Chapter Text
The bass line thudded against the mirrored walls, each beat sending a vibration up through the floor. Sweat dripped down their necks as eight bodies moved in perfect sync—well, almost perfect.
“Felix, your turn’s late again!” Minho barked, still dancing but glaring through the mirror.
Felix puffed out his cheeks, twisting into the move anyway. “I’m exactly on time. You’re just early, hyung.”
“Both of you shut up and count!” Bang Chan called from the front, voice strained but focused. “Five, six, seven, eight!”
The chorus hit again, and they pushed through—Hyunjin’s hair flying with every spin, Han’s grin splitting his face despite the sweat stinging his eyes, Jeongin mouthing the words even though he was already out of breath.
When the music cut, they collapsed like dominoes.
“I can’t feel my legs,” Seungmin groaned, flopping onto the floor.
“That’s because you never stretch properly,” Changbin smirked, tossing him a towel.
“Shut up, Binnie. You were dying two minutes in,” Jisung teased, sitting cross-legged beside him.
“I was pacing myself,” Changbin shot back.
“Yeah, pacing yourself into the afterlife,” Jeongin snorted.
Hyunjin dropped down next to Felix, both of them panting, and grabbed a water bottle. “I think we’re getting better,” he said between gulps.
Felix nodded. “Yeah, if by better you mean slightly less like we’re being chased by wild animals.”
Bang Chan chuckled, leaning back against the mirror. “One more run and I think we can call it a night.”
Jisung groaned loudly. “Hyung, no. My back is screaming.”
“It’s your fault for going full drama mode in every move,” Seungmin said without looking up from his phone.
They were still laughing when the door opened.
Manager Park stepped in. No knock, no smile—just that blank, professional expression. His eyes swept the room, and the laughter thinned instantly.
Changbin tilted his head, still catching his breath. “Manager-nim? You don’t usually drop by… did something happen?”
Park’s gaze flicked to him, unreadable. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just routine.” His voice was steady, clipped.
The room stayed quiet, uneasy.
Then his eyes landed squarely on Hyunjin.
“Hyunjin,” he said, voice low but firm. “Come with me.”
Hyunjin blinked. “Uh… right now?”
“Yes. Now.”
Bang Chan straightened immediately. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Manager Park replied, his tone clipped. “Hyunjin, let’s go.”
Hyunjin slowly got to his feet, confusion written all over his face. “Okay… I’ll be back in a bit, guys.”
But as he started toward the door, Minho frowned. “Wait. Where are you taking him?”
“Just something we need to discuss,” the manager said. His voice was steady, but his eyes didn’t match—they flicked to the others for just a second, as if calculating.
“Is it about the comeback?” Seungmin asked, half-joking.
“No,” Manager Park replied sharply. “Let’s go.”
Hyunjin hesitated, glancing back at Felix. Felix gave him a small, questioning shrug.
“Should I—” Hyunjin started, but the manager cut him off. “Leave your stuff.”
“What?” Hyunjin frowned.
“Leave it,” Park repeated, holding out his hand.
Bang Chan stood up fully now, a hint of challenge in his voice. “That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?”
“Company rules,” Manager Park said smoothly, but there was no warmth in his tone.
The room had gone still. Hyunjin handed his phone over slowly, still looking puzzled.
Seungmin leaned toward Jisung and whispered, “What the hell is this?” Jisung just shook his head, eyes locked on the door.
“Alright,” the manager said once he had the phone. “Let’s go.”
Hyunjin followed him out, still glancing back at the others. The door shut behind them with a soft click.
For a moment, no one moved.
“That was weird,” Jeongin said finally.
“That was really weird,” Jisung agreed.
Bang Chan crossed his arms. “I don’t like it.”
“Should we… follow?” Felix asked quietly, eyes darting to the door.
Minho shook his head firmly. “No. If the company says it’s nothing, we stay out of it. For now.”
And they waited.
++++
The rehearsal room felt strangely unbalanced without Hyunjin.
They’d run through the choreography three times already, the speakers pounding bass into the floor, sweat clinging to their skin. Usually, Hyunjin’s sharp movements and overdramatic facial expressions gave the routine a certain energy—like a spark bouncing between all of them.
Now, with him gone, it was… off.
“Again,” Bang Chan called, but his voice didn’t have the usual spark either. He moved to the corner to restart the track on the laptop.
“I swear my legs are gonna fall off,” Jisung groaned, bending over and clutching his knees.
“Your legs wouldn’t hurt if you actually warmed up properly,” Minho shot back, brushing hair out of his face.
“I did warm up!” Jisung protested.
“You jogged in place for, like, ten seconds.”
“Still counts,” Jisung muttered.
Felix let out a little laugh but it didn’t carry far. His eyes kept flicking to the door. “It’s been almost two hours. Don’t you think that’s… a little long?”
“It’s weird,” Jeongin admitted. “Manager-nim didn’t even say where he was taking him.”
Changbin stopped mid-stretch. “What if something happened? Like—”
“Don’t start,” Minho interrupted sharply. “It’s probably just some meeting or solo schedule. Not our business.”
“Not our business?” Changbin’s eyebrows shot up. “We’re literally a group. Everything’s our business.”
Bang Chan came back from the laptop, rubbing his neck. “Let’s just… focus. He’ll be back.” But even he didn’t sound convinced.
They ran through the choreography again, but it was sloppy. Jisung came in a beat late during the chorus, Felix nearly bumped into Changbin, and Seungmin missed his vocal cue.
“Stop,” Chan said finally, dragging his hand down his face. “We’re falling apart. Everyone take five.”
Jisung collapsed onto the floor, sprawling out like he’d been shot. “I can’t feel my soul.”
“Did you ever have one?” Seungmin muttered.
“Wow. Rude.”
Jeongin tossed Jisung a water bottle without looking. “Maybe if you actually practiced instead of whining—”
“I am practicing!” Jisung shot back.
“That’s what you call this?” Seungmin smirked.
Felix sat cross-legged against the wall, gulping water and staring toward the door again. “Seriously though… two hours? It doesn’t feel right.”
“No kidding,” Changbin agreed. “What could take that long?”
“Maybe he’s filming something?” Jeongin suggested, though his tone was unsure.
“Without telling us?” Felix frowned. “Hyunjin’s the type to brag about it days in advance.”
Silence settled for a moment, the air thick with unspoken worry. The only sounds were the soft hum of the AC and the faint bass thump from some other practice room down the hall.
Bang Chan paced slowly, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake something off. “We can’t start making up scenarios. That’s how panic spreads.”
“Too late,” Jisung mumbled from the floor.
They were all mid-thought, mid-breath, mid-worry when the door handle clicked.
The metal creaked, the sound cutting through the room like a blade.
And then—
The door swung open.
Manager Park stepped inside.
Instantly, every movement in the room stopped. Felix froze with his water halfway to his mouth. Minho's hand, mid-adjusting his hair, went still. Jisung, still on the floor, propped himself up on his elbows. Changbin was still catching his breath from the last run-through. Even Bang Chan, always the composed leader, halted mid-pace and turned sharply toward the entrance.
Manager Park closed the door slowly, the click echoing in the silent practice room.
Everyone was watching him.
“Where’s Hyunjin?” Seungmin finally broke the silence, his voice careful but tense.
Park’s eyes swept across the room before he answered. “That’s why I’m here.”
The members exchanged quick glances.
“We’ve… decided to put Hyunjin on hiatus.”
The words dropped like a stone.
For a second, nobody spoke. Then the room erupted.
"What?!" Changbin's voice was raw.
“What do you mean hiatus?” — Bang Chan stepped forward, frowning.
“For what?” — Jeongin voice cracked.
“Is this a joke?” — Jisung's voice was sharper than usual.
“It’s not a joke,” Park said firmly. “And… we don’t know how long.”
“That’s insane,” Minho’s voice was flat but dripping with disbelief. “You can’t just—”
Park lifted a hand, cutting him off. “This wasn’t just my decision. It was Hyunjin’s suggestion.”
That made everyone stop for half a beat.
“What?” Felix asked, blinking. “No. No way.”
“He’s been struggling,” Park continued, tone steady but carrying an undercurrent of practiced concern. “Mentally. Burnout, emotional fatigue… call it what you want. He spoke to his father about it, and they both agreed it’s time for a break. I think now is the right moment.”
“That’s not possible,” Jisung shot back immediately. “He was fine two hours ago. Laughing. Messing around. If something was wrong, he’d tell us.”
“Would he?” Park’s gaze moved from face to face. “Think about it. Would Hyunjin really want to burden you guys with that? You’re all preparing for the comeback. He wouldn’t want to slow you down.”
Silence. Not because they believed him — but because doubt had started to creep in.
Park stepped closer, lowering his voice like he was letting them in on a secret. “Haven’t you noticed? Lately… he’s been skipping his usual coffee runs. He’s quieter during breaks. He leaves practice early whenever he can. And he hasn’t been sketching in the lounge like he used to.”
“That’s not—” Seungmin began, but Park didn’t let him finish.
“These are small things, sure. But they add up. People hide their struggles in plain sight. And I think Hyunjin’s been doing that for a while.”
Joengin shifted uncomfortably, remembering the last week — the way Hyunjin had seemed lost in thought, staring at his phone for minutes at a time.
Changbin rubbed the back of his neck. “Still… he should’ve said something.”
“Like I said,” Park replied smoothly, “he didn’t want to be a burden. He told me exactly that.”
Bang Chan still looked unconvinced, arms crossed. “I just… it doesn’t feel right.”
“Chan,” Park’s voice softened, almost sympathetic. “I know it’s hard to hear. But sometimes people hide pain even from the ones closest to them. He asked for this time. The best thing you can do for him right now is respect that.”
The room went quiet again. Eyes darted between each other, uncertainty settling in.
Finally, Minho broke the silence. “So… what do we do now?”
Park exhaled slowly, as if bracing himself. “For now… nothing. I want Hyunjin to have complete mental rest. No schedules, no pressure. And… no contact.”
That made everyone react at once.
“What?!” — Felix’s voice cracked.
“That’s ridiculous!” — Changbin's tone was sharp.
“We can’t just not talk to him!” — Seungmin frowned.
“This was Hyunjin’s request,” Park said firmly, raising his voice just enough to cut through theirs. “He said he wants space. He wants to get away from the music scene and the industry completely for a while, so he can focus on recovery. If you keep messaging him, you’re pulling him back into the stress he’s trying to escape.”
“That doesn’t sound like him,” Jeongin muttered, shaking his head.
“I know it’s hard to believe,” Park said, his expression carefully composed, “but if you care about him, you’ll give him what he asked for. Time. Space. Peace.”
There was a long pause. Slowly, the fight in the room started to fade, replaced by uneasy silence.
Bang Chan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine. But the moment he’s ready—”
“You’ll be the first to know,” Park promised with a thin smile.
The room stayed heavy even after he left, each member lost in their own thoughts, replaying every recent interaction with Hyunjin — now tinted by Park’s words.
++++
The door clicked shut behind Manager Park, and for a few seconds, no one said a word.
The faint hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room.
Jisung finally let out a sharp exhale. “That was… crap. Right? Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks that was crap.”
“You’re not,” Minho replied immediately, leaning against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. “None of that makes sense. Hyunjin wouldn’t just disappear without saying anything.”
“But he didn’t say anything,” Seungmin pointed out quietly, still staring at the floor.
“BECAUSE THERE’S NOTHING TO SAY,” Changbin snapped, frustration in his voice. “He’s fine. He was literally fine.”
Felix sat down on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. “I don’t know… some of the stuff Manager Park said… it… kinda makes me think.”
Bang Chan’s head whipped toward him. “Think what?”
Felix hesitated, chewing on his lip. “Just… the coffee thing. He has been skipping lately. And he used to always drag me along.”
“That’s not depression,” Minho said flatly. “That’s… maybe he’s just not in the mood for coffee.”
“But,” Seungmin added slowly, “he’s been quieter. Like… during breaks, he just sits there. Doesn’t joke around as much.”
Jisung groaned. “That’s called being tired, Seungmin.”
“I’m just saying,” Seungmin replied, defensive. “When you start lining things up like Park did, it… I don’t know. It makes you look at stuff differently.”
“I hate that,” Changbin muttered. “Makes you doubt your own memory.”
Bang Chan rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “Remember last week? He left practice early. Said he had a headache.”
Minho rolled his eyes. “Wow, a headache. Guess we better put all of us on hiatus.”
“No, but…” Chan trailed off. “It’s not just that. Two days before that, he skipped dinner with us. Said he wanted to go home early.”
Felix’s voice was soft. “And remember how he didn’t post anything on Bubble for like… two weeks? That’s not like him.”
“Yeah, but when he did post, he was cheerful,” Jisung argued. “You saw the selfies. He was smiling.”
“That could’ve been a mask,” Seungmin said, almost reluctantly. “People do that.”
The room went quiet again. They were all thinking the same thing: if you wanted to believe Park, you could string together enough little details to make it sound plausible.
Minho finally broke the silence. “You guys are really buying this?”
“I’m not saying I believe him,” Felix said, frowning. “I just… don’t want to ignore it if it’s true.”
Bang Chan sighed. “I hate it, but… what if Park’s right? What if he really does need this break, and we keep bothering him? Wouldn’t that make things worse?”
Jisung shook his head. “It still feels wrong. But… I get what you’re saying.”
Changbin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So what, we just… don’t talk to him? At all?”
“That’s what Park said,” Seungmin reminded them. “And if it really is what Hyunjin wants…”
Minho still looked skeptical, but his voice had softened. “If it is what he wants… then fine. I’ll back off. But I’m not convinced.”
Jeongin nodded slowly. “Maybe giving him space is… the best way to help. Even if it sucks.”
Bang Chan’s shoulders slumped. “Alright. We give him space. No messages. No calls. Just… wait until he’s ready.”
Jisung look
ed away, muttering under his breath. “Feels like we’re abandoning him.”
“No,” Chan said firmly. “We’re giving him what he asked for. That’s different.”
The decision hung in the air — heavy, reluctant, and uncomfortable.
None of them noticed how the logic in their heads had quietly shifted.