Chenle came home later than planned.
The apartment was quiet in that specific way that only happened when everyone was tired but not ready to sleep yet. The lights in the living room were dimmed, the television running somewhere in the background without anyone really watching it. He slipped off his shoes silently, lingering in the hallway longer than necessary, his thoughts still stuck somewhere between the park bench and the sound of Soul’s laughter echoing in his ears.
She had been so light out there.
Too light.
Chenle pressed his lips together, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as he leaned his shoulder against the wall. The image replayed uninvited—Soul sitting on the grass, laughing with her friends, head thrown back, eyes bright. Carefree. Untouched. As if nothing in the world had ever hurt her.
As if they weren’t part of her world at all.
Chenle had barely made it past the gate when Renjun caught up to him. He could already tell something was off — the way Chenle’s shoulders were tense, the way his usual bouncing steps were missing. Renjun had known him long enough to recognize when the boy was trying too hard to look normal.
He watched Chenle carefully, the way he always did when something felt off. Chenle had always been loud when he was happy, dramatic when he was annoyed, and painfully honest when something bothered him. This silence, however — this restraint — didn’t belong to him.
"Yo, bro! What's wrong?" Renjun asked in Chinese, slowing his steps when he noticed Chenle’s stiff posture.
"Huh? Nothing," Chenle replied quickly, a little too quickly.
His voice sounded flat, stripped of its usual playful edge. He didn’t turn around as he spoke, his eyes fixed somewhere ahead, unfocused, as if he were replaying a scene only he could see.
"Bro, you look hurt. What’s wrong?" Renjun asked again, more quietly this time.
He stepped in front of Chenle now, forcing him to stop. Renjun tilted his head slightly, studying him — the clenched jaw, the distant eyes, the fingers digging into his sleeves.
This isn’t nothing, Renjun thought. Not even close.
Chenle’s expression shifted almost instantly — like a switch being flipped.
The vulnerability vanished, replaced by a blank mask he had learned to wear well. Too well for someone his age.
"Nothing, hyung. Really."
He forced a small shrug, trying to brush it off, but Renjun could hear it — the crack underneath the words.
"Hey, no need to snap," Renjun said softly, raising both hands in surrender.
"I’m just worried about my little brother, that’s all."
He let out a small sigh, trying to lighten the mood.
"Anyway, the hyungs said lunch is ready. Let’s go eat before they start yelling again."
"Mhm… I don’t think I’m hungry anymore," Chenle murmured.
His stomach felt tight — not from hunger, but from something heavier, something tangled deep in his chest.
"Woah, what now?" Renjun frowned.
"Kun hyung literally sent you with Soul so you wouldn’t eat half the kitchen before lunch, and now you’re suddenly not hungry?"
He studied Chenle again, worry creeping back in.
"Hyung, I—"
Chenle stopped himself, his words catching in his throat.
