The sharp ring of the phone shattered the quiet calm of the bedroom, slicing through the stillness like a blade. Seung-joon's eyes snapped open, and he sat up abruptly, blinking in surprise. When he saw the caller ID, his breath hitched—he recognized the number instantly.
A rush of excitement surged through him, flooding his chest and making his heart pound against his ribs. He sprang out of bed, his limbs suddenly light, driven by a bubbling anticipation that pushed away every trace of sleep.
He answered quickly, voice tight with breathless hope.
"Hello?"
***
Seung-joon had been avoiding Min-jun for days—weeks, even. He couldn't bring himself to face the truth that Min-jun would soon be gone. Just seeing him would deepen the ache that already weighed heavy on his heart.
From afar, Seung-joon watched silently as Min-jun searched for him across the school, growing more anxious and desperate with each passing day. Every time their eyes nearly met, Seung-joon would turn away, hiding behind corners and slipping down quiet hallways, too afraid of what might spill out if he let himself be seen.
Because if he faced Min-jun now, he knew he wouldn't be able to hide his feelings anymore.
The truth hung between them like a thick, invisible mist—heavy, undeniable, and full of sorrow. Their paths were starting to drift apart, and deep down, they both knew it. Seung-joon could feel it in the way Min-jun glanced his way when he thought no one was looking—eyes filled with questions, hope, and the quiet sadness of understanding.
The thought of parting felt like a storm waiting to break, ready to tear something precious from their hearts. And yet, Seung-joon also knew—it was the only way forward.
As the elections drew near, the media's presence became impossible to ignore. Reporters relentlessly pursued Min-jun, their cameras always flashing, notepads ever ready. Every day felt like a press ambush, with questions hurled from every angle, hoping to capture even the smallest detail of his personal life.
In the midst of this, Chang-min became his unwavering shield. Calm yet firm, he intercepted the reporters at every turn, guiding Min-jun away from prying eyes with practiced ease. His quiet vigilance became Min-jun's only refuge from the chaos.
Despite the school's strict policies prohibiting outside interference, the reporters persisted. They lingered at the gates, loitered near the parking lot, and watched from across the street, desperate for even a fleeting glimpse or a careless word. Simply being near Min-jun had become enough to attract attention—and danger.
With each passing week, Seung-joon grew more restless, his impatience simmering just beneath the surface. He trailed silently after his brothers, his mind clearly elsewhere, though he never spoke of it. The thoughts of Min-jun clung to him like a shadow he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried.
The twins noticed the shift in his mood—how his smiles came slower, how his laughter no longer rang as freely. But they didn't press him for explanations. Instead, they chose quiet understanding. They filled his days with distractions, pulling him into errands, games, and light-hearted banter. Their presence was steady, a silent effort to lift the weight he carried, even if they couldn't name it.
One afternoon, Seung-joon found himself lingering in the gym, watching his brothers as they moved through their routines with practiced ease. Their motions were fluid and focused, a quiet rhythm of strength and control. At first, he wasn't paying much attention—his mind was adrift—but something began to stir inside him, a quiet urge he couldn't ignore.
Without fully realizing it, he drifted closer to Tae-min.
"Hyung… can't I learn to work out too?" he asked softly, his voice barely louder than the hum of the air conditioning.
The twins paused. Tae-min and Tae-jon exchanged a quick glance, surprise flashing in their eyes. Then Tae-min's expression softened.
"You can," he said, his voice carrying a quiet note of encouragement. "Tae-jon will show you how to warm up, and I'll guide you on the machines."
He gave Seung-joon a once-over and smirked lightly.
"But not today. You can't work out in those clothes. Let's stop and get you some proper gear on the way back."
Tae-min gave Seung-joon's shoulder a firm, reassuring pat. In that quiet moment, a deep wave of gratitude surged through Seung-joon's chest. His brothers—his constants—had stood by him through every high and low. The thought of life without them felt unimaginable, like a nightmare he never wanted to face. They weren't just strong or capable; they were beautiful souls, inside and out.
Seung-joon's gaze lingered on them, his eyes misting as emotion welled up unexpectedly.
Where would I be without you guys? He wondered, his heart heavy with affection.
He turned, intent on heading to the lounge to grab some hot drinks for them all, but froze mid-step. Just ahead, Chang-min was stepping into the gym, his expression unreadable as always. Seung-joon's eyes flicked back to his brothers—still immersed in their sets, completely unaware.
Without hesitation, he veered off course and strode toward Chang-min, a quiet determination straightening his spine and quickening his pace.
"Chang-min sunbae, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Chang-min's gaze drifted past Seung-joon, peering into the gym. His expression remained unreadable, but after a beat, he gave a small nod.
"Yes," he said, turning toward the lounge with a quiet step.
They stopped in a corner just beyond view, where the soft hum of the gym machines faded into the background. Chang-min positioned himself so he could still glance back at the twins, then turned his attention fully to Seung-joon. His eyes held an emotion Seung-joon couldn't name.
Seung-joon inhaled deeply, summoning his nerve.
"Sunbae, can I have your phone?" he asked, his voice low but steady.
Without a word, Chang-min handed it over, his eyes never leaving Seung-joon's face.
Seung-joon's fingers trembled slightly as he typed in his number. After a short pause, he handed the phone back, his gaze lowered.
"Sunbae… if Jun-hyung ever asks for my number," he murmured, "please give it to him."
He didn't dare look up, afraid his expression might betray too much.
"Look at me."
Chang-min's deep voice cut through the quiet, firm but not unkind.
Seung-joon lifted his gaze, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Their eyes locked—one searching, the other barely holding it together.
Chang-min studied his face for only a second before stepping forward and pulling him into a steady, protective hug. The warmth of the embrace broke something loose in Seung-joon. The tears came fast, silent at first, then trembling as his body sagged into the comfort he hadn't realized he needed so desperately.
Chang-min didn't speak. He just held him—solid, patient—until the storm passed and Seung-joon's shaking slowly subsided.
Slowly, Seung-joon pulled away, still reeling from the warmth of the embrace. He stared at Chang-min, surprised by the tenderness in someone he'd always seen as composed and reserved. This side of him—passionate, protective—felt like a quiet revelation.
"Kid," Chang-min said, his voice low but steady, "don't hold yourself back too much. You'll end up doing more injustice to yourself than to anyone else."
Seung-joon blinked, his breath caught in his chest as Chang-min continued.
"Choose your path. Don't listen to the noise around you. If it's good for you, that's all that matters. No one else knows what you're truly capable of—don't let them decide it for you."
With a faint smile, Chang-min tousled Seung-joon's bangs like an older brother might. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode back toward the gym, his figure disappearing through the doorway with effortless confidence.
Seung-joon remained rooted in place, his eyes wide, heart stirred. Something in Chang-min's quiet strength had lit a small fire inside him—flickering but steady—a spark of courage that he hadn't felt in days.
There are truly amazing people in this world, Seung-joon thought, a quiet sense of awe washing over him. He couldn't quite fathom how Chang-min had so effortlessly sensed his unspoken pain—the deep, hidden urge to cry that even Seung-joon himself hadn't fully acknowledged.
Involuntarily, he bowed his head in Chang-min's direction, a gesture born from both gratitude and admiration. A sense of hope stirred within him—delicate, but real. He knew, in that moment, that he had found more than a mentor. He had found a guiding light—someone who could help him navigate the maze of tangled emotions and uncertainty that clouded his path.
Min-jun's voice pulled Seung-joon back to reality, soft and familiar, yet laced with a sadness that tugged at Seung-joon's heart.
"Joon-ah… it's me. Can you come down?"
"Okay, hyung," Seung-joon replied quietly.
As he made his way down the stairs, his mind churned with unspoken worries. He had missed an entire week of school, worn down by a relentless fever—a physical symptom of the emotional weight he'd been carrying. The fever had finally broken, but the heaviness in his chest remained.
The thought of showing up at Min-jun's graduation filled him with unease. It was supposed to be a celebration, a moment of pride and joy. But part of him feared his presence would only cloud it, stir trouble, or draw attention Min-jun didn't need.
How did you become this weak, fool? Seung-joon silently chastised himself, his jaw tightening.
His eyes flicked toward the corner of the street, where Chang-min's car sat cloaked in shadow, its presence like a silent sentinel watching over them. The dim glow of the streetlamp barely touched its surface, casting long, soft reflections across the asphalt.
Then came the sound of approaching footsteps—measured, familiar. Min-jun. Seung-joon's gaze snapped forward, locking onto him. Min-jun moved slowly, almost cautiously, and in that moment, Seung-joon took in everything—his posture, the faint sadness in his eyes, the way the cool breeze teased strands of his hair.
Seung-joon's heart slammed against his ribcage, each beat loud and erratic, echoing in his ears like thunder in an empty hallway. Panic twisted in his chest, cold and suffocating. His legs felt like they might give way beneath him. He leaned harder against the wall behind him, the solid surface the only thing keeping him upright. If he let go—even for a second—he feared he might collapse.
Seung-joon's breath caught as Min-jun came into full view. His eyes were drawn instantly to the bandage on Min-jun's forehead, a stark contrast against his pale skin. A wave of confusion and alarm surged through him.
What happened to him?
But it was Min-jun's face—drawn, tired, and worn—that struck Seung-joon hardest. His heart clenched painfully. Something lodged in his throat, making it hard to breathe.
Min-jun came to a halt in front of him, quietly stepping between Seung-joon and the light drizzle that had begun to fall. For a moment, he simply stared at Seung-joon, his eyes scanning his face with a mix of longing and quiet sorrow. Then, with a heavy breath, he closed his eyes and whispered, voice shaking.
"Joon-ah… Let me kiss you once… just once..."
Time stopped.
Seung-joon stared up at Min-jun's beautiful face—at the tears slipping down his cheeks, at his trembling lips, so close and so heartbreakingly vulnerable. A deafening rush filled his head like crashing waves, drowning out reason. Without thinking, without hesitating, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Min-jun's.
It was soft. Fleeting. Electric.
Then the world jolted back into motion.
Seung-joon recoiled as if burned, his heart pounding so wildly it made him dizzy. Without a word, he turned and sprinted toward his house. Rain slicked the pavement beneath his feet as he flung the door open and slammed it shut behind him.
The moment he crossed the threshold, his legs gave out. He crumpled to the floor as the world around him sucked into nothingness.