbin?”

There was a pause before Hao shrugged. “I don’t dislike him.”

“Oh god,” Matthew groaned. “Here we go.”

“No, I’m serious,” Hao said, turning slightly in his seat to look back at Ricky and Matthew. “On a scale of ‘I’d rather fight him than speak to him’ to ‘I’d have a one-night stand and never text him again,’ Hanbin is, like… somewhere in the middle.”

The van collectively short-circuited.

“WHAT?!” Ricky screeched, nearly unbuckling himself.

“Are you out of your mind?” Matthew said at the same time, blinking like he misheard.

“Why is that your scale?!” Taerae yelled. “Why are those the endpoints???”

“It’s honest,” Hao replied smoothly. “Besides, if anyone’s repressing, it’s Hanbin.”

Ricky pointed a finger. “You were mean to him. Like, unnecessarily. He literally just posted a picture and you said it looked like a stock photo for ‘seasonal depression.’”

“It did,” Hao said, completely unrepentant.

Matthew threw a crumpled napkin at him. “You don’t get to flirt with someone you emotionally terrorized.”

“Its not flirting. I was… expressing emotional disdain with aesthetic commentary.”

“That is literally worse,” Ricky muttered.

“Okay, okay,” Taerae said, holding up a hand like a referee. “Do you actually hate him or not? Because if we’re going to be stuck in a shared penthouse with multiple bathrooms, I need to know whether I’m going to witness murder or foreplay.”

Ricky gagged. “You take that back.”

Hao didn’t answer right away. Just looked out the window, his expression unreadable.

Then, finally: “He’s interesting.”

Taerae blinked. “That’s your answer?”

“It’s a compliment,” Hao said with a small smile. “He’s not like the rest of you.”

“What does that mean?” Matthew demanded.

“You’re all predictable,” Hao continued. “Ricky’s dramatic, Matthew’s quietly judgmental, and Taerae thinks he’s subtle when he’s not.”

“Hey—!”

“But Hanbin is… not easily read. And I think I got under his skin without meaning to. That’s rare.”

“Maybe because you poured acid under his skin,” Ricky snapped.

“And now we have to share a room,” Hao mused, almost amused. “Fate is funny.”

“Fate is a menace,” Taerae muttered. “Like you.”

Ricky sighed. “Just—do not start something you can’t finish, Hao. Because Hanbin doesn’t play games.”

Matthew turned in his seat. “You don’t get to trash someone and then say you want to hook up with them.”

“It’s not a want,” Hao said. “It’s just a possibility. Like an asteroid impact. Rare. But not impossible. Besides, Hanbin’s a big boy. He can handle a little tension.”

Ricky groaned. “You’re such a menace.”

“I’m a realist.”

“You’re a chaos demon with good hair.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They drove in silence for a beat.

Then Matthew said, “So, if you end up sharing a room with him, are you going to survive it without throwing hands or making out?”

“Honestly?” Hao leaned his head against the window. “I don’t know.”

Everyone groaned.

“You need therapy,” Ricky said.

“You need a filter,” Taerae added.

“You need to text him an apology,” Matthew said.

“I’m not trying to start anything,” Hao said, clearly lying.

Everyone in the van made the exact same disbelieving noise at the same time.

“I hate when we sync up like that,” Matthew muttered.

Ricky crossed his arms and stared out the window.

“If they hook up while we’re here, I’m going to commit crimes.”

Taerae adjusted his mirrors. “That makes two of us.”

Matthew didn’t even look up. “I’m not sharing a toothbrush cup with emotional trauma.”

Hao just smiled quietly.

And said nothing at all.

Then Ricky spoke, quieter this time. “You know he doesn’t trust easy. And you made it worse.”

That one hit different.

Hao glanced out the window. His voice, when it came again, was softer. “Yeah. I know.”

No one said anything for a while after that.

Outside, the road wound toward the cliffs. The ocean flashed silver through the mist. The van carried them forward — toward something they hadn’t named yet. Not quite conflict. Not quite curiosity. Maybe something in between.

Ricky sighed again.

“Still mad you split me and Gyuvin up,” he muttered.

Taerae grinned. “We did it for the drama.”

Matthew laughed. “And you’re delivering.”

Chapter Text

The vans rolled into the stone-lined driveway like a low-budget boy band tour. The sky hung low and pearly grey, casting a soft chill over the sea that sprawled just beyond the cliffside. Even through the tinted windows, the ocean glimmered — sharp and silver, like it knew it was showing off.

As soon as the vans stopped, Ricky exploded from Taerae’s like he’d been held hostage, launching himself across the driveway in a blur of hoodie strings and emotional urgency.

“GYUVIN!”

The door of the other van had barely opened when Gyuvin stepped out — and was immediately tackled into a very dramatic, very twirly reunion hug.

“You survived!” Gyuvin said, grinning.

“I barely lived,” Ricky gasped. “You weren’t there to protect me from unfiltered chaos.”

“You mean your friends?”

“They’re not friends. They’re demons in prada shoes.”

Gyuvin kissed him anyway, and Ricky melted like it was the end of a war film. They stayed there for a second too long, fully committed to the public display.

“Okay, Disney Channel moment, wrap it up,” Taerae called from behind them. “It’s cold, and I want to see if the place looks like the pictures.”

“They’re kissing, let them have their moment,” Jiwoong said with a smirk, dragging his suitcase behind him. “It’s cute.”

“It’s gross,” Hao muttered, brushing past them.

Ricky beamed. “You’re just jealous I’m thriving.”

The group turned their attention to the penthouse, and everything else fell quiet.

“Holy shit,” Yujin whispered.

Gunwook let out a low whistle. “This is—okay. This is insane.”

Hanbin stared up at the structure like it might vanish if he blinked too fast. “I feel like I’m trespassing.”

“I feel like I’m underdressed for this tax bracket,” Jiwoong added.

“It’s perfect,” Ricky said smugly. “You’re welcome.”

“You paid for this?” Yujin asked, baffled.

“Well, my mom’s card paid. Emotionally? I paid with stress.”

Gyuvin glanced around. “There’s, like, three floors?”

“And a hot tub, like you wanted.” Ricky added proudly.

“I thought you said it was ‘reasonably priced,’” Jiwoong said.

Ricky shrugged. “Reasonably…for someone with delusions of grandeur.”

“Okay, rich kid,” Taerae muttered. “Let’s check in before I freeze to death.”

Everyone grabbed their bags as the front door clicked open. A keypad, a soft chime, and then the heavy wood pivoted open to reveal the inside — and it was even better.

Warm lighting. High ceilings. A sunken living room with plush couches and a massive fireplace. An open kitchen that looked like it had been stolen from a cooking show set. Glass doors led to a private deck with a hot tub and — yes — a telescope.

“Okay. This is actually insane,” Gunwook said.

“Are those heated floors?” Jiwoong asked, already slipping off his shoes like he lived there.

“Who needs friends when you have radiant heating,” Yujin murmured, padding further in.

Taerae dropped his bag and let out a low whistle. “You really dropped your inheritance on this, huh?”

“This place is… kind of amazing,” Hao admitted.

“Say it louder,” Ricky called from the stairs. “I want to record it.”

“I take it back,” Hao said immediately.

Ricky replied. “Just know I love you all enough to fund your winter rom-com trauma arcs.”

“You’re so smug,” Matthew said, rolling his eyes but grinning.

“And yet, am I wrong?” Ricky gestured grandly.

“No,” Hanbin admitted, stepping into the foyer and taking it all in. “This is… actually nice.”

“Actually?” Ricky scoffed. “Put some respect on my booking skills.”

Their voices echoed slightly through the open space as everyone split off — doors opened, drawers peeked into, bathroom counters admired. They drifted through the house like kids in a department store. Gunwook was already checking the kitchen appliances. Yujin had found a speaker system. Jiwoong was lying on the floor near the fireplace like a starfish, eyes closed.

“I’m claiming this spot,” Jiwoong said.

“You can’t just claim the floor,” Matthew replied.

“Watch me.”

Taerae found the controls for the lighting and promptly dimmed the place into soft golden glow. “Now we’re talking.”

Ricky leaned against Gyuvin.“See? This is why I insisted. You can’t bond in a sad hotel with beige wallpaper and regrets.”

Gyuvin wrapped an arm around his waist. “You did good, babe.”

“I always do good,” Ricky replied, kissing him again like there weren’t ten other people trying to figure out how to open the fridge.

Hao opened a cabinet. “Why are there four kettles?”

“Because luxury,” Ricky said.

Matthew, from upstairs: “WHO GETS WHICH ROOM?!”

That brought everyone to a halt.

Room assignments had technically been planned ahead of time. The real war now was over which group got which room.

“Okay,” Taerae clapped his hands. “We already know who’s with who, right? So it’s just about not dying over who gets the ocean view.”

“Not dying is a suggestion,” Ricky said sweetly. “Not a rule.”

“Self-declared hosts go first,” Gyuvin added, already halfway down the hallway with their bags.

They reached the master suite like they’d known it in a past life a high-ceilinged dream with floor-to-ceiling windows and a bathroom that could host a small concert.

“Oh, this is so us,” Ricky whispered reverently.

Gyuvin threw himself on the bed like it owed him money. “I’m never leaving.”

“Congrats on the honeymoon suite,” Matthew called from the hallway.

Gunwook, Taerae, and Yujin found their room next — three twin beds, squished together like reluctant siblings at a sleepover. The view was less ocean and more pine trees covered in snow, but none of them cared. Gunwook was already claiming a bed by throwing his hoodie on it. Yujin followed with a sock. Taerae sat down with a sigh of comfort.

Matthew and Jiwoong didn’t even bother to race.

“We’ll take the leftover room,” Jiwoong said, checking his reflection in a hallway mirror.

“Yeah, it’s just for sleeping,” Matthew added with a shrug, even as he sneakily peeked into each room for ranking purposes.

Which left Hao and Hanbin. A pair. A very intentional, very cursed pair.

They moved down the hall in silence, bags in hand, footsteps quiet against the wooden floor.

Hao was ahead by a few steps, casually inspecting each door. “I want one with windows,” he said without looking back. “Natural light.”

Hanbin said nothing. Just followed, backpack slung over one shoulder.

Hao opened the door to one of the larger rooms — not as luxurious as the master, but generous in space, with tall windows and a soft golden glow from the low winter sun.

“This one,” Hao decided.

Hanbin stepped past him, glanced around once, then wordlessly rolled his suitcase to the bed by the window.

Hao raised an eyebrow. “So we agree.”

Hanbin finally spoke, tone flat. “I guess.”

And that was that.

They unpacked in near silence, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

“Closet’s on your side,” Hao murmured.

Hanbin nodded.

A pause.

“So….do you snore actually?” Hao asked.

Hanbin shot him a look. “Do you?”

They stared at each other for a second too long before Hanbin turned away and began folding his sweaters with a little too much precision.

Back in the living room, Ricky peeked down the hallway.

“They’re not killing each other,” he reported.

“Yet,” Taerae muttered.

Matthew threw himself onto them both.“This trip is going to end in either a confession or a crime scene.”

Gyuvin walking by sat,munching on a tangerine. “Or both. Never saw Hanbin so cold in my life.”

Ricky leaned dramatically againstTaerae . “I just want everyone to be happy.”

“You want everyone to be interesting,” Taerae corrected, getting a side jab from Ricky.

By 4 PM, the penthouse had transformed from sleek rental to lived-in chaos.

They were all in their comfies now — sweatpants, oversized shirts, cozy socks — the carefully curated Instagram versions of comfort.

“Okay,” Ricky announced, taking over the role of his boyfriend who, by now, was practically melting into the couch. “We need to make a decision.”

“No, we don’t,” Jiwoong murmured, curled up with his hoodie pulled over half his face. “We could just… stay here and starve.”

“Tempting,” Matthew said, flipping through Netflix options with half-hearted attention. “But I’m not dying in Jeju because no one committed to dinner plans.”

Gyuvin, head in Ricky’s lap, offered, “I’d eat cereal.”

“You’d eat everything at this point,” Ricky muttered, absently stroking his fingers through Gyuvin’s hair.

Taerae stretched dramatically. “Alright. Let’s be functional adults. What do we want to eat?”

“Pizza?” Yujin offered from the floor, where he and Gunwook were playing some co-op game neither of them were explaining to anyone.

“We didn’t fly to Jeju to eat pizza,” Ricky said, scandalized.

“Then you suggest something,” Gunwook said, not looking up from his phone.

Ricky inhaled deeply. “Something coastal. Something local. Something… curated.”

“Something easy,” Taerae replied. “I’m not in the mood for some five-star restaurant where the food’s pretty but leaves you hungry.”

“I second that,” Yujin said, perched with his phone in hand. “I’m craving something familiar and warm, like tangerine chicken… or maybe tangerines.”

“Can’t be too much of a tangerine, can we?” Matthew muttered, not pleased by the Netflix choices. “We get it, we’re at the sea. It’s cold. And tangerines are in season.”

“We get it, Matthew,” Ricky groaned, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “You’re over the tangerine obsession.”

“Nope. Tangerines for days,” Matthew shot back, unbothered.

“Can we please focus on something besides citrus for two seconds?” Jiwoong half-complained, half-laughed. “What are we actually eating for dinner?”

Hanbin, who had been quiet up until now, glanced out the window, watching the waves crash against the shore with a thoughtful expression. “How about some fresh seafood? I mean, we’re near the coast.”

Everyone blinked.

“What?” Ricky asked.

Hanbin glanced up. “Abalone porridge. It’s warm, it’s traditional, and it’s local.”

There was a beat.

“That actually sounds… kind of perfect,” Jiwoong said, sitting up a little.

“Whoa,” Taerae said, pointing dramatically. “First useful suggestion all day.”

“Do we know where to get that?” Matthew asked.

“Well,” Yujin said with a smirk, “I guess since we’re going for seafood. I bet they have some fire crab or something.”

“Something simple,” Gunwook said, pointing a finger. “Nothing too extravagant. We don’t need to spend the whole night eating food that looks like art.”

“I like art in food,” Hao chimed in, finally cracking a grin. “But I guess if everyone’s sticking with the basics… I’ll go along with it.”

“Okay… local seafood is it. What about the dessert? Scratch that, I’m in charge of dessert. I’m getting something extravagant.”

“We’re not getting dessert, Ricky,” Gyuvin said, voice muffled as he buried his face deeper in Ricky’s stomach. “You’ve already eaten half of the tangerines we bought earlier…”

“I will get my dessert, Gyuvin,” Ricky said, unbothered by his comment. “And when I want dessert, we’ll have dessert.”

“The princess has talked.”

“Well, if you want dessert so badly, I have a brilliant idea for later,” Yujin teased. “But we need to finish this meal first.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “If the next idea involves tangerine ice cream, I’m leaving.”

“Hey, I’d try it,” Jiwoong said, amused. “If it’s bad, we can laugh about it.”

“Absolutely not,” Taerae said, shaking his head. “No tangerine desserts. If we’re getting something sweet, I vote chocolate cake or something equally decadent.”

The group continued to bicker and tease one another, the tension from earlier in the day slowly melting into the usual chaos they had all become accustomed to. It was a relief — the stress of the room assignments and the silent expectations faded away, replaced by the comfort of familiar banter.

Ricky stretched his arms dramatically. “Fine. No extravagant desserts. No tangerine desserts. But I’m getting my strawberry shortcake.”

“We’re going to eat dinner before we plan the next meal, okay?” Taerae said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed his jacket. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Everyone groaned but reluctantly nodded, the vibe now set: they were going to explore the local seafood, share a meal, and maybe stumble into an activity for the day.

For the first time, the group decided to mix it up for the van ride. The decision was made by the classic paper, rock, scissors method. At the end, the results were surprisingly:

Van 1: Taerae, Gunwook, Jiwoong, and Hao.
Van 2: Yujin, Hanbin, Matthew, and the couple — much to their liking.

As the vans pulled away from the penthouse and hit the road, the atmosphere was surprisingly light. In Van 1, Taerae took the wheel with an exaggerated sense of control, while Gunwook and Jiwoong amused themselves with jokes and obscure pop culture references. Hao sat quietly in the back, not minding the banter, but occasionally chiming in with a dry remark.

Meanwhile, Van 2 was an entirely different dynamic. Yujin, as usual, was the center of attention, keeping the conversation flowing with random trivia and teasing Gyuvin. Matthew and Hanbin had an unexpected moment of bonding — at first, Matthew had assumed Hanbin was the quiet, brooding type. But much to his surprise, Hanbin turned out to be the epitome of dramatic, teasing energy. He had a soft spot for Gyuvin, and every now and then, he’d throw out a jab or a sarcastic comment, leaving Matthew in stitches. The two quickly became the mischievous duo of the trip, with Yujin playing the role of the actual wildcard.

The car ride, though filled with banter and teasing, was surprisingly smooth. No one argued, and everyone seemed to relax.

By the time they arrived at the restaurant, everyone was ready to get out of the cars, their hunger beginning to outweigh any remaining concerns about awkwardness. The cold air hit them as they stepped out, and they all pulled on their coats in unison, the Christmas lights scattered along the town adding a soft, colorful glow to the scene.

The restaurant was a cozy, tucked-away spot right near the beach. The salty scent of the ocean mixed with the aroma of fresh seafood grilling on the open flames. They stepped inside, and the warmth hit them immediately — a welcome relief from the chill outside.

“Okay,” Gunwook said, adjusting his jacket, “this place looks pretty chill. Good pick, Hanbin.”

“Wait until you taste the food. I heard many good things,” Hanbin replied, his grin widening as he headed toward the table.

As the group settled in around the table, the conversation turned to a familiar, comforting rhythm. Laughter flowed freely, with Gyuvin teasing Yujin for being the group’s self-appointed “tour guide” and Jiwoong happily adding to the fun by impersonating their more awkward moments from the drive.

Over in the corner, Taerae and Hao exchanged knowing glances. They were, by all appearances, still their usual reserved selves, but tonight even they seemed a little less high-maintenance. They were quiet, but it was the kind of quiet where no one really cared. It was easy.

And to their surprise — and maybe even their relief — the whole thing didn’t feel like a disaster at all. Everyone was surprisingly comfortable in this new dynamic, the old clicks and tensions fading into the background.

As they passed plates and joked about the best way to eat abalone porridge, Gyuvin caught Ricky’s eye again across the table.

“Well, maybe this isn’t such a bad idea after all,” Ricky murmured.

Gyuvin just nodded, squeezing Ricky’s hand under the table. “I told you so.”

Chapter Text

After the delicious meal, the group spilled out of the cozy seaside restaurant, bellies full and faces red from the cold. The plan according to Gyubrik’s carefully curated “To-Do List” — was to head straight to their first “group event.”

But not everyone was feeling it.

“Okay,” Gyuvin said brightly, clapping his hands together. “Activity number one! Ice skating!”

Taerae groaned. “You’re kidding.”

Hao tugged his scarf tighter. “It’s freezing. Can we just go back and rest?”

Ricky blinked. “Rest? We just got here. You’ll have time to rest when we’re dead.”

Matthew snorted. “Inspirational.”

Hao shot him a look. “You can stay and freeze. I’ll be under a heated blanket.”

Ricky rolled his eyes. “Come on, Hao. This is literally the first day. Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

“Yeah. The day’s been long enough. We can start early tomorrow,” Taerae said with a shrug.

Gyuvin looped an arm around Ricky’s shoulders, his tone light. “They don’t have to come if they don’t want to. We’ll go with whoever’s up for it.”

Matthew looked between them all and shrugged. “I don’t really care either way.”

Ricky tilted his head, lips quirking into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, that checks out. You only care when it’s convenient.”

It came out teasing,light enough to pass as a joke, but the edge underneath was sharp if you knew Ricky well enough.

And Taerae did.

His jaw tightened just a little not enough to be obvious, but enough that Matthew caught it in the corner of his eye.

“Come on,” Jiwoong jumped in. “It’s ice skating, not a court trial. Worst case, someone falls and we get viral content out of it.”

“That’s not relaxing,” Hao said flatly.
He crossed his arms, unimpressed. “It’s literally called ice skating. Cold, slippery, dangerous — basically a death wish on rental shoes.”

Yujin snorted. “You sound eighty.”

“I feel eighty,” Hao replied. “I came after work and just ate enough seafood for a week. My body’s in protest.”

“Mine too,” Taerae muttered. “There’s no need to force it tonight.”

Gyuvin, still leaning against Ricky, chuckled softly. “You really don’t have to force it. Vacation’s supposed to be relaxing.”

Ricky hesitated, eyes flicking between Taerae and the others before forcing a smile. “Fine. Whoever’s in, Van 2. Whoever’s allergic to fun, Van 1’s your home.”

That earned a few laughs — but not from Taerae and Hao.

“Obviously, I’m going,” Jiwoong said, already pulling out his phone. “I need pictures of Gunwook falling on ice.”

Gunwook rolled his eyes. “You’ll be the one falling first.”

“I’m down!” Yujin said immediately.

“Same,” Hanbin added, hands in his pockets but smiling. “It’ll be fun.”

“Then it’s settled,” Jiwoong chimed in. “Hao and Taerae get their cozy night in, the rest of us go skating.”

Hao raised a brow but didn’t argue. He and Taerae exchanged a wordless glance.

There was a collective shuffle of coats and bags. Everyone was already moving, laughing, bickering about who was going to fall first.

“Ricky,” Taerae said finally, tone even. Too even. “You’re actually going? You’re not tired?”

“Of course I’m tired,” Ricky said with a shrug, adjusting his scarf. “But I want to have fun. Besides, Gyuvin’s been hyped for this.”

Taerae’s eyes flicked to Gyuvin for a second — not long enough to be caught, but long enough to sharpen the air. When he looked back at Ricky, his voice had dropped half an octave.
“You don’t always have to go along with him, you know.”

That earned him a look from both of them.

Gyuvin’s brows furrowed slightly, confused, but Ricky… he just froze. The words landed heavier than they should’ve — not quite an insult, not quite advice, but something in between that made his chest sting.

He forced a laugh, thin and defensive. “Oh, I’m sorry, was that supposed to be supportive?”

Taerae looked like he wanted to say something else — something that might’ve made it better or worse but he didn’t.

The pause that followed was thick enough to freeze the air between them.

Matthew, sensing the tension, stepped in lightly. “Okay, okay — we’re all tired. Let’s just go, skate a bit, and crash early. Deal?”

Taerae exhaled through his nose, brushing past them toward the van. “Whatever.”

Hao followed silently behind him, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “I’m just saying, you guys are going to regret it when you can’t feel your toes.”

Gyuvin squeezed Ricky’s shoulder, his tone still easy — but the glance he threw at Taerae wasn’t. “They’ll catch up tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Ricky said quietly, watching them go. “Whatever.”

As they split off toward the cars, the group’s energy fractured — laughter echoing from one side, the quiet thud of footsteps from the other.

Ricky sank into the seat, letting Gyuvin drape an arm over his shoulders. He tried to smile, tried to laugh at Yujin’s jokes, but the warmth didn’t reach his eyes.

“You okay?” Gyuvin murmured, leaning close. His fingers brushed against Ricky’s hand.

“Yeah,” Ricky said quickly, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Gyuvin murmured, unconvinced, thumb tracing little circles on Ricky’s arm. “Taerae and Hao are just tired. Don’t read too much into it.”

Ricky stared out the window at the darkening sea, the reflection of streetlights on the water blurred like watercolor. “I don’t get it,” he muttered. “Hao’s obvious, sure. But Taerae? He’s…so moody lately.”

Gyuvin’s hand tightened slightly, offering quiet comfort. “People get moody, babe. You know that. You’ve seen him snap before it doesn’t mean he hates you.”

“I know,” Ricky whispered. “I know. But it still… it stings.”

Gyuvin pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “Hey. Don’t let it ruin tonight. You’re here, we’re here. Focus on that.”

Ricky let out a short, humorless laugh. “Focus on that. Right.”

The moment their boots hit the rink’s entrance, chaos erupted— like it had been waiting for a cue. Jiwoong immediately latched onto a penguin skating aid.

Gunwook and Yujin were already circling each other, shouting playful threats over the scraping of skates. “You’ll never catch me!” Yujin hollered, skidding sideways and nearly colliding with a group of beginners who shrieked in protest.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Gunwook called back, swerving sharply to avoid them and bumping gently into Yujin just enough to make them both stumble. Laughter erupted from both.

Hanbin and Matthew, by contrast, tried to keep it orderly—at least as orderly as one could on ice. Hanbin offered guidance with quiet encouragement, and Matthew’s laughter rang across the rink every time he over-rotated a spin and leaned on Hanbin to stay upright.

Ricky and Gyuvin approached hand in hand, both wobbling in near-synchronicity.

“You’re supposed to catch me if i fall,” Ricky complained through a laugh as Gyuvin steadied him.

“I’ve got you,” Gyuvin replied softly, thumb brushing the back of Ricky’s hand. “Relax. You’re fine.”

Ricky wanted to relax. He really did. For a moment, it worked. He leaned slightly on Gyuvin, laughing at the chaos around him: Yujin zig-zagging recklessly, Gunwook yelling as he tried to cut corners, Hanbin smirking at Matthew’s mock complaints.

“Watch out!” Jiwoong shouted as Yujin nearly collided with a group of teenagers. “Left side, left side!”

“Too late!” Yujin hollered back, arms flailing dramatically. Gunwook burst out laughing and tried to chase after him — only to lose balance and crash gently into the barrier. The sound of his groan was drowned out by laughter from both their group and a few onlookers.

Jiwoong coasted past with his arms raised like a triumphant performer. “Next race!” he announced, voice echoing across the rink. “Winner gets eternal glory!”

Matthew’s voice came from near the railing, dry as ever. “You can’t even balance, Jiwoong. Glory’s out of reach.”

Hanbin smirked. “I’d still bet on him. He’s unpredictable and that’s funny.”

And that was all it took to spark chaos.

Jiwoong pointed dramatically at Gunwook and Yujin. “You two. No excuses. One lap around the rink. Loser buys hot chocolate for everyone.”

“Make it two laps,” Gunwook shot back, already crouching into a mock starting position. “And you’re going down.”

“Big words for someone who just kissed the barrier,” Yujin teased, smirking.

“On three!” Jiwoong called. “One—two—”

“Wait—” Yujin began, but Jiwoong shouted, “Three!” and took off before anyone could react.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Gunwook yelled, pushing off after him. Yujin followed close behind, skating furiously, laughter ringing through the air.

Ricky watched them go, shaking his head with an incredulous smile. “They’re going to kill each other.”

Gyuvin laughed beside him, eyes sparkling with amusement. “At least they’ll die doing something stupid together. That’s so them.”

Matthew snorted. “That’s idiocy.”

“You’re just jealous,” Hanbin said, elbowing him lightly. “Admit it, part of you wants to join.”

“I’ll pass,” Matthew said, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

Ricky exhaled, leaning against the railing with Gyuvin beside him. His fingers were cold, cheeks flushed from both the chill and the laughter. The world around them felt lighter, noise and light blending into a moment that almost — almost — felt perfect.

Jiwoong was already halfway around the rink, skating like a man possessed, arms flailing for balance as he shouted, “Glory is mine!”

Gunwook was close behind, focused and determined, while Yujin was yelling nonsense and laughing so hard he nearly tripped himself.

By the time they rounded the last curve, a small crowd of spectators had gathered, cheering them on. Jiwoong somehow managed to stay upright long enough to cross the makeshift “finish line” — immediately spinning out and crashing into the boards in victory.

Gunwook stumbled to a stop, panting. “You—cheated!”

“Cheating,” Jiwoong gasped, sprawled dramatically on the ice, “is just… winning creatively.”

Yujin skated past them, breathless from laughter. “You’re both insane.”

Ricky was laughing now, properly laughing — the kind that shook out the leftover frustration from earlier. His chest ached pleasantly from it.

“God, look at them,” he said, leaning his elbows on the railing. “This is so dumb.”

“Yeah,” Matthew agreed quietly beside him, eyes softening as he watched the three tangled idiots untangle themselves from the ice. “It’s kind of nice, though.”

Ricky hummed in agreement, then glanced sideways — catching Gyuvin smiling at him.

“What?” Ricky asked.

“Nothing,” Gyuvin said, grin widening. “You’re smiling again. I missed that.”

Ricky rolled his eyes, but his lips stayed curved. “You’re so corny.”

“Yeah, but it worked,” Gyuvin said, bumping his shoulder lightly.

They stood there for a while — Gunwook demanding a rematch, Jiwoong singing out his victory anthem, Yujin playing the devil on both their shoulders, fanning the chaos.

Even though the rink was cold, the laughter made everything feel warm. The sharp glide of blades against ice, the echo of voices, the faint scent of cocoa from the nearby booth — it all blurred into a small pocket of winter joy.

Ricky let himself breathe, just watching.

Then, his gaze drifted toward the far edge of the rink, where the overhead lights melted into gold and blue reflections across the glass.

A thought surfaced — quiet, uninvited, heavy.

Hao and Taerae would’ve liked this.

He could almost see it: Hao pretending to complain but secretly enjoying himself, Taerae steady on the ice, teasing Ricky for clinging to Gyuvin’s arm. The imagined picture was so vivid it almost hurt.

His smile faded before he realized it had.

Gyuvin caught the shift instantly. “Hey,” he murmured, brushing their gloved hands together. “You okay?”

Ricky blinked, forcing a small laugh. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“Don’t,” Gyuvin said gently, threading their fingers together. “We’ll fix it. Whatever it is.”

Ricky nodded, but didn’t answer.

For now, he just held Gyuvin’s hand and watched the others spin across the rink, pretending for tonight — that everything was fine.

Later, when they finally stumbled out of the rink in a flurry of scarves and red noses, Gunwook (grumpily) bought everyone hot chocolate from the small stand by the exit — the kind topped with too much whipped cream and not enough lid security.

Ricky smiled, fingers numb around the paper cup. He ordered two more before they left, setting them aside carefully.

“For Hao and Taerae,” he said quietly.

No one said anything after that.

The night had cooled again — soft snow beginning to fall, laughter fading into the hum of the parking lot.
And as Ricky climbed into the van, the two untouched cups sat by the rink’s railing, steam rising into the cold air until it disappeared completely.

Chapter Text

By the time they got back, the house was warm and dim — lights low, the faint smell of salt and winter clinging to everyone’s coats.

Boots thudded softly against the entryway floor as the skating crew trickled in, voices still bubbling with leftover adrenaline.

Yujin yawned mid-laugh. “Okay, I officially can’t feel my legs.”

“Or your balance,” Gunwook said, tossing his jacket over the couch.

“Or your dignity,” Jiwoong added, earning a groan and a half-hearted shove.

Hanbin had already made a beeline for the kitchen, rummaging for snacks.

Within minutes, the earlier chaos softened into something quieter — the kind of content fatigue that fills a house after a long day. Laughter lingered in the air, fading into the rustle of blankets, low chatter, and the steady hum of a heater working overtime.

Ricky had gone quiet somewhere along the drive back, his voice mellowed out to low hums and small smiles. Gyuvin noticed, but didn’t press.

Now, as Ricky helped Matthew unload the leftover cups and scarves from the van, his eyes flicked down the hall toward Hao’s room. He just knew they’d be there.

The door was closed, faint light glowing underneath.

He hesitated.
Matthew noticed immediately. “You gonna check on them?”

Ricky shrugged. “Yeah, just for a second.”

He knocked twice.

There was a muffled sound — Taerae’s voice, low and lazy.
“Come in.”

Ricky opened the door to find Hao and Taerae exactly as expected: sprawled out on Hao’s bed, both in hoodies, scrolling through their phones.

The room smelled faintly of detergent and peppermint tea. A soft playlist hummed from Hao’s speaker — calm, easy, almost too peaceful.

“Hey,” Ricky said quietly. “You guys alive?”

“Barely,” Hao replied without looking up. “We’ve ascended into blanket heaven.”

Taerae smirked a little, eyes still on his screen. “Told you we made the right call. You all look like you went to war.”

“Funny,” Ricky said dryly. “You missed a masterpiece performance from Jiwoong. It was pure chaos.”

“Sounds about right,” Hao said, finally setting his phone aside. “So how was it?”

“Good,” Ricky said after a pause. “Really good, actually.” He scratched the back of his neck, glancing between them. “I, uh… brought hot chocolate for you two. It’s in the kitchen.”

That made both of them pause just for a second.

Taerae’s eyes flicked up, unreadable in the soft light.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Ricky’s smiled awkwardly. “You should get it before it gets cold… I’ll be downstairs.”

He lingered just a second too long and then turned to leave.

But Matthew didn’t move.

He stayed standing by the door, hands in his hoodie pockets, watching Taerae scroll absently again.

After a beat, he said quietly, “You weren’t tired.”

Taerae blinked, eyes lifting lazily. “What?”

“You weren’t tired,” Matthew repeated, voice calm but deliberate. “You didn’t want to skate. Fine. But don’t tell me it’s because you were tired.”

For a second, Taerae didn’t say anything. His thumb stilled mid-scroll.

Even Hao looked up now — not to help, but because he smelled a storm coming.

Matthew leaned against the doorframe. “Something’s up, man. You’ve been off all day.”

Taerae sighed, dropping his phone onto the blanket beside him. “It’s nothing, Matt.”

“Come on,” Matthew pressed, a little softer. “It’s not nothing if it’s got Ricky all weird about it too.”

That made Taerae glance up, quick and defensive. “He’s not weird.”

“Really?” Matthew tilted his head. “He barely said a word the whole drive back.”

Taerae didn’t answer— he couldn’t.

Hao let out a quiet, pointed hum. “You two done with the tension, or should I start narrating it for you?”

It wasn’t cruel — just sharp enough to slice the tension. Classic Hao.

“Sorry,” Matthew said lightly, though his jaw ticked. He didn’t move, didn’t drop his gaze.

Silence settled thickly between them, like fog creeping into every word they weren’t saying.

Finally, Taerae leaned back, voice low. “I just didn’t feel like going. That’s it.”

“Right,” Matthew said, not buying it. His voice lowered. “Just… talk to him, okay? He’s trying. Harder than anyone else to make this trip work.”

That earned him a scoff — small but sharp.

Matthew’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Taerae didn’t answer. Hao did.

“Yeah. Can’t tell if he’s trying to make things work or just trying to look good for his new boyfriend.”

New boyfriend.

The words landed heavier than they sounded.

Matthew frowned. “That’s low.”

“Is it?” Hao said lazily. “You’ve seen it. Everything’s about keeping the peace now. The perfect couple, the perfect trip. He’s got that smile he uses when he doesn’t mean it.”

Taerae didn’t add anything, but the silence that followed was loud enough to count as agreement.

Matthew’s tone sharpened a little. “You really think he doesn’t care?”

Taerae hesitated, eyes flicking to him. “I think he cares,” he said finally. “I just don’t know if it’s for us or for how it looks.”

Matthew’s mouth parted like he wanted to say something — but for a second, he couldn’t find the words.

Then Hao added lazily, “You wouldn’t get it anyway. You came later. It’s different for us.”

That one hit.

Matthew didn’t respond right away. His expression was unreadable — somewhere between frustration and pity or maybe both.

“Right, guess I’m just the convenient outsider, huh?”

Taerae sighed, rubbing his temple. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I’m not,” Matthew said, tone flattening. “But if you keep acting like this — pushing him away every time he tries , you’re gonna lose him. And when that happens, it won’t matter who came first.”

That got Taerae’s attention. His voice rose, brittle. “You don’t know shit about Ricky.”

“Oh, suddenly I don’t?” Matthew’s tone cracked open, all control gone. “But the supposed best friend does, right? Don’t make me laugh.”

The air went dead still.

Even Hao looked a little surprised — then amused, like he’d just found a spark worth fanning.

“Relax,” he said, voice low and drawling. “No need to get all noble about it.”

He tilted his head, smile sharp. “You seem to get along with everyone else just fine, anyway. Gyuvin’s group seems to like you — maybe you should hang with them more.”

The words landed smooth but heavy, like oil slicking the surface of something raw.

Matthew blinked once, slow. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hao’s grin didn’t falter. “Nothing. Just saying — they’re your type, right? Loud, easygoing, not hung up on old drama.”

He said it like a compliment, but it wasn’t.

Matthew’s jaw tightened. He didn’t rise to it. Didn’t give Hao the satisfaction.

Taerae didn’t look at either of them, but the faint twitch of his mouth almost passed for a smirk.

“Right. And it’s easier to act bitter than admit you actually miss him.”

That got him a look — Hao’s brow arched, Taerae’s eyes cutting sideways, a faint scoff escaping both of them.

The silence that followed was brittle — too quiet, like the room itself was holding its breath.

Then Hao broke it with a shrug, grabbing his phone again. “Okay. Enough group therapy. Someone turn the lights off before I lose interest.”

Matthew exhaled, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Goodnight, Matt.”

“Yeah,” Matthew said, masking whatever lingered behind his voice. “Night, divas.”

“Mm,” Hao hummed, already distracted by his phone.

The door clicked softly behind him, leaving the room dim again — tension curling in the quiet like smoke neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Neither spoke for a long moment.

Hao leaned back, scrolling idly through his phone again, thumb moving in slow, lazy arcs and Taerae just stared at the ceiling, half-buried in the pillow, expression unreadable in the low light.

Finally, Hao said, almost casually.“You know, for someone who ‘just didn’t feel like going,’ you’re sure making it everyone’s problem.”

Taerae let out a low groan. “Oh, my bad. I didn’t realize existing quietly in a room was a crime now.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Hao said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “And you know that.”

Taerae turned his head slowly. “Wow. Thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Zhang. Want to start charging?”

Hao smiled, unbothered. “Can’t. You’d never pay your bills.”

That earned him an eye roll — and a light smack to the arm.

Hao tilted his head, voice dropping a little. “So, what, you’re mad at him?”

“Who?”

“Ricky. Obviously.”

Taerae didn’t answer.

Hao sighed softly, setting his phone face down on the blanket. “You know, I should start taking bets on how long you two can go without acting like you’re in a breakup.”

“Funny,” Taerae muttered. “You could win an award for being the best asshole friend.”

“I try,” Hao said, grin widening.

The quiet that followed wasn’t tense, just… weighted.

Outside, the wind shifted; faint waves brushed the rocks below.

Taerae exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Night, Hao.”

“Yeah, no,” Hao said instantly. “You can’t just ‘goodnight’ me and camp in my bed. Go to your own room.”

Taerae blinked at him, unimpressed. “Don’t feel like it.”

“Too bad,” Hao said, nudging his leg under the blanket. “Get up. I don’t do sleepovers.”

Taerae huffed out a laugh. “Oh, you just want me to leave so you can have Hanbin alone in peace.”

That wiped the smirk right off Hao’s face. “Fuck off,” he said, scowling. “I just don’t want to share my bed. Use his.”

Taerae chuckled, sitting up slowly. “Sure, sure.”

But when he turned away, his smile faded — just slightly.

After refreshing the living room was alive again — a blur of laughter, flashing colors, and half-serious competition.

Gunwook, Yujin, Hanbin, and Jiwoong were sprawled across the carpet, controllers in hand, trash talk flying louder than the game itself.

“Bitch, move—” Jiwoong shouted, half-standing.

“Bro, it’s Mario Kart, not bumper cars!” Hanbin laughed, dodging a red shell.

“Tell that to Yujin!” Gunwook groaned. “He just sent me off the track—again!”

“Skill issue!” Yujin cackled.

Their laughter bounced off the walls, warm and chaotic — the kind of sound that filled every corner of the house.

Ricky sat on the couch behind them, legs tucked under a blanket, smiling faintly at the noise. He wasn’t really playing, though. His eyes drifted more often toward the hallway than the TV.

Gyuvin had gone up ages ago—the shower was still running.

He told himself he was just waiting.

Then movement caught his eye — Matthew, coming down the stairs, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair damp and messy.

He didn’t say anything, just walked past the scene, grabbed a glass from the shelf, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Ricky hesitated for a second then followed.

The kitchen was dim and calm, a completely different world from the chaos behind them.

Matthew stood by the counter, the glow from the fridge painting his face soft blue as he poured a glass of water.

“You’re still up?” Ricky asked, leaning on the doorframe.

Matthew looked up, startled for half a heartbeat, then relaxed. “Yeah. Needed water.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

The air between them settled into quiet — not awkward exactly, but something close.
Familiar. Heavy in a way neither named.

Ricky stepped closer, resting his hands against the counter edge. “You checked on them?”

“Yeah.” Matthew took a sip, not meeting his eyes.

“And?”

“They’re fine,” he said after a pause. “Just tired.”

Ricky frowned slightly. “That’s it?”

Matthew’s eyes flicked away, the lie smooth and practiced. “Yeah. They just wanted to rest.”

Ricky nodded, but his expression didn’t ease. “Right.”

A beat passed.

Matthew studied him. “You’re really wound up about this, huh?”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Matthew said simply.

Ricky exhaled through his nose. “I just want things to be okay. That’s all.”

Matthew tilted his head. “Things are okay.”

Ricky gave a small, dry laugh. “You didn’t see Taerae’s face before we left.”

“I saw enough to know you can’t control it.”

“Yeah, well,” Ricky said, his voice softer now, “somebody has to try.”

Matthew frowned at the answer. “You really think that’s your job?”

Ricky shrugged, gaze dropping to the tile. “It’s not a job. It’s just… easier when everyone’s fine. That’s all.”

Matthew hummed, not pushing but not letting go either.

“Just make sure you’re not the only one trying, yeah?”

Ricky didn’t answer, so Matthew changed track. “You and Gyuvin seem happy.”

That got a small smile. “Yeah. He…really does makes me happy.”

Matthew studied him. “And that’s why you want everyone else to get along? Because of him?”

Ricky blinked. “What?”

“You want peace, Rick. But I can’t tell if that’s because you need it or because you think he expects it.”

Ricky looked at him — really looked, for the first time all night.

His voice was quiet. “Maybe I just don’t want anyone to regret coming.”

Matthew smiled faintly. “That’s not the same thing.”

Ricky didn’t reply.

Matthew put the glass down. “They’ll come around, Rick. You know they always do.”

Ricky looked down at his hands. “Yeah. I hope so.”

“You really don’t have to keep trying so hard, you know.”

“You sound like Gyuvin,” Ricky murmured.

“Then maybe he’s right.”

Matthew headed for the doorway, but paused just long enough to add, “Don’t drive yourself crazy over one bad mood.The world’s not gonna end if someone’s off for a night.”

Ricky’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t answer.

“You should get some sleep. Gyuvin’ll be down soon.”

“Yeah,” Ricky murmured. “I’ll wait for him.”

Matthew nodded and started toward the door. He paused when the noise of Mario Kart spiked again — Jiwoong cheering, Gunwook yelling in defeat, Hanbin and Yujin’s laughter spilling down the hall.

It was almost peaceful — almost normal.

Ricky’s voice came from behind him, quiet. “Thanks for checking on them.”

Matthew didn’t turn around. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

Ricky stood there for a long time, staring at the cooling mug of hot chocolate he’d set on the counter hours ago.

They never came down to drink it.

Chapter Text

The house smelled like burnt toast and salt air.
Someone had left the balcony door open again, and the wind drifted through — sharp, cold, and carrying that faint ocean dampness that made everything feel too real for so early in the day.

Most of them looked half-awake.

Gunwook was slouched over a bowl of cereal, Yujin humming into his spoon, Jiwoong trying to butter his toast with the wrong side of the knife. Hao looked like he hadn’t slept at all. Taerae looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Matthew was in the kitchen, clinking around the cabinets in search of tea bags.
Gyuvin sat near the middle of the table, bright-eyed in a way that clashed painfully with the room’s collective exhaustion. Hanbin hovered beside him, still tying the drawstrings of his hoodie and blinking like the lights were too much.
And Ricky sat on the other side of Gyuvin drinking his cup of instant coffee.

It was the first morning together, the start of their trip.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was supposed to be better than the last few weeks had been.

And then of course it wasn’t.

Hanbin reached across the table, voice still groggy. “Hey Hao, can you pass the butter, please?”

No answer.

Hao didn’t even look up from his phone.

“Uh, Hao?” Hanbin tried again. “Butter?”

Still nothing.

The conversation quieted slightly. A few glances exchanged — the kind of subtle looks that said, is he serious right now?

Ricky waited a beat before speaking. “Ge,” he said evenly. “Butter.”

This time, Hao looked up. Their eyes met just for a second before he slid the butter dish across the table… directly to Ricky.

Ricky blinked. “Hanbin asked for it.”

Hao tilted his head slightly. “Did he?”

The quiet that followed was sharp like everyone could hear the restraint in Ricky’s breath.

Hanbin gave a small, forced smile. “Thanks,” he said anyway, reaching for the butter.

Ricky’s jaw clenched. He’d seen his friends act petty before, but this—this was just pointless and ridiculous.
He could feel his pulse at the back of his neck. It wasn’t anger exactly. It was tired disappointment — heavy and dull.

Before he could say something, Gyuvin stepped in voice bright, too quick.
“Okayyy,” he said, with that easy laugh he used when things got uncomfortable. “Guess we’re still waking up! Let’s maybe try being a little friendlier this morning?”

A few mumbles of half-agreement followed — Yujin saying something about bubble tea fixes everything, Jiwoong pretending to choke on his toast to break the tension.

Ricky didn’t join in. He just looked at his plate, pressing the edge of his fork into his eggs.

They’d planned this trip carefully. The activities, the meals—everything till the tiniest details. It was supposed to bring everyone together.

And not… this.

Seeing his two worlds rejecting each other this openly.

Gyuvin bumped his knee against Ricky’s a soft, wordless “please don’t start.”
Ricky wanted to say something anyway. Wanted to fix it, or at least call it out.
But he swallowed it. For Gyuvin.

For now.

The silence returned, this time quieter like everyone was pretending not to think about what had just happened.
Then Yujin spoke, muffled by toast.

“So… what’s the plan for today?”

“Hiking,” Gyuvin said, seizing the distraction instantly. “There is a trail nearby. Great view. We can head out after breakfast.”

Gunwook groaned so loudly it rattled his spoon. “Can we not.”

"Right, I remember clearly that we all agreed on not doing a morning hiking.“

“You’re built like a tank,” Hanbin muttered. “You’ll survive walking uphill.”

Gunwook pointed at him with his spoon. “Exactly. Tanks don’t hike.”

“You literally voted for hiking,” Jiwoong reminded him, still struggling to butter his toast with the wrong side of the knife.

“I voted for afternoon hiking,” Gunwook corrected. “Afternoon. When the sun is out. And I’m awake. Which I’m not.”

Yujin snorted. “You woke up eight minutes ago.”

“Exactly,” Gunwook repeated.

Matthew came out from the kitchen, “I remember clearly that we all agreed on not doing morning hikes.”

“No,” Gyuvin said. “You, Hao and Gunwook agreed. That’s three. The rest of us said yes.”

“That’s called tyranny,” Matthew said.

“That’s called democracy,” Gyuvin countered.

“Democracy is fake,” Hao muttered.

“Can we at least get everyone horizontal before complaining about vertical activities?”

“Horizontal?” Jiwoong stared at Ricky as if he just said something in Spanish.

“Alive,” Ricky corrected.

“Still confused,” Yujin whispered.

Gunwook slides down on his chair. “This is the worst morning of my life.”

“You say that every morning,” Hanbin replied.

“And every time I mean it.”

Ricky smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
He glanced at Gyuvin, who was still smiling, still trying, and felt that same small ache in his chest — that familiar question of how long can we keep pretending this is fine?

And then Gyuvin said it too soon, too cheerful.

“Oh! And later tonight,” he added, bright as ever, “we’ve got something fun planned. A little surprise.”

Ricky didn’t say anything just took a sip of his coffee, keeping his expression neutral.

A few heads turned.

“Surprise?” Jiwoong echoed warily.

“Relax,” Gyuvin said with a grin. “It’s good. Promise.”

The surprise wasn’t meant to come up yet. But something thoughtful to break the ice later in the week, once everyone had softened up a bit.

But the way the table went quiet again… maybe there was never going to be a good time.

For everything.

———

The trail entrance looked prettier online.

In the photos, it was all sunlit grass and rolling hills.
In reality, it was early-morning wind, damp dirt and air cold enough to bite through their jackets.

Yujin was the first to comment.

“…Why does it feel like we’re about to film a survival show?”

Gunwook adjusted the straps of his backpack with a pained grunt.
“Because we are,” he muttered. “It’s called Boysplanet. The last standing boys who get to climb the stairs of success, after getting stripped down by evil editing and nonexistent dignity.”

“Okay, stop. I really don’t like this at all…” Yujin shuddered.

Gyuvin clapped his hands once, way too cheerful for the scene in front of him.
“Come on, guys! The view at the top is really nice. Promise.”

Hao didn’t even hide his expression, he just stared at the path ahead like it personally offended him.

Taerae tugged his beanie lower.
“If I fall off this mountain, I hope it’s dramatic.”

Matthew, sipping from a thermo, didn’t look up.
“Same.”

Gunwook hooked his arm tighter around Matthew’s, practically dragging him toward the start of the path.

Matthew didn’t resist, but his face had that one look — the one he used when he’s done with everything, especially with life.

“Wook-ah,” Matthew said mildly, “I can walk without being escorted to my death.”

“Yeah, trust me, I’m suffering too, but let’s at least try to survive it.”

“Let me just stay here,” Matthew muttered under his breath. “No one would even notice.”

Gunwook heard none of it — he was too busy fussing over Matthew’s backpack straps.

“These are way too loose,” he muttered, adjusting them with exaggerated focus. “Hyung, how are you supposed to hike like this? The bag would’ve fallen off your shoulder halfway up.”

Matthew didn’t stop him, only lifted his arms obediently as Gunwook tightened the straps.
There was something absurdly careful about the way Gunwook strapped his back tighter.

Which, to be fair, Gunwook had always taken way too seriously.

“Thanks,” Matthew said once Gunwook finished. “You were always good at this sort of thing.”

Gunwook blinked. “At… backpacks?”

“At paying attention,” Matthew clarified. “I used to think you only focused in English class because I bribed you with snacks.”

Gunwook felt his ears heat instantly. “I—I paid attention because I wanted to learn!”

“Mm,” Matthew hummed, not believing a word. “Sure.”

They walked in silence for a few seconds — well, Matthew walked in silence. Gunwook, on the other hand, was slowly combusting.

He cleared his throat once. Then again. Then a third time, just in case Matthew would magically start a conversation.

Matthew didn’t.

So Gunwook panicked and started talking.
“…Uh, so… apparently this trail used to be, like… a farming route or something. I think. I read it somewhere. Or maybe I dreamed it. I was really tired.”

Matthew inhaled slowly. “No one is forcing you to talk.”

Gunwook nearly tripped on a rock.
“I just— it’s weird when it’s quiet,” he blurted, instantly regretting it. “Not weird, like weird-weird, but… you’re quiet. And I… I don’t know. We used to talk a lot in our English sessions.”
He tugged at his sleeve. “Sorry.”

Matthew glanced at him before looking ahead again.
“I’m not really in the mood to talk right now.”

“Figured…” Gunwook murmured. Then, after a second, he added, softer, “You don’t have to talk. I just hate feeling like I’m annoying you.”

That made Matthew look at him again, properly this time, not just a glance.
“You are annoying me,” Matthew said flatly.

Gunwook blinked. “…Oh.”

A pause. Then he ventured, a little more cautiously.
“So… how do you feel about this trip? I mean, hiking, the whole—”

Matthew shrugged. “Honestly? I’d rather be lying on my bed. But here I am.”

Gunwook let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah… I get that.”

Matthew’s eyes flicked toward him, faintly amused. “Do you?”

“Well… Gyuvin and the others always do something active, right? Even when it’s supposed to be relaxing, it’s never really relaxing.”

Matthew gave a small, wry smile. “Sounds fun, keeping busy. Always something planned.”

Gunwook tilted his head, curious. “Your friends… Do you do stuff like this with them?”

Matthew’s gaze softened, briefly far away. “We did. A lot, actually. Trips, dinners… random little things. It was easy. Fun. We’d always end up laughing.”

He trailed off, voice lowering, almost to himself. “…Not so much anymore.”

Gunwook felt the shift instantly — warmth turning into something quieter, heavier. He hesitated, unsure if he should ask more, but didn’t. The silence stretched between them, tense, fragile.

“…To be honest I think you all care for each other,” Gunwook said finally, careful.

“What makes you think that?”

“I mean… the trip wouldn’t happen if it wasn’t the case.”

Matthew snorted. “If you say so.”

“I just think you should talk everything out and everything will work out.”

“Delusions.”

“Manifestations,” Gunwook countered.

Matthew shot him a flat look. “Manifest yourself into walking faster. We’re falling behind.”

Gunwook puffed his cheeks in exaggerated offense but sped up anyway.

“And stop hovering like that,” Matthew added.

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re hovering,” Matthew said. “You’re walking like a bodyguard in a drama.”

Gunwook straightened his back. “That’s because I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I could be.”

“You couldn’t,” Matthew said, unbothered.

Gunwook clutched his chest dramatically. “Hyung, why do you crush my dreams?”

“Because they’re loud.”

“Dreams should be loud!”

“I meant figuratively,” Matthew said. “But yours are both.”

Gunwook snorted. He couldn’t help it — Matthew’s bluntness always hit him square in the chest, sharp but warm, almost affectionate in its own strange, logical way.

“Hyung,” he said after a moment, trying not to grin, “you know you’d miss me if I walked with the others.”

Matthew didn’t answer immediately. He just looked ahead at the group at Gyuvin nearly tripping over a rock, at Hanbin arguing with Yujin about the gradient of the hill, at Ricky already regretting his life choices then back at Gunwook.

Finally, he let out a breath.
“…Unfortunately,” Matthew admitted, “you’re the least chaotic option.”

Gunwook lit up.“So you do want me here.”

“I want peace,” Matthew clarified.

“You get me,” Gunwook said proudly. “That’s practically the same thing.”

“That’s the opposite of peace.”

“But you like me.”

“I tolerate you.”

Gunwook groaned. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“I’m honest,” Matthew corrected.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m Canadian.”

———

The trail stretched ahead, narrow and winding. By the time they reached the first incline, the group had naturally drifted apart.

Ricky fell in step beside Gyuvin, who was already fiddling with his phone to snap photos of the surrounding . The middle of the pack felt safer, less exposed but it didn’t make the cold wind any easier to ignore.

Hao and Taerae were a few paces ahead, walking side by side. Taerae’s expression was neutral, but the way his eyes flicked occasionally toward Ricky made it clear he was aware of him — and not pleased.

Matthew and Gunwook lingered at the back, their quiet companionship shielding them from the tension up front. Jiwoong, Yujin, and Hanbin had pulled far ahead, voices and laughter fading into the distance, leaving only the crunch of boots on dirt and the whisper of the wind.

The path narrowed and the wind picked up. Every step felt heavier. The trail seemed to mimic the growing distance between them — a physical echo of the silent divides forming in the group.

Ricky exhaled, tugging his jacket closer. He glanced toward Hao and Taerae. “You two okay back there? Pace looks rough.”

Hao didn’t even look at him. “We’re fine.” His voice was calm, clipped but it carried an edge that cut sharper than any shouting could.

Taerae’s only reply was a soft hum. His gaze remained fixed on the trees, the wind, anything but Ricky.

“The trail’s beautiful though, right? The trees… the view…”

Taerae glanced at him finally, eyes cool. “If by beautiful you mean cold, damp and inconvenient, then yes. Very beautiful.”

“I didn’t think the incline would start this early,” Ricky said lightly, as if the comment might melt something.

Hao’s answer came without missing a step.
“That’s because you didn’t check the map. You picked the trail, didn’t you?”

It was gentle.
Which somehow made it worse.

Ricky blinked.
“I—Gyuvin showed me the pictures.”

“Pictures don’t show the parts people avoid,” Hao said, adjusting the strap of his backpack. “They show what looks good.”

It should have sounded like a general statement.
It didn’t.

Ricky swallowed, steadying his breath.
“We’re not here to suffer. We’re just trying to—”

“Who’s we?” Hao asked.

Ricky opened his mouth, then shut it.
“I just meant— everyone.”

Taerae chuckled sarcastic. “Everyone doesn’t want the same thing.”

Stillness.

“We’re walking. That’s enough.”

No accusation.
No warmth.
Just indifference which cut deeper than anger.

Ricky felt it — that small, familiar ache in the center of his chest.
A bruise forming in slow motion.

He breathed out and tried again anyway.

“If something’s wrong, I’d rather know now than let it get worse.”

Hao laughed once — the kind of sound with no humor in it.
“Something is wrong,” he said. “You just don’t want to know what it is.”

"What do you mean—”

“We don’t need therapy halfway up a hill,” Taerae cut in. “Just walk.”

And that was the end of it.

The wind filled the silence like someone shutting a door.

They walked in silence, breaths growing heavier with each incline. The trail pinched narrower, forcing them into a crooked single-file line until, finally, a small clearing appeared — a brief widening of space and light.

Gyuvin brightened immediately.

“Wait—wait, stop!” he called, already veering toward it. “Guys, look! You can see the water from here.”

Ricky slowed, grateful for any excuse to pause.
Hao and Taerae slowed too, though theirs felt more like obligation than interest.

The clearing wasn’t spectacular, but the sunlight hit the ocean in a way that made it glitter like broken glass. A perfect small memory. A perfect picture.

Gyuvin lit up.

“We should take a photo here,” he said, pulling out his phone. “First group shot of the hike, come on.”

He positioned himself in the center of the clearing, waiting for the others to drift in.

No one moved.

Gyuvin’s smile wavered but only Ricky saw it.

“Come on,” Gyuvin said softer, almost pleading. “It’ll take two seconds.”

Hao’s voice came, smooth and quiet.
“You don’t have to force it.”

Gyuvin frowned. “I’m not forcing anything. I just—”

Ricky stepped in quickly.
Too quickly.

“Gyu,” he said gently, “maybe… not right now.”

Gyuvin blinked.
He hadn’t expected that at least not from Ricky.

“Why not?” he asked, confusion knitting between his brows. “It’s a good spot.”

Ricky hesitated. Just long enough for Gyuvin to notice.

“I just… think we shouldn’t,” Ricky said carefully. “Let’s take one later...okay?”

Gyuvin’s phone lowered an inch.

“You don’t want to take a picture with me?”
It wasn’t accusation , just quiet hurt, honest and bare.

Ricky’s face softened instantly. “Hey…that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?” Gyuvin asked, still gentle, still searching for the part that made sense. “It was our shared idea to pick this trail, remember?”

Ricky’s throat tightened.
He knew that was the problem.

“It’s just… not the right moment,” he said. “Okay? Trust me.”

Gyuvin’s eyes flicked to Hao.
Then to Taerae.
Then back to Ricky.

Something small in his expression closed.

“Okay,” he said finally. Too softly. “Yeah. Sure. Later.”

He put his phone away with careful hands, like he didn’t want anyone to see they were shaking even slightly.

Ricky reached out, lightly touching Gyuvin’s elbow.
“Hey, I’m not—”

“It’s fine,” Gyuvin cut in, smiling way too brightly. “Let’s just keep going.”

The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

The group resumed walking.

This time, Gyuvin didn’t drift toward Ricky.
He kept a small step ahead, shoulders stiff, pretending to admire the view.

Ricky felt it immediately—that tiny shift in distance that wasn’t physical, not really but enough to make the air colder.

Everything seemed too quiet and too loud at the same time.

They kept moving, some blissfully unaware,
some painfully aware but all of them still moving.

Ricky didn’t know whether to follow him or leave him alone — and the fear of choosing wrong froze him completely.

He walked somewhere in the middle.

Not close enough to belong to either side.

Not far enough to admit it.

…At what point did everything go wrong?

Chapter Text

Jiwoong slowed down.

Ricky wasn’t walking next to Gyuvin anymore.

For the first time that morning, they weren’t shoulder-to-shoulder—no touches, no whispering, no quiet laughs.
Just… two separate silhouettes on the trail.
That was new.

A small knot tightened behind his ribs.
Not panic.
More like: 

Ah. So we’re actually doing this.

The tension wasn’t surprising.

Anyone with eyes could feel it creeping through the air like fog.
What bothered him was how silent it was.

He could handle yelling.

Yelling meant people cared.

People who scream are people who still have something to lose.
But this?
This was the kind of quiet that came after doors closed and backs turned.
The kind of quiet that meant people already picked sides.

His group—Hanbin, Yujin, Gunwook, Gyuvin would blow up, cry, hug it out, and eat ramen together afterward with stuffed noses and red eyes but at least they’d end up laughing again.

They didn’t do cold-war silence.

Different people. Different coping.
And Jiwoong hated it.

The quiet wrapped around the group like ice.

A few nights before the trip, they were all crammed in Hanbin’s (not overflodded anymore btw) living room—pizza boxes everywhere, Yujin half-asleep on the floor, Gunwook complaining about the itinerary like Gyuvin was sending them to boot camp.

“Three days,” Hanbin said, legs crossed, scrolling through the group chat. “We just have to survive three days together.”

“Like the hunger games,” Yujin mumbled into a pillow.

“More like Splatoon,” Jiwoong laughed. “Rxcept the ink is passive-aggression.”

Gunwook pointed at the TV with a fry.
“Bro, don’t joke. One wrong target and it’s over.”

Everyone laughed.
But Ricky didn’t.

“They’re not… always like that,” he muttered.
“They’re tired. They’ve been busy. Don’t—don’t take anything personally, okay? I don’t want you guys thinking they’re rude or—”

Hanbin threw a fry at him.
“Bro,” he said, dead serious. “Stop apologizing for them.”

Yujin raised his head from the pillow, hair sticking up like a bird’s nest.
“Yeah. We’re not five. We know how humans work.”

Gunwook leaned back on the couch, arms behind his head.
“If they’re your people, they’re our people now too. That’s kind of how friendship works, idiot.”

Ricky blinked at him. “That’s… not how it works.”

“It is,” Gunwook said simply.

“We’re stuck with you. That means we’re stuck with them, too.”

Gyuvin squeezed Ricky’s knee gently, his voice soft but sure. “We’ll get to know your friends. You and your friends get to know my friends. That’s the whole point of the trip.”

Ricky sighed.
“Just… don’t take anything they say to heart,” he said. “They’re not bad people.”

Hanbin scoffed.

“No one here thinks that.” 

Jiwoong slowed his pace as they reached the break spot — the first plateau of the trail where the ground leveled out just enough for relief. 

Taerae peeled away from the group without a word away from the noise, away from the guys.

He stood with his back to them all, facing the cold stretch of forest and the faint glimmer of frost.
Jiwoong watched him for several long seconds.

Taerae wasn’t pacing nor was he visibly angry.
He was just… still.
Too still.

Jiwoong exhaled and stepped toward him.

Taerae didn’t turn but he tensed the moment he sensed him.

“…What,” he said, still staring forward.

“Nothing,” Jiwoong replied.

Taerae shifted, annoyed.
“Then why are you here?”

“Because you walked off alone.”

“So?”

“So I followed.”

Taerae scoffed.“Go stand somewhere else.”

“I want to stand here.”

“You’re standing near me,” Taerae snapped.

“Yeah. Is it a crime now?”

Taerae scoffed again and looked away, rigid.

More silence.
Thicker this time.

Jiwoong broke it with a calm, matter-of-fact tone.“You’re pissed.”

Taerae’s nostrils flared.

“I’m not.”

“You’re also lying.”

“I’m not—”

He cut himself off, grinding his teeth.
“Can you go bother someone else?”

“I could,” Jiwoong said. “But you look like you’re about to implode, and I’d prefer that not happen on a cliff.”

Taerae whipped around.
“Why do you care?”

Jiwoong blinked.
“Because you matter to people who matter to me.”

Taerae froze…he was startled.
Then his walls slammed back up.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Good,” Jiwoong said. “I didn’t ask you to.”

That threw Taerae off.

He gave Jiwoong a confused, irritated stare like he was waiting for the usual:

Please open up.
Tell me what’s wrong.
It’ll feel better.

But Jiwoong didn’t offer any of that.

He just stood there.
Breathing the same cold air.
Not demanding anything.

Eventually, Taerae muttered, “Why aren’t you with Yujin?”

“He’ll survive ten minutes without me.”
“Hanbin, then.”

“He’ll survive too.”

Taerae shot him a sideways glare.
“So you came to babysit me?”

“No,” Jiwoong said. “I came because you’re alone.”

“And?”

“And that’s usually when people make stupid decisions.”

Taerae exhaled sharply, annoyed.
“You think I’m going to start a fight?”

“No,” Jiwoong said. “But I think you’re one wrong comment away from saying something you can’t take back.”

Taerae stiffened.

He didn’t deny it.
And he hated that Jiwoong wasn’t wrong.
Hated it more that Jiwoong knew he wasn’t wrong.

A gust of wind rattled the branches above them. Taerae shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets like he could stuff the feeling back down with them.

“…You think too much,” he muttered.

“No,” Jiwoong said. “I just pay attention.”

Taerae rolled his eyes.

“That’s worse.”

Jiwoong let out a tiny laugh not at him, just near him.

“What? You’d prefer I ignore you?”

“Yes,” Taerae replied immediately.

“Too bad.”

Taerae made a frustrated noise under his breath.

It was almost funny — if it wasn’t coming from someone wound tight enough to snap.
Jiwoong shifted his stance, boots crunching lightly against the frost.

“I’m not asking you to be my friend,” he said.

“Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You look like you’re rehearsing an argument in your head.”

Taerae glared at him, sharp enough to cut.
“…I’m not talking to you.”

“You are,” Jiwoong pointed out. “You keep answering.”

Taerae was definitely two seconds from throwing him off the hill.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

Jiwoong hummed. “Sure.”

They stood there — two silhouettes in the cold, silent but not separate.
Not close, but not distant either.

A beat passed.
Then another.

Finally, Taerae said in a quieter voice, almost grudging:
“If you’re here to lecture me—don’t. We aren’t that close.”

And again Jiwoong didn’t react the way Taerae expected.

Just a calm, simple:

“Okay.”

And continued with a steady tone.

“I’m not here to tell you what to feel. Or what not to feel. Or who to talk to. Or what to fix.”

He glanced toward the rest of the group.

“You already know something’s off,” Jiwoong said. “I don’t need to explain it.”

Taerae swallowed once, barely.

Then muttered, “Whatever.”

Jiwoong added, “And for the record — I didn’t come here because I think you’re going to explode.”

“Then why did you come?”

Jiwoong shrugged.“Because standing alone in the cold sucks.”
Taerae stared at him.

“And that’s usually when people make stupid decisions.”

Jiwoong looked at him, expression soft but unreadable.

"I want to prevent that.“

Taerae finally said, “You’re weird.”

Jiwoong smiled faintly.“Thanks.”

It wasn’t acceptance.

But Taerae didn’t walk away.
And Jiwoong didn’t either.

Which, for these two, was the closest thing to progress they were ever going to allow.

They started walking again.

Not together — not really but in the same general direction.

Jiwoong rejoined the group, falling into step with Yujin.
Taerae stayed a few paces behind him this time, quieter but steadier.

The wind picked up.
The incline sharpened.
Breaths grew louder. Footsteps slower.
But one person slowed more than the rest.

Hao.

At first it was subtle — he stopped to adjust his backpack, tug at his sleeve, retie his shoelace.
Small delays that weren’t really delays if you didn’t look closely.

But Hanbin looked closely.

He glanced back over his shoulder once.

Twice.

On the third glance, Hao was far enough behind that he wasn’t even pretending to keep pace.

His steps dragged, shoulders hunched, breath visible in quick foggy bursts.

Yujin noticed too.

He nudged Jiwoong lightly. “Hyung… he’s dropping.”

Jiwoong didn’t turn fully, just flicked his eyes backward.

“Yeah.”

“Should we—”

“I’ll go,” Yujin said before Jiwoong could finish.

Hanbin hesitated before joining him.
Reluctantly.

As if he knew approaching Hao meant stepping into a bear trap, but stepping in anyway because he had to.

The trail narrowed again, forcing Yujin and Hanbin to walk single file until they reached Hao.
Yujin kept his tone neutral.

“Hey. You okay?”

Hao didn’t look up.
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, annoyed at himself, annoyed at the trail, annoyed at everything.

“Fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Hanbin said.

Hao shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through the cold air.

“I said I’m fine.”

“That doesn’t—” Hanbin began.

“Don’t act like you care,” Hao snapped.

Hanbin flinched.

Not from the words — he’d heard harsher but from the venom buried in them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hanbin asked carefully.

“It means,” Hao said, each word clipped, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Yujin blinked, confused.

“Pretend what?”

Hao exhaled sharply, frustrated with himself, with them, with the trail.

“I don’t owe you explanations,” he muttered.

“Either of you.”

Hanbin stopped walking.

Something inside him twisted — equal parts hurt and fed up.

“I really don’t know what I’ve done to you,” Hanbin said quietly.

“But can we at least try not to… I don’t know… hate each other for Gyuvin and Ricky’s sake?”

Yujin winced. That was the wrong phrasing.

And Hao heard it like an insult carved in ice.

“Oh,” Hao said, voice going dangerously calm. “So now I have to act a certain way for someone else’s comfort?”

“That’s not—”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Hao snapped.
Hanbin’s jaw tightened.

“I’m trying here.”

“Try less.”

“Look, I’m just trying to understand why you’re acting like I personally pushed you off a cliff.”

“Maybe you did,” Hao muttered.

Hanbin blinked. “What?”

“Metaphorically.”

“You can’t use metaphors when you’re mad at me! That’s unfair!”

Hao scoffed. “You wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

Hanbin’s jaw dropped.

“Oh my god— how did we get here? What did I do to deserve this?”

Hao shrugged in the most infuriating way possible.

“Existing near me, apparently.”

“This is giving me a headache.”

But Hao wasn’t done — the irritation simmered too close to the surface now, fueled by exhaustion, cold, and the earlier conversations.

“You know what it is?” Hao said, voice lowering into something almost sharp. “You walk around like everyone should like you.”

Hanbin’s eyes widened. “I— I do NOT—”

“And when someone doesn’t, you act shocked. Like it’s impossible.”

“That’s not true!”

“It is.”

Hanbin’s voice rose half an octave.

“I never said you had to like me!”

“Then stop trying to make me.”

Hanbin threw his hands up in absolute disbelief.

“I havent tried to make you like me at all!”

“You’re doing it right now.”

“By walking next to you?!”

“Yes.”

Hanbin inhaled deeply.
Then again.

“Okay,” he said finally, clipped. “I’ll walk ahead. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Great,” Hao said immediately.

“Great.”

Hanbin turned to walk ahead but Hao’s boot slipped slightly on the incline.
Just a fraction.
Hanbin noticed immediately.
His whole body tensed like he was ready to catch him.

Hao caught himself and straightened, embarrassment flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t.” Hao growled. 

Yujin stepped between them.

“Guys. Enough. The trail’s getting icy. Can we not do this right now?”

Hao muttered, “Can y’all leave me alone now?”

And without waiting for them, he moved forward — slow, unsteady, but alone.

Hanbin stared after him, shoulders tense.

Yujin let out a low whistle.

“Hyung… that was rough.”

Hanbin rubbed his face.

“ I really don't know what I did wrong.”

The trail opened suddenly — trees thinning, wind spilling through like a knife.

———

Ahead of them, the land dropped into a wide basin of ice.

A lake.

Frozen solid at first glance.

Glass-like. Pale blue.

Beautiful enough for postcards.
The kind of beauty that felt dangerous.

Matthew let out a low whistle.
“Wow.”

Gunwook whispered, “Hyung, don’t even think about stepping on that.”

“I wasn’t,” Matthew lied.

The group slowed, pulled toward the view despite the cold.

Down by the edge, two elderly hikers in thick jackets were finishing thermos coffee.

They looked the group over with mild alarm.

“You’re not planning to walk on that, are you?” one asked.

Gyuvin shook his head immediately.

“Oh— no, no, we’re just passing through.”

The older woman pointed her hiking pole at the lake. “The surface looks solid at the start, but the middle melts faster on this mountain. You can’t tell where the thin pockets are.”

Hanbin nodded seriously. “We’ll stay on the path.”

The man tapped the ice with his pole — a sharp crack echoed through the air.

Everyone stiffed.

“It’s unpredictable,” he said calmly.

“Last winter someone fell ten meters from shore.”

Ricky’s stomach tightened.
He didn’t know why.
Just instinct.

Hao,still bristling from earlier, rolled his eyes with a small huff.

“We’re not children,” he muttered.

The old woman gave him a look so unimpressed it almost hurt.

“Even grown men fall in.”

Yujin bowed politely. “We will be careful. Thank you.”

The couple walked off.

The group remained.

The wind swept across the lake, carrying the faint hollow creaks of shifting ice.

Taerae stepped closer to the edge not dangerously, just enough to feel the cold radiating upward.

Jiwoong touched his shoulder briefly.

“Don’t.”

Taerae didn’t move back, but he didn’t step forward either.

The group stood there, scattered across the snowy bank.

No one spoke.

Ricky tugged Gyuvin away from the group to talk.

"Gyuvin I’m sorry."

Gyuvin blinked at him, bewildered.

“For what?” he asked again, slower this time, like the words didn’t make sense.

Ricky swallowed.

“For earlier. I hurt your feelings…about… them. About how they talk. About how we’re fighting," he winced. "I guess and—"

“Stop” Gyuvin squeezed his arm.

Ricky tried again.

“I should’ve prepared you more,” he muttered. “I know Hao can be… prickly. And Matthew gets defensive when he feels ignored. And Taerae—”

“You’re doing it again,” Gyuvin interrupted gently.

Ricky shut his mouth, shame creeping up like frostbite.

Gyuvin let out a slow breath, the steam curling in the wind.

“You’re apologizing for other people’s emotions, again.”

“They’re my people,” Ricky whispered. “If they embarrass themselves or hurt someone, that reflects on me.”

Gyuvin stared at him like he genuinely couldn’t comprehend how someone could think that.

“Ricky, they’re not your limbs. You’re not responsible every time they twitch.”

Ricky clenched his jaw. “You don’t understand—”

“I do,” Gyuvin said. “But I’m not going to accept it.”

That was a first.

Ricky blinked, caught off guard.

Gyuvin stepped closer, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold.

“It wasn’t just today,” he said.

Ricky stiffened.

“Their hostility?” he continued. “Yeah. That sucks. I’m not made of stone. I felt it the second we started to plan the whole trip.”

He didn’t say it accusingly.

Just truth laid bare.

“But that’s not the part that actually did damage.”

Ricky’s throat tightened.

Gyuvin looked toward the ice lake, watching the wind scrape snow across its surface.
“It was everything from before,” he said. “The way you kept warning me. The way you apologized for them before they’d even done anything.”

“And the way you talked like they were ticking bombs I needed to tiptoe around.”

Ricky swallowed, “I thought—”

“I know what you thought,” Gyuvin cut in gently. “You thought you were helping. You thought you were protecting me.”

He turned his eyes back to Ricky, not angry but unbearably honest.

“But what it felt like was that you didn’t believe I could handle your world…That you didn’t trust me to stand beside you in it.”

“I was hurt then. And I’m still hurt now.”

“Not because your friends don’t know how to act around strangers,” he added with a dry snort. “I can handle the attitude.”

He let that sit a beat.

“But because you treated me like someone you needed to shield instead of someone you could rely on.

Ricky’s breath hitched.

“I told you not to be strong all the time, remember?”

Ricky remembers it really clearly, as if it had happened yesterday. 

It was a late-night conversation when Ricky confessed how exhausting it was to always be composed, to always be the person to hold everything together.
It was also the first time Gyuvin showed Ricky how to completely let go.

“You said,” Gyuvin continued, “that you didn’t know how to let people carry you.” He tilted his head slightly, expression clear and steady. “So I asked you to let me try.”

Ricky swallowed hard.

The cold stung at his cheeks, but the heat behind his eyes burned more.

“I don’t want you to fold yourself up every time something hurts,” Gyuvin said. “I don’t want you to smile through shit just because you think it makes things easier.”

He stepped closer, no distance left to hide behind. “And I’m not just here to be the calm one. Or the patient one. Or the guy who acts like nothing touches him."

“Because let’s be realistic — I’m not built like that.”

Both of them snorted at the same time.

Gyuvin’s eyes softened, almost pleading but never weak. “I want to take care of you too, Ricky.”

He let the words settle in.

“You protect everyone like it’s your job,” he said. “But if you never let anyone protect you back… you’re not sharing anything. You’re just drowning quietly.”

Ricky’s lips parted — a shaky inhale, helpless and human.

“I’m not asking you to fall apart,” he said.
“I’m asking you to let me be someone you can lean on.”

It was almost a whisper now.

“That’s what loving someone is supposed to look like.”

"Gyuvin..."

“I like your friends,” he said simply. “Even when they’re annoying. Even when they’re awkward. Even when they’re—”

He gestured vaguely toward the lake where Hao was pretending the entire world wasn’t watching him.

“—having whatever meltdown they have.”

Ricky winced. “I just don’t want you to think they’re rude.”

Gyuvin laughed once, soft, almost warm.

“They are rude,” he said. “That’s not the problem.”

Ricky blinked. “Then what is?”

“They’re honest,” Gyuvin said. “Painfully. Uncomfortably. Stupidly.Even if they don’t know it.”

“And we should be like that..well minus the whole other part.”

Ricky’s heart fluttered in the way that felt like falling and waking up at the same time.

“My friends aren’t fragile,” Gyuvin added. “They’re not going to break because someone doesn’t like them.”

Ricky wished he believed that.

Gyuvin nudged him gently, voice soft enough that only Ricky heard:

“Stop trying to be their safety net.”

Gyuvin’s gaze didn’t budge.

“Sometimes,” he said, “you just let people fall on their asses and learn.”

Ricky breathed out.“Even if it hurts?”

“Especially then.”

Their foreheads rested together.

The kiss was small—the kind you give someone when you’re asking permission, not taking it.

For a heartbeat, nothing existed except frost and lungs and warmth shared in secret.

Then—

“HAO!”

Yujin’s scream split the air.
The sound was pure horror.

Both boys jerked toward it.

And the ice, once silent, sounded like it was cracking.

Chapter Text

Hao wasn’t really walking.
He was… drifting.

Everyone assumed he was angry.
Hanbin definitely thought he was angry—judging by the way he kept shooting Hao little side-eyes like he expected to get punched.

But anger wasn’t the right word.

Annoyed? A little.
Frustrated? Sure.
Tired? Always.

But angry?

No.

The problem was that he couldn’t be angry at the actual person he wanted to be angry at.

He couldn’t aim it at Gyuvin.
Not when Ricky loved him.
Not when Gyuvin had never once been cruel on purpose.
Not when the boy was clearly trying.

So the irritation had nowhere to go.

And irritation without a target became… pressure.
Pressure needed an outlet.
And Hanbin—loud, emotional, over-eager Hanbin, was the safest punching bag in radius.

So yeah.
Maybe Hao snapped at him.
Maybe he pushed too hard.
Maybe he was unfair.

But only because Hanbin could take it.

Because Hanbin wouldn’t break.

Because he was sure Hanbin would survive that.

Because the truth—the stupid, ridiculous, almost embarrassing truth, was that they just… weren’t ready.
Not for this.
Not for sharing.

Not for losing pieces of Ricky to someone else.

Even if it was someone good.

Even if it was someone who clearly loved him.

Even if it was someone who made Ricky smile in ways Hao hadn’t seen in months.

But even that was only half the truth.

It wasn’t like the feeling came out of nowhere.

It didn’t hit him suddenly on this trail or in this cold air.
It had been settling in him slowly—quiet, patient, inevitable.

Like snow gathering on a windowsill.

Tiny flurries, barely noticeable at first…until one day the weight was enough to bow the frame.

It was in the small things.
The cancellations.
The reshuffled plans.
The way Ricky’s phone would light up and he’d smile, soft and private, before saying—

“Sorry, guys… maybe next time.”

Not cruel.
Not intentional.
Just… distance disguised as busy.

Hao told himself he didn’t care.
Taerae told himself he was being dramatic.
And Matthew told them this was normal and natural.

But the human heart didn’t care about logic.
It cared about patterns.

And this one hurt.

He remembered one night in particular.
A stupid, small night.
Insignificant to anyone else.

But for them….no for him—it was the first moment it really sank in that things were changing.

And that maybe they had been for a while.

It was months ago.

Hao, Matthew and Taerae were slumped around Taerae’s living room table, a half-finished convenience store dinner spread between them.

Hao was sorting the playlist.
Taerae was scrolling through Netflix, looking for the next Trash TV Show to watch and Matthew was lying on the floor for no reason at all.

Everything felt normal.

Until Hao’s phone buzzed.

Just once.

sorry guys can’t make it tonight. next time i promise for real

Same message, different day.

Matthew’s hum cut off mid-note. He blinked, right-side-up again.

“Oh.”He tried for casual. “That’s… fine. He’s probably busy.”

Taerae let out a humorless scoff—the kind that sounded like it had been waiting in his chest for hours.

“Shocking,” he muttered, not even pretending to hide the bitterness.

He didn’t ask why Ricky wasn’t coming.
Didn’t ask what came up.
Didn’t get angry or dramatic.

He just got up, walked to the kitchen cabinet, grabbed the second bottle of wine and dropped back onto the couch with a thud.

“Schedule again?” Matthew asked softly.

“No,” Hao murmured. “He’d say if it was schedule.”

“Guess it’s just us again,” Taerae said, voice flat.

Hao smiled without humor. “Yeah. We’re used to it.”

Taerae flinched at that—barely.
But enough.

Because it was true.
They were used to it.

Used to Ricky bailing last minute.
Used to empty spots in their plans.
Used to replacing “four” with “three.”

Used to pretending it didn’t matter.

But being used to something…didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Taerae grabbed the remote.“No point waiting,” he muttered.

Hao didn’t reply.

The Show started, the screen bright against the dark room, but none of them were really watching.

But at least they were together….more or less.

And maybe that was when the fear started — the fear that ‘three’ might become the new normal.

His boots crunched through thin frost as he kept walking, slightly off the main trail.
Not far.
Just enough that the others blurred into moving shapes behind trees.

He wasn’t paying attention. Not really.
Not to the trail.
Not to where the ground dipped.

His mind wandered.
He thought about the whole situation, the friendship, the trip.

And then—CRACK.
The sound cut through the cold air like a gunshot.

Hao’s stomach dropped.

Okay. Don’t panic

He inhaled slowly, forcing his lungs to steady, forcing his heartbeat down. Just… call Ricky. He’ll fix this. He’ll know what to do.

“Ricky!” Hao called, voice low but firm.“Ricky, can you—”

Nothing.

He tried again, louder. Still nothing. Ricky was talking to Gyuvin, oblivious to Hao’s voice.

Alright. Next option.

Taerae. He was sitting a few meters away, eyes closed, lost in his own world.

“Taerae!” Hao shouted, a little sharper this time.

A faint stir. A shift. But no answer.

Hao’s chest began to tighten. The cold no longer stung. Only the anxiety, creeping in, worming through his veins.

Matthew. He was talking quietly with Gunwook, back turned, only partially aware of his surroundings.

Hao’s fingers dug into his jacket straps. Come on… come on…

He tried to step forward, carefully. Just enough to shift his weight.

CRACK. Three sharp fractures ran across the ice in rapid succession.

Panic hit him like a punch to the chest.

No. No. No.

Hao’s eyes darted around. He called out again, voice cracking:

“Guys!”

Still nothing.

His heart slammed against his ribs. Every instinct screamed, and the world narrowed to one terrible, shimmering thought: he was going to fall in.

Hao’s knees bent slightly, boots scraping ice.

Well… maybe I deserve this, he thought, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. Really, who else steps on a frozen lake alone after acting like they’re untouchable?

He tried to steady his breathing, to make his pulse behave, but the sound of the ice splitting beneath him rattled everything. The cold bit through his gloves, his jacket, even through the frantic warmth rising in his chest.

Okay, don’t overthink. Just… stay calm. Just…

Another crack ran beneath him. His heart jumped. Great. Just great. Heroic Hao strikes again.

A voice sliced through the chaos in his mind.

“Hao?! HAO!”

It was Yujin. His voice carried pure, sharp alarm. Something in the timbre made the rational part of Hao’s brain collapse.

Tears stung his eyes—not from cold, not from pain, but from fear, raw and unfiltered. This is it. This is how it ends. Alone, stupid, frozen.

Everything stopped.

Every conversation.
Every step.
Every breath.

The entire group turned toward Yujin—then toward Hao and time seemed to snap in half.

Ricky’s face drained of color.
Taerae’s jaw dropped.
Matthew let out a strangled curse.

None of them thought.

They bolted and all three were yanked back by the nearest bodies before they could take two steps.

“STOP!” Gunwook shouted, gripping Matthew’s arm.

“You’ll break the ice more!” Gyuvin grabbing Ricky.

Taerae fought, wild-eyed, breath shaking. “Let go—LET ME GO—!” struggling to break free of Jiwoong’s grip.

All three couldn’t just stay still while on of them is being in danger. “You don’t understand! Hao can’t swim!”

Silence.
Short.
Violent.

“Guys,” hao gasped, voice thin and breaking, “whatever it takes…just—just bring me back to the ground, okay? Please—please—don’t just stand there—”

The cracks beneath him groaned.
He flinched violently, shoulders curling in.

“Please,” he sobbed, the panic finally spilling over. “I don’t want to die—just—just someone get me—get me back!”

Hanbin darted along the bank, eyes scanning desperately until he spotted a long fallen branch half-buried under the snow.

“Okay…okay got it,” he muttered to himself as he yanked it free.

He jogged toward Hao but stayed far enough not to add weight to the ice.

“Hao!” he called gentle this time. “Hao, look at me.”

Hao didn’t.

Couldn’t.

His breaths were too fast, too sharp, too loud.
The ice hissed and groaned under him and all he could hear was—

don’t fall don’t fall don’t fall—

“Hao,” Hanbin tried again. “Hao, look at me. You’re going to be okay. I promise—”

Nothing.

Hao was spiraling too fast.

Hanbin swallowed hard, his tone sharpened—calm, controlled, but unshakeable:

“Zhang Hao. Look at me.”

The name hit like a command.

Hao’s eyes snapped open.

He looked at Hanbin and for the first time since the ice cracked, he actually saw someone.

Hanbin’s voice steadied.

“That’s it. Good. Keep your eyes on me.”

Hao’s lip trembled, breath shuddering.

Hanbin lowered the branch slowly toward him, inch by inch.

“We’re getting you out,” he said. “But I need you with me. Don’t move. Don’t guess. Just listen to my voice.”

Hao nodded—small, terrified, desperate.

“Okay,” he whispered, tears freezing on his cheeks.

Hanbin tightened his grip.

Hanbin kept his eyes locked on Hao’s, voice low and stable.

“Okay. Good. Listen to me.”

He shifted the branch forward, inch by inch, keeping all his weight on the safe ground.

“I need you to move—just a little bit. One step. Can you try?”

Hao’s breath hitched violently.

He shook his head so hard his hood slipped. “No—no, I can’t move— Hanbin please don’t make me—please!”

The ice groaned again beneath him and Hao let out a broken, choked sob.

Hanbin swallowed, forcing down his own fear.

“Alright. Okay. No moving. It’s okay.”

He extended the branch fully but it landed a meter short of Hao’s fingertips.

Hanbin’s face drained of color.

“Shit.”

Behind him, Ricky’s voice cracked first.

“Can’t—can’t we just call someone? Emergency services—whatever—just call somebody!”

Taerae snapped back immediately, voice sharp with fear. “And wait what—ten minutes? Twenty? We don’t know how long the ice will hold him!”

Matthew ran both hands through his hair, pacing in tiny, frantic circles.
“If we mess this up, he falls in. If we wait too long, he falls in. What are we supposed to do?!”

Gunwook muttered, “If we all stay back, it’s safer, but—”

“THAT’S NOT HELPING!” All three exploded, voices cracking.

Hao whimpered, shoulders shaking. “Guys… please…I don’t want to be here—”

They all froze.

His voice was so small.
So terrified.

It broke something in every single one of them.

And then—

Yujin exhaled sharply.
A decision settling over him like cold steel.

“…I’m light on my feet.”

Everyone turned to him.

“What?” Ricky rasped.

Yujin already unzipped his jacket, shrugging it off with quick, practiced movements.

“And I don’t weigh much. Not compared to any of you.”
He kicked off his backpack next, then started peeling off layers—hoodie, gloves, anything heavy that added weight.

Gyuvin’s eyes widened. “Yujin—”

“It’s just a few steps in,” Yujin said, voice steady but eyes blazing with fear-driven determination.
“I’m not going to the middle. Just close enough so he can grab something.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Ricky snapped.

“We don’t know if the ice can hold you either!” Jiwoong argued.

“Are you insane?” Taerae shouted, throat raw. “You can’t—”

“I’m not asking permission,” Yujin said sharply.

Everyone went silent.

He lifted his chin, gaze locked on Hao—who was crying too hard to even notice yet.

“He’s shaking so much he can’t move,” Yujin whispered.
“And that branch won’t reach. We don’t have time to wait. So I’m going.”

He stepped forward until Hanbin grabbed his sleeve.

“Yujin.” Hanbin’s voice was nearly shaking now. “If this goes wrong—”

“It won’t,” Yujin said.
Soft yet stubborn and unshakeable.

He pulled his arm free.

“Just… tell me exactly where to step.”

Hanbin slept out a heavy sigh before nodding.

“Step here,” Hanbin instructed, crouched low on solid ground, voice calm and precise. “Yujin, keep your feet wide. Balance. Slow. Hao, stay low. Don’t pull—just hold on.”

Yujin nodded, tightening his grip on the branch, eyes fixed on Hanbin. Hao’s hands shook as he clutched the other end.

“Okay, one step at a time. Yujin, move forward ten centimeters. That’s it. Stop. Balance. Hao, mirror him. Good. Now another ten.”

The ice creaked under them, groaning like it had a life of its own. Hanbin’s eyes never left them.

“Steady. Keep your weight low. Don’t jerk. Hao, lean into the branch, not away. Yujin, push gently, but don’t overdo it.”

Hao’s chest heaved, the terror clawing at him. Yujin’s arms were trembling, but he didn’t waver. Step by step, guided by Hanbin’s voice, they inched closer to the bank.

The two of them were almost out.

Almost.

“One more step,” Hanbin said quietly.
His voice was steady. But his eyes weren’t.

Hao was barely holding on, knuckles white around the branch, entire body shaking so violently he could hardly keep his balance.

“Yujin…” Hao whispered, voice cracking. “I—I don’t think I can—”

“Yes, you can.” Yujin didn’t let him finish. “Just one more. Then Hanbin takes you. I promise.”

The ice beneath them groaned — deep, long, warning.

Hanbin’s eyes snapped up.

“Stop. Both of you—don’t move.”

Yujin froze.

Hao froze.

A thin line of white split across the ice behind Yujin’s heel.

Hanbin’s breath hitched.

“Yujin,” he whispered, “the ice under you is—”

Yujin understood before Hanbin finished the sentence.

His eyes flicked to Hao — terrified, crying, on the edge of collapsing.

Then to Hanbin — reaching, desperate.

And he made the decision faster than fear could catch him.

“…Hanbin,” he smiled. “Hold him.”

“What—YUJIN—?!”

Yujin shoved.

Hard.

Hao’s scream ripped out as the sudden force launched him toward the solid ground.

Hanbin lunged, arms snapping out. He caught Hao full-body, the impact slamming both of them into the snowbank behind.

But Yujin—

The moment Hao’s weight left the branch, the ice dropped under him like a trapdoor.

A sound like the world breaking open.

CRACK—
SHATTER—
SPLASH—

The lake swallowed him whole.

Cold water exploded upward.

“YUJIN!!!” Gyuvin’s scream split the air in pure horror.

Chapter Text

Hanbin hated hospitals.

Not because of blood.
Not because of needles.

Because of the waiting.

The kind where time didn’t move forward — it just sat on your chest and dared you to breathe wrong.

Yujin was still unconscious.

Not dangerously, the doctor had said.
“A protective response. Hypothermia shock. We’re monitoring him.”

Monitoring.

Hanbin grasped at the word like it meant something comforting.

Yujin lay too still beneath the thin white blankets, skin pale against the blue hospital sheets. An IV disappeared into his arm. A heart monitor ticked softly beside him — steady, infuriatingly calm.

As if nothing almost went wrong.

As if he hadn’t fallen through ice.

As if he hadn’t done it for someone else.

Hanbin sat in the plastic chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tight his fingers ached.

Across the room, the group was scattered.

Matthew sat against the wall, knees pulled to his chest, staring at the floor like it might give him answers if he looked hard enough.

Gunwook hadn’t stopped pacing since they arrived.

Jiwoong stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes sharp — watching everyone and no one at the same time.

Taerae wasn’t in the room.
Or maybe he was.Hanbin hadn’t registered him yet.

Gyuvin was sitting beside Ricky, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, protective without being obvious.

And Hao—

Hanbin swallowed.

Hao sat at the far end of the room.

Blanket around his shoulders. Hands folded in his lap. Eyes fixed on nothing.

He hadn’t spoken since the whole incident.

Not a thank you or an apology.

Not even a glance toward the bed.

Hanbin told himself not to judge.

He really did.

Shock did strange things to people. Fear shut mouths. Guilt turned heavy and quiet.

He understoodthat.

What he didn’t understand was the way something bitter kept crawling up his throat anyway.

Because Yujin had fallen through ice.

Because Yujin could have died.

Because Yujin didn’t hesitate.

Hanbin leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly against his knuckles.

I get it, he told himself.
I get that Hao’s hurting. I get that he’s scared. I get that he’s not good at this.

But understanding only stretched so far.

And it snapped the moment the nurse came in, adjusted Yujin’s IV, smiled gently, and said:

“He’s lucky to have you as friends. If he’d been in the water much longer…”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t need to.

Hanbin looked up.

That was when something inside Hanbin went very, very still.

Hanbin stood up.

The plastic chair scraped softly against the hospital floor — just enough sound to cut through the room without startling anyone.

“I’m going to get drinks,” he said, voice even. Normal. The kind of normal that fooled people into thinking nothing was wrong.
“They said the vending machines are down the hall.”

No one argued.

No one really looked up.

Hanbin hesitated for half a second then glanced at Gyuvin.

“Can you help me carry them?”

Gyuvin blinked, surprised.
“Yeah, sure.”

Ricky’s fingers twitched where they were wrapped around Gyuvin’s sleeve, hesitant. Gyuvin squeezed his hand briefly — reassurance by muscle memory then followed Hanbin out into the hallway.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

The fluorescent lights hummed.

For a few seconds, they walked in silence.

The hallway smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee. A nurse passed them, nodding politely. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped steadily.

Hanbin didn’t slow down until they reached the vending machines.

He stopped.

Gyuvin stopped beside him.

Hanbin stared at the rows of drinks — neon labels, too bright for a place where people waited to hear if someone would wake up.

“…What do you want?” Hanbin asked.

Gyuvin blinked. “Uh. Anything’s fine.”

Hanbin nodded. He put in the coins, pressed a button. A can clattered down.

He didn’t hand it over.

Instead, he leaned back against the machine and exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Gyuvin,” he said.

Gyuvin’s shoulders tensed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

Hanbin looked at him then.

Really looked.

“You know I support you,” Hanbin said. “Right?”

Gyuvin frowned slightly. “Of course.”

“I’ve supported you since day one,” Hanbin continued. “I never question something. I always try to not make things weird. Heck I don’t even know if I ever lied to you.”

Gyuvin nodded again, slower this time.

“I know.”

Hanbin swallowed.

“I like Ricky,” he said. “I do. He’s polite. He’s thoughtful. He clearly cares about you.”

Gyuvin let out a breath of relief he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“But,” Hanbin added.

There it was.

“But I need to say this before I start resenting you. And I don’t want that.”

Gyuvin’s jaw tightened. “Okay…”

Hanbin exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“I can live with Hao having something against me,” he said. “Even if I don’t know what it is. But that’s not what this is about.”

Gyuvin frowned slightly. “Then what is it about?”

Hanbin looked at him.

“I draw the line,” he said quietly, “at someone risking their life and being treated like it didn’t matter.”

Gyuvin stiffened. “Hyung—”

“Yujin fell into freezing water,” Hanbin cut in, still calm, which somehow made it worse. “He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t weigh options. He didn’t stop to think if it was smart.”

His jaw tightened.

“He just went.”

Gyuvin swallowed. “Hao didn’t mean it like that. He’s just— he shuts down when things get bad.”

Hanbin tilted his head. “Does he.”

Gyuvin hesitated. “I mean—yeah. He doesn’t talk when he’s overwhelmed.”

“I’m not asking for a speech,” Hanbin said. “I’m not asking for gratitude on display. I understand shock. I understand panic.”

Then, finally, something sharp slipped into his voice.

“But acknowledgment isn’t too much to ask.”

Gyuvin looked away, hand dragging over his face. “He’ll say something when he’s ready.”

Hanbin stared at him for a long moment.

“When he’s ready,” he repeated.

The words sat between them, heavy.

Then Hanbin’s control cracked — not into shouting, but into something colder.

“You’re guessing at someone’s feelings,” he said, voice tight now, no longer gentle, “while our friend is lying in a hospital bed with a needle in his arm because he nearly froze to death.”

Gyuvin flinched.

Hanbin stepped closer, not aggressive just impossible to ignore.

“So yeah,” he said quietly. “I don’t care if Hao hates me. I don’t even care if he never thanks me.”

His voice dropped.

“But Yujin deserved better than silence.”

Gyuvin looked back at him, eyes flashing.

“So what, you want me to yell at him? Force him to say thank you?”

“No,” Hanbin said immediately. “I want you to hear me.”

Gyuvin’s expression hardened.

“I support you in everything,” Hanbin said. “Every decision. Every fight you’ve had to pick. I’ve had your back since the start.”

“I know that and I’m really greatful for that.” Gyuvin said, voice low.

“And because I’m your friend,” Hanbin continued, “I need to be honest with you.”

There it was.

“Since the day we planned this trip,” he said, “Ricky’s friends have been… uncooperative. Distant. Hostile.”

“That’s not Ricky’s fault.”

“I know,” Hanbin said. “That’s why I haven’t said anything. Until now.”

He met Gyuvin’s eyes, unwavering.

“But there’s something I can’t stop noticing,” Hanbin continued quietly. “That people are reflected by the company they keep.”

Gyuvin recoiled slightly. “Are you saying—”

“I’m saying,” Hanbin cut in, “that when the people around someone consistently hurt others, dismiss others, or refuse to take responsibility—”

He stopped himself. Took a breath.

“It makes me wonder how much you’re being asked to carry alone.”

Gyuvin laughed once — sharp, humorless.

“You don’t get to tell me to reconsider my relationship,” he said, heat creeping into his voice.

Hanbin nodded.

“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t.”

“But I do get to decide what I accept around the people I love.” Hanbin added.

Gyuvin snapped his gaze back.

“That includes you,” Hanbin said. “And it includes Ricky.”

Gyuvin’s hands curled into fists.

“You’re crossing a line,” he said.

Hanbin’s lips pressed together.

“No,” he replied. “I’m drawing one.”

Silence stretched between them.

The vending machine hummed.

Somewhere down the hall, a phone rang.

Hanbin finally spoke again.

“I know you love Ricky,” he said. “And I’m not asking you to stop.”

Gyuvin opened his mouth.

Hanbin didn’t let him.

“But I don’t understand choosing silence when Yujin almost died.”

Gyuvin’s eyes burned.

“You don’t get to talk about my relationship like this.”

“And you don’t get to ignore what it’s costing everyone else,” Hanbin shot back not yelling, but finally letting the hurt through.

They stood there, breathing hard.

Two best friends.
Neither willing to step back.

Somewhere down the hall, two nurses laughing quietly.

Gyuvin looked away first.

“I’m not choosing,” he said. “So don’t ask me to.”

Hanbin nodded.

“I’m not asking you to choose,” he said.
“I’m asking you not to ignore this.”

Gyuvin didn’t answer.

"Because if you do…“

Hanbin didn’t finish the sentence, he just turned back to the machine and pressed a button. A bottle clattered down.

Then another.

He picked them up, one in each hand.

“Take it,” he said. “They’re waiting.”

Gyuvin didn’t move right away.

When he finally did, he didn’t look at Hanbin.

And neither of them said another word on the walk back.

Chapter Text

The thing about public spaces was that even when you thought no one heard you—

there was always someone who did.

Unfortunately, that someone was Matthew.

Matthew hadn’t meant to listen.

He only meant to go to the bathroom.

His leg had fallen asleep from sitting on the stiff hospital chair too long, pins and needles crawling up his calf. His head ached faintly — the dull, persistent pressure that came from too much antiseptic air and not enough sleep. He figured five quiet minutes alone might help. Or at least give him something to do with his hands that wasn’t twisting them together.

He slipped out of the room quietly, careful not to let the door click too loudly behind him.

The hallway was brighter than he expected. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, reflecting off polished floors that smelled faintly of disinfectant and burnt coffee. A nurse passed him with a polite nod. Someone laughed softly farther down the hall.

Life, somehow, still moving.

Matthew walked with his head down, already planning nothing more complicated than washing his hands and staring at his reflection until his thoughts slowed.

That was when he heard Gyuvin’s voice.

“You’re crossing a line.”

Matthew stopped walking.

…Oh.

He should’ve kept moving.
He knew that.
This wasn’t his conversation. This wasn’t his place.

But then Hanbin spoke again.

“I’m drawing one.”

Matthew didn’t step closer.

He leaned back against the wall instead, half-hidden by the turn in the hallway, heart thudding too loud in his ears.

He listened.

He listened as Gyuvin’s voice sharpened, as Hanbin’s went still and cold, as something precious and familiar cracked between them without anyone raising their voice.

Not because he wanted to know.

Because once he understood what it was about, he couldn’t stop.

Because he heard Yujin’s name.

Hao’s name.

Ricky’s.

Of course it was their names.

Matthew closed his eyes briefly.

This was bad.
This was really bad.

I shouldn’t, he thought immediately.

He knew that. He really did.

This was private. This was heavy. This was something you didn’t overhear unless you meant to.

So why couldn’t he move?

Hanbin spoke again, quieter now, and Matthew hated how clearly he could hear the hurt threaded through it.

Gyuvin’s voice cut in — defensive, strained. Matthew couldn’t catch every word, just fragments.

Hanbin answered, and this time the control in his voice cracked just enough to scare Matthew.

“I’m not asking you to choose. I’m asking you not to ignore this.”

Something settled heavy in Matthew’s stomach.

He hated this. Hated that he knew any of it. Hated that he was standing there, half-hidden, holding onto words he hadn’t been given permission to hear.

Then footsteps echoed down the hall.

Matthew’s head snapped up.

Shit.

Ricky.

He was walking toward them — distracted, phone in hand, clearly on his way to find Gyuvin.

Matthew didn’t think.

He stepped forward immediately, heart slamming against his ribs.

“Ricky—” he said, forcing a smile that probably didn’t look convincing at all. “Hey. Um—can you help me find the bathroom? The nurse said one of them’s broken and we have to use a different one, but I kind of zoned out when she explained where it was.”

Ricky blinked, thrown off. “Oh…”

“Yeah,” Matthew nodded, already steering him gently in the opposite direction. “I think it’s that way? Or this? Honestly, I should’ve listened.”

Ricky hesitated, glancing down the hall. “I actually needed to tell Gyuvin something. About—”

Matthew kept talking.

“He’s still busy,” he cut in quickly. “Carrying drinks back with Hanbin. Let’s go — I don’t think I can hold it much longer.”

Ricky frowned slightly, concern replacing confusion. “Okay. Yeah. Sure.”

They walked away.

Matthew didn’t look back.

He didn’t need to.

The words were already lodged too deep.

And as they disappeared around the corner, Matthew realized something that made his chest ache all over again:

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with what he’d heard.

He just knew he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard it at all.

The restroom was quieter than the hallway.

The hum of the lights was softer here, the air warmer, heavy with the faint scent of soap and disinfectant. The door swung shut behind them, muting the outside world just enough to make the silence uncomfortable.

Matthew went straight to the sink.

He washed his hands even though he didn’t need to — too much soap, scrubbing longer than necessary. Ricky hovered near the door, hands tucked into the sleeves of his sweater, staring at the tiled floor like it might crack if he looked at it long enough.

Neither of them spoke at first.

It was Ricky who broke the silence.

“…Yujin,” he said quietly.

Matthew glanced up, meeting his reflection in the mirror.

Ricky swallowed. “He’s still not awake.”

“Yeah,” Matthew said. “But they said that’s normal. For now.”

Ricky nodded, but it didn’t really settle anything. He shifted his weight, shoulders tense.

“And Hao,” Ricky added after a moment. “He hasn’t said anything. Not to anyone.”

Matthew turned the faucet off and reached for a paper towel.

“I would react like that too,” he said carefully. “Shut people down.”

Ricky let out a shaky breath. “I know. I just— I don’t know how to approach him without making it worse.”

Matthew studied him for a second.

“You’ve known Hao the longest,” he said. “I think… you probably know exactly how.”

Ricky frowned slightly. “I don’t know about that.”

“You do,” Matthew said gently. “You’re just scared of getting it wrong.”

Ricky’s lips pressed together.

“I don’t want him to think I’m blaming him,” he said. “Because I’m not. God I would never—”

“I know,” Matthew said quickly. “And I think Hao knows that too.”

He hesitated, then added, quieter:

“Honestly? I think he’d appreciate it if you checked on him. Just… sat with him. You don’t have to fix anything.”

Ricky glanced at him. “You really think so?”

Matthew nodded. “Yeah. It was traumatic for him too. Even if he doesn’t look like it.”

Ricky was quiet for a moment, absorbing that.

Then he let out a small, humorless laugh. “You say that like you know him really well.”

Matthew’s hands paused at the sink.

He shrugged lightly, eyes fixed on the dripping faucet. “I mean… I’ve been around. I notice things.”

Ricky tilted his head. “You’re underselling yourself.”

Matthew huffed a quiet laugh. “Hard not to, sometimes.”

He shut the water off, wiped his hands slowly. “I joined late. You guys already had history. Inside jokes. A whole dynamic.”

Ricky turned fully toward him then.

“That doesn’t make you less important,” he said immediately. “You’re still—”

“Equally important?” Matthew finished, skeptical.

Ricky didn’t answered right away.

Just a fraction of a second.

It was enough.

Matthew smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.”

Ricky opened his mouth, then closed it again, brows knitting together.

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Matthew said quickly, waving it off. “Really.”

Then Ricky spoke, voice quieter.

“I don’t say this enough,” he admitted. “But… I really appreciate you, Matthew.”

Matthew blinked.

Ricky looked so small now— no more like exhausted. “Especially right now. With everything going on.”

He let out a small breath. “Talking to you feels easy. Reassuring.”

Matthew stared at him for a second too long.

“Oh,” he said softly.

The word came out smaller than he meant it to, but Ricky didn’t seem to mind.

Matthew ducked his head, a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. “Yeah. I get that.”

He turned back to the sink, tossing the paper towel into the trash.

“So,” he added, changing the subject with practiced ease. “You said you wanted to tell Gyuvin something?”

Ricky exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he said. “I got a notification from the airline.”

Matthew glanced at him.

“The flight’s been canceled,” Ricky continued. “Snowstorm coming in. They said it could last a few days.”

Matthew blinked. “Canceled… like fully canceled?”

“Delayed indefinitely,” Ricky said. “They’re recommending we stay put. Jeju’s basically getting snowed in.”

Matthew let out a low whistle. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Ricky murmured. “I didn’t want to tell everyone yet. Not with Yujin like this.”

Matthew nodded slowly.

“Probably smart,” he said. Then, after a beat.“But they’re going to find out.”

Ricky sighed. “I know.”

The restroom fell quiet again.

Somewhere outside, a door opened and closed. A cart rattled down the hallway.

Matthew glanced at Ricky.

“You should still tell Gyuvin,” he said. “Just… maybe after things calm down a bit.”

Ricky nodded. “Yeah.”

He paused, then looked at Matthew again.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For stopping me earlier. I think… I think I needed that.”

Matthew managed a small smile. “Anytime.”

When they returned to the room, nothing had changed.

Yujin still lay motionless beneath the thin blanket, chest rising and falling slow and steady. The monitor kept up its quiet rhythm. The air still felt too tight, too full of unspoken things.

But somehow, everything felt heavier now.

Matthew clocked the positions immediately — old habit.

Hanbin was back in his chair, arms folded, gaze fixed somewhere far too focused to be casual.
Gyuvin stood near the window, staring out at the gray sky like it might offer answers.
Taerae had reappeared at some point and was leaning against the wall, jaw set, eyes rimmed red.
Jiwoong and Gunwook murmured quietly near the door.

And Hao—

Hao was still exactly where he’d been before.

Same blanket. Same folded hands. Same faraway stare.

Matthew slowed beside Ricky, then nudged him gently with his elbow.

Not hard.
Just enough.

Ricky looked at him, confused.

Matthew tilted his head — subtle, deliberate toward Hao.

Ricky followed the motion.

He hesitated.

Matthew didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to.

He just gave Ricky a small, encouraging shove between the shoulder blades — the kind that said go, without making it a command.

Ricky exhaled.

Then he moved.

Slowly, carefully, like he was afraid one wrong step might shatter something already fragile, Ricky crossed the room.

Hao didn’t notice at first.

He was too busy staring at his hands — fingers still faintly trembling, knuckles pale against the blanket.

Ricky stopped a few feet away.

“…Ge,” he said quietly.

Hao flinched.

Not violently.
Just enough.

He looked up.

For a second, Ricky thought he might bolt — shut down, retreat back into that blank, distant place.

Instead, Hao just stared at him.

Eyes glassy. Tired. Haunted.

Ricky swallowed.

“I—” He stopped. Tried again. “I wanted to check on you.”

Hao’s throat bobbed.

“I’m fine,” he said automatically.

The lie was thin.

Ricky didn’t push.

Matthew watched from across the room, heart in his throat, pretending very hard not to.

“Okay,” Ricky said softly. “You don’t have to talk. I just… wanted you to know I’m here.”

Hao’s gaze flicked past him — to the bed.

To Yujin.

Something in his face crumpled.

Matthew held his breath.

Hao’s eyes burned. He blinked hard, jaw clenched so tight the muscles jumped. His foot bounced once, then stilled when he noticed it.

Across the room, Matthew saw it all.

The way Hao wouldn’t look directly at the bed anymore.
The way every sound from the monitor made his shoulders twitch.
The way his hands never stopped trembling, no matter how still he tried to sit.

Matthew knew what it meant.

This was self-punishment.

Time stretched.

Too long.

Jiwoong cleared his throat.

Everyone looked up.

“We should go,” he said.

The words landed softly — but firmly.

No one moved.

Jiwoong’s gaze swept the room, calm and unyielding.

“It’s late,” he continued. “The doctors are monitoring him. We can’t do anything more tonight.”

Still nothing.

Gunwook shifted, uncertain. Taerae’s jaw tightened. Gyuvin stared at the floor.

Hao didn’t react at all.

Jiwoong stepped closer.

“I’m serious,” he said — not louder, just clearer. “Sitting here like this won’t change Yujin’s condition.”

That got a reaction.

Taerae looked up sharply. “Hyung—”

“And it won’t help him,” Jiwoong added, eyes gentle but unwavering, “to be surrounded by guilt and fear when he wakes up.”

The words hit.

Hao flinched.

Just barely.

Jiwoong noticed.

He softened — just a little.

“He needs you functional,” Jiwoong said. “Not falling apart in this room.”

Silence pressed in.

Then Jiwoong sighed quietly.

“You’re all exhausted,” he said. “And right now, this place is turning that exhaustion into something heavier.”

He looked at Hao.

Not accusing.
Not judging.

Simply honest.

“Go home,” Jiwoong said. “Eat something. Sleep. Come back in the morning.”

A pause.

Then, firmer:

“That’s not a suggestion.”

Matthew stood first.

Not dramatically.
Just… decisively.

“I’ll walk Hao back,” he said gently, already reaching for Hao’s coat.

Hao didn’t resist.

That alone said everything.

Ricky hesitated, eyes flicking between Hao and Yujin.

“I’ll stay,” he said. “Just for a bit.”

"Then I will stay too.“ Gyuvin add which got a heavy sigh out Hanbin who stood up and left the room first.

Jiwoong nodded. “That’s fine. Just don’t make it a vigil.”

One by one, the room began to shift — chairs scraping, jackets being pulled on, breaths finally being released.

As Matthew helped Hao stand, Hao swayed slightly.

Matthew steadied him immediately.

Hao whispered something — too quiet for anyone else to hear.

“I know,” Matthew murmured back, even though Hao hadn’t said anything that needed answering.

As they turned toward the door, Hao glanced back one last time.

At the bed.
At Yujin.

His lips parted.

No sound came out.

Then he looked away.

And let himself be led out.

Chapter Text

Gyuvin sat in the stiff hospital chair, knees drawn up, arms resting on them, staring at Yujin’s pale, still face.

Ricky was at the far end, curled into his jacket, phone forgotten on his lap. Every so often, he would glance at Yujin, then at Gyuvin, then back again, like he was tracing invisible lines between them.

Neither of them spoke.

Gyuvin’s fingers itched to touch the thin blanket, to press a hand against Yujin’s arm, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Finally, Ricky tried. “…Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

Gyuvin didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, but not enough to break his posture. “He’s strong,” he said finally, his voice low. “He wouldn’t have done something like that if he didn’t think he could handle it.”

Ricky shifted, stretching one leg out and tucking the other underneath. “I don’t know if I should… I mean, he might need space, right?”

Gyuvin shook his head slightly. “He doesn’t need space. He needs us here. Quiet, but here. Just… don’t let him feel alone when he wakes up.”

Ricky noticed the tension, the subtle way Gyuvin’s shoulders were almost rigid. “…Hey… you okay?”

Gyuvin waved him off, a faint motion that didn’t fully meet his eyes. “Yeah. Fine. Just… tired.”

Ricky tilted his head, studying him. He didn’t press—he had learned over time when someone needed space more than words. But he also knew Gyuvin. He was prone to overthinking until it got too much and he broke.

Yet something else tugged at Ricky’s instincts. Gyuvin seemed… off. Not just tired. Not just worried. Something heavier, sharper, lingering behind the stoic mask. Ricky didn’t know about the fight with Hanbin, so he chalked it up to the situation with Yujin.

Ricky hesitated, then slowly rose from his chair. He stepped closer, careful not to startle Gyuvin, and offered a hand. “Come on,” he said softly.

Gyuvin shook his head faintly.

Ricky didn’t push with words. Instead, he stepped closer and gently wrapped his arms around Gyuvin’s shoulders, giving him a light, careful hug.

Gyuvin froze. The hug wasn’t unwelcome—he wanted it, a little but the weight of everything he had been holding in stopped him from reciprocating fully. He remained stiff, almost brittle in Ricky’s embrace, letting himself be held.

Ricky exhaled slowly into the space between them. “…It’s okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Gyuvin’s fingers twitched against his knees. He didn’t hug back. But he also didn’t pull away. He even leaned on it, a silent admission that he needed the comfort even if he couldn’t admit it.

There was a silent negotiation happening in the press of their bodies, in the warmth Ricky offered, and the cold distance Gyuvin maintained.

“…You worry too much,” Gyuvin muttered after a long moment, not meeting Ricky’s eyes.

Ricky smiled faintly, even though his chest still felt heavy. “I learned from the best,” he said gently. “But I can’t help it. He’s our friend. Yujin.”

Gyuvin’s jaw shifted slightly. “He’s tough. He doesn’t need—”

“You’re tough too,” Ricky interrupted softly. “And you’re not alone. Not for this.”

The words hung in the air. Gyuvin closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, as if letting them wash over him. Then he opened them again and looked at Ricky, not fully soft, but just enough. “…Thanks,” he muttered, voice low, almost drowned out by the monitor.

Ricky smiled. “You don’t have to say it. I know it’s hard.”

Gyuvin didn’t respond further. Instead, he leaned back slightly, just enough to break the hug but not enough to step away. He crossed his arms again over his knees, the defensive wall returning. But Ricky didn’t mind. He understood. Sometimes just being near someone, even at arm’s length, was enough.

For a while, they sat like that—Ricky on the edge of his chair, Gyuvin partially reclined, both watching Yujin. Each beep of the monitor punctuated their thoughts. Words weren’t needed; the shared presence, the silent understanding, was enough for now.

Ricky finally broke the silence. “…It’s weird, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “How someone can get hurt so badly, and you can’t do anything except… wait.”

Gyuvin’s gaze flicked to him briefly, not meeting fully. “…Yeah,” he muttered. “Weird and stupid.”

Ricky chuckled softly, a short, humorless sound. “Yeah. Stupid. I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Gyuvin didn’t smile. He didn’t even nod. He just let the word hang between them, as if admitting it was enough.

Ricky tilted his head, studying him. “…You’re still upset,” he said gently, almost teasing, though not enough to break Gyuvin’s defensive wall.

Gyuvin looked away. “…Maybe,” he muttered. “Doesn’t matter.”

Ricky leaned forward slightly, careful to keep his tone light but sincere. “…It does, in a way. It does matter. To me.”

Gyuvin didn’t answer. He didn’t look up. But he didn’t argue either. The words settled in the room, mingling with the beeps and the antiseptic smell, quiet and unyielding.

Ricky studied him, careful not to push further, and finally let the conversation shift. “…You think he knows we’re here?”

Gyuvin’s eyes flickered briefly toward Yujin, then back to the floor. “…I really hope so,” he said.

Ricky gave him a small, gentle smile. “…He’ll know,” he said quietly. “We’re here, right? That’s what matters.”

Gyuvin remained still, but a faint exhale escaped him—small, almost imperceptible, but it carried a tiny bit of relief. Ricky noticed, but he didn’t comment. Sometimes presence was enough.

For now, that was enough.

⸻

The penthouse smelled faintly of cold air and leftover coffee from breakfast.

Taerae had driven them back, and the ride had been quiet—mostly filled with the soft hum of the heater and the occasional shuffle of someone adjusting in their seat.

As soon as the front door clicked shut, the group scattered like leaves in a storm. Jackets were dropped, shoes kicked off, voices drifting to different corners.

Hanbin disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom without a word. Matthew lingered, catching Hao’s glance and giving a small smile. He didn’t ask, didn’t prod. He simply guided Hao toward his bedroom.

“Here,” Matthew said softly, leaning against the doorframe for a moment. “If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

Hao only nodded, not trusting his voice. Matthew left quietly, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Hao alone.

Hao sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in his lap. The room felt smaller than it had before—too quiet, too heavy.

Guilt pressed against his chest like a weight he couldn’t lift.

One side of him was raw, hot, a mess of shame and regret. Yujin had nearly died. He hadn’t said anything, couldn’t stop him. Every possibility of gratitude or acknowledgment he had missed twisted inside him.

The other side… the other side was darker. If the trip hadn’t happened… maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe it wouldn’t have been necessary for anyone to risk themselves.

The thought was poisonous. Hao traced it further, like a spiral down a rabbit hole, looking for someone to blame—anyone but himself. The world had felt like it shifted, and he wanted someone else to carry the weight.

Then the door opened.

Hao’s gaze drifted involuntarily as the door opened. Hanbin stepped in, towel slung over his shoulder, hair damp and plastered to his forehead. For a moment, Hao’s eyes caught the edge of ink curling along Hanbin’s underarm—tattoo he hadn’t noticed before, hidden by sleeves until now.

Hanbin paused mid-step, catching the way Hao’s eyes lingered. “What is it?” he asked quietly, curiosity threading through his calm tone, though there was an edge.

Hao opened his mouth, then closed it. The words he’d been rehearsing dissolved in his throat.

“Hey,” Hao tried, voice low. “I—I didn’t mean—”

Hanbin cut him off with a sharp tilt of his head. “…I know.”

“You shouldn’t have done it like that,” Hanbin added, tone calm but edged with something like steel. “I could figure out the reasoning, still that doesn’t make it… okay.”

Hao flinched slightly. “I—”

Hanbin’s gaze pinned him in place. “Don’t.”

Hao froze, words lodged in his throat. They weren’t lies; they weren’t excuses. They were the truth he hadn’t wanted to face. Hanbin’s voice wasn’t angry, not in the explosive way he feared but it was a quiet, unflinching honesty that left no room for argument.

Hao’s hands twisted in his lap. “…I didn’t mean to—”

“I know what you meant,” Hanbin said. “Doesn’t change the part where it was reckless. Where it almost killed someone.”

Hao’s jaw tightened. He wanted to retort, to explain, to deflect. But there was no angle here. Hanbin’s words were right.

He turned onto his side, facing away from Hanbin, pretending to rest, the stiffness in his body betraying him. Words left unsaid curled in his chest like smoke he couldn’t disperse.

Hanbin didn’t move. He perched on the edge of his bed, quiet but present, the tension between them sharp and unspoken. His eyes, still soft but hard in their focus, lingered on Hao for a long moment and then he finally exhaled.

“You’ll figure out how to deal with it,” Hanbin said finally, almost gently, almost like an apology and a warning all at once.

Hao didn’t answer. He stared at the wall, hands pressed into the sheets, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. The room felt smaller, tighter, but somehow… necessary.

Hanbin shifted slightly, towel dropping onto the bed, and settled into a position that said he wasn’t leaving, but also that he wasn’t coddling.

Hao closed his eyes, tight. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. But inside, every nerve felt electric, every thought frayed and tangled.

Meanwhile Taerae sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded, jaw tight, staring at the floor. Gunwook leaned against the doorframe, trying to gauge him.

“You okay?” Gunwook asked, tilting his head.

“I’m fine,” Taerae muttered, voice clipped, not even glancing up.

Gunwook tried to lighten the tension, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Being ‘fine’—is that like your friend group’s motto or something? Just sayin’, it’s gotta be in the handbook by now.”

Taerae’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “You know nothing about my friends,” he said sharply. “Nothing.”

Gunwook froze, realizing he’d misstepped. “Hey—hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just joking—”

“Joking?” Taerae’s voice cut through the room, low and bitter. “You think this is a joke? You think you can brush off everything that’s happened with a smile and some quip?”

“You’re not fine,” Gunwook said cautiously. “Come on, just admit it. You’ve been coiled up like this since—well, since everything started going wrong.”

Taerae snorted, bitter. “Everything went wrong? Since when? Maybe everything is just proving my point.”

Gunwook stepped closer, calmly yet confused. “And what’s your point exactly?”

Taerae’s eyes narrowed. “…That since Ricky got together with Gyuvin, everything’s been downhill.”

Gunwook frowned. “What? That’s—come on, Taerae, don’t be ridiculous.”

“No,” Taerae snapped, sitting up straighter, voice rising. “I’m not ridiculous. Being here—this trip, all of it—just proves my thesis. Nothing good has come from this.”

The room fell into tense silence, Gunwook staring at him, mouth slightly open.

Then Jiwoong stepped into the doorway, voice stern but controlled. “Take it back,” he said firmly. “You don’t mean it.”

Taerae shook his head, eyes hard. “Yes. I meant it. Everything—everyone—it’s a mess. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

Gunwook sighed, running a hand over his face. “…Taerae, I didn’t mean to push. I was trying to joke, lighten the mood. I get that I messed up.”

“Yeah,” Taerae muttered, bitter, voice low. “…You did.”

Jiwoong’s brow furrowed. “So, you’re blaming everything on them?”

“Yes!” Taerae shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “Everyone! The trip! This stupid—everything! It’s all wrong!”

Gunwook ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Taerae, imagine if Ricky heard this…from his best friend. What would he think?”

Taerae laughed, sharp and humorless. “I don’t give a fuck. He didn’t reconsider my feelings anyway.”

Gunwook froze. “…Wait. What?”

Jiwoong’s eyes narrowed, voice dropping low. “And maybe that’s exactly why he wouldn’t because you’ve spent this whole trip building walls, hiding behind your own bitterness, refusing to be honest about what you feel. You think he owes you anything? You think the world revolves around you being wronged?”

Taerae froze, his face draining of color.

Gunwook’s mouth fell open. “Hyung?!”

Taerae’s hands clenched into fists. “…Shut the hell up!” he spat. “You don’t know shit about me!”

Jiwoong’s gaze didn’t waver. “No, I know enough. And you know it too.”

Taerae’s jaw dropped, eyes narrowing, but the words struck harder than any argument he ever had . His chest tightened. He turned sharply, muttering curses, and stormed out of the room.

The door slammed behind him.

Gunwook sank onto the bed, hands covering his face. “…Hyung… wasn’t that a little too harsh?”

Jiwoong stayed standing, arms crossed, jaw tight, shaking his head slowly. “No. This was bound to happen.”

Gunwook peeked through his fingers, frowning. “Bound to happen? Seriously?”

Jiwoong leaned against the doorframe, voice steady. “Yeah. They’ve been bottling things up for too long. Small frustrations, unspoken resentments, hurt feelings. It was only a matter of time before it boiled over. I’d rather it happen now than later, when it could be worse.”

Gunwook exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess… yeah, I see your point. But still…”

Jiwoong didn’t argue. He just watched the empty hallway, expression unreadable. “Let him storm. He needs to process this himself. Words hit hardest when they’re unavoidable.”

Gunwook let out a low whistle, sinking further into the bed. “…Unavoidable, huh?”

Jiwoong nodded once. “Exactly. Now… let’s give him a few minutes. He’ll come around—or he won’t. Either way, this was necessary.”

Gunwook let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Woah… Hyung, you were so scary just now.”

Jiwoong gave a small, knowing smile, unbothered.

Gunwook’s eyes widened, and he pointed at him, voice half in awe, half in mock terror. “Wahhh… I have a scary Hyung!”

Jiwoong tilted his head slightly, still smiling faintly. “Better get used to it.”

Gunwook shook his head, laughing despite himself. “…Okay, okay, I’ll survive. Just… wow. Really scary.”

The tension in the room eased slightly, a small bubble of relief amid the lingering aftermath of the argument.

Meanwhile, in the corner of the penthouse, Matthew’s curiosity had taken him elsewhere. He had been wandering through the kitchen, ostensibly grabbing a glass of water, when his eyes fell on a half-hidden cabinet. Inside, tucked behind some unused mugs, were a few bottles of wine, a few beers, a bottle of whiskey left over from some earlier gathering.

He hesitated for a moment, staring at the dark glass. Part of him knew it was reckless. Another part thought… why not? Everyone was tense, exhausted, weighed down by guilt, fear, and unspoken words. A quiet drink might ease the edges, if only a little.

A small, ironic smile tugged at his lips as he pulled a bottle out, twisting the cork slowly, deliberately. The faint pop echoed in the otherwise silent apartment, drawing a curious glance from Gunwook, who had come down into the kitchen, still reeling from Jiwoong’s words.

“…What are you doing?” Gunwook asked cautiously, eyes narrowing.

Matthew held up the bottle. “Thinking. Maybe we need this,” he said, voice low, almost a murmur.

Gunwook froze. “…Now?”

Matthew shrugged. “Why not? I mean, sitting around, brooding over Yujin and everything else won’t change what happened. At least this… this is proactive in some way.”

Gunwook’s eyes widened, unsure whether to be horrified or impressed. “…You’re not serious.”

Matthew grinned faintly, pouring a small measure into a glass. “I am.”

The first sip was sharp, bitter, and exactly what he expected, but somehow it made him feel grounded. The warmth spread slowly through his chest, loosening the tension he hadn’t realized had been building

Just then, the door clicked open. Gyuvin and Ricky stepped inside, still carrying the weight of the hospital, their faces pale from exhaustion, their eyes still carrying the weight of Yujin’s accident. At first, Gyuvin’s gaze fell on Matthew and the wine.

Gyuvin’s expression darkened immediately. “…You’re drinking? Here? Now?” His voice was sharp, almost accusatory.

Matthew tilted his head, not defensively, just calmly. “It’s fine. It’s… helping.”

Ricky’s gaze shifted between Matthew and Gyuvin, sensing the rising tension. “…Hey,” he said gently, holding up a hand. “It’s… okay. I get it.”

Gyuvin blinked at him. “You get it?”

“I do,” Ricky said softly. “Sometimes, a quiet drink doesn’t hurt. Let him.”

For a moment, it seemed like the room might explode with argument. Gyuvin’s jaw tightened, his arms crossing over his chest. Matthew gave him a faint shrug, raising his glass slightly in a silent toast.

But before anyone could escalate, Jiwoong appeared, stepping down the hall, surveying the scene with a calm, measured expression. “Actually…” he began, voice steady, “it’s not a bad idea. Why don’t we all…? You know, drink together.”

Gyuvin’s head snapped toward him. “Are you insane? Have you all gone mad?”

Jiwoong didn’t flinch. “I said it. Sitting around in silence, steeped in guilt and anxiety, isn’t going to change anything. At least with a drink, we can—”

“Trauma bond?” Gyuvin interrupted, incredulous.

Jiwoong smiled faintly. “Exactly. And frankly, none of us are genuinely enjoying this trip. We might as well acknowledge it.”

The words hung in the air. Gyuvin opened his mouth, clearly about to protest, but then… he exhaled sharply, defeated. “…Fine,” he muttered, voice tight. “Fine, go drink without me. I’m going to my room.”

Ricky followed, "Gyuvin, wait !“,casting a quick glance at Matthew.

Gyuvin didn’t respond. He simply walked toward the bedroom, shoulders tense, leaving the rest of the group behind.

Matthew watched him go, sipping from his glass, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. Jiwoong poured himself a small measure, Gunwook hesitated before following suit, and slowly, the room began to fill with the clinking of glasses, a quiet, shared acknowledgment of the chaos they’d endured together.