skzstanofc

[skzstanofc]

Sanctuary

Pairing(s): Seungmin/Jeongin (main), Minho/Jisung (side), Changbin/Hyunjin (side), background OT8 friendship

Genre: Angst, Slow burn, Idol AU, TW: mental health issues, $H

Summary:

Jeongin was always the good Catholic boy. The one who almost became a priest, the one who still crosses himself before stepping on stage, the one who believes love is sacred and reserved. He tells himself that’s why his chest tightens every time Seungmin smiles at him, that it’s something holy, not something sinful. But when the teasing from the members gets too sharp and Seungmin stops letting him hide behind excuses, Jeongin has to face the truth: the only thing he wants to believe in is him.

Jeongin wasn’t sure when people had started saying it. Maybe it had been a passing joke from Jisung, muttered under his breath during rehearsal breaks. Maybe it had been Minho grinning too knowingly after Seungmin handed Jeongin his water bottle without asking. Or maybe it had been Hyunjin, dramatic as always, sighing into his microphone during practice: “The way those two act, it’s like watching a married couple.”

Jeongin always denied it. He had to.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said whenever anyone teased. His voice always came out sharper than he meant, like if he cut hard enough with his denial, they’d stop noticing.

The problem was, Seungmin didn’t help.

It was the little things. How Seungmin tugged Jeongin’s hood over his head when he forgot. How he nudged food toward him during meals, rolling his eyes when Jeongin tried to argue. How he scolded him in the morning for sleeping through alarms, only to quietly bring him coffee after. They didn’t feel like little things when everyone else was watching.

Tonight was the same. They were in the dorm living room, a mess of blankets and takeout cartons around them. Minho and Jisung sat curled together in one corner of the couch, whispering and laughing at some inside joke. Changbin and Hyunjin had disappeared hours ago. nobody said anything, but everyone knew why.

Seungmin was beside Jeongin, his shoulder pressed against his. He didn’t ask before taking Jeongin’s phone and unlocking it with ease. “You still haven’t replied to your mom,” he muttered, scrolling through messages.

Jeongin snatched the phone back, heat rising in his cheeks. “Don’t go through my stuff.”

“You’d forget everything if I didn’t remind you.” Seungmin leaned back, unfazed. His hoodie brushed against Jeongin’s arm.

From across the room, Jisung smirked. “You two are nauseating, you know that?”

Minho grinned. “It’s cute, though. Like old people who’ve been married for thirty years.”

Jeongin’s ears burned. “it’s not like that.”

The room went quiet for a moment, until Seungmin reached over and plucked a fry from Jeongin’s plate. He chewed slowly, eyes locked on Jeongin’s face as if daring him to say something.

Jeongin couldn’t. His chest tightened. He grabbed his plate and stood abruptly. “I’m going to my room.”

Behind him, Minho’s laugh followed. “Denial looks good on you, maknae.”

Jeongin’s footsteps echoed too loudly down the hall. He slammed his door shut harder than he meant to, standing in the silence of his room with his heart racing. His throat felt tight, like he couldn’t swallow.

They didn’t understand. They couldn’t.

It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t harmless teasing.

He sat on the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands. Growing up, he’d been the perfect Catholic boy. He remembered the Sundays spent in church, the heavy weight of rosary beads pressed between his fingers, the priest’s voice echoing in the vaulted space. He’d been told what was right. What was wrong. What was sinful.

And this…. whatever this was with Seungmin. wasn’t supposed to happen.

So why did it feel inevitable?

Why did it feel like every time Seungmin leaned a little closer, every time he smirked at Jeongin’s expense, every time he softened just slightly when no one else was looking, Jeongin’s whole chest ached with something he couldn’t name?

He whispered a prayer under his breath, the same one he’d been repeating for weeks now. Please take this away. Please make me better. Please make me normal.

But the silence in the room pressed down on him, heavy and merciless. And he knew nothing would change by morning.

Rehearsal was dragging. The mirrors fogged with heat and sweat, the track looping over and over until the song felt more like a punishment than music. Jeongin’s shirt clung to him, lungs burning as he forced his steps into perfect rhythm.

“Again,” Chan called, voice firm.

Groans rippled through the room, but everyone reset.

Seungmin was beside Jeongin, his voice low as they caught their breath. “You’re dragging your left foot.”

“I’m fine,” Jeongin muttered.

Seungmin didn’t argue. Then the music hit again, and there was no time to think.

Hours later, when Chan finally called it, the group collapsed onto the floor. Hyunjin sprawled dramatically, head in Changbin’s lap. Jisung lay across Minho’s legs, whining for water. Seungmin sat cross-legged, tugging Jeongin down beside him before he could protest.

“Don’t lean on me,” Jeongin snapped, shoving lightly at Seungmin’s shoulder.

Seungmin tilted his head. “Why not? You’re going to pass out if you keep sitting like that.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Touchy,” Jisung said, smirking. He gestured between them. “You fight like a couple too. Cute.”

“Seriously, just date already,” Hyunjin added, not even lifting his head. “It’d save us all the secondhand tension.”

Jeongin’s stomach lurched. “It’s not like that,” he said too quickly, too sharp. His voice cracked on the words.

Minho raised a brow, lips curling. “Right. Totally not like that. Which is why Seungmin peels the vegetables you hate eating and sneaks them into your food so you don’t notice.”

The room broke into laughter. Jeongin felt heat climb his neck, his chest tightening with every chuckle. He shot to his feet, heart hammering. “Shut up.”

Everyone stared at him. It was too much. Their laughter felt like walls closing in, pressing him against something he didn’t want to face.

Chan cleared his throat softly. “Hey, it’s just a joke.”

“It’s not funny,” Jeongin bit out. His eyes flicked to Seungmin, who was still sitting on the floor, expression unreadable, sweat dripping down his jaw. He looked calm. Too calm.

The silence stretched until Jeongin stormed out, leaving the others behind.

He didn’t stop until he was outside, leaning against the cool wall of the stairwell, chest heaving. His hands shook as he pressed them to his face.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He couldn’t even exist around Seungmin without someone pointing it out, without someone holding up a mirror to what he couldn’t let himself see. The teasing wasn’t just teasing anymore, it was exposure. Every word from their mouths felt like a spotlight, revealing everything he was trying to hide.

The door opened behind him. Footsteps.

Seungmin.

“Are you going to keep running out every time someone teases us?” His voice was calm, not sharp, but the edge was there.

Jeongin kept his eyes on the floor. “They’re wrong.”

Seungmin stepped closer. “Are they?”

“Yes.” His voice cracked again. He clenched his fists, forcing it steady. “We’re just friends. That’s all.”

“Friends.” Seungmin repeated the word like it was foreign. He tilted his head, studying Jeongin the way he always did, quiet, measured, like he was reading him line by line.

Jeongin’s chest hurt.

“You act like I’m yours,” Seungmin said, voice low. “But you don’t even want to admit it.”

The words hit like a blow. Jeongin’s throat tightened, his vision stinging. He wanted to scream at him, deny it, laugh it off, anything. But nothing came out.

Seungmin waited, eyes steady, unwavering. Then he shook his head, stepping back. “Fine. Just friends, then.”

The emptiness in his voice cut deeper than any shout could have.

The door closed behind him, leaving Jeongin alone in the stairwell.

He slid down the wall, burying his face in his knees. His breath came uneven, shaky. He whispered a prayer, desperate and raw, words stumbling over themselves. Please. Please. I don’t want this. I can’t want this.

But the ghost of Seungmin’s voice lingered in the silence, the weight of it crushing. You act like I’m yours.

And for the first time, Jeongin couldn’t convince himself it wasn’t true.

Practice had ended late again. The dorm was too quiet, the air thick with exhaustion. Jeongin was sprawled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, trying to ignore the way his chest still burned from earlier.

Seungmin walked in from the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand. He set it down on the table beside Jeongin without asking. “Drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

Seungmin didn’t move, just folded his arms and stood there. “You’re dehydrated. Drink it.”

Jeongin’s jaw tightened. “Stop treating me like a kid.”

“You act like one,” Seungmin shot back, eyes narrowing.

That snapped something. Jeongin sat up sharply, phone tossed onto the cushions. “Why do you even care? Why do you always have to hover like this? It’s suffocating.”

Seungmin leaned closer, voice firm but steady. “Because I actually give a damn when you run yourself into the ground. You don’t even notice when you’re about to collapse.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to care.” The words slipped out before Jeongin could stop them.

For a second, the room went silent except for their breathing. Seungmin’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, searching Jeongin’s face like he was trying to find the truth hidden under all the lies.

“You don’t mean that,” he said finally.

“Don’t tell me what I mean.”

Seungmin’s patience cracked. He stepped forward, close enough that Jeongin had to tilt his head back to hold his gaze. “Then say it. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me around. That you don’t feel anything.”

Jeongin’s heart pounded, his throat tightening. The words stuck. He hated how close Seungmin was, how his breath brushed against his cheek, how the room seemed to shrink to just the two of them.

“Say it,” Seungmin repeated, lower this time.

Jeongin opened his mouth, but nothing came. Instead, his body betrayed him. He leaned forward, just a fraction, and before he could stop himself Seungmin’s lips were on his.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was sharp and desperate, a clash of teeth and anger and everything unsaid. Jeongin’s hands curled in Seungmin’s shirt, pulling him closer even as his mind screamed at him to stop.

The kiss broke as suddenly as it started, both of them breathing hard, eyes wide.

Seungmin’s voice was rough. “That’s what you call nothing?”

Jeongin froze. His pulse hammered in his ears. He wanted to pull him back in, wanted to drown in it, but fear surged up faster. Fear of himself. Fear of everything he was breaking.

And then the words came, sharp and cruel, sharper than he even intended.

“You’re disgusting.”

The look on Seungmin’s face shattered something deep inside him.

Jeongin’s voice shook but he didn’t stop. “You think this means something? It doesn’t. You’re just pathetic enough to mistake whatever this is for love. I’d never want someone like you.”

Seungmin flinched like he’d been struck, but he didn’t fire back. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at Jeongin for a long, awful moment, his jaw clenched tight, and then turned on his heel and walked out.

The sound of his door shutting down the hall rang louder than any shout.

Jeongin sat frozen on the couch, his lips still tingling, his chest aching like he’d torn something out of himself. He wanted to run after him, to take the words back, but his body wouldn’t move. All he could do was sit there, shaking, the echo of that kiss burning on his mouth and the weight of his own cruelty heavy in his stomach.

The dorm felt heavier since the fight. Seungmin barely spoke to him. He still existed in the same room, still followed the same schedules, still sat at the same table, but there was a wall between them now. An awful, suffocating silence that none of the others dared to poke at too directly.

Jeongin hated it.

He hated how quiet meals were. He hated how Seungmin never glanced his way anymore. He hated how the couch felt too big when they weren’t pressed shoulder to shoulder like always. But mostly, he hated himself.

The words replayed over and over in his head. You’re disgusting. I’d never want someone like you. He had meant them as armor, as a way to push the truth away. But the look on Seungmin’s face when he said it cut deeper than he could stand.

That night, while most of the members were scattered around the dorm, Jeongin found himself pacing outside Minho and Jisung’s room. Their laughter spilled through the door, easy and light. He hesitated, then knocked.

“Come in,” Minho called.

They were tangled together on the bed, Jisung’s head resting on Minho’s chest, phones abandoned. They looked comfortable, unbothered. Like nothing about their love weighed them down.

Jeongin swallowed hard. “Can I…ask you guys something?”

Minho sat up slightly, raising a brow. “Yeah?…”

“It’s…for a friend.” The words felt flimsy even as they left his mouth. “Say there’s…a guy who thinks he might…like another guy. But he’s not sure. Because that would be…wrong.”

The room went still.

“Wrong?” Jisung repeated, his voice quiet but sharp.

Jeongin shifted, his palms sweating. “I mean. Like. Against how you’re raised. Against what you’re supposed to believe. It’s sinful, isn’t it? Two men…together like that.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, all the poison he’d been carrying spilling into the open. “It’s unnatural. Selfish. I mean, it ruins everything. Families, faith, the life you’re supposed to live. Doesn’t it?”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Jisung’s expression had hardened, the playful ease gone from his face. Minho’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening.

“Sinful?” Minho said flatly.

Jeongin’s throat closed. “I didn’t mean”

“Yes, you did.” Jisung sat up now too, his gaze cutting in a way Jeongin had never felt from him before. “Do you hear yourself? You’re sitting here, in our room, saying our relationship is disgusting. Saying we’re wrong just for loving each other.”

Jeongin flinched. “I wasn’t talking about you!!”

“You don’t have to be,” Minho cut in, his tone cold. “You already said enough.”

Jeongin’s chest ached. He wanted to claw the words back, to shove them into his throat before they could poison the air, but it was too late. He had said them, and they were out, and he could see the way they landed.

“I just…” His voice cracked. He rubbed a trembling hand over his face. “I just don’t know how to stop thinking it’s wrong.”

Jisung’s eyes softened a fraction, but the hurt stayed. “Then maybe the problem isn’t who you like. Maybe the problem is what you’ve been taught to hate.”

Jeongin’s eyes stung. He turned and left before they could see him cry.

The door closed behind him, and he leaned against the hallway wall, sinking down until his knees hit the floor. His hands shook as he pressed them against his chest. He felt hollow, cracked open, like the faith that had always been his anchor had turned into chains.

And worst of all, he knew every word he had just said was exactly what he feared someone would one day throw back at him.

The dorm was still. Most of the members had drifted into their rooms, doors shut, muffled laughter or music leaking faintly through the walls. Jeongin sat at the kitchen table alone, his head in his hands, trying to breathe through the tightness in his chest. He hadn’t eaten dinner. He hadn’t spoken to Minho or Jisung since the disaster in their room. He couldn’t face Seungmin at all.

Footsteps padded in. Bang Chan, hair damp from a late shower, hoodie hanging loose on his frame. He blinked when he saw Jeongin hunched at the table.

“You’re still up?”

Jeongin scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”

Chan poured himself a glass of water, then sat across from him. He leaned forward on his elbows, studying him in that quiet way he always did, the one that made it feel like he’d already seen through everything. “Wanna talk about it?”

Jeongin hesitated, but the words had been rotting inside him for too long. They clawed their way out before he could stop them. “I messed up. With Minho-hyung and Jisung-hyung. Bad.”

Chan’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”

“I…asked them something. For a friend. But I sounded…” Jeongin’s throat closed. He forced it open. “I sounded like I was saying their relationship was wrong. Sinful. That being with another man was disgusting.”

Chan was silent for a moment. Not angry, not shocked, just quiet. He finally asked, “Is that what you believe?”

Jeongin’s eyes stung. “No. I mean…I don’t know. That’s what I was always taught. Growing up. But when I saw their faces, I realized I didn’t even believe what I was saying. I was just…scared.”

“Scared of what?”

Jeongin swallowed hard. His hands twisted in his lap. The words scraped out like glass. “Of how I feel about Seungmin.”

Chan didn’t flinch. He didn’t look surprised. He just nodded, slow and steady, like he’d been waiting for Jeongin to say it.

Jeongin’s voice broke. “I said something awful to him. We argued and I…I kissed him. Then I panicked. I told him he was disgusting. That I’d never want someone like him. He hasn’t looked at me since.”

The silence weighed heavy between them. Then Chan reached across the table, placing a hand over Jeongin’s trembling one.

“You don’t hate him,” he said softly. “You hate yourself. That’s what came out of your mouth. Not the truth.”

Jeongin’s breath shook. “What if he never forgives me?”

Chan’s mouth twitched into a small, sad smile. “Then you learn from it and become someone worth forgiving.”

Jeongin blinked at him. “How do you…just know what to say?”

“I don’t,” Chan chuckled quietly. “I’ve just had to figure out a lot of this on my own.” He leaned back, gaze flicking briefly toward the hall before returning to Jeongin. His tone dropped, casual but careful. “You know, I’m not exactly straight either.”

Jeongin’s head snapped up. “What?”

Chan shrugged. “Never talked about it. Didn’t see the point. Everyone assumes, so I let them. Easier that way. But I’ve been with someone for a while now.”

Jeongin stared, words caught in his throat. He had always assumed Chan was the definition of straight, the reliable leader, the one who carried everything on his shoulders, untouchable in his steady certainty.

“You…have a partner?” he managed.

Chan smiled faintly. “Yeah. It’s private. But they make me happy. That’s all that matters.” His voice softened. “Happiness isn’t a sin, Jeongin. Love isn’t a sin. Don’t let anyone make you believe it is.”

The words landed heavy, knocking something loose inside him. For the first time, Jeongin felt the weight of his guilt shift, just slightly, like maybe it didn’t have to crush him forever.

He let out a shaky breath. “I really do…like him. More than that. I think I’ve been in love with him for a long time. I just..” His voice cracked. “I ruined it.”

Chan squeezed his hand once before pulling back. “Then stop running from it. Apologize. Mean it. Show him you’re not afraid to choose him.”

Jeongin pressed his lips together, nodding even as his chest burned with fear. He didn’t know if Seungmin would ever want to hear him out again. But maybe, just maybe, he had a chance to fix what he had broken.

Jeongin stood outside Seungmin’s door for almost ten minutes, hands sweating, heart pounding. He could hear faint music inside, the soft thrum of Seungmin’s playlist bleeding through the wood. His stomach twisted.

Finally, he knocked.

The music cut off. A pause. Then Seungmin’s voice, flat. “What.”

Jeongin swallowed hard. “It’s me.”

Another pause. The door clicked open just enough for Seungmin to lean against the frame. His expression was unreadable, eyes dark, lips pressed thin.

“What do you want.”

Jeongin’s chest squeezed. He forced the words out. “I need to apologize.”

Seungmin crossed his arms. “Go ahead.”

The weight of his stare made Jeongin stumble. “I didn’t mean what I said. That night. I panicked. I was scared.”

Seungmin’s brow twitched. “Scared of what? Me?”

“No,” Jeongin said quickly. “Not you. Just… what it means. You know how I grew up. I was taught this was…wrong.” His voice faltered. “Sinful.”

Seungmin’s eyes went cold. “So you kissed me, then called me disgusting, and now you’re standing here telling me it’s because you think loving me is a sin?”

Jeongin’s pulse spiked. “That’s not… I’m saying that’s what I was taught, not what I really..”

“Then why did you say it?” Seungmin’s voice sharpened, the calm edge gone. “Because I remember exactly how it sounded. Like you meant every word.”

Jeongin flinched. “I was trying to protect myself.”

“From me?”

“From myself!” The words came out louder than he intended. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, trembling. “I can’t just flip a switch and stop thinking the way I was raised to think. I can’t just..” His throat closed, desperate. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just don’t know how to not feel like I’m ruining everything by…wanting you.”

For the first time, Seungmin’s composure cracked. His voice broke, soft and bitter. “You really think I’m something that ruins you.”

Jeongin’s breath hitched. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s exactly what you said.”

The silence pressed heavy between them. Seungmin finally stepped back, opening the door wider just enough for him to leave. His eyes glistened, though his voice was steady again.

“Come back when you can talk to me without making me feel like a mistake.”

The door shut in Jeongin’s face.

He stood frozen, throat burning, hands shaking. For a moment he thought about knocking again, begging, pushing until Seungmin gave in. But the look in Seungmin’s eyes replayed in his mind-hurt, betrayed, tired. He couldn’t make it worse.

So he turned and walked back down the hall, his chest hollow, each step heavier than the last.

The weeks blurred together.

Schedules carried on as always: rehearsals, recordings, interviews. Cameras flashed, microphones pressed close, fans screaming their names. From the outside, nothing was different. Stray Kids were still Stray Kids, a well-oiled machine, a family that laughed and teased and worked themselves raw for the stage.

But Jeongin wasn’t part of it anymore.

Not really.

He still danced, still sang, still smiled when the red light turned on, but it all felt hollow. As if someone else wore his skin when the cameras were on, someone better, someone who wasn’t rotting inside.

The nights were the worst.

He’d lie in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint laughter drifting from the other rooms. Seungmin’s laughter. He hadn’t heard it directed at him in weeks. Not since the fight. Not since the door had shut in his face.

Every word he had said that night echoed like a curse. You’re disgusting. I’d never want someone like you. He told himself a thousand times that he hadn’t meant it, but it didn’t matter. He had said it. And Seungmin believed him.

The guilt sank its claws deeper each day. It whispered at him in quiet moments, gnawed at him during practice, poisoned even the smallest bits of joy. And when guilt grew too heavy, when his chest felt like it was splitting open, he needed release.

So he slipped back into old habits.

At first it was rare. A slip after a long day, a hidden moment in the bathroom when the silence was too loud. But soon it became routine. Every night, when the dorm quieted and the others fell asleep, Jeongin sat in the bathroom with the fan on, the harsh light glaring down. He’d press the blade against his skin until the sting made the noise in his head fade, until the guilt drained out just enough to let him breathe.

The shame that followed only fed the cycle. He’d scrub the blood away, pull his sleeves down, and whisper promises to himself that it was the last time. But when morning came, the weight was still there. The silence from Seungmin was still there. The ache was still there.

And so was the blade.

He grew quieter during the days. His jokes were fewer, his smiles thinner. He ate just enough to avoid suspicion, laughed just enough to avoid questions. But Minho’s sharp eyes lingered on him longer. Chan frowned when Jeongin zoned out during meetings. Jisung nudged him more often, trying to pull him into banter that fell flat.

Still, no one saw the bathroom floor each night, or the trembling hands, or the way Jeongin pressed his sleeve against fresh wounds as he crawled back into bed.

He saw Seungmin every day. He couldn’t escape him. In rehearsals, in the dorm, across the table at meals. Seungmin was always there, solid and steady, but never his. Their eyes rarely met now. When they did, Seungmin’s gaze slid away as if Jeongin were invisible. That hurt more than any insult could.

One night, after another long day of schedules, Jeongin lingered in the living room after everyone else had gone to bed. The empty dorm was suffocating. He curled up on the couch with his knees to his chest, staring at the dark TV screen, his reflection warped across it.

He didn’t recognize himself anymore. His eyes looked hollow, his face drawn. His sleeve slipped back as he shifted, revealing faint lines hidden beneath the fabric. His stomach twisted at the sight.

You’re pathetic.

The thought hit like a slap. He dug his nails into his palms, desperate for something to anchor him. He thought of Seungmin’s face the night he kissed him, the way his lips had tasted of salt and sweat, the way his eyes had softened for just a moment before Jeongin had crushed it all with his words.

Tears pricked at his eyes. He pressed the heel of his hand against them until it hurt.

The sound of a door opening made him jolt.

Hyunjin padded into the kitchen for water, messy-haired, half asleep. His eyes landed on Jeongin. He frowned. “You’re still up?”

Jeongin forced a smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Hyunjin hesitated, then nodded slowly, grabbing his glass. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“Yeah.”

The glass clinked in the sink, the door shut, and Jeongin was alone again.

He pulled his sleeves down tighter.

The blade waited in the bathroom, cold and familiar.

That night, like every night, he gave in.

The first sign came when Minho noticed Jeongin flinch.

It was during rehearsal, the eight of them moving through choreography again and again until sweat slicked their skin. Jeongin’s sleeves were long despite the heat, tugged down past his wrists. As they hit a formation, Minho’s hand brushed his arm, and Jeongin pulled away too fast. Almost like he’d been burned.

Minho’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. Not yet.

The second sign came when Chan handed him water after a long practice. Jeongin accepted it with both hands, but his grip trembled. Chan frowned, studying him. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Jeongin said too quickly, already turning away.

By the third sign, Jisung had started watching him more closely. Jeongin skipped showers after practice, waiting until everyone else was done. He changed with his back turned. He laughed less. He disappeared into the bathroom at night for longer stretches, coming back with red-rimmed eyes that he blamed on exhaustion.

Jisung knew something was wrong. He just didn’t know how bad it was until that night.

The dorm was quiet. Past midnight, the hall lights dim. Jisung got up for water, padding half-asleep toward the kitchen. As he passed the bathroom, he caught a sound, a sharp hiss, low and strained, followed by the faint scrape of metal.

He froze.

Then, carefully, he pushed the door open.

And there was Jeongin, sitting on the tiled floor with his back against the tub, sleeves pushed up. The blade gleamed under the harsh light. His arm was streaked with fresh cuts, blood welling in thin lines. His face was twisted, tear-stained, his chest heaving as if each breath fought through a storm.

Jisung’s stomach dropped. “Innie”

Jeongin’s head snapped up, eyes wide, horror flooding his expression. The blade clattered from his hand. “Hyung… no, please” He scrambled to cover his arm, tugging his sleeve down with shaking fingers. “You can’t… don’t tell anyone”

Jisung’s throat closed, but he forced himself to kneel beside him, hands hovering, not knowing if he should grab the blade or hold him or just breathe. “What are you doing to yourself?” His voice cracked. “Why?”

Jeongin shook his head violently. “Please don’t tell anyone. Especially not Chan. Or Seungmin. Please, hyung.”

Jisung’s chest ached. “Innie….”

“I’ll stop,” Jeongin whispered, frantic. “I promise I’ll stop. Just, please don’t tell them. Please.”

His eyes were wild, desperate, terrified. And Jisung, despite every instinct screaming to run to Chan right then, nodded. He couldn’t stand the thought of breaking Jeongin’s trust in that moment.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. But you have to stop. Promise me.”

“I promise.” Jeongin’s voice trembled as he wiped at his face, dragging his sleeve down again, hiding the damage. “I won’t do it again.”

Jisung picked up the blade, slipping it into his pocket before standing. He offered his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Jeongin hesitated, then took it. His grip was weak.

That night, Jisung lay awake long after Jeongin had curled under his blankets. The image burned behind his eyelids, the blade, the blood, the broken look on Jeongin’s face.

He wanted to believe the promise.

But he didn’t.

And he was right.

It started again within days.

Jeongin was careful, quieter, but Jisung could see it. He saw the way Jeongin’s sleeves grew looser, the way he avoided the pool during schedules that required short sleeves, the way he vanished into the bathroom longer than ever. The way his eyes grew duller, shoulders heavier.

Every night, Jisung lay awake, listening. He heard the muffled sobs, the choked breaths, the way the bathroom faucet ran too long.

Jisung’s chest carried the weight of that secret like a stone. He wanted to keep Jeongin’s trust. But every time he saw a new faint line when a sleeve slipped too far, he felt sick.

Until the night he couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

It was after a fan event, the group piling back into the dorm exhausted. Everyone drifted to their rooms, chatter fading. Jisung lingered in the hall, and when Jeongin slipped into the bathroom again, something inside him snapped.

Minutes passed. Too many.

Jisung pressed his ear to the door. He heard the sharp intake of breath, the hiss of pain, the muffled whimper. His heart dropped.

He pushed the door open without knocking.

Jeongin froze on the floor again, sleeve rolled up, arm bleeding more than usual this time. His eyes filled with panic. “Hyung, no!! don’t”

Jisung’s voice shook. “You promised me.”

Jeongin’s lip trembled. “I’m sorry. I can’t stop.” His voice broke, high and raw. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Jisung’s chest caved in. He dropped to his knees, tears stinging his eyes as he grabbed Jeongin’s hands, pulling them away from the blade. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. I can’t watch you destroy yourself every night.”

“Then don’t watch,” Jeongin whispered, broken.

Jisung’s breath caught. The words shattered something inside him.

He shook his head, tears spilling. “No. No, I’m not letting you do this alone. I’m telling Chan.”

Jeongin’s eyes went wide, terror flooding his face. “No, please. Not Chan. Not Seungmin. Please, hyung, I’ll get better, I swear”

“You already promised once,” Jisung snapped, his voice shaking. “And it only got worse. Look at you, Innie. Look at what you’re doing. I can’t keep this secret anymore. I won’t.”

Jeongin’s chest heaved, his whole body trembling. He looked like a cornered animal, desperate, terrified.

But Jisung held firm, gripping his hands tight, refusing to let go.

“I’m telling Chan,” he said again, quieter this time but with finality.

And Jeongin broke, collapsing forward into Jisung’s arms with a sob that ripped through the silence.

Jisung didn’t sleep that night.

He stayed awake in his bed, clutching his pillow, staring into the dark as Jeongin’s muffled sobs echoed in his ears. His chest burned with guilt, with fear, with the image of blood beading on pale skin that would not leave him.

By sunrise, his decision remained the same.

He waited until the dorm was stirring, until Chan emerged from his room with messy hair and a yawn, already scrolling through his phone for schedules. Jisung intercepted him in the kitchen, voice tight.

“Hyung. We need to talk. Now.”

Chan looked up, blinking. The urgency in Jisung’s tone wiped the sleep from his face. He set his phone down. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Innie,” Jisung whispered, voice breaking. “I caught him last night hurting himself. Again.”

Chan’s expression darkened instantly. “Again?”

Jisung nodded quickly, tears stinging his eyes. “He’s…he’s hurting himself, hyung. Bad. I tried to keep it secret because he begged me, but… it’s getting worse. I can’t… I don’t know what to do.”

Chan froze for a moment, then ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. His jaw clenched, but his voice stayed level. “Thank you for telling me. You did the right thing, Sungie.”

Jisung shook his head, wiping his eyes roughly. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

“No,” Chan said firmly, gripping his shoulder. “You told me now. That’s what matters.”

Jeongin didn’t know any of this when Chan knocked on his door that evening.

He was curled on his bed with headphones on, pretending to scroll through his phone, though he hadn’t processed a single thing on the screen for hours. The knock startled him.

“Innie?”

He froze. Chan’s voice.

“Yeah,” he called, trying to sound casual.

The door opened. Chan stepped inside, closing it softly behind him. He leaned against the desk, arms crossed. His gaze was steady, heavy.

Jeongin’s stomach dropped. “What’s up?”

Chan didn’t answer at first. He just studied him, head tilted slightly. Then, quietly: “Jisung told me.”

The world tilted. Jeongin’s breath caught, throat closing. “Told you…what?”

“You know what.”

Panic flared. He sat up too fast, nearly dropping his phone. “No….. he promised”

Chan’s voice stayed calm, but unyielding. “He couldn’t keep that promise, Innie. Because it was killing him to watch you hurt yourself every night.”

Jeongin’s chest heaved. His vision blurred. “I told him not to tell you. I told him.”

Chan’s expression softened, but his tone didn’t waver. “And he told me anyway. Because he loves you too much to let you bleed out in silence.”

Jeongin shook his head violently, pressing his palms into his eyes. “No, no, no”

“Innie.”

The firmness in Chan’s voice cut through the spiral. Jeongin dropped his hands, blinking up at him through tears.

“Why?” Chan asked quietly. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Jeongin’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His chest ached, his throat raw. Finally, a whisper escaped. “Because I can’t stand myself.”

Chan’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “Because I’m not supposed to feel this way. I wasn’t supposed to want him. I wasn’t supposed to” His voice cracked. “I’m not supposed to be like this.”

The silence after was deafening.

Chan’s eyes widened slightly, then softened with understanding. “Like…this.”

Jeongin’s lip trembled. “Gay. Wrong. Sinful.” His whole body shook. “All my life, they told me. That if I wanted another boy, I’d burn. That I’d go to hell. And then I kissed him. And I did want him. And now I can’t breathe without hating myself.”

The admission shattered him. He buried his face in his hands, sobbing into the quiet.

Neither of them noticed Jisung had crept into the doorway, until his voice cracked through the air. “Innie…”

Jeongin’s head snapped up, eyes red and swollen. His chest heaved. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Jisung’s face was pale, his eyes glassy. He stepped inside slowly, looking between them. “So that’s why.”

Shame crashed down heavier than ever. Jeongin scrambled back against the headboard, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean…”

“You think being like me is something worth bleeding yourself over,” Jisung whispered.

Jeongin’s throat closed. “No”

But Jisung shook his head quickly, stepping closer, voice trembling. “I’m not blaming you, Innie. I’m not. I just” His breath hitched. “It hurts. Because I’m queer. And I’m your friend. And watching you rip yourself apart because you think people like me are disgusting… do you know how much that hurts?”

Jeongin broke completely then. He buried his face in his knees, sobs wracking his body. “I don’t think you’re disgusting. I don’t. I just think I am.”

The room fell into silence except for Jeongin’s crying. Chan sat down on the edge of the bed, close enough that Jeongin could feel the weight beside him. Jisung lingered by the desk, wiping at his own tears.

Chan spoke quietly, steady. “Innie. What you feel isn’t wrong. It’s not dirty. It’s not something you have to carve out of yourself. You’re not broken. You’re human.”

Jeongin’s shoulders shook harder. He couldn’t answer.

Chan’s voice softened. “And I need you alive. We need you alive. You don’t have to figure everything out tonight, but you can’t keep hurting yourself. Not like this.”

Jeongin lifted his head finally, eyes swollen, face streaked with tears. He looked at Chan, then at Jisung, who was staring at him with so much pain it made his chest ache all over again.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he whispered.

Chan’s hand rested gently on his back. “Then let us help you.”

For the first time in weeks, Jeongin didn’t feel completely alone. Just broken.

Chan gathered them in the living room late at night. Jeongin was in his room, headphones on, oblivious to the heavy mood pooling outside his door. The others filed in one by one, confusion flickering across their faces.

“What’s going on?” Hyunjin asked, flopping onto the couch. “You look like you’re about to announce disbandment.”

Chan’s jaw was tight. His hands twisted together in his lap. “It’s about Innie.”

That made everyone sit straighter.

Jisung, perched on the arm of the sofa, chewed at his lip until it almost bled.

“What about him?” Minho asked cautiously.

Chan took a breath, then let it out slow. His voice was low, steady, but heavy. “He’s not okay. He’s been…hurting himself. For a while.”

The silence was instant and suffocating.

Hyunjin blinked, eyes wide. “What?”

Felix’s hand shot to his mouth. “No…”

Seungmin, sitting cross-legged on the floor, froze. His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, hurting himself.”

“He’s been cutting,” Chan said quietly. “I only found out a few days ago. Jisung caught him. Twice.”

Jisung winced, staring at the floor.

The room exploded. Hyunjin’s voice shot high. “And none of us knew? He’s been doing this and we didn’t even see”

“We did see,” Minho cut in, his voice hard. “We just didn’t realize what it was.”

Felix was already crying, wiping his cheeks furiously. “Why would he? why didn’t he come to us?”

The noise swelled, panic and guilt and shock tangling in the air until Chan raised his hand. His voice came sharp. “Stop. One at a time.”

The room went quiet again, breaths heavy, eyes flickering.

Seungmin hadn’t moved. He stared straight ahead, his face blank but his jaw clenched.

Chan glanced at him. “Seungmin….”

“How long?” Seungmin asked, voice flat.

Chan hesitated. “Jisung thinks…weeks. Maybe longer.”

Seungmin’s hands curled into fists. “And no one told me.”

“It wasn’t about hiding it from you,” Jisung said quickly, eyes wide. “I didn’t tell anyone at first because he begged me not to!!”

“But you told Chan,” Seungmin snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut the air. “You told Chan, and not me.”

Jisung flinched. “It wasn’t like that”

Seungmin stood abruptly, anger vibrating under his skin. “He’s been destroying himself right in front of me. And I didn’t know. Do you know how pathetic that makes me feel?”

Hyunjin opened his mouth, but Seungmin’s glare silenced him. His voice cracked now, anger laced with pain. “And it’s because of me, isn’t it.”

The words dropped like a stone.

Chan shook his head quickly. “No. Don’t put this on yourself”

“Don’t lie to me.” Seungmin’s eyes burned, finally betraying the storm in his chest. “It’s because of me. Because he can’t handle what happened between us. Because I kissed him. Because I made him feel something he thinks is wrong.”

No one spoke. No one dared.

Seungmin laughed once, sharp and bitter, before dragging a hand through his hair. His voice was quiet now, shaking. “He’d rather bleed than be with me. That’s what you’re telling me.”

“Seungmin” Chan started, but Seungmin was already moving.

He grabbed his hoodie from the back of the chair, shoving it on, his movements harsh. “Don’t. Don’t tell me to calm down. Don’t tell me it’s complicated. I know exactly what it is.”

Felix’s voice wavered. “Seungmin, please”

But he was already at the door, shoulders rigid, head bowed so no one could see the glassy shine in his eyes.

The door slammed behind him, rattling the frame.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Jisung sank into the couch, guilt carved into his face. “I shouldn’t have”

Chan’s hand came down heavy on his shoulder. “Don’t. You did what you had to.”

But the weight of Seungmin’s words lingered, pressing into all of them.

Jeongin was drowning in guilt, in shame, in the war inside himself. And now Seungmin knew.

Seungmin didn’t come back to the dorm that night.

He texted Chan once, hours later: I’m at the studio. Don’t wait up.

No one pressed him further.

The next morning, he was already gone by the time Jeongin stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, hoodie pulled tight around him. The others were quiet, too quiet, avoiding his gaze.

He felt it instantly. Something had shifted.

Felix gave him a smile that was too soft, too careful. Hyunjin asked if he wanted breakfast with a voice stripped of its usual playfulness. Jisung wouldn’t meet his eyes at all.

Jeongin sat at the table, hands trembling slightly around his cup. The silence pressed down on him like a weight.

Seungmin came back hours later, just before practice. He dropped his bag in his room, changed into a clean shirt, and walked out again without a word. His expression was unreadable, his jaw locked tight.

Jeongin froze in the hallway when their eyes brushed for the first time in days. Seungmin didn’t even pause. He brushed past him like he was nothing more than furniture.

The ache that bloomed in Jeongin’s chest almost made him sick.

Practice was brutal. Seungmin danced like he was trying to tear himself apart, every move sharp, precise, almost violent. Sweat poured down his temples, his jaw clenched. When Chan called for a break, he grabbed his water bottle and walked out of the room without waiting for anyone.

Jeongin sat on the floor, chest heaving, watching the door swing shut behind him.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked quietly, more to himself than anyone.

No one answered.

But Hyunjin’s glance was telling. Jisung’s silence even more so.

That night, Jeongin couldn’t stand it anymore. He cornered Jisung in the kitchen while everyone else was distracted with dinner.

“What happened?” Jeongin demanded in a whisper. His hands shook as he gripped the counter. “Why is he… why won’t he even look at me?”

Jisung flinched. His eyes darted away. “Innie, don’t”

“You know something,” Jeongin pressed. His voice cracked. “He knows something. What did you do?”

Jisung finally looked at him then, his expression twisted with guilt. “We had a meeting. Without you. Chan told everyone.”

Jeongin’s blood ran cold.

“No.” His voice was hoarse. “No, you didn’t.”

Jisung’s eyes softened, but his words were firm. “We had to. We’re scared for you, Innie.”

Jeongin shook his head violently, his chest caving in. “And Seungmin?”

“He didn’t take it well,” Jisung admitted. “He…he thinks it’s because of him. And honestly…”

“Don’t.” Jeongin’s voice shot sharp, desperate. “Don’t say it.”

Jisung’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t back down. “He’s hurting too, Innie. Do you get that? He found out you’d rather bleed than face what you feel for him. How do you think that feels?”

The words landed like a knife, splitting Jeongin open. His breath hitched, the kitchen suddenly too small, too suffocating.

He stumbled back, shaking his head, muttering, “No, no, no” before fleeing to his room and slamming the door.

That night, Jeongin didn’t go for the bathroom. He didn’t need to. His chest hurt worse than any blade could.

Seungmin avoided him for days after that. They passed each other in hallways like strangers. During meals, Seungmin sat between Hyunjin and Minho, never near him. In practice, his eyes never lingered. On stage, the distance was subtle but real.

And Jeongin knew.

He knew Seungmin knew.

And it was killing both of them…

Jeongin had stopped expecting Seungmin to speak to him.

Days turned into weeks of quiet hostility, of sidelong glances that never lingered, of distance that dug under Jeongin’s skin like splinters. He convinced himself this was permanent, that he had ruined everything.

But then practice ended late one night. The others trailed out, exhausted, leaving behind only Seungmin, sitting on the floor with his back against the mirror, and Jeongin, frozen by the door with his bag slung over his shoulder.

Neither moved.

The silence stretched tight. Jeongin’s chest thudded painfully.

Seungmin’s voice finally broke it. “Are you just going to stand there?”

Jeongin blinked, startled. His throat went dry. “…Do you want me to go?”

Seungmin’s eyes lifted to him at last. They were sharp, but tired, weighed down. “No. I want you to sit.”

Jeongin hesitated, then slowly crossed the room, lowering himself to the floor a cautious distance away. The studio was dark except for the faint glow from the hallway, their reflections faint in the mirror.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Seungmin sighed, dragging a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Jeongin flinched. “…Yeah.”

“You think hurting yourself is the answer? That hiding from me makes it better?” His tone was firm, but it cracked at the edges. “All you did was make me feel like I’m poison. Like wanting me is something worth bleeding for.”

Jeongin’s chest caved in. “You’re not poison. You never were.”

Seungmin turned to look at him, eyes sharp. “Then why, Jeongin? Why did you make me believe it?”

Jeongin’s lips parted, but the words tangled in his throat. Finally, they broke loose, quiet and trembling. “Because I didn’t know how to live with myself. I spent my whole life believing this was wrong. That wanting you meant God hated me. That I was dirty. And when you kissed me, when I wanted more… I didn’t know how to carry that without hating myself too.”

Seungmin’s expression softened, though pain still lingered. His voice lowered. “And you thought I’d be better off not knowing.”

“I thought everyone would,” Jeongin whispered. His eyes blurred with tears. “But it just made everything worse. I hurt myself. I hurt you. I hurt everyone who loves me.”

The silence after was heavy, broken only by their breathing.

Seungmin leaned his head back against the mirror, eyes closing. His voice was steadier now, though it shook faintly. “You hurt me, yeah. But do you really think I’d stop caring about you because of that? Do you really think I’m that shallow?”

Jeongin wiped at his face quickly, shaking his head. “No. I just…I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

Seungmin let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Too late. You already did. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

Jeongin’s chest tightened, but for the first time in months, it wasn’t suffocating.

Seungmin opened his eyes again, looking directly at him. “You need to stop carrying this alone. I can’t fix everything for you. But I can stand next to you while you figure it out.”

Jeongin swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “I want that. I want…you.”

Something shifted in Seungmin’s face then, the sharp edges softening, his eyes warm and heavy. He didn’t move closer, didn’t reach out, but his voice was gentler than it had been in weeks.

“Then stop fighting me.”

Jeongin nodded again, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Okay.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the silence between them didn’t feel like a wall.

It felt like the start of something breaking open.

————————

It was past midnight when Seungmin knocked softly on Jeongin’s door.

Jeongin had been sitting on the floor for hours, knees pulled to his chest, staring at the faint light slipping through the blinds. When the knock came, his heart lurched.

He stood too quickly, nearly tripping over himself as he opened the door.

Seungmin stood there, hoodie half-zipped, hair falling into his eyes. He looked calm, but there was something fierce burning behind his expression.

“Can I come in?”

Jeongin nodded, stepping aside.

Seungmin slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. For a moment, they just stood in the small, dimly lit room, the silence pressing.

Then Seungmin spoke, his voice steady. “I’m tired of avoiding this. I’m tired of pretending I don’t care about you when every second of my day is you.”

Jeongin’s breath hitched, his throat tight. “Seungmin…”

Seungmin’s gaze locked on his, sharp but trembling at the edges. “You hurt me. You said things I can’t forget. But even then, I still wanted you. And that’s the part that scared me most. Because no matter how much I told myself to let you go, I couldn’t.”

Jeongin’s chest caved in, tears welling fast. His voice broke as he spoke. “I was wrong. About all of it. I thought wanting you meant I was broken, that I was betraying everything I was raised to believe. But it was never about God or sin. It was about me being too scared to admit what I wanted.”

He took a shaky step closer. “And what I want is you. Always has been.”

Seungmin’s breath caught. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He took one step forward, closing the gap between them until Jeongin could feel his warmth.

“Say it again,” Seungmin whispered.

Jeongin swallowed hard, tears slipping free. “I want you.” His voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I love you.”

The silence that followed was heavy, trembling, before Seungmin finally moved. His hand reached up, cupping Jeongin’s jaw with a tenderness that nearly undid him. His thumb brushed against damp skin, wiping away a tear.

“Finally,” Seungmin murmured, his voice breaking with relief.

And then he kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed, or angry, or full of denial like before. It was slow, steady, grounding. Seungmin pressed their mouths together like he was piecing Jeongin back together, like he was claiming something that had always been his.

Jeongin clung to him, shaking, kissing back with every ounce of fear and love and longing he had buried for so long.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, both of them breathing hard, Seungmin whispered, “No more running.”

Jeongin nodded, a small, tear-soaked smile trembling across his lips. “No more running.”

THE ENDDDDDDD HOPE U LIKED IT💗💗

I found the breaker thingies from: @cafekitsune

[skzstanofc]

the rule we broke

Pairing: Han Jisung x Lee Minho x Female!Reader (poly)

Genre: angst, smut, hurt/comfort, idol!au, poly!skz

Summary: You swore one rule when this relationship began: always together. No secrets. No exclusions. But rules are fragile when desire and exhaustion collide, and you find yourself on the outside of something you thought was unbreakable.

(It’s a decently long story… got carried away lol)

You always thought the hardest part of dating idols would be the secrecy.

The way your life had to be lived in shadows, tucked between stylists’ chairs and backstage hallways, pretending your touches were professional when your hands knew the exact shape of their bones beneath the skin.

But no… secrecy wasn’t the hardest part.

It was trust.

It was the rule that the three of you whispered into each other’s mouths the night everything started:

“We do this together. Always.”

You didn’t even remember who said it first. Maybe it was Jisung, nervous laughter tangled with the heat of confession. Maybe it was Minho, voice steady but eyes softer than anyone else ever got to see. Maybe it was you, desperate to believe this fragile thing could work.

It didn’t matter. You’d all agreed.

One rule. That was all.

⸻

At first, it worked.

Stolen nights in dorm rooms that smelled faintly of fabric softener and sweat. Hotel rooms after concerts, curtains pulled tight against city lights. Quick touches backstage when you were still holding curling irons, when Jisung would grin too wide and Minho would shove him but then lace his fingers with yours just out of sight.

Always together.

Even when schedules split you apart, they’d wait. Even when exhaustion made their bones heavy, they’d hold off until all three of you could breathe in the same rhythm again.

Until the night you heard them.

⸻

The dorm walls weren’t thick. You’d stayed late, cleaning up after styling for a shoot, waiting for them to finish practice. You thought you were alone in the living room.

But then….

A sound.

Not laughter. Not the usual chaos of SKZ.

A stifled gasp. A muffled moan.

You froze, curling iron still warm in your hand, as heat spread like betrayal through your chest. You didn’t want to know. You wanted to stop hearing. But your feet moved, traitorous, carrying you closer to the crack of the door left ajar.

Minho’s voice. Low. Sharp. Please.

Jisung’s laugh, breathless, breaking apart into a moan that sounded too much like worship.

You didn’t remember how long you stood there. Didn’t remember how you made it out before anyone saw you.

You only remembered the sound of them together without you.

Breaking the only rule.

Breaking you.

You should have turned away.

Should have shut the door, shut your heart, shut your ears.

But you didn’t.

You stood there, stomach twisting, throat tightening, as the sounds bled out into the hallway.

Soft, wet noises. Jisung’s voice, cracking like he couldn’t breathe through the pleasure. Minho’s low, demanding, punctured with those little grunts you’d memorized on your own skin.

Your body remembered them. Your body flinched.

Your fingers dug into your palm hard enough to hurt, but it didn’t anchor you. You couldn’t move. You were suspended in it, hanging in the sick ache of knowing.

And then….

Minho’s voice, sharp, commanding: “Look at me.”

Jisung, whimpering, almost crying with pleasure: “Hyunggg fuck, please”

Something shattered inside you.

Not because they loved each other. You knew they did. You’d always known. That was why it worked, why the three of you worked, because the love wasn’t one-way, wasn’t uneven. You’d cherished it. Believed in it.

It shattered because of the one rule.

Always together.

And here you were, in the hall, not even a shadow in the room, not even thought of.

You couldn’t breathe.

You pushed the door open.

⸻

The room froze.

Bodies tangled, sheets half-kicked down, skin flushed, breathless.

Jisung’s eyes went wide, pupils blown but suddenly so scared, his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to speak.

Minho’s head jerked up, hair damp against his forehead, mouth pressed into a hard line as his chest heaved.

For a beat, none of you spoke.

The air was too heavy, the sound of Jisung’s wrecked breathing still hanging between all of you like evidence, undeniable and cruel.

Then..

“…Y/N.” Minho’s voice was low. Too low. Like if he raised it, everything would splinter worse than it already had.

You couldn’t answer. Your throat was too raw.

Jisung scrambled to sit up, tugging the sheet with him like modesty could erase what you’d heard, what you’d seen. His lips trembled around words that didn’t make it out.

You laughed. Sharp. Broken. It wasn’t even really laughter, just a sound clawed out of your chest because the silence was unbearable.

“You…” Your voice cracked, tearing down the middle. “You promised.”

Minho closed his eyes. Briefly. Like the weight of your voice was heavier than anything pressing on his body.

Jisung’s hands shook. “We-” His breath came too fast. “We didn’t-we weren’t trying to-“

“Weren’t trying to what?” you snapped, the words slicing through your own tears. “Weren’t trying to break me? Weren’t trying to make me feel like I don’t matter?”

“No!” Jisung’s voice broke, high and desperate. “No, that’s not-fuck, no, it wasn’t like that-“

But it was.

It was exactly like that.

Minho sat there, still, jaw tight enough you could see the muscle jump. He didn’t rush to excuse himself. He didn’t rush to explain. He only looked at you. Looked at you like the damage was already done and he couldn’t stop watching you burn anyway.

And it hurt worse than anything.

Because his silence was louder than Jisung’s panic.

Because you loved them. Both of them. And they loved each other. And you’d believed, stupidly, that loving all together meant never being left behind.

You stepped back. The door frame dug into your spine, grounding you, stopping you from collapsing.

“Always together.” Your voice shook, but you forced the words out, nails biting your palm. “That was the only rule. The only thing I asked. And you… you”

Minho finally moved. Reached forward, not even thinking, not even covering himself, just reaching for you like instinct. “Y/N-”

You flinched back.

And the look on his face-

Like you’d slapped him. Like you’d torn something out of his chest.

Jisung choked on a sob, the sound raw, ugly. He was crying now, tears cutting down his cheeks fast, words tumbling out without sense. “Please, please don’t leave, we didn’t mean… we should’ve.. fuck, please-”

Your vision blurred, hot and wet.

You turned.

You walked.

The door shut behind you with a thud that echoed long after your footsteps faded.

For a long, hollow moment, there was only silence.

Jisung sat frozen on the bed, sheet bunched up in his fists, his whole body trembling like a string pulled too tight. His chest rose and fell too fast, shallow gasps that weren’t catching enough air. His lips were swollen, wet, his eyes red already.

Minho sat straighter, still, staring at the door like he could pull you back through it if he just willed hard enough. His hands curled into fists against his thighs. His jaw worked once, twice.

Then Jisung’s voice cracked through the room.

“Hyung…” It was nothing more than a whisper, raw and small. “We… what the fuck did we just do?”

Minho didn’t answer right away. His throat bobbed. He exhaled slow, a sharp hiss through his teeth.

Jisung wiped at his face with the heel of his palm, hard, almost angry at the wetness there. But the tears wouldn’t stop, only smeared red across his skin. “She…. she was crying. Hyung, she was crying.”

His voice pitched higher, breaking. “do you get it? She heard us. She saw us. She thought we didn’t want her.”

Minho’s head turned finally, eyes dark, searching Jisung’s. “That’s not true.”

“I know it’s not true!” Jisung snapped back, his words frantic, choked. “But that’s what it looked like, that’s what it sounded like to her—fuck, she thinks we left her out—“

Minho’s brows knit. “We didn’t leave her out. She simply wasn’t here.”

Jisung stared at him, stunned. “Hyung.”

Minho lifted a hand, raking it through his hair, tugging a little too hard at the roots. His voice stayed steady, but low, the way it always did when he was sorting through something in his head. “We’re together all the time. I sleep with you. I sleep with her. She sleeps with you. That doesn’t change. She knows that.”

Jisung’s throat made a strangled noise, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “You don’t get it.”

“I do.” Minho’s voice sharpened. “She’s jealous. She’ll calm down.”

“No, hyung.” Jisung shook his head violently, tears flying off his lashes. His breath came faster again, panic crawling into his chest. “It’s not about jealousy, it’s about the rule. You remember the fucking rule? Always together. Always. We broke it. We broke it and she…” His voice cracked apart. “She thinks we don’t want her.”

Minho blinked at him, mouth parting just slightly. “That doesn’t make sense. I want her. You want her. We both want her. She knows that.”

“You don’t get it!” Jisung’s shout shook, voice splitting with desperation. His hands clutched at the sheet like it could keep him from falling apart. “She doesn’t care if we love each other. she loves that we love each other. But she wants to be there. She doesn’t want to be left out. We promised we wouldn’t leave her out!”

Minho’s lips pressed tight. His eyes darted to the door again. His silence stretched, heavy, unreadable.

Jisung’s hands dropped into his lap, defeated, shaking. He whispered, broken: “We hurt her. And she’s never gonna believe us when we say it wasn’t on purpose. Because we knew the rule. And we still…” He cut himself off with a sob, pressing his fist to his mouth, body curling inward.

Minho finally spoke, voice even, measured. “We didn’t mean to hurt her. She’ll understand that.”

“Hyung.” Jisung looked at him through wet lashes, disbelief cutting sharper than his tears. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

Minho’s gaze softened at that. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look guilty, not in the way Jisung did. He just looked… confused. Like there was a piece missing from a puzzle he couldn’t force into place.

“She’s upset,” he said, slow, careful. “But she’s wrong. I don’t love her less. I don’t love you less. Nothing changes just because it was only us this time.”

Jisung’s chest heaved, frustration clawing through the grief. “It changes to her. Don’t you get it? It changes everything for her.”

Minho tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “But why? She’s fine when I kiss you in front of her. She doesn’t mind when we.. when I touch you. She likes watching. She’s never upset then. Why is it different now?”

Jisung’s lips trembled. “Because she wasn’t in it this time. Because we made her feel like she didn’t belong. And that’s the one thing she’s terrified of, hyung.”

Minho’s shoulders slumped just slightly, the first visible crack. His fingers flexed against his knee. He didn’t say anything.

Jisung dragged in a shaky breath, voice dropping to a whisper, broken and hoarse. “She’s not mad that we love each other. She’s mad that we left her behind.”

The silence afterward was suffocating.

Minho just stared at the door again, eyes dark, unreadable, chest rising and falling steady like he was clinging to the rhythm.

Jisung curled in on himself, sheet tangled around his waist, sobs muffled against his palm.

You didn’t sleep that night.

You lay in your own bed, staring at the ceiling until the shadows turned into daylight, blinking back every tear that wouldn’t stop coming.

The sound of them together replayed in your head, over and over, like a song stuck on repeat, except it wasn’t a song… it was the breaking of the only promise you’d ever asked for.

You scrubbed your hands over your face until your skin stung. You tried to tell yourself it was stupid, that you were overreacting. That they loved you, that they always had, always would. That this was just one mistake.

But then your chest cracked all over again because it wasn’t about love. It was about being seen. Being wanted. Being included.

And last night proved you weren’t.

⸻

When you walked into work the next morning, your smile was painted on. Perfect. Unshakable.

You pulled your kit behind you, you greeted the staff, you set up the curling iron like nothing inside of you had crumbled into ash.

The members filed in one by one, yawning, laughing, complaining about early call times. Normal.

But your eyes caught on them.

Jisung looked destroyed.

His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed in red that makeup couldn’t hide, his lips chewed raw. He wouldn’t stop glancing at you, quick, guilty flicks like he was scared to look too long and scared not to.

Minho, though… Minho was calm. Collected. His expression unreadable, his posture relaxed as he dropped into the chair in front of you like nothing was wrong. Like you hadn’t caught them. Like you hadn’t walked out.

The difference gutted you.

You kept your hands steady as you sectioned his hair, but your chest ached so violently you thought you might actually drop the brush.

Minho’s eyes flicked up in the mirror, watching you. “You didn’t sleep.”

You froze, brush caught mid-air.

His voice was flat. Observant. Like a fact, not a question.

You forced your hand to move again, pretending nothing trembled. “Neither did you.”

His gaze lingered on you through the mirror. Then, simply: “No.”

The silence pressed heavy between you.

And then Jisung appeared at your side, voice small, brittle. “Noona…”

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t dare. If you did, you’d crack wide open right here, in front of everyone.

“Sit,” you said, too calm, too clipped, pointing to the next chair.

He obeyed instantly, eyes darting between you and Minho, panic written all over his face.

The other members chatted, oblivious. The staff bustled around. And you stood there, dying quietly, pretending everything was fine.

⸻

Later, when the schedules ended and the dorm lights dimmed again, Jisung found you.

You were stuffing hair products into your bag, movements too sharp, too mechanical.

“Y/N.” His voice wobbled. “Please, can we…”

“No.” You didn’t look up.

His breath hitched. “We didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your laugh came sharp, broken. “You didn’t mean to get caught, you mean.”

Jisung flinched like you’d slapped him. His hands twisted together. “No, that’s not… fuck, no, please, you can’t think that. We weren’t… hyung and I, it wasn’t—” His words tangled, useless, spilling like a flood. Tears blurred his eyes again, already threatening.

Your chest cracked, because he looked so ruined. Because you loved him. Because this was the boy who held your face like it was made of glass, who whispered always together into your mouth like it was a prayer.

And he’d broken it.

“Jisung.” You finally looked at him. Your voice was shaking, but sharp enough to cut. “It doesn’t matter what you meant. You did it. You left me out.”

His tears spilled, streaming down his cheeks. He nodded too quickly, frantic, like he agreed with every blade you pressed into him. “I know. I know. I’m so sorry. I just…. I wasn’t thinking, and hyung was there, and I thought… fuck, I thought it didn’t matter because we’d be with you later…”

“Later,” you repeated, your chest burning. “So I’m an afterthought now?”

His face crumpled. He shook his head violently, stumbling forward a step, hands reaching before he stopped himself. “No. No, you’re everything. You’re… you’re—” He broke, voice wrecked with sobs. “You’re the only reason this works at all. I don’t want anything without you, I swear. Please believe me. Please.”

The words dug into you, painful, too sincere. And it hurt worse because you wanted to believe him.

But the image was still there. His voice breaking into a moan under Minho’s, without you.

You shoved your bag onto your shoulder and turned away before you drowned in it all over again.

And that’s when you heard Minho’s voice from the doorway.

“She’s overreacting.”

Your whole body went cold.

Jisung whipped around, eyes wide, horror-struck. “Hyung!!”

Minho leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze steady on you. Not cruel. Not smug. Just… calm. Too calm.

“She knows we love her. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

The air in the room went sharp, brittle.

You stared at him, chest collapsing, words clawing at your throat.

Jisung’s voice broke, shouting: “She doesn’t care about that! Don’t you get it?” He spun to Minho, tears streaming again. “She’s not upset that we love each other… she’s upset that we didn’t include her!”

Minho tilted his head, frown faint. “We include her all the time.”

“That’s not the same!” Jisung’s voice cracked. “We promised. Always together. It was the only thing she asked, hyung!”

Minho blinked at him, lips parting. He looked at you then, brow furrowed, like he was searching for something he couldn’t grasp.

“Why is it different?” he asked, steady, quiet. “You’re fine when I touch Jisung in front of you. You even like watching. Why is it different if it happens without you?”

Your chest twisted.

Because you weren’t there. Because you were excluded. Because it was the one thing you feared more than anything…. being unnecessary to them.

But your voice broke instead. “Because it means I don’t matter.”

The silence after that was suffocating.

Jisung collapsed onto the couch, sobbing openly now, head in his hands.

Minho just stood there, still, eyes locked on you, expression unreadable.

Like he wanted to understand. Like he couldn’t.

“Because it means I don’t matter.”

The words left you raw, torn out of your chest like you were bleeding them into the air.

And then silence… thick, suffocating, unbearable.

Until Jisung surged forward.

“No!!!! no, don’t say that, don’t you ever say that..” His voice cracked as he stumbled towards you, tears running down his face.

He reached for you, hands shaking, desperate to touch, to hold, to prove…

And you shoved him.

Not lightly. Not playfully. Hard.

Your palms slammed into his chest and he staggered back with a gasp, his foot hitting the edge of the coffee table as he crashed down to the floor. The sound of it echoed, sharp and brutal.

His wide eyes looked up at you, glassy and devastated, tears clinging to his lashes. Like he couldn’t believe you’d actually done it. Like it broke him more than your words ever could.

And Minho exploded.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!”

The sound of his voice split the air like thunder. Not the calm, measured Minho who always spoke low and sharp like a knife. No… this was yelling. A roar ripped out of his chest, trembling the walls.

You flinched, heart seizing. Jisung scrambled on the floor, startled, small, curling into himself as Minho’s fury filled the room.

“You don’t touch him like that!” Minho’s face twisted, his fists clenched so tight the veins stood out along his arms. His whole body shook with the force of it, his breathing ragged, his jaw locked. “You don’t hurt him just because you’re upset!”

The rage in his voice cut through you, jagged and brutal.

“Hyung!!” Jisung croaked from the floor, eyes wide, panicked, already shaking his head. “Stop, it’s not… she didn’t—”

But Minho didn’t stop.

“You think you’re the only one hurting?” His voice was venom and fire, his eyes blazing. “You think you’re the only one who’s scared of being left out? Jisung is breaking himself in half because he thinks he ruined everything, and you push him?”

His chest heaved, eyes locked on yours like he could burn the truth into you by force.

“You don’t ever ever lay a hand on him like that again.”

The silence afterward was unbearable, your own ragged breathing the only sound.

Jisung sat on the floor between you both, trembling, sobbing, shaking his head as if he could erase all of it if he just denied it hard enough. His hands fisted in his own shirt, knuckles white, voice broken.

“Please… please stop, please don’t fight”

Your chest split, because this was never what you wanted. Because you loved them both, with every part of yourself, and yet here you were… breaking them, being broken by them.

Minho’s glare didn’t waver. His voice came again, lower this time, but seething, trembling with an emotion you’d never heard from him before.

“You say you don’t matter? Don’t you dare insult me like that. Don’t you dare tell me the person I crawl into bed with every night doesn’t matter. Don’t you dare tell me the person I let see everything I am doesn’t matter. Because if you don’t matter… then I don’t either.”

His words cut like knives, every syllable sharp and aching.

“And if you really believe that,” he finished, his voice trembling with fury and something like desperation, “then maybe you don’t know me at all.”

The weight of it pressed down, crushing.

Jisung sobbed harder, torn apart between you both, begging incoherently through his tears.

Your chest heaved. Your hands still stung from the shove, the echo of Jisung’s gasp branded into your bones.

He was still on the floor, shoulders hunched, his tears dripping onto the hardwood. He was trying to speak, but nothing coherent came out, just fragments of pleas and apologies and his voice breaking again and again.

And Minho was a storm.

“You think you’re the only one bleeding?” His voice cracked, hoarse with rage, but underneath it something dangerous… something broken. “Do you even realize how this is impacting us?!”

Your throat tightened. “You broke the rule.”

“Yes, we broke it,” Minho barked back, eyes wild, chest rising and falling like he was about to shatter. “And you act like that means everything else disappears. Like one mistake erases every fucking time we’ve held you, kissed you, sworn to you”

“It wasn’t just a mistake!” Your scream ripped free, sharp enough to burn. “It was the only thing I asked for. Always together. That was it. One rule. One! And you couldn’t even give me that.”

Jisung flinched, covering his ears, a sob catching in his throat.

Minho’s face twisted, raw. His voice rose again, thunder splitting his restraint in half.

“You think it didn’t kill me to see you walk out that door? You think it didn’t tear me apart to see your face when you looked at us like we were strangers? You think I don’t care?!”

His voice cracked so hard the last word splintered.

Jisung finally lifted his head, red and wet and wrecked. “Stop!! please, stop yelling”

But Minho wasn’t finished. He was shaking now, fists trembling at his sides, his jaw tight, his eyes glossed with something that looked dangerously close to tears.

“You keep saying you don’t matter. That we left you out. That we don’t want you. Do you even hear yourself?” His voice fractured, sharp and desperate. “You are the only reason we work. You are the center of everything, the glue that keeps this from falling apart, and you don’t even see it. You don’t even see how much I…”

He stopped himself, the words catching, his throat working like he was choking on them.

Jisung’s sobs grew louder, a broken, keening sound that filled every corner of the room. He crawled forward on shaking hands and knees, clinging to Minho’s leg, his voice shattering.

“Hyung, please, don’t… don’t push her away, don’t push her out, I can’t” He turned, looking at you through a blur of tears, his voice wrecked. “Noona, I can’t lose you. I’ll die if you leave us. Please, I swear I’ll never, i’ll never touch him again without you, I’ll never break the rule again, please just don’t go.”

His words gutted you, the sheer terror in his voice ripping through your anger. He was on his knees, holding onto Minho like he was drowning, his face wet and ruined.

Minho’s hands finally shook open, dragging down his face like he was clawing himself raw. His voice dropped, low and hoarse.

“I can’t lose you either. I don’t know how to say it right. I don’t know how to be soft like him. But if you leave… I’m nothing.”

The room fell into silence again, except for Jisung’s sobs and the sound of your own breathing.

You ignored them.

Not for a night. Not for a day.

For weeks.

You perfected the art of distance. Every smile you gave the boys was practiced, every laugh professional, every touch of your hands in their hair mechanical. You talked to Chan about schedules, to Felix about bleach touch-ups, to Seungmin about toner, to Jeongin about his fringe.

Everyone but them.

The request had been made quietly, strategically, the way you knew how to maneuver through management without suspicion. It wasn’t difficult to convince the coordinator that things ran smoother if you weren’t “distracted” by too many clients at once. Now, officially, you were assigned to all the members… except Jisung and Minho.

The irony of it burned, but it kept you breathing.

Because every time you looked at them, every time your hands hovered too close, you remembered. You remembered Jisung’s moan cracking into the silence. You remembered Minho’s voice steady, sharp. You remembered the broken rule.

So you stayed away.

And it gutted them.

⸻

Jisung started to fall apart first.

He was already fragile after that night, but as the days stretched into weeks, it became unbearable to watch, even from the corner of your eye.

The boy who never stopped talking suddenly sat quiet in green rooms. His hands shook when he fumbled with water bottles. He chewed his lips until they bled, his cuticles raw from tearing at them.

The other members noticed. Seungmin asked once, bluntly, what was wrong. Jisung laughed too loud, too fake, and excused himself to the bathroom. He stayed there for nearly half an hour.

The circles under his eyes darkened. His smiles grew thinner, cracked around the edges. And when he thought no one was looking, his chest heaved too fast, shallow breaths that looked like they couldn’t fill him.

Anxiety had always been a shadow clinging to him but now it was consuming.

And you did nothing.

Because every time you wanted to run to him, every time you wanted to cradle his face and whisper that he wasn’t alone, the memory slammed into you again. His body arching into Minho’s touch. His voice breaking into the night.

Without you.

⸻

Minho lasted longer.

At first, he seemed unaffected. Calm, steady, the same sharp tongue, the same collected demeanor. He even threw himself into his work harder, pushing practice sessions later, his body a machine.

But then Jisung began to crumble and Minho’s cracks began to show.

He tried. At first, he tried.

A glance in the mirror while you styled someone else’s hair. A passing comment, low enough for only you to hear. Even a brush of his hand against yours as he walked by.

You ignored it all.

You didn’t look. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

And something in him hardened.

His attempts stopped. His voice went sharper, his sarcasm cut deeper, his patience with everyone, including Jisung snapped quicker.

Because he could survive your silence. He could even survive your anger.

But what he couldn’t survive was watching Jisung collapse under it.

⸻

It all came to a head one night after practice.

You were packing up your tools, ready to slip out unnoticed, when Minho cornered you in the hallway.

“Enough,” he said flatly, blocking your way.

Your heart kicked up, but you forced your face calm. “Move.”

“No.” His eyes were sharp, burning, his jaw tight. “You’ve made your point. Weeks of it. We get it, you’re pissed. But this” He jabbed a finger toward the practice room, where Jisung was still sitting on the floor, head buried in his arms, trembling. “This isn’t just about you anymore.”

Your chest clenched, but you lifted your chin. “Don’t you dare put that on me.”

“I’m putting it exactly where it belongs.” His voice sharpened, cutting. “You’re tearing him apart.”

“Me?” The word spat out before you could stop it, your anger sparking hot. “I didn’t break the rule.”

Minho’s nostrils flared. “We fucked up, yeah. Once. But this? Weeks of freezing us out, acting like we don’t exist? You’re punishing him, not me. He’s drowning and you’re letting him choke on it.”

Your breath caught, your nails digging into your palms. “He’s the one who let me stand outside a door listening to him break me.”

“He’s just a twenty-four year old with anxiety!” Minho’s voice finally cracked, louder than you’d ever heard, his composure shattering. “He panics. He doesn’t think. He makes mistakes. And you” His hand slammed against the wall beside your head, the sound making you jump. His eyes were glassy now, his chest heaving. “You’re supposed to be the one who knows how much he loves you anyway.”

Your throat closed, tears stinging at the edges of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “Love doesn’t mean shit when I was excluded.”

You shoved past him, bag strap cutting into your shoulder, heart pounding so violently it hurt.

Behind you, Minho’s voice tore out again, louder, angrier, ragged.

“You’re killing him. And if you don’t care about me, at least look at him before you ruin him completely.”

Your steps faltered, just for a moment, just long enough for the weight of it to sink into your ribs.

The night was heavy.

Weeks of silence, sharp words, avoidance. none of it had cracked the wall between you and Minho. Until tonight. Until the hallway, his voice raw with rage, your own chest split open with fury. Until everything the two of you had been holding back, twisting into each other like barbed wire, finally snapped.

Now the dorm was quiet. Too quiet. The others had scattered to their rooms, the hum of a late-night movie still murmuring faintly from somewhere down the hall.

And you were still here. With him.

Minho’s eyes were fire when you looked at him, his body tense where he leaned against the counter in the kitchen. Neither of you had moved since the argument, breaths shallow, silence charged.

You hated him. You loved him. You hated that you loved him.

And then his voice cut through, low and dangerous.

“You gonna keep running? Or you finally gonna face me?”

Your body jolted, anger flaring again. “I’ve been facing you. You’re just too fucking stubborn to see it.”

He pushed off the counter, slow, deliberate. “I see everything, Y/N. I see how you look at him like you’re breaking inside. I see how you look at me like you want to kill me. And you think I don’t notice the way you can’t breathe when we’re in the same room.”

Your throat closed, heat rushing through your veins. “You think you know everything snobby ass”

“I don’t,” he cut in sharply, stepping closer, so close his chest nearly brushed yours. His breath ghosted your lips, his eyes sharp, hungry, furious. “But I know you still want me. Even when you hate me.”

You didn’t mean to. You didn’t plan to. But your hand fisted into his shirt, dragging him down, your mouth crashing into his.

The kiss was violent. Teeth, heat, fury. His lips bruised yours instantly, his hands grabbing your hips with bruising force, pulling you flush against him. You shoved him back into the counter, biting at his mouth like you wanted to punish him, to devour him, to drown in him.

His growl vibrated through your chest as he spun you, caging you against the counter, his hand sliding up your thigh, rough and urgent. “This what you wanted, huh? All that anger… you saving it for me huh?” He says smugly.

You gasped against his lips, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck you.”

“You’re trying.” His mouth trailed hot down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. His hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing your eyes up to his. “You hate me so much, but you’re soaking through your panties right now, aren’t you?”

Your whimper betrayed you, and his smirk cut sharp against your mouth before he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier.

When he dragged your leg up around his waist, grinding into you with rough precision, a broken moan spilled out… and that’s when you heard it.

A sound from the doorway.

You froze. Minho stilled, his chest heaving against yours. Both of you turned your heads.

Jisung.

Standing there, half-hidden by the shadows of the hallway. His eyes wide, lips parted, his whole body trembling.

He looked wrecked, terrified. But he hadn’t run.

Minho’s jaw tightened, his hand still gripping your thigh. He didn’t let go. He didn’t push you away.

“Jisung,” Minho said, his voice hoarse, low, commanding. “Come here.”

Jisung’s breath hitched audibly. He shook his head, just barely, his fingers clutching the frame of the doorway like he needed it to stay upright. “I.. I don’t”

“You’re not out of this.” Your voice came before you realized it, raw and sharp. Your eyes locked on him, your chest heaving. “We said together. You don’t get to stand there and watch. You come here, or it’s broken all over again.”

Jisung whimpered, tears already glossing his lashes, but his body moved… hesitant steps forward, one, two, three… until he was in the kitchen with you, his breathing shallow, his hands shaking at his sides.

Minho’s eyes never left him, his grip on you firm, his body still flush against yours.

“You see this?” Minho’s voice was rough, thick with desire and anger, as his lips brushed your ear. “You see what happens when we finally stop running?”

The silence in the kitchen was unbearable.

Your lips were swollen from Minho’s kiss, your chest rising and falling too fast, your back pressed into the counter. His hands still caged you there, body heat suffocating, anger radiating from him like a second skin.

Across from you, Jisung looked destroyed. Frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed, trembling so hard you could see his knees threatening to buckle. His lips parted, his breathing shallow, caught between fear and need.

Minho glanced at him once, then back to you. His smirk curved sharp, dangerous. “You see that?” His voice was low, rough against your ear. “Even when he’s shaking, he’s here. Because he knows. Because he remembers. Always together.”

Your chest constricted, tears threatening, but your rage bled into desire all over again. You hated that he was right. You hated how much you wanted to feel it, to prove it, to carve that promise into your skin so deep it could never be forgotten.

You grabbed Minho’s shirt and dragged him down, crushing his mouth against yours. The kiss was violent.. teeth clashing, tongues battling, your nails clawing his shoulders hard enough to make him grunt.

Minho’s groan rumbled against your mouth. He shoved a thigh between your legs, grinding upward until you gasped, the friction sparking white heat low in your belly.

“Bedroom,” you panted against his lips, voice breaking. “Now.”

Minho didn’t hesitate. His hand clamped around your wrist, yanking you from the counter. With his other hand he grabbed Jisung’s arm, pulling him along. The younger let out a startled whimper but followed, stumbling after you both as Minho practically dragged the three of you down the hall.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind you.

Minho pushed you onto the mattress in one brutal shove, crawling over you before you could catch your breath. His mouth claimed yours again, all tongue and teeth, his hand sliding under your shirt, gripping hard at your ribs like he wanted to bruise you into remembering.

At the edge of the bed, Jisung hovered, trembling, his chest heaving. He didn’t dare move closer until Minho turned his head, glaring.

“Up here,” Minho ordered.

Jisung swallowed hard, his hands shaking, but he obeyed. He crawled onto the bed, hovering near your side, his wide eyes flicking from you to Minho like he wasn’t sure where to place himself.

Your heart twisted at the sight. His lips trembled when he whispered, “I don’t… I don’t want to ruin it again. I ruined it before… I made the move on Hyung”

You reached for him, cupping his face, pulling him down into a kiss softer, sweeter than the brutal ones Minho gave you. Jisung whimpered into your mouth, tears immediately spilling, his hands clutching at your waist like you were his lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed desperately. “I’m so sorry, noona. I’ll never… I’ll never let you feel left out again. I’ll do anything, I promise. Please don’t hate me.”

Your throat burned. You kissed him harder, swallowing his sob, your other hand tangled in his hair.

Behind you, Minho chuckled darkly, his mouth trailing down your throat, his teeth scraping against your pulse. “See? Even when he’s begging, it’s for you. Both of us… always for you.”

His hand slipped under your waistband, fingers pressing against your soaked panties. You gasped against Jisung’s lips, your hips jerking helplessly.

“Fuck, she’s soaked,” Minho muttered, his smug tone sending a shiver down your spine. He pressed harder, circling your clit until you whimpered. “So desperate for us even after all that attitude.”

Jisung pulled back just enough to stare, his lips parted, his face red. His hand hovered uncertainly, then finally replaced Minho’s, trembling as he slid a finger over the damp fabric. The sensation made you moan, your body arching up.

“Oh my god,” Jisung whispered, his eyes blown wide. “She’s… she’s really…”

“Dripping,” Minho finished for him, smug. He leaned over, pressing his lips to your ear. “That’s what happens when she finally stops pretending she doesn’t need us.”

You whined, clutching at the sheets, your body betraying you.

“Take them off,” Minho ordered.

Jisung froze. “W-what?”

“Her panties,” Minho said flatly, eyes glinting. “You want to make it right? Start there.”

Jisung’s hands shook, but he obeyed, sliding your underwear down your thighs, his breath hitching when he caught sight of your glistening folds. His cheeks burned crimson, but his eyes never left you.

Minho smirked, shoving Jisung’s hand aside as he slid two fingers inside you without warning. You cried out, your hips jerking.

“So fucking tight,” he muttered, pumping them roughly, curling just right. “Always so greedy for me.”

Jisung whimpered, watching in awe as you writhed under Minho’s touch. His hand hovered uselessly at your thigh until he finally bent down, pressing trembling kisses against your stomach, your hip, desperate to touch you in any way he could.

“Minho… please” you gasped, your body trembling.

“Please what?” he taunted, his pace unforgiving. “Please stop? Please fuck you harder? You’ve gotta be clearer, sweetheart.”

Jisung pressed his lips to your cheek, whispering between your cries. “She wants more… she always wants more.” His tears dripped onto your skin, his voice breaking. “Don’t hold it back, noona. Please don’t hold back with us.”

That undid you.

The heat built until it snapped, your body convulsing around Minho’s fingers as your orgasm ripped through you, sharp and overwhelming. You screamed their names, clutching Jisung’s hand as he kissed your temple frantically, whispering comfort through your sobs.

But Minho wasn’t finished.

He flipped you onto your stomach, one hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades. He yanked his sweats down, his cock hard and aching against your ass.

“You want proof?” he growled. “You want to know you’re never left out again? I’ll fuck it into you until you can’t forget.”

You moaned, trembling, your cheek pressed into the pillow. “Do it. Show me.”

Minho thrust inside in one hard stroke, burying himself deep. The stretch stole your breath, a broken scream tearing out of you.

Jisung cried out too, clutching your hand tight, pressing frantic kisses to your cheek. “You’re okay… you’re okay, I’ve got you”

Minho’s pace was merciless. Each thrust drove you deeper into the mattress, his grip bruising your hips, his voice rough against your ear. “Never without you again. Always together. Say it.”

“Always together,” you sobbed, your voice breaking.

Jisung’s tears soaked your skin as he whispered it too, over and over, his hand stroking your hair, his lips trembling against your jaw. “Always together, noona. Always. Always.”

Minho’s smirk was feral as he pounded harder, his cock hitting deep, his words a growl. “Good girl. Don’t you forget it.”

Your second orgasm slammed into you, blinding, your scream muffled by Jisung’s mouth as he kissed you desperately, swallowing your cries.

Your cries filled the room, muffled by Jisung’s lips, your body wrecked by Minho’s thrusts. His pace was brutal, punishing, every snap of his hips deep enough to make your vision blur.

He leaned over you, pressing your head into the pillow with one hand, his voice hot against your ear. “You feel that? Every inch of me inside you, driving it home. That’s how you’ll remember. That’s how you’ll know… always together.”

You moaned, barely able to speak, your voice trembling. “Always… together.”

Jisung clung to your hand, his forehead pressed to yours. His tears dripped onto your skin, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered desperately, “You’re doing so good, noona. So good. Don’t let go… we’re right here with you.”

Minho groaned low in his throat, his grip bruising your hip as he thrust harder. He looked down at Jisung with a smirk, his voice taunting. “You see this? How she milks my cock like she was made for it? You’re not gonna let her forget it, are you?”

Jisung shook his head frantically, kissing your cheek. “Never. Never again.” His eyes darted down, catching sight of where Minho disappeared inside you, your body taking every inch. His breath caught, his whole body trembling. “Hyung… she’s so..”

“Perfect,” Minho finished for him, his smirk sharp as he pulled nearly all the way out and slammed back in. Your scream tore free, echoing against the walls.

“Fuck, Minho!”

He chuckled darkly, grinding in deep and holding, his voice hoarse. “That’s it. Scream it. Let everyone hear.”

Your body shook, your third orgasm building sharp and hot, tearing through you before you could even warn them. You came with a sob, clenching tight around him, your cries muffled against Jisung’s mouth as he kissed you desperately, swallowing every sound.

Minho groaned, his thrusts growing erratic, his body tightening. “Fuck… ur gonna make me cum.”

You gasped, your voice breaking. “Do it.”

That undid him. With a deep growl, Minho drove into you hard, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you. His grip tightened, his forehead pressing to your back as his groans filled the room.

You collapsed against the mattress, trembling, your body wrecked. But Jisung was still there, kissing your temple, stroking your hair, whispering frantically. “So good, noona. You’re so good. Don’t let go, I’m right here.”

Minho pulled out slowly, his cum dripping down your thighs. He flopped onto his back beside you, chest heaving, his smirk lazy and satisfied. “Fuck. That’s how you teach a lesson.”

Jisung bit his lip, staring at the mess between your legs, his face red. His body shook with nerves, but his eyes burned with something deeper… longing, need, desperation.

Minho noticed. His smirk curved wicked. “Go on, Sungie. You’ve been staring long enough.”

Jisung froze. “I… I don’t”

“You want to make it up to her, don’t you?” Minho’s voice was sharp, commanding. “Then don’t just sit there. Show her.”

Your chest tightened at the sight of Jisung trembling, torn between fear and need. You reached for him, cupping his cheek. “Sungie,” you whispered softly, “I want you.”

His breath hitched. His hands shook as he fumbled his sweats down, his cock straining, leaking at the tip. He looked at Minho, terrified.

Minho just smirked, folding his arms behind his head. “She can take it. She needs both of us. Always together, remember?”

Jisung’s lips trembled, but he nodded, climbing over you, positioning himself carefully. His hands shook as he lined up, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me if it’s too much… please.”

You smiled weakly, stroking his hair. “It won’t be. I need you, Sungie.”

He whimpered, pushing in slowly, his cock stretching you again. You cried out, your body still sensitive, but the burn melted quickly into heat.

Jisung gasped, his mouth falling open, his tears spilling again. “Oh my god… noona”

He buried himself fully, his hips trembling, his breath ragged. He kissed you desperately, sloppy and wet, his words muffled against your lips. “I love you!! I love you so much… I’m sorry. I’ll never leave you out again”

You wrapped your arms around him, kissing him back just as desperately, your body arching into his shallow thrusts.

Beside you, Minho watched with a lazy smirk, his hand stroking himself slowly, already half-hard again. “That’s it, Sungie. Don’t be shy. She needs it rougher than that.”

Jisung whimpered, his hips snapping harder, his cries breaking as he fucked into you. His pace was messy, desperate, but the sincerity in every movement made your chest ache.

“Always together,” he whispered frantically, his forehead pressed to yours. “Please don’t forget. Always, noona. Always.”

You came again, your body shattering around him, your scream muffled by his mouth as he kissed you.

Jisung followed with a cry, spilling inside you, his body trembling violently. He collapsed against your chest, sobbing quietly into your skin.

You held him close, your fingers stroking his hair, tears streaming down your own cheeks.

Minho finally moved, rolling over and wrapping an arm around both of you. His voice was low, rough, but for once without mockery. “That’s enough crying. She’s not going anywhere.”

Jisung sniffled, nodding against your chest, his voice small. “Never again. We’re always together.”

You closed your eyes, your body wrecked, your heart aching but whole again. For the first time in weeks, the three of you were tangled together and it never felt so good.

The room was wrecked. The sheets clung damp to your skin, the air thick with sex and sweat, your body trembling every time you shifted. Your throat was raw from crying, from moaning, from screaming. Even your chest ached, as though the weight of the last weeks had finally collapsed inward.

Jisung was the first to give in.

He lay sprawled half on top of you, clinging with both arms as though letting go would mean losing you all over again. His face was damp and his lashes stuck to his cheeks. His breath came in uneven puffs at first, like he was still fighting the exhaustion, but slowly, gradually, the rhythm evened out.

You stroked his curls with trembling fingers, smoothing the damp strands back from his forehead. He shifted at the touch, whining quietly, and burrowed further into your chest like a child.

Your lips twitched despite yourself. He always looked younger in sleep, stripped of the frantic energy that usually drove him. Just a boy, clinging to the people he couldn’t live without.

Minho lay on your other side, flat on his back, one arm over his eyes. He hadn’t said a word since the last kiss, since the last orgasm left you all wrecked. His chest rose and fell steadily, still a little too fast, like he hadn’t quite come down yet. His body was close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him, but he hadn’t touched you again.

The silence was heavy, but not unbearable. Not like before. It was… waiting.

You focused on Jisung, keeping your fingers gentle in his hair until his breathing deepened fully. His hand twitched on your stomach, then went slack. Finally asleep.

Only then did you risk a glance at Minho.

He had shifted, his arm no longer over his eyes. He was watching you, gaze unreadable, face half-shadowed in the dim light. His hair stuck to his temples, his lips still red and swollen.

The weight of his stare made your chest tighten.

Your voice came out rough, cracked from everything that had just happened. “He’s out.”

“Figures.” His voice was low, tired, but there was something softer underneath it. His eyes flicked down to where Jisung clung to you. “He wore himself out crying.”

You huffed out a weak laugh. “You did too, lost the fire in your eyes Minho.”

That earned you the faintest twitch of his mouth, half-smirk, half-scoff. He rolled onto his side to face you, propping his head on his hand. The sheets pooled low at his waist, exposing his bare chest, still glistening faintly.

“Don’t start,” he murmured, but his tone wasn’t sharp. Not the biting warning you were used to. Just tired.

You didn’t start. You didn’t push. You just kept stroking Jisung’s hair, letting the silence stretch until Minho shifted closer, his hand brushing over the back of yours where it rested on Jisung’s curls.

The touch startled you. Not because it was unexpected, but because it was careful. Gentle.

You glanced at him again. His eyes were still on you. Searching.

Your throat tightened. “Minho…”

He shook his head slightly, his fingers sliding to lace with yours over Jisung’s sleeping head. His grip was firm. Steady.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Not tonight.”

Your breath caught. He didn’t mean don’t talk. He meant don’t fight. Don’t bring it back.

You nodded, your eyes stinging. “Okay.”

That was enough. That was the truce.

The quiet settled deeper around you. Jisung murmured in his sleep, shifting to press his nose against your chest, his lips parting with a soft sigh. You smiled faintly, brushing a kiss to the top of his damp hair.

When you looked up again, Minho was still watching you. The rawness in his gaze made you want to look away, but you didn’t. Couldn’t.

He moved finally, leaning in. His hand slid carefully under Jisung’s weight to brush your cheek. His thumb swept under your eye, wiping away the remnants of dried tears.

“You’re a mess,” he whispered, voice low.

You gave a broken laugh. “Look who’s talking.”

That earned you the ghost of a smile: small, fleeting, but real.

His hand lingered on your cheek. He leaned closer, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath mingling with yours. His voice dropped, quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“I love you.”

It landed heavy between you, heavier than all the anger and fighting of the past weeks. Minho rarely said it when he did, it was spit like a weapon mid-argument, or muttered in passing, sharp and defensive. But now it was bare. Steady.

Your breath hitched, your eyes stinging all over again. You whispered it back, voice trembling. “I love you too.”

His eyes closed, his hand tightening around yours. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t tease. He just let the words sit there, raw and unguarded.

Jisung stirred again, whining softly, pressing closer in his sleep. Both you and Minho glanced down at him at the same time.

Minho exhaled, a faint chuckle escaping him. “Pathetic.”

But his hand brushed gently over Jisung’s curls before returning to yours, and you knew he didn’t mean it.

You let out a breath, your body finally relaxing into the mattress, into them. For the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like something was broken. You didn’t feel outside of them.

Minho pressed one last kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there longer than necessary. “Go to sleep.”

You nodded, finally closing your eyes, your hand still in his, Jisung still clinging to your chest.

For the first time since the rule broke, the three of you felt whole.

Always together.

Always.

YAYYY THE END💗