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The rhythmic thud of his sneakers hit the mat again and again, steady and unrelenting. Sweat trickled down Hunter’s temple, sliding along the curve of his jaw before dripping onto the floor. The lamp he’d left on in the corner cast a faint golden glow across the room, shadows stretching and shrinking with every movement of his body.
He liked working out at night. Alone. It was the only time the dorm went quiet enough that he could hear the sound of his own breath, the hammer of his pulse, the rush of his thoughts.
And tonight, those thoughts refused to stop.
Every push of his arms, every stretch of his muscles carried memories, faces, moments. The people who had become his family, piece by piece. He loved them—more than he could ever put into words.
But his mind circled back, inevitably, like a moth pulled to flame.
To Seeun.
Hunter’s chest tightened, his breath catching—not from the workout, but from the weight of the thought.
Seeun.
He liked him. More than he should. More than brothers, more than teammates, more than the kind of easy closeness they all shared. What he felt was something heavier, sharper, a pull that lived in his chest and refused to loosen. It struck every time Seeun leaned on him without asking, every time he caught himself staring too long, every time he realized no one else noticed what he did.
The others loved Seeun too, of course. They loved him loudly, teasingly, the way people couldn’t help but love someone who brought color into every room. And Hunter loved them all—deeply, truly. His affection for the others was steady, unshakable.
But Seeun… Seeun was different.
Seeun had been the first person to speak to him when he’d come to Korea, raw and uncertain, convinced at least half the time that he’d made a mistake. Seeun hadn’t cared that Hunter barely knew what to say, and hadn’t hesitated for even a second. He’d pulled him in, acted like Hunter belonged from the start. He’d been loud, clingy, impossible to ignore. Trouble followed him like a shadow—pranks, chaos, sudden hugs, uninvited kisses on cheeks. And yet, everyone adored him. Everyone forgave him, laughed with him, loved him, because how could they not?
Hunter thought he knew Seeun better than anyone. At least, he always believed he did.
But lately… something was off.
Seeun still laughed. Still joked. Still stirred up chaos until the dorm echoed with noise. But Hunter had begun to see something else too, something buried deep behind those bright expressions. His smiles didn’t quite match his eyes. His laughter rang loud, but sometimes it felt rehearsed, like a performance he was forcing himself to keep up.
Hunter didn’t know if he was imagining it. Maybe he was just projecting. Maybe his own feelings for Seeun were twisting everything, making him see shadows where there weren’t any.
But he couldn’t shake the thought. Because no matter how much noise Seeun made, Hunter could hear the quiet between his breaths.
He wanted to ask. He wanted to grab him by the wrist and say, Stop pretending. I can see you. You don’t have to hide this from me. He wanted to tell him he didn’t have to carry whatever it was alone.
But all Hunter did was let the dumbbell fall onto the mat with a dull thud, his chest heaving with something more than exhaustion. He sat there, head bowed, sweat dampening his shirt, running a hand through his hair as if the motion could shake the thought loose.
It didn’t.
Enough working out.
He rose, body aching, and headed for the bathroom. Maybe the cold water would drown out the ache pressing against his ribs.
But as he gathered his towel and stepped out of his room, one stubborn thought clung to him, refusing to let go:
He needed to ask.
He had to.
---
The shower was quick and rushed. The cold water stung against his overheated skin, left goosebumps racing up his arms, but it sharpened his head. By the time he stepped back into the hallway, the towel draped around his shoulders, he felt clearer. Not lighter, not calmer—but more certain.
The dorm was hushed. That deep kind of quiet that meant everyone was either asleep or tucked into their own private corners of the night. His bare feet carried him silently across the floorboards until he reached his room door.
He pushed it open gently, expecting darkness. Instead, soft blue light glowed from the far side of the room.
Seeun was propped up against his pillow, one leg bent, the other stretched across the bed. His hair was messy, half-shadowed by the glow of his phone, his eyes fixed on the shifting images. The screen lit his face in sharp relief one second, softened it the next.
Hunter paused in the doorway, caught off guard by the quiet intimacy of the sight. A small smile tugged at his lips,
Hyunwoo’s bed was empty, sheets rumpled. Hunter didn’t need to guess where he was—probably curled up with Junghoon again, as always. The thought warmed him. He liked that about them, the way junghoon let himself soften in hyunwoo’s presence.
Minjae’s bed was empty too. No surprise. He was likely still in the studio, chasing melodies until dawn as usual. Hunter was grateful for it tonight—for the chance it gave him.
A chance to talk to Seeun.
He lingered in the doorway, fingers curling tightly into the towel around his neck, nerves suddenly heavier than the weights he’d just lifted. He was about to clear his throat when Seeun beat him to it.
“Why are you standing at the door smiling like an idiot?”
Hunter froze, startled, before a rough laugh broke out of him, sudden and real. His cheeks warmed. “I wasn’t—” He stopped, shook his head, grin spreading despite himself. “Okay, maybe I was. Just… you looked—never mind.”
Seeun raised a brow, suspicion flickering in his eyes, though he didn’t look away from his phone. “Creepy. You sound creepy, Hunter.”
Hunter chuckled, stepping inside and shutting the door softly behind him. His heart was thudding too fast. The question was right there, sitting behind his teeth, threatening to break free.
He had to try.
“You okay?” His voice came out softer than he meant, too careful.
“Yeah, sure,” Seeun hummed, eyes still glued to his phone.
Hunter’s frown was immediate. That tone—too smooth, too casual. A lie. He knew it instantly. “Don’t give me that.”
Seeun blinked, glancing at him properly now. “That what?”
“The fake ‘yeah, sure’ thing,” Hunter said, tossing the towel onto his bed. He crossed his arms, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You think I don’t notice?”
Seeun smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Notice what? That you’re nosy?”
Hunter let out a laugh, sharp but humorless. “No. That something’s wrong. You’re good at fooling others, but not me.”
Seeun sat up straighter, phone slipping from his hand. His eyes narrowed, teasing, but with a flicker of unease behind them. “Oh, so now you’re the expert on me? Congratulations.”
“Don’t deflect,” Hunter shot back, stepping closer. “I know you. Better than anyone.”
Seeun groaned, dragging a hand through his hair like he was already exhausted by the conversation. “Hunter, you’re being weird right now.”
“And you’re terrible at lying,” Hunter countered, voice steady even as his chest ached.
For a moment, silence settled over them. The dim hum of the phone screen fading was the only sound.
Then, with a sigh, Seeun tilted his head and patted the space beside him. His hand lingered, the smallest, quietest invitation.
Hunter’s breath eased. He crossed the room slowly, every step weighted, and sat beside him. Their shoulders brushed, a spark of closeness that burned and soothed all at once.
Seeun didn’t look up. He just picked his phone back up and scrolled like nothing had happened.
Ten minutes passed. Ten minutes of voices from Seeun’s phone filling the quiet, and Hunter’s heart pounding harder with every second.
Finally, Hunter broke. His voice was low, but steady. “You’re doing it again.”
Seeun hummed, distracted. “Doing what? Being devastatingly handsome?”
Hunter shot him a look. “Deflecting.”
Seeun smirked briefly, but the mask slipped almost instantly. “You’re too sharp for your own good, you know that?”
Hunter leaned forward, forearms on his knees, eyes fixed. “And you’re too obvious when something’s eating you. So—” his voice dropped, steady, determined—“you gonna tell me, or do I have to sit here all night guessing?”
The AC’s soft hum filled the silence until Seeun finally sighed, tossing his phone aside. He leaned back, arms folded, eyes trained on the ceiling.
“…I just feel like I’m not pulling my weight sometimes.”
Hunter turned to him, waiting patiently,
Seeun’s jaw tightened. “You guys… you all seem so sure of yourselves. So focused. Meanwhile, I’m… what? The guy who makes dumb jokes? The guy who messes around to hide when he doesn’t know what to say?” His laugh was small, brittle. “Feels like I’m running in circles while everyone else is sprinting ahead.”
Hunter’s chest ached at every word. “Seeun…”
But Seeun wasn’t finished. His voice cracked but pushed on. “Sometimes I think maybe I’m not… enough. Not for the team, not for the people who believe in us. Hell, not even for myself.” He shook his head, a crooked grin twisting his lips. “Pathetic, right? Saying stuff like this.”
Hunter’s hand moved before he could stop it, covering Seeun’s where it rested on his lap. His grip was steady, warm, and grounding. “Don’t call yourself that. Not ever.”
Seeun blinked at their hands, throat tight. He tried to laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m serious.” Hunter’s tone softened, but the weight in it remained. “You matter more than you realize. You keep us together in ways you don’t even see. The team wouldn’t be the same without you. I wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Seeun’s eyes flicked toward him, wide and vulnerable, before he looked away quickly. His lips pressed tight. He gave a weakly shaky laugh, “You sound like you’re about to propose or something.”
Hunter didn’t let go. “I sound like someone who knows your worth, even when you don’t.”
Silence.
Seeun’s usual quick wit was gone, his jaw tight, like he was holding back something—tears, maybe words.
Hunter shifted closer, hand brushing against his shoulder before settling there. “Hey,” he murmured, “you don’t have to carry this alone. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine just to make everyone else smile.”
Seeun’s lips trembled into a half-grin that cracked quickly. “…You know, you’re really annoying when you talk like this.”
Hunter laughed quietly, leaning so their heads touched. “And yet you’re not pushing me away.”
Seeun huffed a laugh, softening, finally letting himself relax. His head tipped, finding Hunter’s shoulder naturally.
Hunter froze for a moment, the shock of it washing over him like cold water—Seeun leaning into him, letting his guard down in a way he almost never did. But then, almost instinctively, Hunter eased into it, shifting an arm around Seeun’s back to pull him closer. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t even planned. It was just… needed. Like his body knew before his mind did that this was exactly where Seeun belonged.
“...Don’t tell the others I got soft on you.” Seeun’s voice was quieter now, barely above a whisper, so fragile it made Hunter hold his breath just to catch it.
Hunter’s lips curved faintly, a smile he couldn’t stop even if he tried. He let his cheek rest against Seeun’s hair, breathing him in, letting the comfort of it sink deep into his chest. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice warm, “this one’s just for me.”
His arm stayed wrapped around Seeun’s shoulders, fingers shifting unconsciously, thumb brushing against the side of his arm like he was tracing circles no one else could see. The quiet stretched out between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence Hunter treasured—unspoken, but overflowing.
“You know… sometimes I think you’re too hard on yourself.”
Seeun let out a breathy laugh, the sound thin, too forced for Hunter to mistake it as genuine. “Hard on myself? No, I’m just… being realistic.”
Hunter turned his head, gave him that look—the one Seeun always hated because it stripped away every flimsy wall he built. The one that made him feel bare, as if Hunter could see every ache he tried to hide.
“Realistic?” Hunter’s tone was soft but firm, unwavering. “You’re sitting here doubting every single thing you do when you’re literally one of the most dependable people I know. That’s not realistic, that’s cruel.”
Seeun scoffed lightly, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Dependable? Maybe in your head. But I… I don’t stand out. I’m not like Sumin with his cooking or painting, or Yechan with his dancing, or Junmin-hyung with his whole… warm puppy thing. I just feel like I’m… in the middle. Always just… enough to get by.”
The words hit Hunter like a blow, sharp and unexpected. His chest tightened, an ache blooming there like someone had reached in and squeezed his heart with unrelenting fingers. He wanted to protest immediately, to erase that doubt from Seeun’s mind, but the rawness in Seeun’s voice kept him quiet for a beat. Then he only tightened his arm around him, pulling him closer until their temples pressed together.
“Seeun-ah,” Hunter murmured, softer now, almost reverent, “you don’t have to shine the loudest to matter. You’re the person who keeps us together without even trying. You’re the one I notice when I don’t even realize I’m looking. That’s not ‘just enough.’ That’s everything.”
Seeun swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his voice breaking before it even left him. He tried to laugh it off again, but this time it cracked under the weight. “Why are you saying it like that? You’re making me sound… important.”
Hunter smiled faintly, lips brushing against his hair in something too tender to be casual before he pressed a kiss there. “Because you are important. To us. But—” he shifted, pulling back just enough to catch Seeun’s gaze, steady, his voice firmer now, “especially to me.”
Seeun blinked at him, shock widening his eyes, leaving him wordless. His cheeks burned, the heat spreading all the way to the tips of his ears when Hunter pressed a kiss to his temple—then another, quick but deliberate, against his cheek. Each one felt intentional, undeniable. So much that Seeun couldn’t even think of a joke to deflect it.
“Hunter—”
“Shh.” Hunter’s voice softened, teasing on the surface but carrying that rare weight beneath it. His knuckles tilted Seeun’s chin up gently, his smile tender but sure. “You always forget how much you matter. Guess I’ll have to remind you until it sticks.”
And before Seeun could even process, before he could overthink like he always did, Hunter leaned in and kissed him—softly, Almost clumsy in its suddenness, but real. So real it left Seeun breathless.
When Hunter pulled back, he didn’t go far, forehead resting against his, laughter bubbling out in a quiet, giddy giggle he couldn’t hold back. “See? That’s an exclusive treatment. No one else gets that. Only you.”
Seeun froze, wide-eyed, heat spreading across his face so fast he couldn’t catch his breath. His chest heaved, lips parting as if words might come, but nothing did. All he managed was a whisper, trembling and too raw. “…You’re insane.”
But his hand betrayed him—it tightened around Hunter’s shirt, gripping like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to push him away or cling tighter so he’d never let go.
Hunter only smiled, kissed his hair again, and tucked him close, letting Seeun hide in the space of his arms. “Yeah, maybe,” he said softly, his voice vibrating through his chest against Seeun’s cheek. “But if that’s what it takes for you to believe how much I love you, then I’ll stay insane forever.”
Seeun’s hand remained twisted in his shirt, fingers trembling slightly. His lips parted again, starting to shape words, but his voice wouldn’t come. Hunter didn’t push, didn’t press for an answer. He just smiled faintly at the sight of him, fragile and overwhelmed, and pulled him closer until Seeun’s head rested against his chest. His hand traced slow, protective circles on his back—steady, grounding.
“Breathe,” Hunter murmured, brushing a kiss against his temple. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… stay.”
Seeun let out a laugh, soft and shaky, edged with embarrassment. “You’re really not yourself tonight…”
“Maybe this is myself,” Hunter answered quietly, his lips pressing against the crown of Seeun’s head again. “Just the side I only show you.”
That left Seeun strangely quiet. He loosened his grip, then shifted it—fingers curling gently instead of clinging, like he was choosing to trust instead of just holding on out of panic. He let himself lean, let himself rest, his eyes fluttering shut. Slowly, the weight of exhaustion and the steady warmth of Hunter’s arms dragged him under, breath by breath.
Hunter felt it happen—the way his breathing steadied, the way his body grew heavier against him, trusting him enough to let go. A tenderness swelled in Hunter’s chest so strong it almost hurt. He couldn’t stop himself; he pressed another kiss to Seeun’s cheek, then his temple, then softer still—like confessions in the form of touches.
“You’re so much more than you think, Seeun,” Hunter whispered, though he knew he wouldn’t hear. His lips brushed against the top of his hair. “And I… I love you. So much it scares me.”
One last kiss—lingering, gentle, pressed to his forehead like a vow. Then Hunter let his own eyes fall shut, still wrapped around Seeun as though he could shield him from the world.
Seeun sighed in his sleep, a small, instinctive sound as he unconsciously nuzzled closer into Hunter’s chest. That tiny, thoughtless gesture broke something open inside him, pulling out a laugh so soft and aching it didn’t sound like his own.
“Goodnight, Seeun-ah,” he whispered, pressing his cheek against his hair. “You’re mine, whether you believe it or not.”
After a while, Hunter’s breathing grew steady, the kind that only came with sleep. His arms stayed around Seeun, firm even in rest, as if some part of him knew he couldn’t let go. Seeun didn’t move either, only leaned closer, their shared warmth keeping the room from ever feeling cold.
Their love showed itself in quiet ways— It was the warmth of being known without asking, the safety of being held without needing to explain. Even in sleep, Hunter’s embrace promised something unshakable, and Seeun’s stillness answered it just the same. It was the kind of love that lived not in grand gestures but in presence—
in the way silence became comfort, in the way touch became promise.
The night stretched quietly around them, but between their joined breaths and tangled warmth, there was no emptiness—only the quiet fullness of pure love,