The digital clock on the studio wall glowed a harsh, neon green: 3:42 AM.
Seventeen’s main practice room, usually a chaotic ecosystem of laughter, screeching sneakers, and overlapping voices, was suffocatingly quiet. The others had packed up and left for the dorms about forty minutes ago. Seungcheol had given a generic, sweeping, "Good work today, everyone," directed at the wall somewhere between Hoshi and Mingyu, before ushering the exhausted crowd out the door.
Nobody noticed that Y/N hadn't picked up her bag. Nobody asked if she was coming in the first manager’s car or the second.
It wasn't malice. That was the piece of glass that kept cutting deeper into Y/N’s chest it was never outright cruelty. If they hated her, she could fight back. But how do you argue against the slow, agonizing realization that you are simply invisible? For exactly six months, the thought of leaving had lived under her tongue like a bitter pill. She hadn't made a move yet, she hadn't signed anything, but the urge to slip away was growing heavier with every passing day.
When Pledis Entertainment announced the addition of a fourteenth member just months before Seventeen’s official debut, the backlash had been a tidal wave. The "17" mythos was already established.
Then came Y/N.
She was young, fiercely talented, and completely out of place. For the first few years, she told herself the distance was normal. They went through the green basement together, she’d remind herself. They have history. I just need to catch up. But you can’t catch up to a brotherhood forged in fire when you aren't allowed near the flame.
Line Distribution: 3.5 seconds in a 4-minute track."Your tone doesn't quite match the Vocal Unit's color this time, Y/N."
Choreography: Hidden in the back corners, acting as a human shield or a transitional pivot."We need to keep the odd-number symmetry looking clean, stand behind Jun."
Variety Shows: Sitting on the far end of the bench, smiling until her cheeks ached.Editors cutting her rare jokes for time, leaving her as a reaction-shot.
Every album cycle was a slow erosion. She had trained until her toes bled, stayed up writing verses that Jihoon would glance at for three seconds before saying, "It's good, but it doesn't really fit the Seventeen vibe," and practiced facial expressions in the dark.
The fans noticed, of course. The "Y/N Mistreatment" compilations on YouTube had millions of views. But the fans didn't see the worst part. The worst part was the casual, unintentional neglect from the thirteen boys she loved like family and the painful friction with the few she held closest.
The turning point had happened earlier that evening, during the final monitoring session for their upcoming comeback title track. They were all crowded around the small monitor. Hoshi was vibrating with excitement, pointing out a complex formation change in the bridge.
"Look at that transition!" Soonyoung beamed, slapping Wonwoo’s shoulder. "The diamond shape is perfect there."
Y/N had squinted at the screen. In that specific frame, she was completely eclipsed by Mingyu’s broad shoulders. If you didn't know she was in the group, you would think Seventeen was a thirteen-member act.
"Oppa," Y/N had spoken up, her voice small but clear. "During the second verse... I’m completely hidden. If I step out just half a foot to the right, the angle balances out, and I can actually be seen singing my line."
The room went quiet. Jihoon sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, we already locked the formation with the performance directors. If you shift right, you disrupt Chan’s pathing right after. It’s just three seconds."
"It’s always three seconds," she wanted to scream.
She looked desperately toward Seungcheol. As the leader, and as someone she had always leaned on when the pressure became too much, she hoped he would see her frustration. Seungcheol offered a gentle, tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Y/N-ah, Jihoon's right about the spacing," Seungcheol said, his tone dripping with that patronizing warmth he used when he was trying to manage a problem rather than solve it. "Don't get too sensitive about a quick transition. We'll look at it for the concert version, okay? Good job today, guys. Let's wrap it up."
The words stung. Sensitive. He didn't mean to be harsh, but he wasn't taking her seriously. To him, she was just the younger member making a fuss over a minor detail, completely blind to the fact that those "minor details" were erasing her entirely.
When the room finally cleared, only one person remained by the door.
Wonwoo hadn't joined the loud conversations about what to eat for dinner. He stayed back, leaning against the doorframe, his sharp eyes tracking Y/N as she sat frozen on the floor. Once the hallway quieted down, he walked back inside, his footsteps soft against the linoleum.
He sat down on the floor next to her, pulling his knees up to match her posture. He didn't offer a cliché platitude or tell her Seungcheol didn't mean it. He just slipped one of his oversized gaming hoodies out of his bag and draped it over her trembling shoulders.
"You were right about the formation," Wonwoo said quietly, his deep voice a grounding anchor in the empty room. "I watched the playback. You were hidden."
A choked sob escaped Y/N’s throat, the first crack in her armor. "Then why doesn't anyone care, Woo? Why am I always the one who has to compromise?"
Wonwoo looked at his hands, a heavy, helpless expression crossing his face. Out of everyone, Wonwoo understood the suffocating weight of wanting to disappear, but he also knew the delicate balance of the group. He hated seeing her like this, trapped in a limbo where she was technically part of a team but entirely alone.
"They care," Wonwoo murmured, stretching out a hand to gently ruffle her hair, pulling her closer so she could lean against his shoulder. "They're just blind to what they haven't experienced. Coups-hyung is stressed about the comeback, he isn't looking at the small picture. But I see you, Y/N. I always see you."
Y/N leaned heavily into his side, gripping the fabric of his sleeve. His presence was the only thing keeping her grounded, the only thread holding her to Seventeen.
But as she stared at their blurred reflection in the mirror, the terrifying truth remained. Wonwoo’s kindness was a bandage, but the wound beneath it was deep, infected by six months of silent alienation. She loved him, and she loved the small moments of comfort he gave her but she didn't know if love was enough to keep a ghost alive.
The ride back to the dorms was exactly what Y/N expected: a masterclass in unintentional exclusion.
She sat in the middle row of the second van, sandwiched between Seokmin and Seungkwan, who were aggressively debating a trendy restaurant they wanted to visit on their next day off. Their voices bounced over her head, a chaotic ping-pong match of laughter and exaggerated hand gestures.
Y/N kept her face pressed against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the passing Seoul streetlights. She had shrunk herself as much as possible, her shoulders curled inward to give the boys more room. Neither of them noticed. To them, she was just a quiet fixture of the car, a silent companion they assumed was simply tired.
When they finally arrived at the dorm, the apartment was a flurry of discarded jackets, the rustle of takeout bags, and the loud hum of the shower running.
Y/N slipped her shoes off at the entryway, carefully placing them in the corner. She began walking toward her shared bedroom, wanting nothing more than to crawl under her covers and pretend the world didn't exist, when a voice stopped her from the living room.
"Y/N-ah, wait a second."
She turned. Seungcheol was sitting on the couch, a tablet in his lap and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes prominent under the harsh living room light. He gestered for her to come over.
For a split second, a flutter of hope sparked in her chest. Maybe he realized. Maybe he wanted to apologize for brushing her off in the practice room.
She walked over and sat on the opposite end of the couch. "Yes?"
"Management just sent over the finalized tracklist and the credit sheet for the digital booklet," Seungcheol said, keeping his eyes on the screen. "I noticed you submitted a few lyric drafts for the b-side track, 'Shadow.' I wanted to talk to you before the final print goes out."
Y/N’s heart did a nervous flip. She had spent three consecutive nights staying up until dawn writing those lyrics. They were raw, deeply personal lines about feeling caught between the light and the dark a desperate attempt to channel her loneliness into art.
"Did Jihoon look at them?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Seungcheol finally looked up, his expression gentle but holding that familiar, heavy layer of professional detachment. "He did. And I read them too. Look, Y/N... your writing has gotten really mature, and the metaphors are beautiful. But the theme is a bit too heavy for this album. Seventeen’s image has always been about hope and overcoming things together. These lyrics... they feel a bit too isolated. Too dark."
The spark in her chest died instantly, replaced by a cold, familiar numbness.
"Isolated," she repeated, the word tasting like ash.
"Yeah," Seungcheol said, completely missing the cracked tone in her voice as he tapped on the screen. "We decided to go with Vernon and Mingyu's verses instead. They keep the energy moving forward. I just didn't want you to be blindsided when the tracklist drops tomorrow. Don't take it personally, okay? You're still young, you have plenty of time to get your tracks on the albums later."
Don't take it personally.
You have plenty of time.
He said it so easily, like she hadn't already been in the group for years. He treated her like a trainee who was still learning the ropes, rather than a member who had poured her soul into a company that continually threw her efforts into the trash bin. He wasn't trying to hurt her he truly believed he was being a good, encouraging leader and that was what made it unbearable. He didn't see her as a peer. He saw her as a liability that needed gentle handling.
"Right," Y/N whispered, standing up from the couch before her face could betray her. "I understand. Thank you for telling me, oppa."
"Get some sleep, Y/N-ah. Big day tomorrow," Seungcheol called out, already looking back down at his tablet, effectively closing the curtain on her.
She didn't go to her room. She knew if she went inside, she would wake up her roommates with her crying. Instead, she slipped out onto the small, cramped balcony at the end of the hallway, closing the glass door behind her to shut out the noise of the apartment.
The night air was biting, cutting right through her thin clothes, but she welcomed the chill. It was better than the suffocating warmth of a home she didn't belong in.
She leaned her forearms against the railing, staring down at the empty courtyard below. Six months, she thought again. Six months of convincing herself that things would change, that the next comeback would be different, that she would finally feel like the fourteenth member instead of an asterisk at the end of a sentence.
The glass door behind her slid open with a soft click.
Y/N didn't turn around. She knew the footsteps. They were slow, deliberate, and entirely devoid of the frantic energy that characterized the rest of the house.
Wonwoo stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. He didn't say anything at first. He just stepped up to the railing next to her, handing her a warm, steaming mug of barley tea. He had changed into comfortable sweatpants, and his glasses were pushed up into his hair.
"I heard Coups talking to you," Wonwoo said softly, the steam from his mug rising between them.
Y/N took the mug, using it to warm her freezing hands, but she didn't drink. "He thinks I'm too dark for the group."
Wonwoo closed his eyes for a brief moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He had read her lyrics. He had been there in the studio when she was writing them, sitting quietly in the corner playing a game on his phone just so she wouldn't have to be alone in the dark. He knew those lyrics weren't just a creative exercise; they were a cry for help.
"He's looking at it from a producer's standpoint, Y/N. He's wrong, but... that's how his brain works right now. He's hyper-focused on the group's commercial identity."
"And what about my identity?" Y/N’s voice finally broke, a hot tear spilling over her cheek and freezing in the wind. "When do I get to be a person, Woo? When do I get to be a member of Seventeen? I’ve been here since the beginning, but if I disappeared tomorrow, the only thing the company would have to do is re-print the posters. The choreography wouldn't even change. The lines would just go to Seunkgwan or Dokyeom. Nobody would actually miss me."
Wonwoo turned completely, his back against the railing as he looked down at her. The usual calm, unbothered facade he wore for the world was completely gone, replaced by a profound, aching sorrow. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching her wrist.
"Don't say that," he said, his voice dropping an octave, thick with an emotion he rarely let anyone see. "Do you think I wouldn't notice if half my heart left this dorm? I don't care about the formations, Y/N. I don't care about the line distributions. I care about you. If you go... if you disappear into the background completely, I'm lose the only person in this house who truly understands what it feels like to want to hide."
Y/N looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears. Wonwoo was holding onto her wrist tightly, as if he could physically anchor her to the group, as if he could feel the phantom thread of her presence slipping away.
She wanted so badly to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him that she had been drafting a letter to management. She wanted to tell him that every time she looked at the Pledis building, she felt a profound sense of dread.
But looking into Wonwoo's worried eyes, she couldn't do it. He was already carrying so much. If she told him she wanted to leave, it would break the only safe haven he had in the group, too.
"I'm just tired" she lied, her voice trembling as she leaned her head against his chest.
Wonwoo wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, holding her so tightly it almost hurt. "I know," he whispered into the dark. "I know you are. Just hold on a little longer. Please."
Y/N closed her eyes, burying her face in his sweater. She held onto him like a drowning person, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. She loved him. She loved him enough to stay for one more day. But as the cold wind swept across the balcony, she knew that a single thread couldn't hold up a collapsing bridge forever.
The next morning arrived with the brutal, unyielding momentum of a typical comeback schedule.
By 7:00 AM, the dorm was a battleground of slamming doors and rushing feet. The managers were already waiting downstairs, their walkie-talkies buzzing with schedule updates for the day’s pre-recording. Y/N had barely slept. She had spent the remaining hours of the night staring at the ceiling, Wonwoo’s plea of "just hold on a little longer" looping in her head like a broken record.
When she walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, she ran straight into Seungcheol.
He was in full leader-mode, nursing a massive iced americano while scrolling through a tightly packed itinerary on his phone. When he saw her, his expression instantly shifted from stressed to that practiced, older-brother warmth. He reached out, gently squeezing her shoulder.
"Hey. You look exhausted," Seungcheol said, his voice lowering so the passing members wouldn't overhear. "Look, about last night... I hope you aren't still down about the lyrics. I talked to Jihoon again this morning before he left for the salon. We both agree your writing is getting sharper. We definitely want to utilize you for the Japanese release later this year, okay? The market there appreciates that deeper, more melancholic vibe."
Y/N stared at his hand on her shoulder. To anyone else, this was Seungcheol being an incredible leader reassuring a younger member, offering a compromise, planning for the future. But to Y/N, it felt like a tactical pacification. He was throwing her a bone to keep her quiet, pushing her contributions months down the line and onto a foreign release where her voice could be easily compartmentalized.
"Thanks," she said, forcing a small, compliant smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I’ll look into it."
Seungcheol patted her shoulder, seemingly satisfied that the issue was resolved. "Good girl. Go get ready, the first van leaves in ten minutes."
He turned away to bark an order at Mingyu about shoes, completely missing the way Y/N’s hand shook as she twisted the cap off her water bottle. Good girl. It felt so deeply patronizing. She wasn't a pet to be patted on the head for staying in her corner. She was an adult, a professional, but in his eyes, she would always be the fourteen-member variable that needed to be managed so the real machine could run smoothly.
The broadcasting station was a chaotic maze of idols, staff, and flashing cameras. Seventeen occupied the largest waiting room, a space crammed with clothes racks, makeup stations, and a massive catering table.
As the hours dragged on between the dry rehearsal and the actual pre-recording, the group naturally fractured into their usual comfortable pockets.
The BooSeokSoon trio was in the center of the room, loudly filming a challenge video with a junior group, their laughter booming off the walls.
The Performance Unit was crowded around a single phone, analyzing a minor timing error from the morning rehearsal.
The Vocal Unit was humming lines in harmony near the back, Jihoon directing them with sharp, precise nods.
And then there was Y/N.
She sat in the far corner of the sofa, squeezed into the tight space between a rack of stage outfits and a stack of plastic storage bins. She had her noise-canceling headphones pressed tightly over her ears, though no music was playing. It was her only defense mechanism a universal sign language that meant please leave me alone, though, in reality, nobody was trying to approach her anyway.
Except for Wonwoo.
He had taken the seat right next to her. He didn't try to force her into a conversation, nor did he make a scene of comforting her. He just sat there, his thigh pressed firmly against hers in the cramped space, a silent, unyielding boundary between her and the rest of the room. He was playing a game on his phone, but every few minutes, his thumb would absentmindedly brush against the side of her knee, a rhythmic reassurance that said, I’m still here. You’re still here.
Suddenly, one of the main managers clapped his hands, cutting through the noise of the room. "Alright, Seventeen! Wardrobe check in five minutes. Fans are already entering the studio, let's get moving!"
The room erupted into movement. Members began shedding their padded coats, revealing the intricate, heavy velvet stage outfits. Y/N stood up, smoothing down her skirt, trying to shake off the heavy lethargy pulling at her limbs.
As they lined up in the hallway to walk down to the stage, Seungcheol stepped to the front of the line, his hand raised.
"Listen up," he called out, his voice commanding the absolute attention of the hallway. "This is our first music show stage for this comeback. The fans have been waiting in the cold for hours. Let’s show them exactly why we're Seventeen. Energy high, smiles bright. On three. Say the name!"
"Seventeen!" the thirteen boys shouted in unison, their voices echoing off the concrete walls, full of a fierce, collective pride.
Y/N’s voice joined them, but it felt hollow, a ghost of a sound swallowed up by their collective strength. As the line began to move forward toward the bright, blinding lights of the studio stage, she felt a sudden, terrifying wave of vertigo.
She looked ahead at the backs of their heads. She saw the perfect symmetry of their steps, the effortless way they fell into formation even while just walking down a corridor. They were a masterpiece. A flawless, thirteen-piece puzzle.
And as she stepped out onto the stage, greeted by the deafening screams of thousands of fans chanting names that barely ever included hers, the realization hit her with the force of a physical blow:
She wasn't a part of the puzzle. She was just a piece from a completely different set, desperately trying to force herself into a picture where she didn't belong.
The stage lights were blinding. They were the kind of hot, unforgiving lights that baked the sweat into your skin before you even started moving.
As the familiar, booming intro of their new title track blasted through the studio speakers, Y/N’s body reacted on pure instinct. Years of grueling, repetitive training took over. She smiled where she was supposed to smile, her eyes locking onto the flashing red light of Camera 3, her arms striking the sharp angles of the choreography with mathematical precision.
To the untrained eye, she was flawless.
But internally, she was entirely detached from her own body. During the first chorus, she was executed as part of the back-line machinery, a shadow anchoring the explosive center moves of the Performance Unit. She moved into a deep lunge behind Jun, disappearing completely from the main broadcast view.
Then came the bridge the three seconds she had pleaded with Jihoon and Seungcheol to change.
As the formation shifted, Mingyu stepped directly into his mark. His towering frame completely blocked the center line. Y/N hit her position half a beat later, standing exactly where she was ordered to stand. She sang her line a single, fleeting vocal run that was supposed to bridge the gap between Seokmin’s high note and the final dance break.
She could feel the breath leaving her lungs, could hear her own voice echoing in her in-ear monitors. But when she looked straight ahead, all she saw was the dark fabric of Mingyu’s stage jacket. The camera tracking the center completely missed her face.
A heavy, suffocating wave of humiliation washed over her, right there on live television. She was singing her heart out to the back of a teammate’s head.
"Cut! Great job, Seventeen! That’s a wrap for the pre-recording!" The stage director’s voice boomed through the PA system.
The studio erupted into cheers. The fans in the seating area went wild, screaming the members' names, waving their lightsticks in a sea of rose quartz and serenity. The boys immediately bowed, waving back, sweating and breathless but radiant with adrenaline.
"Thank you guys for waiting in the cold!" Hoshi shouted into his mic, doing a little dance that made the crowd scream louder.
"Eat a good lunch, Caratdeul!" Seungkwan added, throwing finger hearts.
Y/N stood near the edge of the stage. She bowed politely to the staff and the audience, her lips curved into a stiff, generic celebrity smile. She felt like an imposter. They were cheering for Seventeen. They were cheering for the thirteen boys who embodied the spirit of the group. Her presence was just an asterisk a footnote the fandom had learned to tolerate over the years.
As they walked off the stage and into the dim, frantic chaos of the backstage corridors, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind a bone-deep, crushing exhaustion.
"Y/N-ah."
She felt a gentle tug on her sleeve. She turned to see Wonwoo walking beside her, wiping his forehead with a small towel. His eyes were scanning her face, filled with a quiet, intense scrutiny that made her want to hide. He had witnessed the bridge blocking from his own position on the left wing.
"You did well," Wonwoo murmured, his voice low enough to be buried under the loud chatter of the passing staff. "Your vocals were the cleanest they've been all week."
"Thanks," she whispered, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. "It doesn't really matter if no one can see who's singing it, though."
Wonwoo opened his mouth to reply, a deep line forming between his brows, but he was cut off before the words could leave his throat.
"Hey, Y/N! Wonwoo! Hurry up, we’re doing a quick group photo for the official Twitter!" a manager yelled from the end of the hallway, waving them toward a designated Pledis backdrop.
The group was already assembling. The shorter members were in the front, kneeling or crouching, while the taller members formed a protective wall behind them. It was a well-practiced routine.
"Y/N, go over to the right side next to Dino," Seungcheol directed quickly, his eyes darting between the staff member holding the camera and the time on his watch. He was already thinking about their next interview schedule. "Hurry, we only have two minutes before the next group needs the hallway."
Y/N stepped into the spot. Because of the tight space and the hurried nature of the shoot, she was pushed to the absolute edge of the frame. She felt Chan’s arm press against hers as he struck a playful pose, entirely immersed in the energy of the moment.
"Three, two, one Say the name!" the photographer called out.
The camera flashed.
Y/N smiled. It was the same smile she had practiced thousands of times in the mirror. It was perfect. It was empty.
Twenty minutes later, the waiting room was a blur of packing. The members were changing back into their comfortable clothes, eager to get into the vans and head to the next broadcasting station for a radio interview.
Y/N stepped out of the makeshift dressing room, now wearing her own oversized sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt. She needed a moment of absolute silence. Her head was pounding, the bass of their own song still vibrating in her ears.
She walked down the quiet, institutional hallway of the broadcasting station, heading toward the vending machines at the far end where she knew the staff rarely traveled.
As she rounded the corner, she saw Seungcheol standing by the window, speaking quietly into his phone. His voice carried in the empty corridor.
"Yeah, I saw the rough cut of the stage monitoring," Seungcheol was saying, his tone serious, his leader voice fully active. "I know. I know her blocking in the bridge is an issue. But look, we can't change it now. The choreography is locked for the entire promotion cycle. Shifting the camera angles manually during the live broadcast is too risky."
Y/N froze, her hand hovering over the brick wall. Her heart stopped.
"I tried talking to her about it," Seungcheol continued, sighing heavily as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. "She’s just... she's taking it too personally lately. She's getting sensitive about her screen time and her lyrics. I get it, she's young, but she needs to understand the bigger picture. Seventeen functions because the machine works as a whole. If we start changing entire formations just to make sure one person gets three seconds of face-time, the whole balance throws off. I just need her to hold out until the repackage album."
He paused, listening to the person on the other end of the line likely a performance director or a high-ranking manager.
"No, she won't cause trouble," Seungcheol said, his voice dropping into a confident, dismissive tone that shattered the final, lingering fragment of Y/N’s heart. "Y/N is a good kid. She complains a bit, but she always does what she's told in the end. I’ll handle her."
He hung up a moment later, pocketing his phone and walking back toward the waiting room, entirely unaware that the "good kid" was standing less than ten feet away, hidden in the shadow of the vending machines.
Y/N slid down the wall, her knees hitting the cold linoleum floor.
I'll handle her.
She always does what she's told in the end.
To Seungcheol, her pain wasn't a crisis. It wasn't a cry for help from a sister who was drowning. It was a scheduling conflict. It was a minor logistical inconvenience that could be managed with a few sweet words and a promise of future opportunities that would never actually come.
She didn't cry this time. The tears had finally run dry, replaced by a terrifying, hollow clarity. The six months of agonizing hesitation, the lists of pros and cons, the desperate midnight prayers for things to get better they all evaporated into nothingness.
She wasn't a member of Seventeen. She was a liability they kept in the corner because it was too expensive to break the contract early.
Slowly, Y/N stood up. Her legs were shaking, but her hands were entirely steady. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her personal phone. She didn't open the notes app this time. She opened her contacts, scrolling past the names of the thirteen boys she had spent her teenage years with, until she found the direct number for Pledis's legal department a number she had saved months ago but never had the courage to call.
She looked back down the hallway, toward the loud, vibrant waiting room where Seventeen was currently laughing, completely whole without her.
Y/N’s finger hovered over the dial button, her chest heaving as she stared at the stark, clinical contact name: Pledis Legal Team 2. Every instinct in her body was screaming at her to just press it, to spark the fire that would finally burn down this beautiful, suffocating cage.
"Y/N-ah?"
The voice was soft, slicing through the ringing in her ears like a quiet blade.
Y/N flinched, her thumb jerking away from the screen as she quickly locked her phone and shoved it behind her back. She turned around to see Jeonghan standing at the mouth of the corridor.
He had already changed out of his stage attire, wearing a loose knit sweater that swallowed his frame, his hair a little messy from the frantic wardrobe changes. He was holding a half-empty bottle of vitamin water. To anyone else, Jeonghan looked like his usual relaxed, slightly mischievous self but his eyes were entirely focused on her.
Jeonghan was the observer of Seventeen. While Seungcheol managed the logistics and the pressure from management, Jeonghan was the one who quietly mapped the emotional currents of the room. He noticed when someone’s smile didn't reach their eyes. He noticed when a voice was a fraction of a octave too quiet.
And right now, looking at Y/N huddled against the vending machines, he saw right through the wall she had spent months building.
"What are you doing all the way back here?" Jeonghan asked, stepping into the dim corridor. His footsteps were light, making no sound against the linoleum. "The managers are already counting heads for the second van. Mingyu’s looking for his lost wallet again, so we have about a three-minute grace period."
He joked, but his voice lacked its usual teasing edge. He stopped a few feet away from her, his sharp eyes dropping to her hands, which were still trembling behind her back, clutching her phone like a lifeline.
"I just needed some air," Y/N said, her voice sounding desperately small even to her own ears. She tried to offer him one of her standard, compliant smiles. "The waiting room was getting a little loud. My head hurts."
Jeonghan didn't buy it for a second. He tilted his head, his gaze softening into something deeply paternal, yet terrifyingly perceptive. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them until he could reach out and gently touch her arm.
"Y/N-ah," he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, comforting register he used when someone was genuinely breaking down. "Look at me."
She didn't want to. She knew that if she looked into Jeonghan’s eyes, the dam would break. Wonwoo’s quiet solidarity was comforting, but Jeonghan’s empathy was dangerous it had a way of pulling the truth out of you before you could stop it.
"I'm fine, oppa, really-"
"You're not fine," Jeonghan interrupted softly, his thumb gently rubbing a soothing circle against the fabric of her sleeve. "You've been hovering at the edge of the room all day. During the stage, during the monitoring, even when we were taking the group photo... you looked like you were already a million miles away. What's wrong? Is it your lines again? Did Jihoon say something?"
The mention of the music of the very thing that was systematically erasing her made something inside Y/N snap. The exhaustion of the past six months, topped by the crushing weight of Seungcheol's phone call just moments prior, suddenly felt too heavy to carry in silence.
"It's not just the lines, Jeonghan-oppa," she whispered, her lower lip trembling as she finally looked up at him. Her eyes were bright with unshed, angry tears. "It’s everything. It’s the fact that I’m standing right here, and none of you can see me."
Jeonghan blinked, a shadow of genuine confusion and hurt crossing his features. "What do you mean we don't see you? Y/N, we're always together. We're a family."
"Are we?" Y/N asked, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping her lips. She finally pulled her phone out from behind her back, holding it tightly against her chest. "Family members don't get hidden behind the tallest person in the group during their only three seconds of a song. Family members don't get told their feelings are just 'sensitivity' because they want to be seen. Coups doesn't think of a family member as a kid he just needs to 'handle' so the machine keeps running smoothly."
Jeonghan froze. The color drained slightly from his face as the pieces connected in his brilliant, calculating mind. He looked down the empty hallway, toward the direction Seungcheol had walked just minutes ago, and then back at Y/N’s tear-stained face.
"You heard him," Jeonghan realized, his voice dropping into a horrified whisper.
"I hear everything," Y/N whispered back, the first tear finally spilling over her lashes, hot and angry. "Because nobody thinks to lock the door or speak quietly when they're talking about the fourteenth member. To everyone else, I'm just a mistake Pledis made years ago that you all have to carry around like extra baggage. I’ve spent six months trying to convince myself that if I just worked harder, if I just wrote better lyrics, if I just kept my mouth shut, you would finally look at me like a real member. But I’m tired. I’m so, so tired of being a ghost."
Jeonghan stood completely paralyzed. For all his cleverness, for all his ability to smooth over conflicts within the group, he was entirely unequipped for the sheer depth of the despair staring back at him. He looked at Y/N the girl who had joined them when she was practically a child, who had quietly swallowed every piece of online hate, every unfair line cut, every back-row choreography assignment with a polite bow and a silent nod.
He had known she was unhappy. He had known she felt left out from time to time. But he had never realized that while they were busy celebrating their massive success, climbing higher and higher up the mountain, they had left her at the base, entirely alone in the dark.
"Y/N-ah..." Jeonghan reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he grabbed both of her shoulders, pulling her forward until her forehead rested against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his hand in the back of her hair, desperately trying to shield her from the cold corridor. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Coups didn't mean it like that... he's just stressed, he's stupid when he's under pressure, you know how he gets. But that's no excuse. We failed you. I failed you."
Y/N didn't hug him back this time. Her arms stayed limp at her sides, her forehead resting heavily against his sweater. The comfort felt nice, but it felt too late. It felt like a band-aid on an amputation.
"Don't leave us," Jeonghan murmured into her hair, his voice cracking with a rare, raw vulnerability. He had felt the distance growing between her and the group for months, but he had assumed it was just a phase, a side effect of growing up. Now, feeling the absolute stillness of her body in his arms, a cold dread began to pool in his stomach. "Please, Y/N. Talk to us. Talk to me. We can fix this. I'll talk to Jihoon myself. I'll make them change the formations for the next music show, I swear. Just don't shut us out."
Y/N slowly pulled back, gently but firmly breaking his grip on her shoulders. She looked up at him, her eyes completely devoid of the fire that used to define her. There was only a vast, empty ocean of exhaustion.
"You can't fix a puzzle piece that doesn't belong in the box, oppa," she said softly, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.
Before Jeonghan could reply, the loud, booming sound of Mingyu’s voice echoed from around the corner. "Hey! I found my wallet! It was in Coups-hyung's bag the whole time!"
"Everyone into the vans! Moving out now!" a manager's voice bellowed through the hallway.
Y/N took a step backward, away from Jeonghan, away from the warmth of his embrace. She gave him one final, tiny nod a gesture of profound respect for the brother who had actually bothered to look for her before turning around and walking toward the loud, chaotic energy of the lobby.
Jeonghan stayed rooted to the spot, the empty bottle of vitamin water slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull clatter. As he watched her small figure disappear around the corner, a terrifying truth settled deep in his bones:
Seventeen wasn't thirteen plus one. They were thirteen, and they were about to lose the only girl who had ever tried to love them through the silence.
The second van was loud, a stark contrast to the heavy silence left behind in the corridor. Y/N sat by the window again, staring at the blurred neon signs of Seoul. Jeonghan had tried to catch her eye before boarding, but she had purposely slipped into the back row behind the vocal team. She couldn't face his pity, and she certainly couldn't face his promises.
By the time they reached the next broadcasting station for a late-night radio appearance, the atmosphere had shifted into a dull, post-schedule haze. There was a three-hour gap before their live broadcast slot, leaving the members scattered around a secondary, dimly lit dressing room.
In the corner of the room, a ring light flickered to life.
"Is it connected?" Dino asked, squinting at an iPhone mounted on a tripod.
"Yeah, the notifications are going out now," Minghao replied, adjusting the collar of his denim jacket. He sat cross-legged on a low couch, looking effortlessly chic. "Look, the viewer count is already jumping."
Jun slid into the frame next to Minghao, waving enthusiastically at the lens with both hands. "Hi, Carats! We’re backstage waiting for the radio show!"
Wonwoo sat on the arm of the couch just behind Minghao. He had his glasses back on, his expression relaxed but quiet. His eyes wandered around the room for a split second, tracking the corner where Y/N had tucked herself away with her manager's padded coat over her legs. He caught her eye, giving her a small, questioning tilt of his head. Are you okay?
Y/N just offered a tiny, weak nod and looked down at her lap. She didn't want to ruin his mood.
"We decided to turn on a live because it’s been a while since the four of us did one together," Dino explained to the camera, reading the fast-scrolling comments. "Everyone is asking if we ate dinner. Yes, we had rice bowls in the dressing room earlier."
The Instagram Live was a massive hit. Within five minutes, over three hundred thousand fans were watching. The four boys fell into a comfortable, easy rhythm the kind of effortless chemistry that made fans fall in love with them.
Jun was reading funny comments and doing dramatic poses. Minghao was giving philosophical advice to a fan stressed about exams. Dino was passionately explaining a specific detail in the new choreography. Wonwoo chuckled softly at their antics, occasionally leaning in to deliver a dry, witty one-liner that made the comment section erupt in keysmashes.
They were a cohesive unit. A brotherhood.
Y/N watched them from the dark corner of the room. The glow from the phone screen illuminated their faces, making them look like a self-contained universe. She felt a familiar, hollow ache in her chest. She was in the exact same room, sitting less than ten feet away, but she might as well have been on Mars.
"Oh, someone asked what the other members are doing," Jun said, scanning the screen. "Coups-hyung and Jeonghan-hyung are talking to the managers in the hallway. The vocal unit is sleeping on the other couch."
He completely skipped over her.
It wasn't intentional. Jun’s eyes had just skimmed the room, seeing the sleeping vocal team and omitting the quiet girl sitting perfectly still in the shadows. But the omission hit Y/N like a physical blow. Even when they were actively listing the group, her name didn't naturally surface. She was a ghost in their peripheral vision.
Wonwoo’s smile faded slightly. He glanced over his shoulder toward Y/N’s corner, then looked directly at the camera. "Y/N is here too," he said, his deep voice cutting through Dino and Jun's overlapping chatter. "She's sitting right over there. She worked really hard during the pre-recording today."
The comment section immediately flooded with messages.
“Y/N-ah!!! Show your face!”
“We miss our 14th member!”
“Is Y/N okay? She looked hidden during the stage today.”
"Y/N-ah, come say hi!" Dino called out warmly, gesturing toward the empty space next to him on the floor.
Minghao turned his head, his sharp eyes searching the dim corner. Unlike the others, Minghao was incredibly sensitive to energy. He had noticed her heavy, suffocating aura all day. "Come here, Y/N. Sit with us for a bit," he encouraged gently.
Y/N felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck. Every fiber of her being wanted to refuse, to stay hidden in the dark where it was safe. But the phone was live. Thousands of eyes were watching. If she refused, the fans would instantly sense the tension, creating a massive wave of rumors and speculation that Seungcheol would have to "handle" later.
Slowly, she stood up, letting the padded coat slide off her lap. She walked over to the ring light, her feet feeling like lead.
She forced a bright, idol-grade smile onto her face and crouched down next to Dino, squeezing into the edge of the phone's vertical frame. "Hi, Carats," she said, waving small at the camera. "I'm here."
"Look, Y/N is matching with Wonwoo-hyung today, both wearing black hoodies," Jun pointed out, trying to create a fun talking point for the fans.
The comments were moving at lightning speed. Y/N’s eyes accidentally locked onto a string of rapidly appearing messages.
user7739: Why is she forcing herself into the frame? The four boys had such good chemistry before she walked over.
svt_carat_17: Honestly, the formation looks so crowded now. She doesn't really fit the vibe of this unit live.
solofun: Did you guys see the music show today? She was completely blocked lol. Even the directors know she's extra.
The words blurred together, burning into her retinas. It was nothing she hadn't read a thousand times before over the last six years, but tonight, her armor was completely gone. The comments felt like physical needles piercing through her skin.
"Y/N-ah," Wonwoo's voice sounded right above her ear. He had shifted closer, his hand coming down to rest firmly on her shoulder, a subtle shield against the invisible eyes of the internet. "Are you cold? Your hands are shaking."
"I'm fine, oppa," she whispered into the microphone, her voice tight.
Minghao was watching her face closely. He saw the subtle twitch in her jaw, the way her eyes darted away from the screen, and the absolute lack of life in her smile. He recognized that look. It was the look of someone who was completely drowning while standing in a room full of people.
Minghao quietly reached past Dino and gently tapped the screen, purposely shifting the focus of the live. "Ah, someone is asking about the choreography for the b-side. Dino, show them the hand movement you were working on."
Dino eagerly took the cue, leaning into the camera to demonstrate the intricate finger-tutting. Jun joined in, laughing as he tried to mimic the younger boy's speed.
Under the cover of their loud laughter, Minghao leaned forward, his voice a quiet murmur meant only for her. "Y/N-ah. If you're tired, go rest. You don't have to stay here."
Y/N looked at Minghao. His expression was fierce, protective, and deeply sad. He knew. He didn't know the specifics, he didn't know about her drafted resignation or Seungcheol's phone call, but he knew her soul was breaking.
"Thank you, Hao," she whispered.
Slowly, carefully, Y/N slipped out of the camera's view. She moved so quietly that the scrolling comments barely registered her departure, the fans quickly returning to their adoration of the four boys.
As she walked back to her dark corner, she felt Wonwoo’s eyes heavy on her back. She sat down, pulling the heavy manager’s coat back over her head, completely shutting out the light of the room.
The broadcast continued behind her. Laughter, jokes, and the bright, happy sounds of a successful idol group filled the air. They were radiant. They were perfect. And as Y/N pulled her phone out one last time in the dark, her thumb didn't hesitate.
She pressed the dial button on the contact for Pledis Legal Team 2.
The phone began to ring, a low, steady hum against her ear. She closed her eyes, listening to the laughter of her members in the background, knowing that this was the beginning of the end.
The phone against her ear let out a third heavy, mechanical ring. Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Hello, this is the Pledis Legal Department Entertainment Team 2-"
Before the voice on the other end could finish the greeting, a slender, ring-adorned hand reached into the darkness of her corner and firmly pressed the red end-call button on her screen.
Y/N gasped, her head snapping up. Minghao was standing over her.
He had slipped away from the Instagram Live while Dino and Jun were distracted doing a comedic dance battle for the viewers. The bright ring light was still casting long, sharp shadows across the room, but here in the corner, Minghao’s face was obscured by the dim lighting. His breathing was shallow, his shoulders tense beneath his denim jacket.
Without a word, he grabbed her wrist gently, but with an unyielding grip and pulled her up from the chair. He guided her past the sleeping vocal unit, opened the heavy soundproof door of the empty back storage room, and ushered her inside, letting the door click shut behind them.
The storage room smelled of cardboard, unused stage props, and stale air.
"What were you doing?" Minghao demanded, his voice a sharp, whispered hiss. His usual calm, meditative demeanor was completely gone, replaced by a raw, burning frustration. "Y/N. Answer me. Who were you calling just now?"
Y/N pulled her wrist out of his grip, stepping back until her spine hit a stack of plastic equipment crates. The sheer exhaustion of the last six months suddenly curdled into a defensive, bitter anger.
"It’s none of your business," she said, her voice trembling but cold. "Go back to the live. Carats are probably wondering where their cool, philosophical performance member went."
"Don't do that. Don't use that tone with me," Minghao said, stepping closer. His eyes snapped with an intensity that made her chest tighten. "I’ve been watching you for months, Y/N. You think you're being subtle? You think nobody notices the way you look at the company building? The way you look at us? You were calling legal. I saw the screen."
"So what if I was?" Y/N yelled back, though she kept her voice low enough not to pierce through the soundproof door. Tears of pure frustration finally blurred her vision. "What does it matter to you anyway?"
"What does it matter?" Minghao’s voice cracked, a rare slip in his pristine composure. He took a deep breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "We are a team. We are supposed to be fourteen. If you have an issue with the management, if you're upset about the stage blocking which was incredibly unfair, I know you come to us! You talk to Coups-hyung. You talk to the performance team. You don't secretly call the legal department in the dark like an outsider!"
"Because I am an outsider!"
The words ripped from her throat, raw and bleeding. The confession hung in the cramped space of the storage room, heavy and suffocating.
Minghao flinched as if he’d been physically struck.
"I am an outsider, Minghao," she repeated, the tears finally cascading down her cheeks, hot and uncontainable. "You tell me to talk to the team? I tried! I spoke up today during monitoring. I begged them to let me shift just half a foot so the camera could see me sing my three seconds. And what did Coups do? He brushed me off. He told me I was being too sensitive. And then I heard him on the phone in the hallway telling a manager that I’m a 'good kid' who will 'do what she's told in the end. "
Minghao opened his mouth to defend the leader, but the words died in his throat. A deep, troubled frown marred his forehead.
"He doesn't see me as a member," Y/N whispered, her voice breaking completely. "None of you do. When Jun listed the members on the live just now, he forgot I was even in the room. It’s not his fault it’s because I’m invisible. I’ve spent six months waking up every single morning feeling like a ghost in my own life. I write lyrics, and they’re 'too dark.' I practice until my knees swell, and I get put behind Mingyu’s back. If I stay here, there will be nothing left of me."
Minghao stared at her, the anger slowly draining out of him, leaving behind a profound, devastating sorrow. He had moved across an entire ocean from China to Korea to pursue his dream; he knew what isolation felt like. He knew the crushing weight of feeling misunderstood. But he had always had his brothers to lean on. He hadn't realized that for Y/N, the brothers were the source of the isolation.
"Y/N-ah..." he started, his voice dropping into a soft, aching murmur as he stepped closer. "We love you. Hoshi hyung loves you, Joshua Hyung loves you, Wonwoo Hyung loves you. I-"
"Love isn't enough to make me exist, oppa," Y/N interrupted, looking down at her hands. "I don't want to fight with you. I love you guys so much it hurts. That’s why I have to leave. Because if I stay, I’m going to end up hating you, and I don't want to hate my family."
Minghao stood in the center of the cramped storage room, the harsh fluorescent light casting a shadow over his face. He wanted to argue, to bar the door, to promise her that he would change the world for her tomorrow. But looking at the hollow, absolute defeat in her eyes, he realized the most terrifying thing of all:
He didn't have a single argument left to save her.
The heavy silence of the room pressed in on them, thick with the weight of things left unsaid. Outside the door, the faint, muffled sound of Dino’s laughter from the Instagram Live served as a cruel reminder of the world they were temporarily detached from.
Minghao closed his eyes, a single, sharp breath escaping his lips. When he opened them, the defensive anger was entirely gone, replaced by a hollow defeat that looked completely wrong on his usually sharp, composed face.
"Six months," he whispered, the number sounding foreign and heavy on his tongue. "You’ve been carrying this alone for six months."
"I wasn't trying to hurt anyone," Y/N said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned her head back against the cold equipment crate. "I just... I kept waiting for a sign. A reason to believe that if I just held out a little longer, the gap would close. But every time we take a step forward as a group, I feel like I'm being pushed two steps back into the dark."
Minghao stepped forward, the distance between them shrinking until he was standing right in front of her. He didn't reach out to grab her wrist this time. Instead, he slowly raised his hands, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently placing them on her shoulders. His touch was grounding, a stark contrast to the volatile argument they had just survived.
"If you press that button," Minghao said, his voice dropping into a register so serious it made her skin prickle, "if you let that legal team answer... there is no going back, Y/N. The company won't protect you anymore. The articles will come out. The solo stans, the antis... they will tear you apart online, and we won't be allowed to speak up for you. Do you understand what kind of hell you're walking into alone?"
"I'm already in hell, Hao," she replied, looking straight into his eyes, her gaze unflinching despite the tears still wet on her cheeks. "At least that hell has an exit sign."
A muscle in Minghao’s jaw twitched. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to claim that the thirteen of them would form a wall around her and protect her from the company, from the cameras, from the erasure. But he knew how the industry worked. He knew that even Choi Seungcheol, with all his fierce protective instincts as a leader, was ultimately bound by contracts and boardrooms.
"Does Wonwoo-hyung know?" Minghao asked quietly.
Y/N’s eyes dipped, her composure cracking slightly at the mention of the one person who had consistently tried to pull her out of the shadows. "He knows I'm tired. He doesn't know about the phone call."
"You need to tell him," Minghao insisted, his grip on her shoulders tightening just a fraction. "You can't do this to him, Y/N. Out of all of us, he... he watches you. He stays up in the studios just to make sure you aren't leaving the building alone at night. If you just disappear into a legal battle without warning him, it will break him."
Y/N swallowed down the lump in her throat, the guilt finally creeping in, cold and sharp. "I know. I'm scared, oppa. If I tell him, he’ll try to stop me. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to say no to him."
Before Minghao could answer, the door to the storage room clicked open.
The bright light from the hallway flooded into the cramped space, throwing their silhouettes against the back wall. Wonwoo stood in the doorway, holding his phone in one hand. His eyes darted between Minghao’s hands on her shoulders and the tear tracks on Y/N’s face. The live had clearly ended, and the calm, unbothered expression he usually wore was entirely missing.
"The manager is calling for us," Wonwoo said, his deep voice carrying a strange, tight undertone. He didn't ask what they were doing. He didn't ask why Y/N had been crying. He just stood there, his sharp eyes locking onto Y/N’s phone, which she was still clutching tightly in her hand. "The radio staff needs us in the studio for the mic check in two minutes."
Minghao slowly let his hands drop from Y/N’s shoulders. He didn't look at Wonwoo as he stepped past him, but as he reached the threshold of the door, he paused, keeping his back turned to both of them.
"Don't make your decision in the dark, Y/N-ah," Minghao said quietly, his voice echoing slightly in the concrete hallway before he walked away, leaving the two of them alone.
The storage room returned to a heavy, suffocating silence.
Wonwoo didn't enter the room. He just held the door open, his tall frame blocking the exit, his eyes fixed on her. He looked older under the harsh hallway lights, the shadows under his cheekbones prominent.
"You left the live," Wonwoo said softly. It wasn't an accusation; it was a statement of fact.
"The comments were... I just needed a second to breathe," Y/N lied, her voice lacking any real conviction. She tried to step past him, but Wonwoo didn't move. He remained an unyielding barrier in the doorway.
"Minghao doesn't yell unless something is seriously wrong," Wonwoo murmured, his eyes dropping to her phone again. "And you don't look at me like that unless you're keeping a secret."
Y/N froze, her heart stopping. "Like what?"
"Like you're already gone," Wonwoo whispered, a devastating crack breaking through his calm facade. He reached out, his long fingers gently capturing her hand the one holding the phoneand pulled it up between them. "Tell me the truth, Y/N. Please.
The raw vulnerability in Wonwoo’s voice was a physical weight, dropping between them in the cramped storage room. His hand was a warm, firm band around her wrist, but it was trembling just a tiny, microscopic fracture in his usual stoic armor that told her he was absolutely terrified of what she was about to say.
Y/N stared down at their joined hands. The screen of her phone was still dark, but beneath her palm, she could feel the faint warmth of the battery. It felt like a ticking time bomb.
"Woo..." Her voice was barely a breath, a fragile thing that threatened to shatter if she put any weight behind it.
"Don't lie to me," Wonwoo interrupted softly, his thumb shifting to press against the pulse point on her wrist. Her heart was racing, and they both knew it. "You promised me on the balcony that you were just tired. But Minghao looked like he’d seen a ghost, and you... you look like you’re trying to say something bad."
He gently pried her fingers away from the phone casing, turning the screen toward himself. Y/N didn't have the strength to hide it anymore. She let her hand go limp, allowing him to lift the device.
The screen woke up automatically, displaying the recent call log. At the very top, marked with a red arrow indicating an uncompleted, cut-off call, was the direct extension for Pledis Legal Team 2.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Wonwoo’s eyes locked onto the text. For a long, agonizing moment, he didn't move. He didn't blink. The breath seemed to leave his body completely, his broad shoulders dropping as the brutal reality of that single contact name crashed into him. He knew exactly what Team 2 handled. They weren't the team that managed copyright or social media compliance. They were the team that handled contract liquidations and member exits.
When he finally looked back up at her, the expression in his eyes broke what was left of Y/N’s heart. There was no anger, no confusion—just a profound, bleeding grief, as if he were watching something precious slip through his fingers into a bottomless canyon.
"Six months," he murmured, his voice dropping into a hollow, gravelly register. "When you said on the balcony that nobody would miss you... you weren't just venting. You were preparing."
"I can't survive here, Wonwoo," Y/N whispered, the tears finally breaking through again, tracking hot down her cold face. She didn't call him oppa this time; she spoke to him as a peer, as the only person who had ever truly tried to share her burden. "I’ve tried. You know I’ve tried. Every single day I wake up and I tell myself to just be grateful, to just push through it because I’m part of a top-tier group. But I’m not part of it. I’m just... I’m an extra on your stage."
Wonwoo let go of her wrist, but he didn't step back. Instead, he took the phone from her hand, turning it off completely, and slid it into his own pocket.
"Oppa, give it back," she pleaded, reaching out half-heartedly, but he gently caught her hands in his, holding them securely against his chest.
"No," Wonwoo said, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely let anyone see. "Not like this. You don't get to slide out the back door in the middle of a radio schedule because Coups said something stupid and the internet is cruel. If you're going to leave, Y/N... if you're really going to break my heart and walk away from us, you don't do it in a dark storage room while the rest of the members are waiting down the hall."
"What do you want me to do?" she cried out, a small, choked sound escaping her lips. "Stay until the repackage? Let them erase me for another three months? Listen to Coups-hyung tell managers how easy I am to handle? I can't do it. Every time I hear our music now, I feel like I'm suffocating."
Wonwoo closed his eyes, leaning his forehead down until it gently rested against hers. The proximity was overwhelming, filled with the scent of his familiar, comforting fabric softener and the shared, desperate warmth of their breath.
"I don't want you to suffer," he whispered against her skin, his voice trembling violently now. "God, Y/N, if I could give you my lines, if I could give you my position on the stage just so you could feel the light, I would do it in a heartbeat. You know I would. But don't do this alone. Don't let them handle this through a clinical legal meeting where they turn you into a statistic."
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his hands sliding up to cup her face, his thumbs gently wiping away the fresh tears.
"We have the radio show now," Wonwoo said, his gaze intense, grounding, and completely unyielding. "We have to go out there and we have to do our jobs. But the moment we get back to the dorm tonight... we are calling a meeting. All fourteen of us. You are going to look Coups in the eye, and you are going to tell him exactly what he did. You are going to make them see you, Y/N. Even if it’s the last thing you do as a member of this group, you are going to make them look at the hole they're leaving in Seventeen."
Y/N stared at him, her chest heaving as she swallowed the bitter flavor of his words. He wasn't asking her to stay anymore. He loved her enough to realize that staying was killing her. But he was refusing to let her vanish quietly into the night like she didn't matter. He wanted her to fight, to force the group to acknowledge the consequence of their casual negligence.
Before she could answer, the door behind Wonwoo knocked loudly, and the voice of a senior manager cut through the heavy air.
"Wonwoo! Y/N! What is taking so long? The PD is screaming for the mic check! Get out here now!"
Wonwoo didn't break eye contact. He kept his hands on her cheeks for one more second, a silent, binding contract between the two of them.
"Tonight," he whispered. "We do this together tonight. Okay?"
Y/N let out a long, trembling breath, her head nodding almost imperceptibly against his hands. "Okay."
He let her go, stepping back into the hallway and pulling his mask up over his face, instantly sliding back into the quiet, professional idol persona the world demanded of him. Y/N smoothed down her oversized sweater, wiped her eyes one last time in the dim light of the storage room, and followed him out into the corridor stepping toward the final, crushing climax of a six-month storm.
The two-hour live radio broadcast was a blur of plastic headphones, artificial cheer, and the distinct, bitter taste of adrenaline.
Y/N sat at the very edge of the long, curved table. The radio PD had assigned the seating quickly: the vocal unit took the center mics because they were doing a live acoustic performance of a ballad, and the leader line sat near the host to drive the conversation. Y/N was handed a microphone that shared a channel split with Dino.
Every time the host asked a sweeping question "How does it feel to achieve a perfect all-kill on the charts within twenty-four hours?"Y/N watched Seungcheol’s face light up as he spoke passionately about their shared vision, about the "thirteen brothers" who poured their souls into the tracks.
He didn't mean to say thirteen. It was a muscle-memory slip, a generic phrase he used in foreign interviews where explaining a fourteenth, non-traditional member took too much time. But tonight, with Wonwoo’s heavy, dark gaze fixed on the table and Minghao’s absolute silence from the back row, the word thirteen sounded like a gunshot in the small studio.
Y/N kept her hand on her lap, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sweatpants to keep from shaking. Beside her, Wonwoo’s foot was hooked firmly around the leg of her stool. A quiet, physical anchor.
The ride back to the dorms was different this time.
Usually, the ride after a late-night schedule was filled with the low hum of phones playing TikToks or the soft snoring of the performance unit. But tonight, a suffocating tension had leaked into the vehicle.
Wonwoo had explicitly demanded to ride in the first van with Y/N, swapping spots with a confused Seokmin. Minghao had quietly taken the front passenger seat, his eyes fixed firmly on the dark highway ahead, refusing to engage in any of the manager's casual small talk.
When the heavy doors of the two vans finally slid open in the basement parking lot of their apartment complex, nobody scrambled for the elevator.
"Coups-hyung," Wonwoo called out, his deep voice slicing through the quiet rumble of the parking garage.
Seungcheol paused, his hand on the elevator button. He looked back, his brow furrowed in exhaustion. "Yeah, Wonwoo? Let’s get upstairs quickly, the third van’s managers need to lock the garage."
"We need a full group meeting. Right now. In the main living room," Wonwoo said. It wasn't a request. The tone was completely flat, devoid of the respectful deference he usually gave the leader.
The remaining members stopped mid-stride. Jun, who had been laughing at something on his phone, slowly lowered his device. Jeonghan, standing just behind Seungcheol, met Wonwoo’s eyes and instantly went rigid. He looked at Y/N, who was standing a half-step behind Wonwoo, her eyes red-rimmed and staring at the concrete floor.
"Wonwoo-ah, it’s past 2:00 AM," Seungcheol said, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "We have a pre-recording at 8:00 AM tomorrow. Whatever it is, can it wait until the morning corporate briefing?"
"No," Minghao spoke up from the front, turning around to face the leader. His sharp eyes were cold. "It can't wait. Every single member needs to be in that room. Change out of your coats, but don't go to sleep."
Seungcheol looked between Wonwoo, Minghao, and the silent, shrinking figure of Y/N. The sheer weight of the atmosphere finally registered. His irritation morphed into a heavy, defensive caution.
"Fine," Seungcheol muttered, turning back to the elevator. "Upstairs. Main dorm."
Twenty minutes later, the main living room of Seventeen’s primary dorm felt like a courtroom.
The space was usually cluttered and lively, but tonight, the thirteen boys had distributed themselves along the sofas and the floor in a tense, fragmented semi-circle.
The Vocal Unit sat together on the long couch, their expressions a mix of confusion and building anxiety.
Hoshi and Chan were on the floor, their backs against the wall, sensing the absolute gravity of the performance team’s silence.
Jeonghan stood near the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed entirely on Seungcheol.
Y/N sat on a single wooden chair that Mingyu had quietly moved from the dining table for her. Wonwoo stood directly behind her, his hand resting firmly on the backrest of her chair, an invisible shield. Minghao stood to her left, his arms crossed, his face an unreadable mask of stone.
Seungcheol sat on the edge of the coffee table, directly facing her. He had taken off his makeup, and without the stage styling, he looked incredibly tired, his shoulders slightly slumped.
"Alright," Seungcheol started, rubbing his palms together. "We're all here. Wonwoo, Hao... you brought everyone down here. What's going on that’s so urgent it couldn't wait six hours?"
Jihoon sighed softly, leaning back. "If this is about the line distribution or the stage blocking adjustments again, we really should have the performance directors present-"
"Jihoon," Wonwoo cut him off, his voice dropping into a dangerous, warning growl that instantly silenced the room. "Shut up and listen."
Jihoon blinked, stunned by the rare aggression from the normally passive rapper.
Wonwoo reached into his pocket and pulled out Y/N’s phone. He didn't unlock it. He just placed it gently on the glass coffee table between Seungcheol and Y/N, the black screen reflecting the harsh ceiling lights.
"Y/N was trying to make a phone call backstage at the radio show," Wonwoo said, his voice echoing in the dead quiet of the room. "She was calling Legal Team 2 to initiate the termination of her contract."
The words dropped like an explosive charge.
Seungkwan let out a sharp, audible gasp, his hand instantly flying to his mouth. Seokmin’s eyes widened in sheer horror, his head snapping toward Y/N as if expecting her to laugh and say it was a joke. Chan stood up slightly from his position on the floor, his face completely pale.
"What?" Seungcheol’s voice was a ragged whisper. He looked at the phone on the table, then up at Y/N, his leader instincts instantly clashing with a sudden, violent wave of panic. "Y/N-ah... what is he talking about? Contract termination? Why would you... we just started the comeback. Why would you do that behind our backs?"
"Because she didn't think she had a front to face you with," Minghao countered sharply, his voice dripping with an uncharacteristic venom. "Tell him, Y/N. Tell him what you heard in the hallway today."
Y/N looked up. Every single eye in the room was fixed on her some filled with horror, some with confusion, some with a deep, dawning guilt. For six months, she had lived in fear of this exact moment. She had thought that showing her wounds would make her look weak, that complaining would make her a burden.
But looking at Wonwoo's steady hand on her chair, she found the final, desperate scrap of her courage.
"I was standing by the vending machines after the pre-recording today, Coups-hyung," Y/N said, her voice trembling but clear. "You were on the phone with management. I heard you tell them that I was getting too 'sensitive' about my lines and my screen time. You told them I was a 'good kid' who would 'do what she's told in the end' and that you would 'handle' me."
Seungcheol froze. The color completely drained from his face, his mouth opening slightly as the memory of his casual, logistical phone call came roaring back to hit him in the chest.
"Y/N-ah..." Seungcheol stammered, his confident leader persona completely evaporating. "That... I was talking to the performance coordinators. I was trying to explain to them that we couldn't change the broadcast angles on short notice without risking Chan's center transition. I didn't mean-"
"I know what you meant," Y/N interrupted, a single, cold tear escaping her eye. "You meant that my three seconds aren't worth the trouble of re-arranging the machine. And you're right. Economically, logistically, you're entirely right. The thirteen of you are a masterpiece. But what you don't understand is that I’ve been hiding behind Mingyu’s shoulders for three comebacks in a row. I spent three nights writing lyrics for Shadow, and you told me I was 'too dark' for Seventeen's hopeful image. You told me I have 'plenty of time' because I'm young."
She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on each of them.
"I don't have time," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I’ve been thinking about leaving for six months. Every morning I wake up in this dorm, I have to check the mirror to make sure I still exist. Jun oppa forgot I was even in the room during the live tonight. And it’s not his fault. It’s because I have become a ghost in this group. You don't see me when the music stops. You just handle me when I become a problem."
The room devolved into a devastating, heavy silence.
Seungkwan was openly crying now, his head buried in his knees. Hoshi looked like he had been physically beaten, his eyes staring at the floor in profound shock. Jihoon sat frozen, his hands clutched tightly together, the realization that his professional rejections had been slow-acting poison to his younger sister visibly shattering him.
Seungcheol looked completely broken. He reached out a hand toward her across the table, his fingers trembling. "Y/N... I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I didn't... I didn't see it. I thought I was protecting the group, I thought I was keeping things stable for everyone. I never wanted you to feel like baggage."
"But I do," Y/N said softly, standing up from the chair. Wonwoo's hand dropped from the backrest, but he stayed right beside her, his presence a silent wall of support. "I love you guys. I love Seventeen. But I can't stay in a family where I have to beg to be seen."
She looked down at her phone on the table. She didn't pick it up.
"I promised Wonwoo I would look you all in the eye and tell you the truth before I made my choice," she said, looking at the thirteen boys who had been her entire life. "I’ve told you. Now, please... let me breathe."
Turning on her heel, Y/N walked down the narrow hallway toward her bedroom, leaving the thirteen members of Seventeen sitting in the wreckage of their own silence, finally forced to look at the massive, aching void they had built around her.
The heavy wooden door of her shared bedroom clicked shut, instantly dampening the collective, suffocating grief echoing from the living room.
Y/N didn't turn on the lights. She didn't want to see the posters on the wall, the stacked albums on the shelves, or the neat row of matching group merchandise that served as a constant reminder of the life she was tearing herself away from. She walked straight to her bed and collapsed onto the mattress, burying her face in a plush pillow to muffle the violent, heavy sobs that finally ripped from her chest.
The confrontation had drained the last bit of adrenaline from her system, leaving her entirely hollow. She had done it. She had forced them to see her wounds. But the relief she expected didn't come there was only a deep, aching soreness.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open, throwing a narrow sliver of light across the linoleum floor.
The footsteps were soft, familiar, and entirely unhurried. The mattress dipped significantly under a familiar weight as Wonwoo sat down beside her. He didn't try to pull her into his arms right away, nor did he offer words of comfort. He just sat there in the dark, a quiet, protective sentinel, letting the steady sound of his breathing anchor her in the middle of her storm.
Slowly, Y/N shifted, rolling over onto her back to stare at the dark ceiling. Her face was sticky with tears, her throat burning.
"They're still out there, aren't they?" she whispered, her voice incredibly raw.
"Yeah," Wonwoo murmured, his eyes adjusting to the shadows. He was leaning back against her headboard, his long legs stretched out over the blankets. "Coups is sitting on the floor. I think it’s the first time in six years I’ve seen him completely speechless. Seungkwan and Dokyeom are a mess. Jihoon... Jihoon went straight to his room and locked the door. I think he’s rewriting the booklet credits."
A bitter, exhausted sigh escaped her lips. "It doesn't matter anymore. A rewritten credit sheet won't fix the last six years."
"I know," Wonwoo said softly. He turned his head to look down at her, his expression filled with a tenderness that cut through the darkness. He reached out, his cool, long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her damp forehead. "I didn't bring you out there to make them change the album, Y/N. I brought you out there because you deserved to leave that room carrying your dignity, not slipping away like a thief in the night."
Y/N looked up at him. Without his glasses now, his sharp eyes looked vulnerable, brimming with an unshed, heavy sorrow. "Are you mad at me? For actually going through with it?"
Wonwoo’s hand paused on the side of her face, his thumb gently resting against her cheekbone. A long, painful pause stretched between them.
"I am selfish," Wonwoo confessed, his voice dropping into a ragged, quiet whisper that vibrated with absolute honesty. "When I saw that legal contact on your phone... my first instinct was to delete it. To hide your phone. To lock you in this room and beg you to give us one more comeback, one more year. Because the thought of walking into that practice room tomorrow and not seeing you sitting in the corner... it feels like losing a piece of my own lungs, Y/N."
A fresh tear slipped from the corner of her eye, catching the dim light. "Oppa..."
"But then I looked at you," he continued, his thumb tracing the path of her tear, his voice cracking slightly. "I looked at how small you've been making yourself just so the thirteen of us could take up space. I remembered the balcony. I remembered how cold your hands were. And I realized that if I force you to stay here just so I don't have to miss you, I'm no better than the company. I'm no better than the people who hid you in the back row."
He slowly shifted, sliding down the headboard until he was lying on his side next to her, pulling her small frame tightly against his chest. Y/N didn't resist. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, her fingers clutching the thick fabric of his black hoodie as if she were hanging off the edge of a cliff.
Wonwoo wrapped his broad arms around her, holding her with a fierce, desperate tightness, burying his face in her hair. He was shaking now the stoic, unbothered rapper completely falling apart in the quiet dark of her room.
"I’m going to miss you so much," he whispered against her hair, his chest heaving as a quiet sob finally escaped him. "God, Y/N. Who am I going to sit with during the lives? Who is going to understand when I just want the room to be quiet? You’re the only one who never expected me to be 'Seventeen's Wonwoo' all the time. You just let me be me."
"You'll have Vernon," Y/N cried softly, her tears soaking into his collarbone. "You'll have the boys. They love you, Woo. They just... they forgot how to look down."
"It won't be the same," he murmured, tightening his grip, burying her even deeper into his warmth. "A fourteen-piece puzzle with a missing center is just a broken picture."
They lay there for hours as the clock ticked toward 4:00 AM. They didn't talk about the legal meetings that would inevitably start the next day. They didn't talk about the statements Pledis would release, or the chaos that would erupt when the fandom realized the fourteenth member was gone.
For tonight, in the quiet sanctuary of the dark bedroom, they were just two tired people holding onto each other before the universe pulled them down different paths. Y/N closed her eyes, listening to the steady, heavy beat of Wonwoo’s heart. It was the only rhythm she had ever truly belonged to.
And as the first faint, gray light of dawn began to peek through the window blinds, signaling the start of a brand new day she wouldn't have to survive as a ghost, Y/N took her first deep, unrestricted breath in six months. She was leaving the group, and her heart was breaking into a million pieces but as long as Wonwoo was holding her, she knew she wouldn't dissolve into the dark entirely.
💭Who: Choi Seungcheol (Seventeen) x reader
💭What: Fluff. Strangers to Friends to Lovers.
💭Word count: 3.7k
💭Warnings: Kissing. Profanity. But I think that’s literally it, it’s just very much sweet fluff.
💭Summary:
When you move to a new neighbourhood and start a new walking routine with your stubborn little dog, the last thing you expect is for a man and his dog to become a part of that routine. But, when all’s said and done, you really can’t say that you’re at all mad about it either.
I block any blog with no fics recently reblogged, any blank blog that interacts, and for any reason stated in this post.
Masterlist
A/N- This was originally on my old account @/whipped-for-kpop-fics, but I decided to entirely rewrite it move it over to here.
- Big ol' juicy smoochie shoutout to @lovetaroandtaemin for naming Floof 💗
A few weeks ago, you moved to a new apartment in a new neighbourhood with your best friend: your precious little Toy Poodle, Floof.
Despite the change of scenery, Floof is nothing but stuck to her routine and stubborn as hell about it. So, even though you have work at 7am, you get up to take the little ruler of your home for her morning walk every day before the clock even hits 6am.
To your surprise— though it takes you a week to notice—, every single morning since the first, the same man takes his own little dog for a walk regardless of the weather, walking the same route he always does. You can’t tell much— or anything— about this man, honestly. Every time you spot him, he’s always trudging along in sweatpants and a matching hoodie with his hood pulled up, shadowing his face from view. The only thing that you can really tell about the man, is that he fucking loves his dog.
Even though the man always looks like he’s barely rolled out of bed and has thrown on the first things his hands can grab before leaving his home, his fluffy white dog is always impeccably cared for. Every time you see the little white fluff ball, she’s brushed neatly with cute bows and clips in her hair; and when the weather calls for it, she’s dressed in a cosy jumper or raincoat. You’ve also noticed that whenever she’s wearing any kind of jacket, the man is wearing one that almost matches. It’s fucking adorable and makes you unable to stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.
It takes almost a whole month of vague waves of greeting from across the street when you notice one another before your paths properly cross.
On this particular morning, as you walk along the usual route, you notice a barrier set up on the path ahead of you— no workers behind it currently, but signs are already up warning that they will be digging up the path today. Of course, you can’t continue along the path, and you don’t really want to walk around the barriers on the road because it’s a fair section cordoned off, so, you pick up Floof and cross to the other side of the street.
You’re not at all surprised that Floof isn’t impressed by this change in routine, and she proves it; first by making you have to carry her across the road in the first place, and then by plopping her backside down once she’s on her four paws, and refusing to move or look at you, no matter how much you beg her to from where you’re crouching in front of her. You really don’t want to have to carry her if you can help it, that really defeats the point of taking her for a walk, but you’re starting to get the feeling that you’ll soon have no choice but to.
After a few minutes of this, you hear footsteps stop behind you, before an amused male voice speaks up. “Having trouble?”
You look up from your crouched position and come face to face with hoodie guy. Well, face to face mask— a shame really, because you’ve been really curious what he looks like after almost a month of distant, silent greetings. At least you now know that his voice is pleasantly deep and oddly comforting.
“Yeah,” you confirm with a sigh. “She’s a creature of habit,” you inform, pointing over to the worker’s barrier, making him look across the street and let out a noise of understanding before looking back at you.
“Ah, yeah, Kkuma’s the same,” he says while motioning down to his dog, where she’s sitting by his feet. Today, she’s wearing a cute, frilly pink harness, with a matching bow between her ears.
You can’t help but coo at the adorable sight of her. “You look absolutely precious, Kkuma,” you compliment, causing the dog to perk up at being addressed, and trot towards you. “May I?” you ask the man, your hand already lifted slightly; ready to pet but waiting for permission. Thankfully, he nods in consent— and you think he smiles, judging by the curve of his eyes above his face mask— so you look back down and offer your hand to Kkuma, who sniffs it curiously, then happily moves closer to allow you to give her attention.
“And may I?” the man requests, now crouched down himself and a lot closer— by a fair amount— and motioning to Floof. You nod, so he reaches out, turning his attention entirely to your drama queen of a pup. At first, she entirely ignores him— and still also ignores you—, but all it takes is a soft little noise from the man, and he has her attention.
Soon, you’re both crouching there in the middle of the— thankfully empty— path; petting, and cooing over one another’s dog, each of whom are lapping up the pets and affection happily.
“Ah, we should really go,” the man comments after catching sight of the time on his expensive watch when his sleeve rides up just enough to expose the device to his eyes— and yours too, but you get the feeling that he truly hasn’t done it on purpose and it’s not an attempt to flex his obvious wealth, like you’ve witnessed many people do. “Gotta get this one to the sitter ready for me to get to work,” he informs, coaxing Kkuma back to him.
“Oh, same, actually,” you agree after checking you own— much cheaper— watch, so you both get up and gather your own dogs, making sure their leads aren’t tangled to allow you to step away from one another easily with polite goodbyes.
Just as you’re heading off back towards your building, he calls out. “Hey!” Of course, you stop and look back at him curiously, finding him still standing where you left him and entirely facing you, as if he hasn’t even attempted to leave yet. “It’s– it was nice to meet you. Maybe we can make this a new routine?” he suggests, and although you can’t see his expression, you feel like you can already easily imagine a shy smile on his face.
You can’t help but smile at him, a teasing edge to it. “Maybe. That is, if you tell me your name, stranger with a cute dog,” you reason and catch his eyes curve a little.
“It’s Seungcheol,” he answers without hesitation. In return, you tell him your name, and despite the distance between you, you can hear him repeat it softly. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Same time tomorrow,” you confirm before you turn and head back to your apartment with a bright smile and a little skip to your step, unaware that he’s watching you go with an already fond smile hidden behind his mask.
Only a few mornings of walking side by side together, Seungcheol invites you and Floof to join him and Kkuma for their evening walks. Of course, you don’t hesitate to agree. Not only does Floof love spending time with her new bestie as they trot happily side by side every morning, but you’ve also very quickly grown to love walking alongside Seungcheol; talking about everything and nothing and dreading the moment you have to split to go to your jobs.
Honestly, you’re probably already very smitten with the man, despite the fact that you still don’t know what he looks like, even if you’ve grown very familiar with the way his big eyes shine whenever you meet his gaze.
Although Floof is usually a giant pain in the ass for you when you want to change up your usual walking routine, there’s never any issue when Seungcheol and Kkuma are around. At first, the evening walks follow your usual route, but when Seungcheol suggests a different route, Floof is more than happy to go along with it without complaint.
You’re equally as content about it too, if not more, because the route Seungcheol guides you along passes by the river, where there are always vendors at their stalls selling various wears and treats. When the weather is colder, Seungcheol always buys you a hot chocolate to warm up, and when it’s not cold enough to warrant a hot drink, he buys you something else. Something tells you that the man’s love language is gift giving by how happy he looks when you accept whatever he buys you and thank him.
Even though you initially feel bad about it— especially as he doesn’t buy himself anything and keeps his mask firmly in place— you only have to look at the joy that radiates from him at your acceptance, to give in. It’s probably too soon to think it, but you think you’d do almost anything to make him shine like this.
It's when you really consider how happy it makes him, and how he always seems to perk up when he sees you— where he’s always waiting outside of your apartment building for you to join him in the evenings—, that you realise that the evening walks very much feel like dates. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make any kind of move and you’re too scared of overstepping or moving too fast for him, so you don’t either and just hope that things will soon change.
The day things change truly comes unexpectedly.
The weather is extra cold, deep in winter at this point, and the two of you are already walking closely together every morning and evening to try and bask in one another’s warmth. So, you think nothing of it when his gloved hand brushes yours. It’s nothing unusual— nor the first time it’s happened— and bound to happen when you’re walking so closely together.
Though, when it happens again pretty quickly, your mind latches onto it and you realise that it can’t be accidental. Still, you don’t point it out and just wait to see if Seungcheol’s unsubtly doing what you think he is.
The moment his fingers shyly catch on yours, you can’t help but tuck your face down to grin dumbly into your scarf. Either he notices your reaction, or he decides to be really brave, because only a second later, he slides his hand to press his palm to yours and curl his fingers around the edge of your palm. When you hook your fingers to hold his hand in return, you hear him let out a breath of relief and can’t help but giggle to yourself. He’s so cute.
For a few minutes longer, you walk in content silence, hands naturally swinging between you with every step.
“So,” he starts, voice cracking and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself laughing, especially when you flick your gaze to him and notice how embarrassed he looks; cheeks peeking above his mask redder than just the chill could possibly make them. Seungcheol takes a moment, clears his throat, then tries again. “So, uhm, I was– I was wondering if you want to meet earlier tomorrow?” he suggests, trying to sound casual but you can hear the nerves in his voice. “For dinner, I mean,” he clarifies before continuing on, rambling, before you can even try to respond. “You can bring Floof, of course. I was planning to cook for you at my place, and Kkuma would love to spend more time with her best friend, and–” although his nervous babbling is very cute, you decide to stop walking and lift your connected hands to press them to his mouth over his mask to cut him off.
Really, you’d love to do the whole “kiss him to shut him up” thing, but one, he’s wearing a mask that prevents access to his lips, and two, you think you should probably wait at least until the first date to kiss him.
“We’d love to come over for dinner, Seungcheol,” you assure with a gentle smile before lowering your hands to allow him to talk. “Especially if I can finally see what’s hiding under that mask,” you tease.
“Ah…that…you don’t just want to know that, do you?” he checks. “I–I think that maybe you like me too, and I haven’t just been imagining this between us the past month; but if you’re only playing along out of curiosity, I…I think we should stop now.”
You stare up at him for a moment before letting go of his hand— and spot the momentary panic flit through his big eyes glued to you— just to gently whack his upper arm, then take his hand back into yours, lacing your fingers together in the way he wasn’t brave enough to attempt. “Don’t be an idiot. If I was just curious, I would’ve asked to see you already. I am curious, don’t get me wrong, but I like you for you, not whatever you’re hiding.”
“What if I’m really ugly under this?” he reasons.
“I get the feeling you’re not.”
“You’re right, I’m really handsome under this,” he declares a little cockily, though mostly playful, making you laugh. “I’m serious!” he insists, now whining a little, yet obediently plods along as you turn and continue the walk, tugging him with you before your dogs get impatient with you both, or too cold from staying in one place too long.
“Mm, prove it to me tomorrow,” you decide teasingly.
“I will!” he promises. “I’m going to be so handsome you’ll want to kiss me on sight!”
“Jokes on you, I already want to kiss you.”
Seungcheol doesn’t respond, but you do hear him giggle, and when you glance back at him, his eyes are curved and tips of his cheeks flushed a pleased pink.
Although Seungcheol usually waits for you and Floof outside of your apartment building every evening, tonight, you tell him you’ll drive over to his place, both due to the cold, rainy weather, and so that he doesn’t have to leave the food to cook unattended.
When you park up in the private spot beside the car you’ve seen Seungcheol climb into on days when the weather is bad enough that he’s taken his car to meet you and drive home after, you can only stare up at the building awed.
“Damn, he’s even richer than we thought,” you comment to Floof, glancing over at her where she’s safely strapped into her booster seat in the passenger chair. She makes a little bark in response that you take for agreement, her eyes also curiously peering out the windscreen at the apartment building.
Once you’ve collected everything you need, including Floof, from your car, you lock it and head into the building; trying to act like you belong somewhere with a damn doorman and floors shined to perfection. Thankfully, he only smiles at you and Floof, and nobody else pays you any attention as you cross the lobby to climb into the lift.
Although Floor whines to be set down on the ride up and as you walk along the corridor, you only put her down when you’re at Seungcheol’s door, so that you can neaten your outfit and Floof’s own matching one— both brand new today, hoping to look your best for Seungcheol and Kkuma— and then press the doorbell.
You’re only waiting for a few minutes before the door opens and Kkuma darts out excitedly, drawing your attention down to where she and Floof enthusiastically greet each other as if they didn’t see one another this morning.
Though, when you finally look away from the pair already rushing off into the apartment together— presumably so Kkuma can show Floof all her favourite things— you think you understand how they feel. As soon as your eyes land on Seungcheol’s face for the first time, your smile drops. Funnily enough, his follows.
“That–that isn’t how I expected you to react,” he admits, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other as his hand grips the edge of the door tight.
“You were right,” you almost wheeze out, eyes repeatedly darting over his face but not settling. Though moments later, you realise that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never drink your fill of his truly beautiful features, and give up— at least for now, because you already know that you’re going to be admiring his masterpiece of a face at every chance you get. When your gaze finally meets his own and remains there, you find him staring at you with wide, worried eyes. “What’s your stance on kissing before the first date can even start?” you question.
Seungcheol blinks at you a few times as he absorbs your words, then his face splits into a smile that somehow makes him even more beautiful, and you swear you almost swoon like a maiden from the olden days.
“Seungcheol,” you choke out in insistent reminder, eyes growing wide in borderline desperation.
To your relief, he steps back and urges you into the apartment with an adorable little giggle that gives you such cuteness aggression that it takes more self-restraint than you thought you’d ever need to not bite his arm as you pass him— which only makes you fully aware of the t-shirt the man’s wearing, revealing his giant arms to you for the first time. You’ll be surprised if you survive the next ten minutes, let alone the entire date.
Before you’ve even attempted to take your shoes or jacket off, Seungcheol shuts the door and gently gains your attention by briefly brushing his hand over yours. Immediately, you turn to face him and step close, making him let out another giggle, clearly very entertained by how desperate you’re acting. You imagine it’s great for his ego.
“You okay?” he checks, smiling at you and taking your bag from your hands without looking, to place on the hook on the wall behind him, also without looking. It’s probably the weirdest thing you’ve ever been attracted to, but you have the feeling that it won’t even be the end of it when it’s Seungcheol who has your entire attention.
“No,” you answer, trying not to whine as you move even closer and gently place your hands on his chest— his very firm chest. “You haven’t answered me.”
“Mm, about what?” he teases, a hand laying over yours on his chest so naturally you’re honestly not sure he’s noticed.
“Please don’t be a brat right now, I might just combust if I can’t kiss you.”
His teasing smile turns into a pleased smirk as he lifts his free hand up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth. Your lips part naturally and he leans down as if he’s drawn in. “You can kiss me whenever you want, sweetheart,” he declares, smirk slipping away as his affection for you shows in his honest gaze locked on your lips.
You don’t need any further permission, you tilt up to close the gap between you, kissing him for the first time and all but melting into it. But you’re not the only one, Seungcheol melts down against you in return, curving his hand around your jaw, and holding onto your hand as both of yours curl in his t-shirt.
The kiss is slow with no rush despite your previous desperation to kiss him, but it’s no less passionate, causing your cheeks to flush and heart to race with the intensity. You’re very certain you’ve never been kissed like this, have never felt like this from a first kiss of all things.
Although you’d genuinely love to kiss Seungcheol until the world ends, you’re abruptly pulled apart by the sound of the smoke alarm suddenly beeping.
“Shit!” Seungcheol yelps as he tears himself away from you and immediately runs to the kitchen, leaving you dazed from the kiss, and worried about what kind of mess is happening in there. “It’s okay!” he yells from the other room as you’re rushing to remove your shoes so that you can help, causing you to relax and move at your normal speed again, beeping coming to a stop, showing that he’s handled the alarm too. “Well…okay if you’re okay with ordering now,” he reasons, head popping around the doorframe to smile sheepish and embarrassedly at you.
“I’m just happy to be with you,” you admit easily.
Seungcheol’s face rapidly changes into surprise, then he barely manages to dart away before you catch full view of his suddenly extra pink and happily giggling features.
In the end, despite Seungcheol’s effort to cook a romantic— and dog-friendly— meal for your first date together, the two of you wind up eating take out on the sofa, with the dogs chewing away on the parts they can eat on the floor by your feet— from matching bowls that Seungcheol shyly admits he bought for the pair on his lunch break for tonight.
Once your bellies are full and you’ve decided on a movie to settle in and watch, you tuck up against Seungcheol’s side with his arm around you, and you think that tonight couldn’t have gone any better.
As Seungcheol gently tilts your head so that he can press a soft kiss to your lips, and murmur that he’s so happy that you agreed to the date, even if he ruined it by burning dinner— and you assure him he didn’t ruin anything—, you know that you’ve never been so glad that your Toy Poodle is so stubborn. Without Floof being set in her ways enough to sit on her fluffy ass on the cold path and refuse to move, you doubt that you and Seungcheol would’ve had a reason to talk, and you especially would’ve never had the chance to learn what it’s like to feel like you truly belong in someone’s arms.
Honestly, you always thought the stories exaggerated how right it can feel to be held in a certain someone’s arms. You’ve dated before, and it’s never felt like it does with Seungcheol, so you had assumed it was always over dramatized; that you’d never experience that feeling because it’s simply not real. But now, you’ve been proven wrong, and although you usually are just as stubborn as Floof in that regard, you can truly say that you’ve never been so happy to be wrong.
It's only the first date, and it’s not even over yet, but you’re already looking forward to the next; more than just a little excited to build a future with Seungcheol. And as you tilt your head to look at him and find him already looking at you with adoration in his shining eyes, you just know that he feels the exact same way.
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there are too many things happening this summer that i'm thinking we are going to need an extra 6-12 months of june and possibly another 3-4 months of july. probably no extra august as the problem should hopefully sort itself out by then. we are also looking into extending the day night cycle to 55 hours and extending the human lifespan to 10000 years.
hi, i'm cass @inamomentoffracturedtime - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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