Archive of Our Own

It was past midnight, and Minho liked it that way. The dim lighting above the practice mirrors cast long shadows across the polished floor, and the hum of the ceiling fan was the only rhythm he danced to now. Sweat clung to his shirt as he moved, doing isolated pops, sharp turns, breath syncing to beatless silence. With no music to guide him to the track, just muscle memory.

That’s when the sound appeared.

It was distant at first, like the ghost of a song. A piano melody way too low to cheat clearly, unsteady at first, like someone coaxing the keys to trust them. Minho froze mid-step, head tilted. He hadn’t imagined that, had he?

The studio window was open. From down the hall, the faintest melody spilled through, soft, searching notes that slipped over each other .

Curious, Minho stepped out into the corridor. Barefoot and quiet. The further he moved, the clearer it became, someone was playing the piano in the main hall.

He crept to the open doors and saw him.

A boy, back straight at the grand piano, fingers trembling slightly as they moved. The light above caught the curve of his face, downturned eyes, and soft lips pressed into a line of concentration. He looked… young. Fragile, maybe. But there was a kind of gravity around him, like he didn’t quite belong, or maybe belonged everywhere all at once.

Minho didn’t know his name yet. But he wanted to know.
But he piano melody was really pretty and had a mysterious quality about it so he stayed in that doorway far longer than he meant to.
The melody ended in a hush, just a single, tentative note hanging in the air like a breath held too long. Minho stayed motionless in the doorway, fingers curled loosely at his sides. The pianist didn’t notice him. Or maybe he had, and simply didn’t care.

Minho didn’t approach.

He just listened. For several minutes. Until the silence returned, and the boy closed the lid of the piano as if tucking away a secret. Minho quickly ran back to his practice room before the pianist notice of him.

.....

Back in his dorm later that night, the music echoed in his head louder than any playlist. And the boy’s face, briefly lit by soft overheads, that fleeting look of stillness, kept floating back to him.

“Probably a first-year,” Minho muttered aloud, half to himself. Law, maybe? He looked too polished to be from the dance department, and Minho knew almost everyone there.

For a few days, Minho kept it to himself. No name, no connection. Just a mystery in chord progressions and melancholy. But he started returning to the studio at the same time, just in case that sound drifted through again.

It was Changbin who noticed.

They were splitting takeout on the dorm floor, noodles, spilled sauce, the usual chaos, when Changbin squinted and said, “You’ve been weird lately.”

Minho blinked, pausing chopsticks mid-air. “Wow. Observant.”

“No, seriously. You keep checking the time, and yesterday you didn’t even finish practice. And,” Changbin leaned in, eyes narrowing with dramatic flair, “I caught you humming something. You never hum.”

“It’s not a crime to be in a decent mood,” Minho said, not meeting his gaze.

Changbin raised a brow. “It’s not a mood . It’s a crush.”

Minho scoffed. “It’s curiosity.”

“Mmm. You’re curious like a moth to flame. Spill.”

But Minho only said, “ Its literally just some guy who played piano in the main hall ”

That shut Changbin up for a second.

When he finally spoke, it was quieter. “Be careful, hyung. Sounds like trouble.”
Minho didn’t understand how playing the piano might make someone troublesome but he let it go you don’t want to argue with Seo Changbin over dinner. Minho looked down at the bit of sauce smeared on the table, drawing an absent pattern in it with his chopstick.

“Maybe.”

...

It Happened three nights later.

Minho had come back from practice later than usual, hoodie damp with sweat and hair curled at the ends. Changbin was already sprawled across his bed, earbuds in, flipping through some social feed on his phone.

“You’re late,” he said, not looking up.

Minho shrugged. “Lost track of time.”

Changbin smirked. “Right. Practicing or stalking your mystery pianist?”

Minho tossed his bag onto the chair a little harder than necessary. “I was dancing.”

Changbin grinned like a cat who already stole the cream. “You know, you talk in your sleep.”

Minho froze mid-step. “I do not .”

“You do. And last night, you said ‘play it again.’” Changbin sat up, his face alight with mischief. “So I went down to the main hall earlier. Just to see if this ghost pianist actually exists.”

“You what ?! ”

“I met him, hyung.” Changbin wiggled his eyebrows, the fucker. “ Looks cute and had eyes like he’s solving equations in his head. Kinda looks like a puppy but with emotional damage?”

Minho felt like like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Unfortunately it did show on his face.

“Oh my god,” Changbin gasped. “You have it bad. Like capital-C Crush.”

“I don’t—It’s not—”

“You’re emotionally choreographing sonatas now.”

Minho groaned into his hands while Changbin practically cackled, flopping back on the bed like a drama queen. “This is so much better than your last crush,” he said. “At least this one plays piano and doesn’t believe crystals cure heartbreak.”

Minho peeked through his fingers. “You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

...

By the end of the week, Minho’s secret wasn’t so secret.

Somehow, the entire friend group was in on it, thanks to Changbin’s utter lack of chill.

Felix was the first to bring it up over lunch. “So… Minho hyungie,” he said sweetly, stabbing a dumpling like it had personally offended him, causing murder of dumplings while doing aegeo at Minho. “Heard you’re composing sonnets in your head these days.”

Minho choked on his drink. “What?!”

“You know,” Felix added with a wicked grin, “for the piano boy.”

“Seungmin,” Jeongin chimed in, ever-helpful. “ He’s a Law major. Kinda looks like a lost puppy. Has probably never spoken above a whisper.”

“You guys don’t even know him,” Minho groaned, face buried in his hands. He need new friends like right then and there.

“But you doooo,” Jisung sing-songed.

“I don’t. I’ve barely—”

“You stood in a hallway listening to him play for twenty minutes,” Changbin deadpanned. “You don’t listen to people for twenty minutes, Minho hyung . You barely listen to me .”

“Because you tell me about protein intake and conspiracy theories about mathematics, I’m fucking dancer, Changbin. .”

Jisung gasped. “Okay but what if Seungmin is actually a time traveller from a dystopian future and the reason he’s so mysterious is—”

“Stop,” Jeongin muttered. “Let our dancing hyung simp in peace.”

Minho looked up, red in the face but begrudgingly fond. “You’re all insufferable.”

“Yet here we are,” Felix grinned. “So when’s the part where you talk to him?”

“I’m… working on it.”

Changbin clapped a hand to his chest. “My boy has it bad . I can’t wait to see Lee Minho in lovee.”

....

It all fell apart on a Tuesday.

Changbin had an early lecture near the law wing and, purely by coincidence (read: definitely snooping), he spotted Seungmin walking out of class alone, earbuds in, wrapped in the usual oversized hoodie like armour.

Now, Changbin wasn’t a naturally clumsy guy. But something about the tilt of Seungmin’s head had him distracted. Maybe he turned too fast. Maybe karma was just bored. Either way, a collision happened.

A full-cup of coffee spilled across Seungmin’s notes. Papers went flying. A very loud curse word from Changbin. A blink of shock from Seungmin. And then...

“Watch it,” Seungmin muttered, in a low but sharp tone Not angry. It wasn’t exactly yelling but it was Icy in a way that settled deep in Changbin’s spine.

He bent to help, but Seungmin had already gathered his things, barely meeting his gaze before walking off in a hurry and boom he was gone.

Changbin stood there with damp shoes and a weird twisting in his gut.

That night, during their usual hangout in the dorm rec room, the mood shifted.

Felix noticed first. “Okay, why do you look like you saw a ghost with a law degree?”

“It’s him,” Changbin said, grimly biting into a rice cracker. “The pianist. Seungmin.”

“You met him?” Jisung perked up. “Was he cute in person? Mysterious? Did he drop a Shakespeare quote and vanish into mist?”

Changbin frowned. “He dropped a death glare . That’s what he dropped.”

Minho tensed. “What happened?”

“I ran into him—literally. And he just... stared. Like I wasn’t even worth being annoyed at. It was weird. He didn’t even get mad. He just looked through me.”

Jeongin tilted his head. “Maybe he’s just shy?”

“No,” Changbin muttered. “He felt... off. Like he wasn’t just quiet. There’s something else going on.”

From there, the shift came fast.

Felix, who two days ago had offered to write Minho’s wedding vows, now frowned thoughtfully. “You sure about this guy?”

“People can be mysterious and decent,” Minho argued.

Jisung shook his head. “Yeah but if Changbin got that vibe, we gotta be cautious. He’s got good gut instincts. Like a golden retriever crossed with a polygraph.”

“Or maybe y’all just need to chill and let Minho figure it out.” Jeongin mutters in an uninterested tone. That everyone ignored.

But it was too late.

The group that had once cheered every mysterious piano note now whispered doubt.

Minho sat quieter than usual, staring at his drink, wondering how someone with soft hands and tired eyes could cause this much dissonance without ever raising their voice.And just like that, the rumor mill went into full gear.

After the coffee incident, Minho’s friends went full investigation mode. Not in a mean way exactly, more like a nosy sitcom squad with too much free time and too little chill.

It started with Jeongin casually showing up near the law building “for snacks.” Then Jisung somehow “accidentally” booked a practice room near the main hall around the same time Seungmin usually played. Felix didn’t even pretend. He just smiled and said, “Surveillance is love.” Minho personally thought Felix sounded like a stalker for that one.

But then they saw him .

The Hwang Hyunjin.

The infamous ( just famous) Art major. Dance minor. Model on weekends student literally everyone on college just knew .He looked like an angel and walks like he floats two inches above the ground. And talks… well, like he was born into champagne.

He and Seungmin were seen sharing coffee in the Sculpture Garden (annoying rich people cafe Minho and his friends were sworn off from aka they were literally banned from due to unforeseen circumstances that shouldn’t be talked about in daylight ), Hyunjin gesturing wildly about something probably existential, Seungmin nodding like the universe made sense in that moment.

Jeongin came back to the dorm that night looking shaken. “They’re friends . Like, real friends.”

Jisung’s face morphed into slow horror. “What if Hyunjin is the reason Seungmin looks like he’s got two trust funds and a backup secret identity?”

“I bet he’s in a cult,” Jeongin whispered.

“He’s not,” Felix sighed from his beanbag throne. “He just has generational wealth and no filter. Chill.”

But the damage was done. The group drew the wrong conclusion from the wrong assumptions, and suddenly Seungmin wasn’t just the mysterious boy at the piano, he was “that guy who hangs out with Hyunjin .”

Changbin crossed his arms. “I’m just saying, if he’s friends with people like that, maybe he’s not good for you. What do we even know about him?”

Minho, who’d been listening to all this shit show in the whole evening , finally spoke. “Well he’s cute and plays the piano, I’m not going to marry him from one date either, I just want to get to know him, guys .”

Felix looked between them, clearly torn. “Okay but can we not judge someone based on who they get coffee with?”

“Unless it’s Hyunjin,” Jisung mumbled. “Then judgment is mandatory.”

Minho exhaled. Everything felt heavier now, not because of the rumors or the teasing, but because they were looking at Seungmin like a theory. A threat. Not the best way to go about your crush.

And suddenly, Minho was more determined than ever to find out who Seungmin actually was, beyond whispers and speculation.When the others saw Seungmin with Hyunjin, it didn’t hit right at first. Maybe they were squinting too hard, trying to see some deeper scheme. Maybe it was just the name.

Hyunjin.

It had been over a year since that chaos, since Jisung and Hyunjin’s infamous fallout. No one talked about the fight anymore, but it lingered like dust in the corners of their friend group. Something about misread intentions, a love at first sight gone sideways( like they always do) , and words said too loud in front of too many people.

Jeongin had taken it worse. He wasn’t part of the fight, just a casualty of proximity and maybe a soft, stupid crush. Afterward, he stopped making eye contact with Hyunjin in the halls.

Only Felix stayed. Golden boy, peacemaker, human sunbeam Felix, who somehow managed to thread the impossible needle, still friends with everyone, still meeting Hyunjin for coffee between lectures like the world hadn’t tilted.

So when Seungmin entered the picture and started showing up with Hyunjin at cafe dates or drifting beside him between classes, it wasn’t just curiosity anymore.

It was complicated .

“Of course it’s Hyunjin,” Jisung said bitterly one night, arms folded. “He probably recruited Seungmin as part of some dramatic comeback arc.”

“Or maybe they’re friends ,” Felix said, voice calm but tight. “You know. Like normal people.”

Minho stayed silent, jaw clenched.

Changbin shook his head. “This isn’t about Hyunjin being weird. This is about Minho getting dragged into a mess we barely cleaned up the first time.”

“You guys seriously think Seungmin is like some criminal that just because Hyunjin talks to him?” Felix’s voice cracked slightly. “Do you hear yourselves?”

No one answered.

.....

Meanwhile, Seungmin—who didn’t know he was standing at the center of a quiet storm—continued as he always did. Studying. Playing the piano at night like a ghost. And Minho... Minho watched. Conflicted, but drawn in more than ever. Because the world could whisper all it wanted.

But Seungmin had looked up from the piano once. Just once. And met Minho’s gaze like he’d been waiting .That curiosity grew like a thorn vine, quiet but persistent, wrapping tighter every time Minho caught a glimpse of Seungmin across the courtyard, or heard the ghost of a melody drifting through the corridors.

Hyunjin complicated everything. He always had.

They weren’t enemies, exactly. Just… history. A string of moments stitched too loosely to hold. Artistic differences, egos colliding, a few sharp words that had left scars no one apologized for.

But Minho remembered this, Hyunjin didn’t waste time on people who weren’t extraordinary in some way. He didn’t fake interest, didn’t keep company with anyone who dulled his strange, bright edges. And if someone had managed to earn a quiet space beside him, then there had to be something there. Something worthy.

Minho wasn’t asking for secrets. He just wanted a glimpse of whatever it was that Hyunjin saw.

But Hyunjin was untouchable now. A constellation Minho no longer traced with his naked eyes.

Which left… Felix.

Sweet, stubborn Felix. The sunbeam friend who refused to burn bridges, even when everyone else let theirs collapse in silence. Felix, who still texted Hyunjin memes. Who still showed up to his gallery tours, arms full of pastries, no judgment and sweet warmth.

Minho found Felix that evening in the college courtyard, bathed in golden-hour light, headphones half-on and a text book open in his lap.

“I need your help,” Minho said, hands tucked into his pockets.

Felix looked up, one brow arched. “Okay. Dangerous, romantic, or emotionally stunted?”

Minho sighed. “Maybe all three.”

Felix’s grin flickered into something softer. “This about Seungmin?”

Minho nodded. “I want to know who he is. Really. But I can’t ask Hyunjin. Not directly. And the others… they’ve already made up their minds.”

Felix shut his book gently, gaze determined. “Then it’s a good thing I never did.”

And just like that, Minho had one handhold into the mystery.

✨

Seungmin wasn’t oblivious. Not entirely.

He noticed the shift in air when he entered a room—how silence sometimes carried names like echoes behind him. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but when people watched you instead of talking to you, you started learning to listen with your skin.

And lately… someone was always watching.

Not in a hostile way. Not quite curious, either. Just always there. A presence that hovered like an unfinished sentence. He’d catch glimpses between pillars, in studio doorways, in reflections on glass. Mostly from that dancer.

Lee Minho, if he remembered correctly. Upper year. Who had pretty face and he was always moving like he carried rhythm in his bones. Seungmin recognized that kind of motion, someone who used their body to say the things their mouth never would.

One evening, after another hushed rehearsal in the music hall, Seungmin stepped out to find Felix waiting in the corridor.

“Hey,” Felix said with his usual sunshine smile, too bright for the hour. “Thought I’d walk you out.”

“Didn’t know I needed supervision,” Seungmin replied dryly, but not unkindly. Felix was hard to dislike. Even for someone like him.

“I’m multitasking,” Felix said. “Escort duty and… casual friendship ambassador.”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow.

Felix just grinned wider. “Look, you’ve probably noticed the weird tension, yeah?”

“I assumed it came free with Hwang Hyunjin.”

That made Felix laugh. “Fair. But seriously, there’s someone who’s kind of... interested in getting to know you. And he’s not great at starting conversations that don’t involve choreography and sarcasm.”

Seungmin blinked. “You mean Lee Minho.”

Felix’s smile softened, and for once he didn’t joke. “Yeah. That obvious, huh?”

Seungmin didn’t answer. He just looked past Felix, down the hallway where the music had bled out night after night. Where he knew someone had stood quietly in the dark and listened, like hearing him meant something.

“I don’t bite,” he said finally. “If he wants to talk.”

Felix beamed. “Then maybe it’s time”.

....

Seungmin wasn’t usually the type to get curious about people. He preferred his familiar routines and his own rhythm , the hum of a late-night piano to the chaos of campus life. But Minho, was someone who sparked something new in his restless mind. Annoying.

Minho moved like he was made of storms and sharp turns. Like dancing wasn’t something he did but something he was . Every time Seungmin saw him in the distance, dancing slowly by himself with headphones in, stretching in a practice studio, laughing with his friends, he seemed untouchably alive.

And then there were the shirts. Those were ridiculous but,..

Every time Seungmin spotted him, it was something different. A cartoon tabby floating on a slice of pizza. A grumpy black cat wrapped in rainbow socks. One time, a dripping wet kitten with the words ”I didn’t choose the puddle life” scrawled beneath.

It was, honestly, a little ridiculous.

But it also made Seungmin smile.

“That’s Minho,” Felix had said the week before, catching Seungmin glancing through the glass at the dance studio. “Cat shirts, untied shoelaces, tragic sleep schedule. Very emotionally constipated for someone who performs shirtless every semester.”

Seungmin huffed softly. “He’s... seems interesting.”

Felix’s grin was all teeth. “Oh, he’s more than that.”

Maybe it was the way Minho always looked like he was half a second away from chasing something, like his whole life was in motion to get somewhere like he had somewhere to be all the damn time . Or maybe it was just that Seungmin liked puzzles. And Minho felt like one worth solving.

....

Felix planned it with the quiet glee of someone who absolutely knew how this would go.

It was the little smile he wore the whole walk to the café that gave it away, like the match had already been struck, and all he had to do was step back and let the spark catch.

They turned the corner into the sleepy little coffee shop just off campus. One of those places with mismatched furniture and a chalkboard menu that changed daily, smelling like espresso and over-watered succulents. Warm. Cozy. Too small for secrets.

And there he was.

Lee Minho sat near the window, legs crossed, sipping slowly from a ceramic mug shaped like a fish. He was wearing another absurd cat-themed shirt—this one featuring a majestic tabby DJ spinning turntables under strobe lights. His hair was still damp, probably straight from practice, and his foot tapped a restless rhythm under the table like he hadn’t stopped dancing even while seated.

Seungmin hesitated at the threshold. Just for a second.

Felix bumped his arm, nudging him forward with a grin so casual it almost fooled them both. “Go say hi. He doesn’t bite. Just purrs and panics.”

Seungmin gave him a look. Somewhere between disbelief and fond exasperation. But he stepped forward anyway, sliding into the seat across from Lee Minho without a word.

Lee Minho looked up.

And everything felt still. With nothing to make noise between them they were just Just two people, the low hum of indie jazz, and a cat shirt grinning between them.

“…Hi,” Minho said, voice quieter than expected.

Seungmin studied him a moment, then nodded. “I like your shirt.”

That startled a laugh out of Minho, short and a little breathless. “Thanks. It’s—uh—one of my more subtle ones.”

“No it isn’t.”

“…Yeah. It really isn’t.”

And suddenly, the ice felt thinner. In a good way. Like it might break into something real.
Seungmin wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe awkward silence. Maybe some overconfident, cocky smirk—the kind dancers were supposed to wear, like armor stitched with rhythm and ego. Maybe he thought Minho would try to impress him, say something edgy and cool.

But instead, Minho laughed. Genuinely.

And something inside Seungmin... shifted.

He hadn’t meant to say that —“I like your shirt.” It slipped out like water through cracked fingers, unexpected and casual. But it was the truth. The shirt was loud, ridiculous, and unapologetically him . It made sense now, that Minho danced like that. Like he didn’t care who was watching.

“So,” Minho said, cradling his cup like it might anchor him, “what do you do to when you’re not haunting the piano like a Victorian ghost?”

Seungmin blinked. “Mostly just studies.”

“Of course you do.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Minho shrugged, trying too hard to seem casual. “Just... you seem like the who likes to do things the right way.”
But he made it sound like loser behaviour, how annoying.
Seungmin tilted his head. “And you seem like someone who choreographs to rain sounds and angry hip-hop remixes.”

Minho’s grin wasn’t that pretty but Seungmin heart didn’t really get that. . “Okay, rude. But not wrong.”

They sipped in tandem after that, falling into a strange rhythm, half teasing, half circling something unspoken. Seungmin watched how Minho’s hands moved, always moving, fidgeting with his sleeve, brushing his hair back, tapping on the mug’s side. Restless. Like the music never really left him.

“I’ve seen you dance,” Seungmin said quietly, after a moment of stillness.

Minho stilled, eyes flicking up. “Yeah?”

“You’re... loud. But your dance is pretty good—” He searched for a better word.

Minho blinked. “Is that a compliment?”

“Depends. Are you usually this interesting, or just on Thursdays?”

Minho laughed again, and this time, it stayed behind his eyes.

Something between them sparked. It wasn’t a fire yet. Just the glint of flint being struck. A beginning.

....

The mug was still warm in Minho’s hands, but the moment felt too big for something so small.

He watched Seungmin go, back straight, hoodie sleeves trailing past his wrists, headphones already sliding over his ears again. Like he was folding himself back into the world’s background noise. Like this hadn’t just meant something.

Minho didn’t move.

His reflection in the café window caught the way his ears had gone completely pink. He knew that look. Embarrassed. Exposed. His stomach did something strange and uncoordinated—like one of those half-baked pirouettes he’d swore he’d never let happen again in practice.

Flutters.

That’s what it was. Like being sixteen again. Like nerves before a performance but without music to drown them out.

He pressed his fingers against the ceramic rim, grounding himself. That tiny smile Seungmin had flashed at the very end it was easy to get unnoticed but Minho had felt it behind his ribs.

And the worst part?

He wanted it again. That feeling of being seen without having to prove anything first.

Felix slid back into the booth a few minutes later, pretending he hadn’t been waiting just outside like a backup dancer to fate.

“You’re smiling,” Felix said, a little sing-song.

“I’m not,” Minho muttered, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Felix leaned in, nudging him with an elbow. “Told you he’d say yes.”

Minho looked down at the water-ringed table. The seat across from him was still warm. “Yeah,” he whispered. “He did.”

And suddenly, he couldn’t wait for the next time.

.....

His friends weren’t angry, not exactly. More like… collectively stunned. Like watching your friend step onto a train that no one else had tickets for.

The group was gathered in Changbin and Jisung’s shared room, where snacks had been sacrificed and opinions were being forged like they were in the middle of an emergency summit.

“So he actually went?” Jeongin asked, staring blankly at the group chat. “Like, talked to him. Smiled at him. Lingered?”

“Lingered,” Jisung echoed, eyes wide in mild betrayal. “He lingered , and we weren’t even consulted.”

Changbin paced.

Felix, tucked on the bed with a smug expression, sipped a juice box like he was watching a telenovela.

“I mean, I’m glad he’s doing something about his feelings,” Changbin muttered. “But—this is Seungmin we’re talking about. He is too into Hyunjin’s orbit. You don’t just wander into a black hole and hope for good vibes!”

Jeongin picked at a thread on his sleeve. “What if he’s playing hyung?”

Felix set down the juice. “He’s not.”

“You hope he’s not,” Jisung said. “But honestly, no one knows anything about this guy. He barely talks. He hangs out with a beautiful cryptid. He radiates tragic backstory energy. And now he’s sipping iced lattes with our Minho hyung like he didn’t cause collective panic just by existing—”

“He likes cat shirts,” Felix said softly, cutting through the noise. “He complimented Minho’s shirt. And Minho hyung was happy.”

That shut them up for a beat.

Then Changbin flopped dramatically onto the beanbag. “Okay. Fine. I’m glad Minho’s happy. But if Seungmin so much as touches a single strand of that perfectly messy hair in a suspicious way... ”

Felix grinned. “You’ll write a strongly worded letter?”

“I’ll choreograph a takedown .”

Jisung raised his juice box in mock salute. “To love. And disaster.”

.....

The quiet knock came just after midnight.

Minho had just washed his face, hair damp and hoodie too big, halfway into the liminal space between caffeine buzz and sleep when the door creaked open and Channie hyung peeked in.

“You up?”

Minho blinked. “You texted five minutes ago.”

“Right.” Channie stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “You seemed... off earlier.”

Minho sank onto his bed, tugging his knees up. “That obvious?”

Chan hyung didn’t answer. Just sat on the edge of the desk chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. The air between them settled into something quiet and steady, Chan’s specialty.

“No one’s exactly thrilled,” Minho said eventually, gaze fixed on the wall. “Felix tries. The rest think I’m walking into a trap. Some melodrama where I get emotionally stabbed in act three.”

Channie hyung was quiet for a long beat before he asked, “And what do you think you’re walking into?”

Minho hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t feel fake. Or staged. He’s not trying to be anything. Seungmin just... is. Still, steady, like this untouched part of the world everyone forgot to name.”

Channie leaned back, thoughtful. “And that scares them.”

“Yeah. Maybe it scares me too.”

“You’re not stupid, Minho,” Channie said gently. “You read people better than most of us. And I trust you to make good decisions about your life.”

Minho looked down, a flicker of emotion shifting across his face. “Then why does it feel like I’m messing everything up just for feeling something?”

“Because this is all new to you Minho-ya .” Chan’s voice softened even more. “And everyone else is still learning how to be okay with that.”

Minho let the words sit. Let them hold.

“You think I’m wrong?” he asked.

“I think you should find out,” Chan said. “For you. Not for them. And definitely not for the ghosts still haunting this group.”

Minho breathed in through his nose.

Then nodded. “Thanks, hyung.”

Channie smiled, he looked tired but real. “Always.”

.....

Minho stared at his phone like it had personally betrayed him.

1:04 AM. The glow of the screen was the only light in the room, soft and blue and far too loud in its silence. He had typed the message three different ways and deleted each version like it might detonate in his hands.

Too casual.
Too weird.
Too much .

His heart wouldn’t stop doing this stupid drumline thing in his chest—racing without music, without choreography. It’s Just a text. Just a few words.

But the weight of wanting made it feel like more than that.

He rolled onto his side, blanket half-tangled at his waist, and read what he finally wrote again,

> hey. Wasn’t sure if you’d be awake. I just… wanted to say thanks. For today.
> i liked talking to you. More than i thought i would.
> …and i thought i’d like it a lot.

He stared at the blinking cursor for a full thirty seconds.

Then, before his nerves could scream any louder, he hit send. Watched the message shoot into the ether and then immediately buried his face in the pillow.

“Stupid,” he muttered. “So stupid.”

But beneath that, fluttering in a quiet corner of his chest, was something else entirely. A kind of softness that didn’t ask permission. A smile pressed against flannel and the hope that maybe—just maybe—Seungmin would read it and smile too

✨

Seungmin lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling of Hyunjin’s apartment where an abstract mobile spun slowly in the fan’s breeze. He hadn’t told Hyunjin why he’d skipped the usual Thursday café hangout. He hadn’t mentioned the cat-shirted dancer. And he certainly didn’t say anything about the way his heart had started pulsing like it had rhythm ever since Minho smiled at him across that coffee table.

Because every time Minho was near, Hyunjin’s entire mood shifted like sunlight behind clouds, sudden and hard to explain. It wasn’t anger. Just something… quietly sad, like a door closing very slowly.

But Seungmin was buzzing .

He didn’t know how else to describe it. That flicker inside him like a spark hitting skin.

Seungmin grabbed his phone again, eyes scanning the message Minho had sent.

> i liked talking to you. More than i thought i would.
> …and i thought i’d like it a lot.

He’d read it five times already.

Buzzing. Still.

And he hadn’t replied.

Not yet.

But soon.

Seungmin remembered everything.
The way Minho looked at him, as if the sky tilted slightly every time Seungmin so much as breathed near him. Like Seungmin was a song only he could hear, and he was trying desperately to memorize every note.

And Seungmin… didn’t know what to do with that.

It wasn’t like he was used to attention. Not the romantic kind. Not from people who looked like Minho and danced like poetry unraveling itself. It made his skin buzz and his chest flutter in a way he hadn’t felt since he was fourteen and was a dumb teenager.

Sometimes Minho didn’t even say anything. Just looked. Quiet and steady. Like maybe if he stared hard enough that could be counted in as making a move.

And that should’ve terrified Seungmin.

But it didn’t.

Because that gaze, was the first thing in a long time that didn’t feel like something temporary. It felt like being seen and chosen.

And Seungmin, despite all his walls and quiet edges, was starting to realize, he wanted to be chosen. Especially by him.

.....

Minho hadn’t realized how many black t-shirts he owned until he stood in front of his closet for twenty minutes and rejected every single one.

His hands kept hovering over things he never wore anymore, button-ups with actual collars, a soft beige sweater that made his shoulders look annoyingly perfect, even that one coat Felix had bullied him into buying during a winter sale.

It wasn’t about impressing. Not exactly. He just wanted to feel... worthy. Like maybe, if Seungmin agreed to meet him again, just the two of them, it wouldn’t feel like a cosmic accident. It would feel intentional .

He finally settled on something simple. A forest-green shirt that brought out the amber in dark brown of his eyes, tucked loosely into jeans that weren’t too fitted, but just enough that Felix would’ve nodded approvingly. Casual. Soft. Like a maybe-date disguised as a friendly outing.

By the time he left the dorm, his nerves were a riot.

He was vibrating, basically. A kind of giddy, half-panicked energy that left him smiling at random sidewalk cracks and muttering his practice lines under his breath.

“Wanna grab coffee again sometime?”
“Would it be weird if I said I kinda want to keep talking to you?”
“No pressure—just friends if that’s what you want. But I’d really like more.”

His chest ached with possibility. The kind that felt new and rare and terrifyingly good .

Because for the first time in a long time, Minho wasn’t performing. He wasn’t chasing approval or applause. He was just showing up, heart in hand, shirt neatly pressed, hoping the boy with piano hands and storm-silent eyes might be waiting to meet him halfway.

Minho spotted him before the bell above the boba shop door even finished chiming.

Seungmin stepped in quietly, head ducked slightly under the weight of his backpack, hoodie sleeves swallowing his hands, sweatpants loose and soft like he’d just rolled out of a nap, or a rainy-day movie montage. But his shoes caught Minho’s eyes instantly.

Odd looking sneakers with a brand name and no doubt worth more than the combined contents of Minho’s closet. Limited drop, maybe? Italian leather? Custom soles? He couldn’t tell, but Jeongin had definitely ranted about those exact ones two months ago while clutching a wishlist and shedding invisible tears.

“Comfy but stealth-rich,” Minho muttered under his breath, lips curling.

Seungmin spotted him and gave the tiniest nod before wandering over, his backpack thudding softly as he slid into the booth. He didn’t look winded, didn’t look nervous. He just… looked.

Minho’s heart, on the other hand, was halfway through its solo audition for a high school drama.

“Boba?” Seungmin asked, eyeing the cup in front of him.

Minho pushed the second one forward, the one he’d gotten just in case. “Yeah. Mango for me. Taro for you. Took a guess.”

Seungmin blinked slowly. “You guessed right.”

A small win. Probably a coincidence. Definitely going into the highlight reel of his brain later.

“So,” Minho said, suddenly aware of how pressed his shirt felt, “thought we could sit. Talk. Maybe be friends. If you want that.”

Seungmin took a slow sip of his drink, boba straw giving a quiet pop.

“I thought we already were,” he said softly.

And Minho swore he felt gravity slip sideways.

It was honestly unfair.

Seungmin 2as looking like he’d been plucked from an indie movie mood board, oversized hoodie that swallowed his shoulders, sweatpants hanging just right, and those pristine sneakers.
“Comfy,” Minho said, pretending to sip his drink while completely failing to stop staring .

Seungmin blinked at him, half-curious. “What?”

“I said,” Minho coughed, “you look… cozy.”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “That was your opener?”

Minho groaned softly, burying his face in his boba for a second. “I had a better one. It just tripped on your sneakers on the way out.”

There was a beat of silence, then—

The tiniest quirk of Seungmin’s mouth. A smirk, barely there.

“Lucky my shoes have good cushioning,” he muttered, sipping his taro tea like he hadn’t just knocked the wind out of Minho’s lungs.

This. This was what Minho had been chasing all week, the thrill of something unspoken catching fire behind a soft smile.

And somehow, in a café full of pastel walls and tapioca pearls, that quiet boy with headphone and designer sneakers had made Minho feel like the world was slowing down, for him .

✨

Seungmin, that’s enough.

No grand gestures or load of pretentious stuff . Just a guy in a cat shirt making him laugh, flirting like he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and radiating this warm, steady energy that makes Seungmin’s chest feel... soft.

He teases because it’s easy with Minho. Because their banter feels like building something. Because Minho makes it possible to let go of the heavy things for a little while.

And Minho, grinning around his straw, thinks maybe this is what a good crush feels like, not heartbreak, not confusion, just the quiet high of seeing someone you like genuinely happy to be around you .

Not everything has to be a love story right away.

Sometimes, it starts with taro tea and a pair of stupidly expensive sneakers.

.....

Minho practically floated in the dorm the next morning, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, sneakers barely tied, hair still damp from the world’s most joyful shower. He was humming. Actually humming . Some nameless melody that sounded dangerously like a piano riff with a cat-shaped grin.

Felix caught the vibe before Minho even opened his mouth.

“You look illegally happy,” he said around a spoonful of cereal.

Minho flopped down beside him, still grinning like an idiot. “We had fun,” he said, like that explained everything. It didn’t , but it also totally did.

Felix squeaked. “Did you hold hands? Did you flirt? Did he call you weird in that fond little way?”

“I made a sneaker joke,” Minho said, smug. “He smirked.”

“Oh my god ,” Felix gasped. “Marriage. Immediately.”

Changbin wandered in with his water bottle, shirt half-tucked like he’d lost a war with sleep. “Did he at least drink the tea?”

“He finished the whole thing.”

“Hmm. Respect.”

Jisung followed half a minute later, clutching toast like it owed him emotional stability. His eyes scanned the room, took in Minho’s glow, Felix’s excitement, and Changbin’s low-stakes approval.

He blinked. “Oh no. We’re enabling this now?”

Felix threw a pillow at him. “Let him be giddy, Jisung. We need love stories that don’t involve hallway betrayal or stolen song lyrics.”

“I’m just saying.” Jisung bit into his toast. “There’s still time for mystery-boy to turn into a cryptid and steal Minho’s passport.”

“Let him try,” Minho mumbled, still grinning into his mug. “He’ll have to deal with my mom.”

Chan hyung appeared somewhere around the second coffee, carrying three stacked notebooks, earbuds dangling from his hoodie. He took one look at Minho, tilted his head, and just… nodded.

Of course he knew. He always did.

Did he offer dramatic commentary? No. Did he participate in the teasing? Not even a little. But later, he passed by Minho’s desk and casually dropped off a small playlist labeled “for when you can’t stop thinking about someone you don’t even know that well yet.”

Minho stared at it for a good ten minutes.

Then hit play.

And kept smiling.

...

It was official.

Seungmin said yes.
There was no dramatic background music, fireworks or slow pans. Just two guys sitting at their usual corner in that cat-stickered boba shop, Seungmin sipping quietly and looking awesome as always , and then, softly, like an afterthought he said, “We could call this dating. If you want.”

Minho had blinked. Twice. Then again, because surely that wasn’t what he just heard. But Seungmin smiled, tired from midterms, hair slightly messy, eyes soft like dawn, and that was that. They didn’t kiss it was just quiet yes . And Minho felt like his heart had put on little tap shoes and was jazz-stepping through his chest.

He managed to act cool until the dorm.

Then all hell broke loose.

He burst through the door, flung his backpack somewhere in the direction of his chair, and screamed into his hands like a drama queen with glitter lungs. “HE SAID YES!” he howled at the ceiling. “WE’RE—WE’RE A THING. AN ACTUAL THING. ”

Felix, who had been peacefully scrolling through cat memes on his bed, yelped, dropped his phone, and immediately screamed back, “I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I’M A PROPHET. ”

From the hallway, there was a loud crash. “What happened?! Who died?!” Jisung slammed the door open in full panic, hair sticking up like a startled hamster. His eyes scanned the scene, saw Minho flopping dramatically on the couch , and whispered, “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me—”

A muffled crash came from the kitchen, followed by Changbin’s voice, “ oh shit—! ” He stomped in, holding a cracked mug and wearing the expression of a man betrayed by both gravity and romantic subplots. “You could’ve warned us, man!”

“Why?” Minho beamed. “This is way more fun.”

Jisung pointed accusingly. “You said this was just a crush! A boba buddy! A no-pressure flirtation!”

“It was, ” Minho said. “And now it’s not. And I might be in love. Maybe. Eventually. Possibly. But like… in a chill way.”

Felix shrieked again and tackled him into a hug. “Our little cat boy is growing up! ”

And Minho lay there, pile of limbs on the narrow couch too many people shouting, and smiled until his face hurt.

Because Seungmin had said yes.

It was a future starting quietly in the shape of a maybe for lot of things he was fantasising about. Minho had never felt more like he belonged in his own skin.

....

---started as a casual hangout.

Just some late dinner, no big declarations. Minho had promised “nothing fancy,” which in Minho-language translated to, three side dishes, two mains, and a dessert he pretended wasn’t store-bought. The kitchen smelled like soy glaze and toasted sesame, and Minho moved between stove and counter like a man possessed, giddy, slightly feral, wearing his ”Catnap King” apron and the dopiest grin known to humanity.

By the time everyone arrived, the table was chaotic in the best way. Chan hyung brought his classic “I’m supervising but emotionally detached” energy. Changbin came armed with an appetite and the quiet relief of realizing he didn’t actually have to stage an intervention. Even Jisung, who had sworn up and down he was “protesting this whirlwind romance”—showed up with bubble tea and a suspiciously soft expression

“ Eight weeks, ” Jeongin grumbled between bites of japchae. “It took you eight entire weeks just to get to dating .”

Minho blinked, mid-chew. “You’re counting?”

Jeongin stabbed a dumpling with intent. “Of course I’m counting. We suffered. We watched you moon around like a tragic anime character. We heard the playlists , hyung. That one Wednesday you made eye contact with him and baked banana bread for no reason.”

Minho tried and failed to look dignified. “It was therapeutic.”

“It was delusional. ” Jeongin pointed dramatically at Felix. “He cried on my shoulder after your second almost-date because he thought you’d combust from feelings.”

“I cried with joy, ” Felix insisted, glowing like a proud golden retriever. “Also, your stir-fry is so good .”

Channie raised his glass like the sage he was. “To long games, soft smiles, and emotional breakthroughs. And to Minho, for finally getting out of his own way.”

Jisung muttered something about “romantic slow burns being a scam,” but reached for seconds anyway.

Minho looked around, his ridiculous, loud, entirely-too-involved friends, and felt that gentle hum return to his chest.

Because Seungmin had said yes.

And eight weeks or not, it had never felt more worth it.

✨

The air shifted the moment Seungmin stepped inside.

His fingers were still cold from holding his iced americano. His ears still buzzed faintly with the echo of Minho’s laugh. There was a something so beautiful about indulging in romance experiences he had never done before.

But then, he saw him .

Hyunjin, curled up on the couch like a question mark, phone glowing in his palm.

The contact screen was unmistakable.

It was Minho hyung’s Instagram.

He was looking at he newest lost made in there. A selfie, taken just that afternoon. Minho’s eyes scrunched up in mid-laugh, Seungmin half-smiling, his head tilted ever so slightly toward the guy in the ridiculous cat shirt.

Hyunjin didn’t look up right away. Didn’t say anything. But the look on his face, slack, quiet, wounded, was worse than yelling. Worse than silence.

Seungmin felt his breath catch behind his ribs.

“…You came home early,” he said, voice soft. Pointless.

Hyunjin finally looked at him. His smile was wrong. Crooked, like it had forgotten how to land properly. Door clicked shut behind Seungmin. The soft sound of his keys dropped into the bowl.

“Cute selfie,” he said. Voice light. Too light.

Seungmin blinked, thrown. “What?”

“You could’ve told me,” Hyunjin said, softer now, eyes glossy and rimmed red. “That it was him. ”

“What does that mean?” Seungmin said, arms tightening across his chest. “You never said anything.”

“You knew I was weird about him. About all of them. ”

“No, I didn’t,” Seungmin snapped, jaw tight now. “You were weird. Yeah. But you’re always weird about things and you never say why.”

Hyunjin blinked at him, stunned.

“I didn’t know what’s is happening among you guys ” Seungmin went on, voice rising now, raw at the edges. “You never told me there was history with Minho. Or that name, Jaiung? Minho mentioned him once and it made sense, now, but you—”

“I didn’t want to make it about me!” Hyunjin finally exploded. “Okay? I didn’t want my pain to ruin your life too!”

“You didn’t let me choose, ” Seungmin said, fury flickering beneath the hurt now. “You just watched. And got sad. And pulled away. And now I’m supposed to feel bad for being happy? ”

“I’m not asking you to feel bad!” Hyunjin’s voice cracked, and then, tears. Angry, frustrated tears that fell faster than he could stop them. “I’m asking you to understand. That it hurts. That it still hurts. Because that used to be my safe place. Those people, that feeling. And now it’s yours, and I don’t even know when I lost the right to say anything.”

Seungmin stood frozen.

He hadn’t come home to fight. But it felt like this had been waiting beneath every quiet night, every tension-laced smile and look away.

“I’m not trying to replace your history with them ,” he said, quiet now, broken. “I’m just trying to... . ” Seungmin didn’t really to find his won place among them? His love life? His life?

And when Hyunjin sobbed quietly into his sleeves, Seungmin didn’t reach for him. Couldn’t. Because there was love here, yes—but also something cracked and sharp. Something that would take time to name, let alone heal.

So he left.

Just for a while.

Because not all friendships break from betrayal. Some break from the silence in between.The wind tugged gently at Seungmin’s hoodie, the city dim and half-asleep around him, but his thoughts were anything but calm.

At first, the air had soothed him. The walk was meant to clear his head, let the frustration drain into footsteps. But somewhere between the third corner and the blinking light at the bus stop, it turned sharp. Not sadness. Not even guilt.

It was anger.

Real, pulsing, confused rage curling in his gut.

Why did Hyunjin always do this?

Why does he expect Seungmin to read his damn mind?

Seungmin stared up at the sky, jaw clenched. He’d never been the type to make fast connections. Never just clicked with people out of instinct. He worked for closeness. Measured it slowly. Bit by bit.

He hadn’t dated. Hadn’t wanted to date. Until Minho.

And now, Hyunjin had history with him. Of course he did. Of course, it had to be the one person Seungmin had quietly, stupidly harboured feelings for the first time in his whole damn life . And now that those feelings had finally started to mean something, to take shape now it was a problem?

He kicked a pebble hard across the pavement. It clattered pathetically.

“I didn’t just fall into this,” he muttered under his breath, pacing. “I chose this. I let myself like him. Wanted to like him. Doesn’t he get how rare that is for me?”

His chest tightened.

And then like a puzzle piece snapping suddenly into place Jisung’s name surfaced from the fog. Jisung… the roommate.

He remembered now. One night, Minho hyung had said it offhandedly while talking about the people he lived with.

“Jisung and Changbin are chaos,” he’d said fondly, sipping from his mug. “One of them steals all the socks, and the other composes breakup ballads for anime characters.”

And Seungmin hadn’t thought twice.

Jisung. Jisung. That Jisung?

Minho’s best friend. Hyunjin’s fallout. The piece no one had told him he was sitting next to.

God. He wanted to scream.

Instead, he sat down on the curb outside a closed bakery and stared at the soft golden blur of streetlamp haze. His drink had gone lukewarm in his hand. His heart beat angry rhythms beneath his ribs.

“I didn’t walk into this blind,” he whispered.

But apparently, he had.

....

Seungmin hadn’t meant to wander. Or to end up in this exact place. Not like this anyway. Not without warning. Not while he was still raw from the fight, the words still clinging to his hoodie like static. But somehow, halfway through that walk, with his heart heavy, thoughts looping like a broken track, his feet had drifted into familiar rhythms.

And now here he was.

In front of Minho’s apartment door, music humming low through the wood like a heartbeat he wasn’t sure he could step into.

Laughter spilled from somewhere inside. Muffled. Bright. Like there was a party, or at least something close to joy unfolding in that room. The kind of joy he didn’t feel like he belonged in tonight.

But still—he stood there.

He didn’t call or text .

Seungmin’s hand hovered near the door, curled into an uncertain fist.

He wasn’t even sure what he wanted, to be let in or turned away.

Only that right now, the world was too loud and too empty and Minho hyung was the one person he didn’t want to not be with.

....

The cat darted out first, an annoyed little swirl of fur and tail, heading straight for the dry patch of garden by the lamppost. Minho barely registered it.

Because there, on the cold concrete steps, hood up, knees tucked to his chest, sat Seungmin.

Minho froze.

For a split second, he thought he was imagining it. That maybe his heart had conjured Seungmin out of wishful thinking and whatever playlist he’d just abandoned inside. But then Seungmin blinked up at him, real and shivering slightly, and Minho’s brain finally caught up.

“Min?” he asked, voice still soft from party laughter.

Seungmin didn’t answer right away. Just glanced toward the sound of the cat rustling in the bushes, then looked back, eyes tired. Shadowed. Something hollow clung to his posture that hadn’t been there before.

Minho stepped closer without thinking. “What happened?”

“I…” Seungmin hesitated, then exhaled hard. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Minho sat beside him without asking. The step was cold and a little damp, but it didn’t matter.

“Talk to me,” he said gently.

Seungmin looked at his hands, then at the sky, then finally at Minho. “I messed something up. Or maybe I didn’t. I don’t even know. But Hyunjin and I fought. It got ugly. He was crying . I yelled at him. It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

Minho’s breath caught at Hyunjin’s name, but he didn’t interrupt. He just waited.

“And the worst part?” Seungmin whispered. “I’m angry. Because he never told me about Jaiung. Or what went down with you. Or Jisung. I walked into this like it was a fairy-tale and… maybe it wasn’t.”

Minho nodded slowly. “He got caught in something a few of us never properly untangled.”

Silence stretched. The cat trotted back between them, tail flicking Seungmin’s leg.

“I just wanted to be happy,” Seungmin said, voice cracking. “Is that selfish?”

“No,” Minho said firmly. “But you’re allowed to be mad too. People don’t get to withhold truth and then blame you for not carrying the burden properly.”

Seungmin looked at him then. Really looked.

And Minho, despite the tangle of history and shadows stretching behind them, smiled softly.

“Come inside?” he asked. “It’s warmer. And I think I’ve got tea. You’re going the catch a cold.”

After a beat, Seungmin nodded.

He followed Minho in, and the door shut gently behind them, not slamming anything closed, just tucking the cold night out for a little while.

The door hadn’t even fully latched when Minho heard it.

Jisung’s “WHAT THE FUCK” echo from the living room like someone had been jump-scared by his own thoughts.

Felix dropped a bowl of popcorn lightly onto the table. “Was that—was that Seungmin ?”

Changbin straightened up from the floor, eyes wide. “Wait, wait, like here? Now? It’s nearly midnight.”

In the middle of the chaos, Minho gently guided Seungmin into the hallway, hoodie tugged low, hair windswept from the cold. The music in the apartment was still buzzing behind them, but the tension now had its own bassline.

“I’ll get him tea,” Minho muttered, brushing past the stunned silence.

The others just stared .

Channie, sitting on the arm of the couch, tilted his head slightly, the way he always did when he was taking emotional inventory. “That’s new,” he said simply.

“I didn’t even know they were texting tonight,” Felix whispered, eyes sparkling with too many emotions and exactly zero impulse control. “Is this... Did something happen? ”

“No way,” Jisung whispered back. “Minho was just talking about banana muffins ten minutes ago. Not breakups or emergencies.”

“He looks upset,” Channie murmured. “Like world-went-sideways upset.”

Inside the kitchen, Minho poured hot water into a mug .

Yeah. They were shocked.

He was shocked.

Because if you told him two months ago that Seungmin, the slow-to-trust, hoodie-armored mystery with the most unreadable poker face in existence would one day show up on his doorstep at midnight looking like the wind had tried to blow him away, he wouldn’t have believed it.

But here he was.

And Minho would let him sit. And be quiet. And breathe.

Because when someone shows up at your door like that, you don’t ask questions right away.

You just… stay. Minho returned from the kitchen with quiet purpose, a mug of sweetened coffee in one hand, the softest throw blanket he could find draped over his arm like he was about to knight a very tired king.

Seungmin was curled up on the couch now, shrinking into the cushions with his hood still up, that post-storm stillness clinging to him like mist. The room, despite the music still playing, had fallen nearly silent.

The moment Minho handed over the coffee and dropped the blanket onto Seungmin’s lap with an unceremonious little drop. “Here. You look like a stray I found near the train station,” the spell broke.

A snort. Barely there. But it was the first sound Seungmin had made that sounded remotely like himself since he walked in.

Then Minho turned to the room at large, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing broadly like a TV show host unveiling a contestant.

“Stop staring,” he scolded, mock-exasperated. “You’re going to melt him, and I just got him lukewarm.”

Felix coughed into his sleeve to hide a giggle. Chan raised an eyebrow, very nearly impressed. Jisung whispered something like “what the actual hell is happening” under his breath.

With a flourish, Minho pointed toward the sofa. “Everyone, this is Seungmin. He drinks taro, wears sneakers that cost more than my rent, and may or may not be the reason my serotonin exists again.”

“Hyung,” Seungmin muttered, already burying his face in the mug.

Minho beamed. “You came to my door at midnight. Dramatic introductions are part of the package.”

And just like that, the tension cracked, just a little.

A warmth unfolded in the room. Not full at ease yet. But enough.

And as Seungmin sipped his coffee, letting the blanket pull warmth back into his shoulders, he watched the chaos swirl around him and thought maybe, just maybe, he was allowed to be here too.

Because somehow, even after the unraveling of his evening, he’d ended up somewhere soft.

Somewhere saf

He was just... breathing.

Minho gushed about his friends pointing at few people Seungmin didn’t recognise like Chan hyung who is a senior and others very much suspiciously Seungmin had seen around the college a lot. Like that guy with big biceps who dropped a coffee on his notes and that foxy eyed guy who tried to talk to him at the library.

As soon as Jisung ( the chipmunk cheek guy) went back to his room mumbling something about “emotional whiplash and unmet snack quotas,” and Chan and Changbin had retreated with knowing looks, Minho grabbed two plates like he’d been waiting for this moment since the dawn of leftovers.

“I made way too much stir-fry,” he said, setting down a plate in front of Seungmin with an entirely unhinged amount of care. “And if you don’t eat, Felix will use it for face masks. We can’t risk that again.”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “Is this how you flirt? Force-feeding stir-fry and passive-aggressively insulting your roommate?”

Minho hyung grinned, shameless. “You’re here. It’s working.”

But as he nudged the plate closer, Seungmin finally scoffed, it wasn’t mean, more like reluctantly amused, and muttered, “You’re such a mom.”

“I own an apron that says that,” Minho said proudly.

Still, he didn’t hover. Just sat across the coffee table, nudging his own plate around without much intent. Seungmin, for all his sass, did eat. Slowly. Like his body hadn’t realized how hungry it was until just now.

The tension in the air had softened. And in the next few minutes between bites, sips of tea, and quiet notable things began happening.

Jisung peeked out from the hallway trying to subtly settle on nearby, casually grabbing a soda and sitting on the floor next to the couch like this wasn’t weird for him , too.

At one point, he said, “So you like anime with tragic boys and eternal eye bags, huh?” while gesturing lazily toward Minho.

Seungmin, without missing a beat, said, “Always have.”

Jisung snorted. “Okay fine. That’s hilarious.”

Which, from Jisung, might as well be a love confession.

Minho didn’t say anything.

But he looked between them this shy warming, this soft flicker of bridge-building and felt something in his chest loosen. Like maybe this thing wasn’t going to break the group after all.

Maybe, somehow, it might even make them stronger. It sometime past 1 a.m. when the apartment finally settled into something close to silence.

✨

Seungmin sat cross-legged on the floor, blanket still draped over his shoulders, the mug in his hands more comfort than caffeine now. His eyes drifted briefly to Jisung, flopped nearby, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone, humming softly under his breath.

He was cute, really. In that loud, scrappy sort of way. Big eyes. Squeezy cheeks. Energy that danced between chaos and charm. And something about that made Seungmin’s mind wander, just for a second. Hyunjin definitely would’ve liked him. He looked like the type of boy Hyunjin used to sketch in the corners of his notebooks—smiling too wide always humming something.

But he didn’t ask. Not yet.

Instead, he let his gaze shift, then cleared his throat.

Jisung nodded slowly, looking away. His voice, when it came, was quieter than usual. “We tried. Or maybe we didn’t. I don’t even know anymore. It was all music and moods and eye contact and ‘maybe we’ll figure it out later.’ And then later never came.”

There was a beat of quiet.

“Hyunjin never told me the full story,” Seungmin offered. “Just that something broke.”

“It did.” Jisung’s jaw worked slightly. “And we weren’t brave enough to fix it.”

He glanced sideways, met Seungmin’s eyes with a softness that surprised him.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird for you. You and Minho hyung .”

“You didn’t,” Seungmin said. It came too fast. Too sharp. He softened it. “I’m still figuring out where I fit in all of this. And who got left behind before I even showed up.”

Jisung gave a sad sort of smile. “Sometimes? We all did. Even the ones who stayed. “

....

Only the three of them were still awake. The apartment had gone soft and quiet, a low rustling from a cracked window the only sound beneath the hum of the fridge.
Minho, legs stretched out beside Seungmin on the couch, was absently playing with the string on his hoodie. Jisung was perched backward on an armchair, hugging the backrest, knees pulled up to his chest, hair sticking up like sleep hadn’t quite decided whether to take him.

The night sat heavy and open between them. So when Seungmin looked up, voice barely more than breath, and asked.“Hey,” he said softly, keeping it low so the others stayed in their post-party haze. “Can I ask you something?”
Jisung looked up, blinking. “Yeah. Sure.”

Seungmin hesitated for half a beat, “What… happened between you and Hyunjin?”

Jisung stilled.

The easy energy tugged back, just a little.

“Wow,” he said, after a second. “You don’t do small talk, huh?”

Seungmin gave a tight shrug. “Wasn’t really a small-talk kind of night.”

It felt like asking where the smoke came from after someone had already saw the fire.
Jisung stared at the floor for a moment, then exhaled a quiet, bitter laugh.

“Petty fight,” he said. “Real childish crap. Jealous texts. Missed calls. You know the script.”

Minho shifted beside Seungmin, like he already knew this one, but didn’t interrupt.

Jisung’s smile wasn’t really a smile. “We fought like we were trying to lose. Big, messy arguments that started over nothing and ended in... well.”

He rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead.

“I was drunk,” he admitted, voice flat. “Stupid, drunk, and pissed off. And I saw Hyunjin at that party. He looked amazing—like always —and his ex was there too. They were standing close. Talking. I don’t know what I thought I saw. It doesn’t even matter now.”

Jisung didn’t look at either of them.

Minho finally said something, soft and careful.

“You broke his heart, yeah... but he broke yours too.”

Jisung’s laugh cracked. “He called me an asshole. I said worse ”

He looked up at last, eyes darker than usual. “And the worst part? We were serious. Like we talked about traveling together. I taught him my mom’s dumpling recipe. We were in it. And then we just… weren’t.”

Seungmin didn’t speak right away.

But when he did, it was quiet. Honest. Heavy.

“You didn’t just lose a boyfriend. You lost your best friend.”

Jisung nodded.

And Minho, who never liked saying the hard things out loud, reached over to grip Jisung’s wrist for a second.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t ask to be solved.Jisung had barely finished the sentence when it clicked in Seungmin’s brain like a detonator.

“You said he disappeared for a month, ” he murmured.

Jisung blinked. “Yeah…?”

And then Seungmin finally clocked it all in his brain in place.

“ Oh my god ”, Seungmin mutters . “Because he came to the U.S., Jisung! That month he vanished? He stayed with me. My parents let him crash in our spare room, and he was so— he was wrecked. He looked like a ghost. Wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t draw . He didn’t want to eat. Just sat on the balcony every night like he was waiting to fall off the edge of something.”

Minho sat upright. “ Wait. That was then? You knew him then? ”

“I didn’t know it was after you!” Seungmin said, arms thrown into the air. “He never said your name. Not even once. But he said he lost someone. Said he kissed the wrong person and ruined everything. I spent a month doing damage control, feeding him homemade tteokbokki and dragging him out to the park like I was auditioning for the role of ‘therapist, emotional support hamster, and emergency art tutor’ all rolled into one!”

Jisung looked like he’d just been slapped with a memory he didn’t know had breath.

Seungmin pointed sharply, his whole body practically vibrating. “I made him buy pastel pencils, damn it! I watched him come back to life one doodle at a time, and I didn’t know it was because of you !”

Minho, still stunned, muttered, “I’m dating a cinnamon bun with a black belt in rage and rescue.”

“Minho hyung not the time. ”

“Noted!”

Seungmin sat down, hard, raking a hand through his hair. “You were the boyfriend he never named. The one that hurthim.”

Jisung swallowed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t,” Seungmin snapped, then paused. “I think I knew that back then too. He wasn’t angry. He was… broken. Quiet, in this way that made everything else feel too loud.”

No one spoke for a long beat.

Then Seungmin muttered one more vicious curse under his breath, buried his face in the blanket, and groaned, “I can’t believe I had dinner with you tonight. You absolute life-ruiner. ”

Jisung gave a sheepish, choked little laugh. “Wanna throw the rest of the popcorn at me?”

“ Tempting, ” Seungmin said. But when he looked up, his expression had shifted, still furious, but with a wild kind of empathy humming beneath it.

Because now, the shape of the past made a brutal kind of sense.

And the three of them were sitting in the middle of it, messy and tangled and weirdly, finally understood.

...

Minho sat back, legs stretched across the rug, staring at the faint ripples in the tea he hadn’t touched in half an hour.

Seungmin was still curled beside him, storm-eyed and rumpled in Minho’s oversized hoodie. And across the room, Jisung looked like someone who’d braced for a slap and gotten a hug instead—unsure what to do with the space that left behind.

It was how he looked at Jisung.

Furious, yes. Protective. Sharpened with disbelief. But there was something else under it too. A kind of reluctant understanding.

Because Seungmin knew Hyunjin. Not the version who threw fire when hurt, but the one who crumpled after. Who disappeared not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much to be witnessed falling apart.

Minho had seen that look before. Usually on himself.

And the weird, bittersweet ache sitting in Minho’s chest now was this,

Seungmin was defending the softest parts of Hyunjin while sitting directly in front of the person who helped break him and still, somehow, not hating him for it.

But that’s what made it harder.

Because Minho remembered when it was Jisung curled up on his floor in this same house, refusing to eat unless someone hand-delivered soup and sad pop ballads. He remembered the way Jisung had whispered “I think I really messed it up this time, hyung,” like he was handing over a ruined gift he hadn’t meant to destroy.

Minho had picked up those pieces one by one, and now here was Seungmin—carrying the other half of the wreckage. Offering Jisung a truth so raw it felt like an old scar getting touched on both sides at once.

But Minho loved them both.

And there was no clean way through that.

So he just reached out, quietly brushed his knuckles against Seungmin’s knee like, I’m here, and met Jisung’s eyes for half a second longer than usual.

They would talk more. Later. When the ache settled.

But for now, they sat in the middle of a mess that, for the first time, maybe didn’t have to stay buried.

......

Minho stared at him like he hadn’t heard the words right.

“I should go,” Seungmin said again, quieter this time, already standing, already tugging the blanket off his lap like the weight of the night had finally started pressing into his skin.

Jisung blinked from the armchair, eyes wide and bleary. “Dude—it’s 2 a.m. You don’t even look like you’re awake.”

Seungmin didn’t flinch. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have your phone,” Minho said, following him to the hallway, concern lacing around his voice like a warning.

Seungmin gave a sheepish shrug. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You’re not just walking out into the dark with no phone like some tragic indie film lead,” Minho said, grabbing the hoodie Seungmin had balled under one arm. “That’s how ghost stories start.”

“I’m not scared,” Seungmin muttered, but it sounded more tired than defiant.

“I am, ” Minho said, quietly.

They looked at each other. Something in Seungmin’s face softened.

And then Minho turned, walked straight to the hook near the door, and snatched Changbin’s car keys off the ring like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m driving you,” he said firmly. “No arguments. I know where your building is.”

“You can’t just take his car,” Jisung called groggily from behind them.

Minho raised a hand. “Tell him it was a romantic emergency.”

Then he turned back to Seungmin, already opening the door, breath visible in the chill of early morning. “Let’s go.”

And Seungmin, lips twitching somewhere between gratitude and disbelief, followed him out into the cold.

Because if someone chooses to sit beside you in your storm, even at 2 a.m.—you let them.

✨

The air was too still.

Seungmin barely registered the car door clicking shut behind him, or the fact that Minho was still rounding the front bumper. He froze at the top of the stairwell. The apartment, his apartment, their place was dark.

And the door was ajar.

Exactly like he’d left it.

Minho’s steps slowed behind him. “Min?” he asked, voice cautious.

Seungmin didn’t answer. Just pushed the door open with his knuckles.

The second he saw the bottle glinting on the floor, fingers curled around the neck, long legs tangled in a heap, a sweatshirt he hadn’t worn in weeks crumpled at the hem, he screamed .

“ Hyunjin?! ”

It tore out of him like instinct.

Minho was inside in an instant. “Oh— shit. ”

Hyunjin didn’t move. There was no sound but the faint clink of glass rolling against hardwood. His cheek was pressed to the floor, eyes half-lidded. His breathing was shallow. But present.

Minho went straight for the bottle, kicking it away like it burned. “That’s nearly full,” he muttered, kneeling beside him. “Which means he probably didn’t finish —he just... tried.”

Seungmin dropped to the floor beside them, knees hitting hard.

His hands weren’t shaking. And that was the scariest part.

Because inside He was reeling.

His voice was steady. His fingers found Hyunjin’s pulse like he’d done it before. His palm rested gently over Hyunjin’s ribs, feeling the rise and fall.

“Pillow,” he said “ And a glass of water.”

Minho didn’t question it.

Seungmin stayed.

It was the first time he’d ever felt this version of himself come forward,panicked but precise, terrified but here.

He brushed Hyunjin’s hair out of his face, chest tight with something that sat between heartbreak and fury. “God, Jinnie,” he whispered. “You said you wouldn’t do this shit again.”

He hadn’t even realized he’d started crying until Minho knelt beside him, silent, water in one hand, pillow in the other, and gently rested his free hand on the small of Seungmin’s back.

And together, in that dark apartment, they held what remained of someone who’d once held them both.
Yeah… this was never the drama he signed up for.

It was supposed to be soft. Awkward smiles over boba lids, Minho’s ridiculous cat hoodie, and slow-burn hand-holding that felt like fireworks. Not this, screams at 2 a.m., dark hallways, bottles clinking against hardwood, and Hyunjin pale on the floor like a painting smeared at the edges.

Seungmin sat there now, hunched next to Minho on the cool tile, feeling his own chest trying to remember how to breathe.

This wasn’t the kind of plotline that ends with a kiss in the rain.

It was the kind that twisted where feelings spilled too fast, and history crashed into present, dragging them all down into something deeper than drama. Messier than a love triangle. More human than a script would ever allow.

And yet, Minho hadn’t left his side. Not once.

He hadn’t tried to solve it. He just stayed close to Seungmin though it all warm palm between Seungmin’s shoulder blades, anchoring him to something real. And even now, when Seungmin whispered, “I didn’t want it to get like this. It was supposed to be good. Just… good,” Minho only nodded.

“I know,” he murmured. “But sometimes love stories get interrupted.”

The silence that followed didn’t demand a response.

It just let Seungmin feel it, every weight, every history, every choice that brought them here.

And though he hated that this wasn’t some perfect romcom, part of him knew,

The stories that dig deepest? The ones that leave marks?

They’re never clean.

They’re the ones where someone stays—when it gets hard. When it gets real.

And in that, maybe… just maybe… this was still a love story.

Just not the kind that fits on a screen.

.....

Hyunjin stirred with a quiet groan, his lashes flickering before his eyes finally opened to dim light and the low rustle of blankets being shifted.

The first thing he saw was Minho hyung .

Kneeling nearby, hoodie sleeves pushed up, worry carved into the lines of his face like something he hadn’t let himself wear in years. Hyunjin blinked slowly, confusion clouding his gaze.

“…Minho?”

Before Minho could answer, Seungmin was there, kneeling beside him in a second, arms coming around Hyunjin so fast the motion nearly knocked the pillow askew.

“You idiot,” Seungmin whispered, voice cracking. “You scared me. You terrified me.”

Hyunjin blinked again, groggy. “I… what happened?”

“You passed out .” Seungmin’s breath hitched. “Again.”

And that was it—his composure finally gave away.

Tears spilled fast, no warning, painful streaks slipping down his cheeks. His shoulders shook with it, as if all the panic he’d bottled up over the past few hours had waited for Hyunjin’s heartbeat to steady before it cracked him open.

Hyunjin stiffened. Eyes wide now. “You’re crying…?”

Seungmin laughed wetly against his shoulder. “Yeah. Congratulations. You officially broke physics.”

“I didn’t mean—” Hyunjin started, sitting up a little with difficulty.

“I know you didn’t,” Seungmin said, pulling back just enough to scowl at him. “But you can’t keep running away from your own head whenever things get heavy. You don’t get to vanish and expect people to just survive that.”

His voice caught again, and Minho reached out instinctively, a grounding hand on Seungmin’s back.

Hyunjin’s brows knit, gaze bouncing between them. “I… I didn’t know it got that bad.”

“Well it did,” Seungmin murmured. “I had to come back here hoping you hadn’t—” He cut himself off. Wiping his face angrily. “Just. Don’t ever do that again.”

For a long moment, Hyunjin just stared.

And then, softly, like someone trying not to break the moment, he said, “You really never cry.”

Seungmin huffed. “Well. You don’t usually pass out on the floor either, so maybe we’re both breaking patterns tonight.”

Minho, still crouched there like the only solid thing in a crashing world, finally cracked a small smile. “Okay. If we’re done terrifying each other… who wants toast?”

It was absurd.

And perfect.

And maybe the closest they’d come to okay in weeks.

Minho sat cross-legged on the floor, fingers slowly circling the rim of his mug as Hyunjin rested on the couch—awake now, but quiet, withdrawn in the way people are when their shadows have only just begun to settle again.

Seungmin was sitting beside him, shoulders tense but present, voice low and steady as he coaxed Hyunjin into sipping water every few minutes. Like nothing had broken. Like panic hadn’t hollowed him out hours earlier. Like this was something he knew how to do.

Minho watched them with a strange ache blooming behind his ribs.

He cleared his throat finally and said it aloud—just honest and a little baffled,
“You know, for all the years I’ve known Hyunjin… I’ve never heard of Seungmin.”

Hyunjin blinked slowly. “Yeah,” he said, voice scratchy. “That wasn’t on purpose.”

Seungmin didn’t even flinch. “We keep things quiet.”

“ Clearly, ” Minho muttered, eyes flitting between them. “Because you two? You’re like... Two very opposite people orbiting the same emotional comet. I can’t tell if you’re co-dependent or allergic to each other.”

That earned the faintest laugh from Hyunjin. “It’s both.”

“I wasn’t supposed to stay friends with him,” Seungmin said, almost offhandedly. “I was just the kid who brought him chocolate once course he was crying . But then he stayed. Or I stayed. Or we both did.” He nudged Hyunjin’s ankle with his toe. “He wasn’t the easiest friend.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, then added softly, “But he didn’t leave.”

And that, somehow, was everything.

Minho leaned back against the table leg, head tilted. “Still wild to think I’ve been in Hyunjin’s orbit for years , and you—this quiet, fiercely competent emotional ninja—never came up.”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “Well, we didn’t think you’d feed me, date me, or wind up standing in my kitchen in cat pajama pants holding a bottle of rescue Gatorade either.”

Minho laughed. Couldn’t help it.

Because yeah.

This friendship didn’t look like anything he was used to, but maybe that’s what made it work.

It wasn’t loud. It was just there, the kind that hid in the cracks until you realized it had been holding up whole corners of someone’s world.

And now, it was holding three of them. Just barely. But holding

Minho stayed.

Even when Hyunjin finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep and the room grew heavy with silence again, he didn’t move. Seungmin had curled into the far end of the couch like gravity finally remembered him, the last threads of adrenaline slipping from his shoulders.

And Minho just… watched him.

He didn’t mean to stare. But there was something about the way Seungmin’s hand lingered near Hyunjin’s, not touching, just close . The way his face softened now, vulnerability quiet in the corner of his eyes. Something about the way this boy who had stormed into his apartment in a midnight fight.

Minho’s fingers brushed the edge of Seungmin’s sleeve.

He could feel it. The need building like static in his throat.

I want to kiss you.

He didn’t say it.

Didn’t need to.

Because suddenly, from the couch across the room, a muffled voice crackled through the quiet.

Hyunjin, eyes still closed, breath hoarse and sleepy,
“God, just kiss him already.”

Minho froze. “What—?”

“You’ve been making heart eyes for hours ,” Hyunjin mumbled without looking. “And Seungmin’s basically glowing with repressed affection. I’m emotionally ruined, not dead.”

Minho blinked, mouth parted.

Seungmin turned slowly, trying to scowl, but failing. His cheeks were already dusted pink. “Hyunjin—go to sleep. ”

But Hyunjin just groaned, tugging the blanket up over his face. “After half a year of cold shoulder and ‘it wasn’t that deep’ nonsense, it’s embarrassing how obvious you both are. He’s liked you forever, hyung. We all knew. You’re the only one who didn’t.”

Minho stared at Seungmin, words caught in his throat.

Seungmin looked back, shoulders tensing like he might deny it, but then he smiled.

“Don’t listen to him,” Seungmin whispered.

“Oh,” Minho said. “So I shouldn’t kiss you?”

There was pause in the air for a moment.

“I didn’t say that.”

And with the gentlest breath of laughter, Minho leaned forward and finally, finally closed the space between them.

It wasn’t fireworks or slow-mo violins, it was something quieter. Warmer. A kiss made of aftermath and relief and the desperate, silent thank you of surviving something together.

Behind them, Hyunjin groaned again and muttered, “Finally,” before dramatically rolling to face the wall.

And Minho, heart thudding, fingers still curled lightly in Seungmin’s sleeve, decided maybe, just maybe, even the hardest nights could end soft.

❤️

Minho had no business looking this stressed over guacamole.

But there he was, apron tied crookedly around his waist, meticulously arranging snack trays like the perfect balance of tortilla chips would stop World War III from breaking out in their living room.

Seungmin leaned against the counter, arms crossed, one brow arched. “You okay fine there ?”

Minho didn’t look up. “I’m fine. Just making sure this doesn’t become a battlefield. You realize we’re voluntarily placing Jisung and Hyunjin in the same space again, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Seungmin popped a grape in his mouth. “You’ve only reminded me twelve times. In the last hour.”

“They haven’t spoken in months. What if Jisung says something dumb? What if HHyunjin says something equally dumb ? What if they start a passive-aggressive dance-off and we all get emotional trauma as a party favor—”

Seungmin snorted. “Hyung.”

Minho looked up, frazzled.

“Breathe. We’ve survived worse. Like that time Jeongin accidentally set the toaster on fire trying to make dinosaur-shaped waffles.”

“That was Felix, and it was an experiment. ” But Minho cracked a smile anyway.

Still, when the doorbell rang, he froze .

Seungmin nudged him gently. “You got this, Host Supreme.”

And Minho did open the door eventually, with a tight smile, a tray of lemonade, and the expression of a man not entirely convinced this wouldn’t end in psychological warfare.

Hyunjin walked in first, wearing something impossibly fashionable and a look that was… neutral. Maybe.

Jisung arrived five minutes later, all chaotic energy and slightly too-loud jokes.

And Minho stood between them like a human fire extinguisher, ready.

“House rules,” he announced, voice firm. “No dramatic monologues. No throwing hands, shoes, or art critiques. And if either of you sighs wistfully more than three times in a row, you’re doing dishes.”

Jisung raised both hands. “I’m a reformed man.”

Hyunjin blinked. “He said that last time. Then kissed someone out of spite.”

“And you broke a potted plant.”

Minho sighed. “Why did I plan this again?”

Seungmin, sliding in beside him, muttered, “Because you love chaos. And because you love me.”

Minho sighed louder but didn’t deny it.

...
The end