One week. Fifty unread messages.
Seungcheol didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to get worried—and he hated that.
Running a hand through his hair, he inhaled sharply, frustration simmering beneath the surface. His thoughts had been spiraling for days, and the cracks in his composure were becoming painfully obvious. His members weren't fools; after nearly a decade together, they could read him better than he cared to admit.
He needed someone to talk to—someone outside of the group. But the person in question had gone completely radio silent. It wasn't like he was obsessed or anything, but the silence gnawed at him, confusing and disorienting. Aerin didn't have a comeback scheduled; he knew that much. So why was she avoiding him?
His mind drifted back to their last interaction two days ago. She had barely looked at him, her avoidance as obvious as it was calculated. Of course, he was aware of the rumors swirling around them. He wasn't naive. But ignoring him entirely? That felt like overkill.
Just as he swung his legs off the bed, a soft knock sounded at the door, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps.
"Come in," he called, his voice low and reluctant.
The door creaked open, revealing Jeonghan. His expression was a mix of empathy and frustration—an unsettling combination from someone who usually met every situation with humor.
Jeonghan crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed, letting out a sigh before locking eyes with Seungcheol. "What's going on with you?" he asked plainly. "Don't pretend we haven't noticed."
Seungcheol exhaled heavily, dragging a hand down his face. Of all the people to confront him, it had to be Jeonghan. He didn't want to have this conversation—not now, not ever. Not with him.
"I'm fine," he muttered. "Practice is in ten." He stood, hoping to escape the conversation entirely, but Jeonghan grabbed his arm before he could leave.
"Dude," Jeonghan said, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "I'm not kidding. Sit down."
The command froze Seungcheol in place. This side of Jeonghan—serious, almost angry—was rare, and it unnerved him. He reluctantly sank back onto the bed.
"You always do this," Jeonghan began, the frustration in his tone barely contained. "You bottle everything up, push everyone away, and then wonder why you're miserable. It's exhausting—for all of us. For me. Open your eyes, Seungcheol. This—whatever this is—it's eating you alive, and it's dragging everyone else down with you."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Seungcheol could only sit there, stunned, as Jeonghan stood and left the room, his parting words echoing in the silence.
. . .
"Open your eyes."
The phrase clung to him, a persistent whisper in the back of his mind as he stared at the wooden desk in front of him. He tapped his pencil absently against the surface, frustration simmering beneath the surface.
Jeonghan was right. He hated it, but he couldn't deny it. His emotions had bled into his leadership, infecting the group's mood. The once-tight dynamic felt strained, and he was at the center of it all.
The door creaked open behind him, pulling him from his thoughts. Seungcheol swiveled his chair around to see Jihoon entering, a tired but determined look on his face.
"Anything?" Jihoon asked, though the answer was obvious.
Seungcheol shook his head.
Jihoon sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, I can't do this anymore. Whatever you've got going on, you need to sort it out. Take an hour. Get some air. And come back here. I've got an idea."
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, curious but too drained to argue. He nodded and left the studio, stepping into the starkly lit hallway.
An hour passed faster than Seungcheol expected. He returned to the studio, his steps slow and heavy as he stopped in front of the door engraved with the group's name. The sight of it brought a fresh wave of guilt.
What am I doing to us?
Shaking the thought away, he pushed the door open.
The room was dark except for the faint glow of a monitor, and as his eyes adjusted, his breath caught in his throat.
Sitting in the chair, her figure illuminated by the soft light, was Aerin. She swiveled to face him, her expression mirroring his shock.
"Aerin?"
Her name left his lips in a breathless whisper, the weight of the past week crashing down around him.
Whatever this was, whatever he had felt for her—it was far from over.
