The change didn’t happen all at once.
That was what made it so easy to miss at first.
Chenle didn’t announce anything. He didn’t argue, didn’t complain, didn’t withdraw completely. On the surface, he was still there — still sitting at the table during meals, still laughing when someone cracked a joke, still answering when spoken to.
But something had shifted.
At first, it was the invitations that disappeared.
“Wanna come with us?” used to roll off Chenle’s tongue without thought. Whether it was the arcade, the practice room, late-night snacks, or simply sitting on the roof — Chenle had always been the one pulling people along, especially her.
Now, he didn’t ask anymore.
If she joined them, it was because someone else had invited her. If she laughed, it was because someone else had made the joke. Chenle stayed nearby, but never too close. Present, but careful. Always careful.
He made sure there were others around before he spoke to her.
Always.
If the Dreamies were in the room, he’d tease her lightly, throw her a grin, maybe comment on something small. If they weren’t, he’d nod politely and move past her like nothing was missing.
If she spoke to him, he answered. If she laughed, he smiled back. But he never lingered. Never initiated. Never asked her questions that went deeper than surface level.
He stopped sitting next to her.
Stopped walking beside her.
Stopped checking in on her when she was quiet.
Every time he caught himself watching her smile, the image from the park flashed back into his mind. The way her laughter had sounded freer there. Lighter. Untouched.
And the thought always followed:
She deserves that. Not this.
She doesn’t belong here.
Not in this world.
Not among violence, secrets, weapons, blood debts.
Not next to people who learned to survive by hardening themselves.
Chenle knew what this world did to people.
And he didn’t want it to touch her.
He stopped going to school first.
At least, that was the first thing that became impossible to ignore.
At the beginning, he still showed up every other day. Claimed he had a headache. A stomach ache. Too much homework. Too little sleep. Excuses stacked neatly on top of each other, delivered with a casual shrug and a forced grin.
Then even that stopped.
He stayed in the villa instead, wandering through the halls like a ghost that hadn’t decided where it belonged.
At night, when the house grew quieter and the others retreated to their rooms, Chenle lay awake far longer than usual.
His phone rested face-down beside him.
He never checked if she’d messaged.
Never messaged first.
Chenle had always been impulsive. Emotional. Loud.
This restraint felt like suffocating himself on purpose.
Taeyong noticed everything.
Taeyong noticed the patterns long before he addressed them.
