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Weeks go by.
Seungmin doesn't say anything about it. Not to anyone. But he notices.
He notices the way Chan and Jisung have started gravitating toward each other like magnets, no longer pretending it’s casual. Jisung drapes himself over Chan’s shoulders during breaks. Chan lets him. There’s a softness in their voices when they say each other’s names, and private smiles that aren’t meant for anyone else.
It’s not dramatic. It’s just... clear.
Minho sees it too. He never comments, but he watches. Watches Jisung press a kiss to Chan’s temple like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The same Jisung who pulls disgusted faces at Chan on stage like it’s second nature, all for show. But behind closed doors, it’s different. It’s real. And Minho doesn’t say a word.
Seungmin tells himself it doesn’t bother him. Not because he isn’t happy for them. He is. He really is.
He just can’t help wondering when the line between fake and real blurred for him and his hyung. And why neither of them had the courage to reach across it.
Sometimes, when they’re all in the same room and Chan’s fingers are absently twisting the strings of Jisung’s hoodie, Seungmin glances at Minho. Wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.
When did they figure it out?
When did it get so easy for them?
Why couldn’t it have been like that for us?
One night, Seungmin finds himself in the dorm kitchen again. He’s halfway through pouring water into a cup when Minho’s voice breaks the silence.
“They really got their shit together, huh?”
Seungmin doesn’t look at him. Just nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “They did.”
The pause that follows isn’t sharp, but it’s heavy. Weighted with something unspoken.
“Makes you think.” He continues,
Minho hums quietly.
A month goes by.
It wasn’t always like this.
They used to be playful. Minho and Seungmin, Gangwanz. The “divorced couple” everyone teased. Bickering like clockwork, trading sarcasm and smirks like second languages.
“Your favorite hyung,” Chan once joked to Seungmin.
Minho had nodded.
So did Seungmin.
It had been easy then, in the way things are when no one is really thinking too hard. When nothing is named.
“Hyung,” Seungmin said one afternoon, voice light,
“let’s make a song together.”
And then it all started to fall apart.
Because it wasn’t just a random song. Not really.
Somewhere in the rhythm, the chord progressions, the lyrics that came too easily, it was all there. Everything they had pushed down. Every look, every moment, every unspoken thing rising to the surface.
It was about them.
Or what they could have been.
Or at least, that’s what Minho thought.
--
Minho reads over the lines.
His eyes trace each word slowly, like they might shift if he blinks too fast.
Here the light shines again
Ending credits going up
You and my name together on it
With the final curtain call
Is this just a metaphor to Seungmin? Something pretty to fit the melody? Or does he mean it-really mean it?
Because to Minho, it sounds final. It sounds like closure.
And maybe that's what hurts the most. Not the goodbye. But that it was written so softly.
Maybe Minho is overthinking.
It's just a song. For Stays. That's what they'd decided. Yeah, Stays.
Not about them, not really. Just a beautiful ending. Something sentimental to say thank you. Nothing more.
But Minho keeps staring at that one line. You and my name. And it feels too honest. Too close to something he's never been brave enough to say out loud. Maybe it's not about them. Maybe Seungmin didn't mean it that way.
Minho tells himself that.
He tells himself that again when Seungmin hums the melody softly under his breath across the room. And again when he sings it into the mic with his eyes closed. Quiet. Steady. Almost like a goodbye
Minho doesn't look up right away.
The room stays still, caught in the silence after the words leave his mouth. He stares at the screen, at the lines he wrote, the ones he thought were for Stays.
But reading them now, hearing them out loud-it hits different.
And now night after night
When you cannot find your way
I'll be waiting
It really is closure.
But not for them.
Not for him and Seungmin.
It's a comfort he's offering to someone else. A quiet promise. A hand held out in the dark, knowing it won't be taken.
Maybe that's the point.
Maybe he was always meant to stay a little behind, watching the light move forward while he stays in the quiet.
--
The first concert happens.
The lights are blinding, the fans louder than anything Minho remembers hearing. Stays cheer, they scream the lyrics back at them, wave their lightsticks in time with the beat. Every word, every note, alive.
Minho feels like he could fly. Like for the first time in a while, everything fits.
Seungmin smiles, his usual warmth that always seems to reach the entire room. He’s standing center stage, the mic in his hand, the lights casting a soft glow on his face. The fans have started to quiet, anticipating his final words, and there’s a brief pause before he speaks again.
“Cinema is a song by me and my Cat Hyung,” Seungmin begins, his voice light, “but it means so much more to me than just lyrics or a melody. It’s about every time we’ve struggled, every moment where we didn’t know where we were going. Every time we thought we were lost, and yet we kept moving forward.”
He shifts, looking out at the audience, his gaze settling on the sea of fans in front of them. “It’s about seeing the beauty in the mess. The way life can be messy, but it’s also our story. It’s our cinema. The ups, the downs, everything in between. We’ve been through it all, and we’re still here.”
He pauses, his eyes softening, almost like he’s talking to someone personally now. Minho can feel it, that familiar weight in the air, like Seungmin’s speaking from a place that Minho doesn’t know if he can touch.
“It’s about not being afraid to show your heart. Even when you’re uncertain. Even when you feel like you don’t have all the answers. Because the story keeps going, and you get to write it. I get to write it, and so do you.”
He glances at Minho, who stands just a little to the side of the stage. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, a knowing, quiet exchange that doesn’t need words. The fans cheer, but it feels softer, more personal now.
“And maybe,” Seungmin continues, looking out at the crowd, “this song is also for all of you. Our Stays. You’re part of the story too. Without you, none of this would mean anything. So thank you for being here, for being a part of our cinema.”
As Seungmin finishes, the room erupts in applause, the cheers blending into one massive wave of sound. But Minho, standing there, still feels the weight of those words. His heart pounds, a mixture of hope and doubt swirling in his chest.
For a moment, everything feels heavy. The lights, the fans, the music, even Seungmin’s eyes as they flicker in his direction again, just for a second, before he turns back to the crowd.
But then, in that brief moment, Minho feels it. A shift.
Seungmin doesn’t look away this time. He holds his gaze for a second longer, just enough to make Minho’s heart race, just enough to make him wonder if that was more than just a passing glance.
The crowd’s roar begins to fade, and Seungmin, with that soft, genuine smile, says one last thing before stepping back.
“Thank you, Stays,” he says, his voice quieter now, “and thank you, Minho Hyung. You’re my cinema too.”
Minho’s breath catches in his throat. His pulse quickens, and suddenly, the words don’t feel like just another speech. They feel like a promise. Like something that could be more than what it seems.
Minho smiles, just a little, the corners of his lips curving up. Maybe, just maybe, things aren’t as far away as they felt before. Maybe there’s still a story to be written for him too.
And for the first time in a long while, Minho dares to believe it.
--
The show ends, and Seungmin feels raw. Bare bones. Like he left pieces of himself out there with every word of that speech. But the message got across. Not just to the audience. To his hyung too. He knows it did.
Backstage is buzzing with voices, laughter, post-concert adrenaline. But Seungmin isn’t paying attention. He’s looking. Staff room, hallway, bathroom. No sign of Minho.
Oh
The thought hits Seungmin fast and cold, settling heavy in his chest.
Did he say too much? Did he scare Minho away?
Maybe Minho doesn’t want this. Maybe it had all been a misunderstanding. Maybe Minho smiled on stage because he had to. Because the cameras were on. Because the fans were watching. Not because he felt the same.
Seungmin grips the edge of the hallway railing, breath hitching.
He shouldn’t have said so much. He should’ve held back.
He should’ve known better.
but he's tired.
Seungmin is so, so tired.
How many more signs does he need to give? How many more days, how many years? He would follow his hyung to the end of the world. He knows that. But he’s tired of trying. Tired of giving and getting nothing back. And he needs confirmation.
He finds Minho near the vending machines during their break, sitting off to the side of the hallway like he’s trying not to be found.
He walks over, slow and heavy-footed, like each step weighs more than the last. Minho doesn’t look up right away.
Seungmin stops in front of him and looks down. His voice comes out low and strained. “I’m sorry.”
The brunette finally looks up, eyes searching his face.
“I’m sorry, hyung,” Seungmin says again. “I’m sorry for pushing you. For asking to make a song together. For trying to find something that maybe was never even there.”
His breath catches. He forces himself to keep going.
“I promise I’ll stop after this. After the concerts are done. You don’t have to pretend anymore. We don’t have to act like it meant something.”
He says it quietly, like it’s been sitting in his chest for too long.
Minho stays quiet for a long moment. Seungmin shifts his weight, unsure if he should walk away. Then Minho speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you really think that?"
Seungmin blinks, caught off guard
"Do you really think that," Minho says again, louder this time. His tone isn’t loud, but it’s sharp. It cuts.
Seungmin opens his mouth, then closes it. He doesn’t know how to answer. Not when his eyes are locked on him like that, steady and unreadable.
"You think I was pretending?" He asks.
Seungmin swallows. "I don't know what to think anymore."
Minho stands up slowly, the space between them suddenly smaller.
"Then let me make it clear," he says. "I wasn't pretending."
“I wouldn’t have written those lyrics if I didn’t mean them.”
His voice wavers now. Not loud, but raw.
“So stop apologizing. It’s my fault. Hyung’s sorry. I’m so sorry, Seungmin.”
Minho exhales like he’s been holding it in for too long.
“Sorry for always shutting you out. For pretending it didn’t matter. For acting like I didn’t see it when I did. Every look. Every time you waited. I knew. I just…” He stops, eyes flicking away before coming back to Seungmin’s.
“I didn’t know if I was allowed to feel it too."
Seungmin doesn’t say anything, but his jaw clenches, his eyes brimming.
Minho takes a step closer.
“Hyung’s sorry for being a coward. For making you feel like it was one-sided. For not saying anything when it mattered most.”
He looks down for a second, then meets Seungmin’s eyes again.
“those lines, I'm serious, they were for you."
Minho’s voice is quiet but firm.
Seungmin swallows hard. “Hyung please, you don’t have to make me feel bette–”
“No. Stop.” Minho’s voice cuts through, sharper now.
“Don’t do that. Don’t act like I’m just saying this to comfort you. I wrote it thinking about you.” He repeats again
He takes a breath, frustration creeping in. “You think I’d pour that into a song for nothing? You think I’d let you stand next to me on that stage and sing those words if they didn’t mean anything to me?”
Seungmin opens his mouth to respond, but Minho shakes his head.
“I like you. I have for a long time. And maybe I’m late, maybe I messed everything up, but don’t stand here and tell me I didn’t feel it too.”
Oh.
Oh.
Wow.
Seungmin blinks, once, twice, and suddenly the room feels too quiet. The hum of the vending machines fades into the background. His heart is beating so loudly it might echo through the whole practice hall.
He doesn’t know what to think. Or feel. Or say.
Because for so long, he’s been bracing for silence. For disappointment. For the quiet, gentle letdown that never came. And now, standing here with Minho looking at him like that, saying those things like he means every word–
It’s too much. And not enough. And its exactly what he wanted.
“I…” Seungmin starts, but the words stall in his throat.
He looks at Minho, really looks at him, and everything feels like a question mark.
“I…” Seungmin tries again, voice softer this time. “I didn’t think you felt the same.”
Minho’s eyes don’t leave his. “I know,” he says, almost painfully. “That’s my fault.”
Seungmin’s fingers curl at his sides. He’s still stunned. Like the ground beneath him just shifted an inch to the left and he has to relearn how to stand.
“I thought I was being too much,” he admits. “Always asking. Always hoping.”
“You weren’t,” Minho says immediately. “You never were. I just, I didn’t know how to let myself want it. Want you. But I did. I do.”
A breath catches in Seungmin’s throat. Hope flutters in his chest, tentative and wild. He searches Minho’s face for anything that might betray a lie, but all he finds is truth. Honest, exhausted, vulnerable truth.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to believe in.
“Okay,” Seungmin whispers. “Okay. Let’s… start from here.”
“Promise we’ll talk tomorrow? When we’re home?”
Seungmin nods, wiping at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t remember when they started to water, only that it feels like something's unstuck inside him.
He wants to do something. Hold Minho’s hand, maybe. Or hug him. Shit, even kiss him. He doesn’t know what’s allowed now.
His hand lifts slightly, then retreats. Too soon. Too much.
“Okay. Yeah. Let’s go, hyung,” he says instead, and turns to walk away.
But Minho catches him by the edge of his shirt.
Pulls him in.
Into a hug.
Oh.
Oh.
When was the last time they hugged like this?
Seungmin freezes at first. Shock rooting him in place. Then slowly, carefully, he brings his arms up and wraps them around Minho.
He tries not to cry.
Keyword: tries.
His breath hitches, a quiet sniffle escaping, and Minho only pulls him closer.
As if to say: Yes. It’s real.
--
They get home late. No one says much, mostly because they’re too tired. The flight was long, and the silence between them feels more like a pause than an ending.
Seungmin heads to his dorm with Felix, bags dragging behind him. He doesn’t speak. Just gets ready for bed and lies down, eyes on the ceiling. His heart is loud in the quiet.
He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring. But he knows they promised to talk.
And somehow, that feels enough for now.
Seungmin wakes up with a start, the weight of yesterday sinking in before he’s even fully conscious. His stomach twists, and fear settles like a stone in his chest.
What if Minho changed his mind?
What if it didn’t mean anything?
What if Seungmin had imagined it all?
His thoughts spiral fast, breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t even want to check his phone in case there’s nothing there.
But then, a soft buzz breaks the silence.
A message lights up his screen.
Nyangie
come over when you wake up.
i made breakfast. we can talk.
Seungmin stares at it, heart stuttering. Relief floods him, slow and warm. He doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until he feels the ache in his cheeks.
He sits up and grips his phone tighter.
Okay. They’re still okay.
He takes his sweet time washing up.
Truth is, he’s scared. Scared and embarrassed.
He had cried. To his Lee Minho, of all people.
And he—he had poured his heart out. Everything.
Eugh. Seungmin.
But… but he had gotten his Lino-hyung.
Whos firm, Certain, always steady in what he wants. And his hyung wants him.
Wanted him.
Still does, he hopes.
He throws on a hoodie, barely bothering to fix his hair. Every step toward Jisung and Minho's dorm feels heavier than it should. Like his legs know how much is riding on this and are begging him to turn back.
But he doesn't.
He knocks once. The door opens almost instantly.
Minho stands there, hair slightly tousled, sleeves pushed up, the faint smell of breakfast clinging to him. He looks like home.
"Hey," he says, soft.
Seungmin nods. "Hey."
Minho steps aside, and Seungmin enters. The table's already set - two plates, perfectly plated. Steamed rice, soft rolled omelets, grilled spam and kimchi on the side.
"You cooked all this?" Seungmin asks, trying not to sound as surprised as he feels.
Minho just shrugs, setting down his chopsticks. "Of course I did. Won't you let me take care of you?" His voice is softer now, more careful. "Like we used to. Back when we lived together."
Seungmin looks down at his plate, heart thudding a little too hard. The food is perfect, just like it used to be. The kind of breakfast that says more than words ever could.
He nods, just once. "Yeah," he says. "Okay."
And he means it.
They eat in silence.
Not the awkward kind-just full. Full of everything that's already been said, and everything still sitting heavy between them. The clink of chopsticks, the low hum of the apartment, Minho occasionally glancing up but not pushing.
Seungmin focuses on his food. It's warm, grounding. Comforting in a way only Minho's cooking ever is. He feels the quiet care in every bite, the familiarity that slips under his skin like muscle memory.
And maybe that's the part that scares him most.
Because it still feels like home.
When they finish, Seungmin sets his bowl down and finally looks up.
"Hyung," he starts, voice low, "can we talk now?"
Minho nods, eyes steady. "Yeah. I've been waiting."
Minho leans back slightly, folding his arms as if to brace himself—not out of defensiveness, but like he’s steadying something inside.
Seungmin shifts, fingers fidgeting against the hem of his hoodie. “I… I meant everything I said. After the show. The song. All of it.”
Minho doesn’t speak right away. Just watches him.
“I didn’t think you’d be there,” Seungmin adds, quieter. “After I said all that, and you disappeared...”
Minho exhales slowly. “I needed a minute.”
Seungmin nods, eyes falling to the table. “Right. I figured. It was a lot.”
“It wasn’t too much,” Minho says. “It was honest.”
Seungmin looks up.
“And that scared me,” Minho continues. “Because I’ve been writing around my feelings for years. Avoiding them. Avoiding you. But when you said all that, I couldn’t pretend anymore.”
Seungmin swallows hard. “So what now?”
Minho leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Now, we stop pretending.”
There’s a pause. Seungmin’s heart is loud in his ears.
“You still want this?” he asks.
Minho nods. “If you do.”
“I do,” Seungmin says, almost too quickly. Then, softer, “I really do.”
Minho smiles—small, but real. “Then come here.”
Seungmin stands, steps slowly around the table, and when Minho opens his arms, he goes without hesitation.
This time, he doesn’t hold back.
They end up on the couch, shoulders brushing, two mugs growing cold on the table. The plates are forgotten in the sink. The light outside shifts with the late morning sun, soft and quiet.
They talk.
About everything and nothing. What they missed while pretending not to look. The way Seungmin always bought an extra bottle of Minho's favorite drink, even when they weren't speaking much. How Minho kept checking his own lyrics for traces of feelings he hadn't said out loud.
"I didn't know you liked me that much," Seungmin says at one point, smirking.
Minho laughs. "You're really slow."
"You're really annoying."
Minho leans in a little, resting his chin in his palm. "You missed me."
Seungmin doesn't deny it. His voice comes quiet, almost too soft.
"I always miss you," he confesses. Didn't really mean to. But it's the truth.
He misses Minho-misses him even when he's right there, even when they're sitting across from each other on the same couch. Call him needy, pathetic, whatever. He doesn't care anymore. He's cared enough. And he's tired.
Minho blinks, something tender flickering across his face, but he doesn't speak just yet. Just watches Seungmin like he's learning him all over
Minho stays quiet for a beat too long. Long enough that Seungmin starts to regret saying anything at all.
But then Minho moves. Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid to break something delicate. His hand reaches across the couch, fingers curling over Seungmin’s wrist, warm and steady.
“I miss you too,” he says, just as soft. “Even when you’re right next to me. It's stupid.”
Seungmin lets out a shaky breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “Yeah. It is.”
They sit like that for a while. Not holding hands, exactly, but not letting go either.
Eventually, Seungmin shifts closer. Just a little. And Minho doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in too.
It’s not a confession. Not really. Not yet. But it’s something.
Minho's thumb brushes slowly over Seungmin's wrist, absentminded but grounding. Seungmin swallows hard.
It's quiet again-soft and tentative, like the moment might shatter if either of them speaks too loud.
"Can I..." Minho starts, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes are on Seungmin's lips. "Can I kiss you?"
Seungmin's heart skips. Jumps. Threatens to beat out of his chest.
He nods, just once. Barely. But it's enough.
Minho leans in. Gently. Slowly. Their noses brush, and Seungmin exhales shakily. Then Minho's lips meet his- soft, careful, almost unsure. But Seungmin melts into it like he's been waiting for this forever.
Because he has.
And Minho kisses him like he knows that.
When they finally part, just a breath away, Seungmin's eyes flutter open.
"Oh," he says quietly. "Wow."
Minho huffs out a tiny laugh. "Yeah. Same."
They dive back in.
Minho's hand finds the back of Seungmin's neck, warm and steady, and it makes Seungmin shiver. There's no hesitation this time. No breath of distance. Just lips on lips, deeper, firmer, more certain.
Minho kisses like he means it. Like he's been holding it in for too long and now that he's started, he doesn't want to stop. His mouth moves against Seungmin's with practiced ease, and god-he's good at it. Too good.
Seungmin's thoughts scatter. His fingers tighten in Minho's shirt as something hot and dizzying pools in his gut. The kind of feeling that curls and burns and begs for more. He tilts his head slightly, lets Minho guide the pace, lets himself lean in further. Just a little longer. Just a little more.
Minho pulls back slowly, gaze locked on Seungmin's flushed face. His thumb brushes along Seungmin's jaw, grounding, tender.
"How was it?" he asks with a small smile, half-teasing.
Seungmin's breath hitches. "Good. Really good, hyung."
And then his eyes start to shimmer. Minho watches, blinking, confused for a second-until a tear slips down Seungmin's cheek.
"Wait-Min?" he whispers.
"I'm sorry, hyung," Seungmin chokes out, blinking quickly and trying to wipe his face. "Uhm, I'm sorry, it's just-god. Yeah. Love you, hyung. I mean-like you -sorry."
Minho's heart squeezes. So fond. So unbearably fond.
He cups Seungmin's face gently, thumbs catching the tears. His voice is quiet, careful.
"How much did hyung deprive you?" he asks, more to himself than anything.
And Seungmin, ever honest even through wet lashes, just lets out a shaky laugh. "Too much."
Minho doesn't wait. He leans in and kisses him again- soft, steady, unhurried. Like he's trying to kiss the tears away. Like he's trying to say everything he hadn't been brave enough to before.
Seungmin melts into it, shoulders relaxing under Minho's touch. His fingers clutch the fabric of Minho's sleeve, grounding himself, letting himself be held. He still sniffles a little, but he kisses back, just as sure.
Minho pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut.
"Let me make up for it," he whispers.
Seungmin exhales, eyes still damp, but smiling now.
"Okay."
Minho moves slowly, deliberately, his lips never leaving Seungmin's skin. He kisses the line of his jaw, then trails down to the curve of his neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses there. Each touch feels like a promise, each kiss a silent apology.
Seungmin's breath hitches as Minho's lips reach his ear, his body shivering at the warmth of the contact. He lets out a whimper-a sound he didn't know he could make, raw and vulnerable, and his mind races, trying to process it all.
Minho's kisses feel like everything Seungmin has been yearning for. The tenderness, the care, the heat. And he can't help but feel overwhelmed. This is real. Minho is here. Minho wants him.
Seungmin wants to cry again-tears of relief, tears of joy. How long has he been waiting for this moment? How long has he been denying himself?
Minho pulls back slightly, eyes searching Seungmin's face. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low, gentle.
Seungmin nods, though his words catch in his throat. "Yeah... I just... I didn't know this was possible. With you... with us."
Minho smiles softly, brushing his thumb over Seungmin's cheek. "It's real. I promise you, it's real."
Seungmin doesnt say anything more. And Minho kisses down his neck slowly, letting his lips linger against sensitive skin. Each kiss is deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of Seungmin’s throat. Seungmin tilts his head, allowing it, needing it. His hands slide under Minho’s shirt, splaying over warm skin, trying to get closer, trying to feel everything.
Their hips move in tandem now, clothed but insistent, the friction steady and grounding. Seungmin gasps softly against Minho’s ear, the sound raw and unguarded. Minho groans in return, pulling him even closer by the waist.
“You feel so good,” Minho murmurs against his skin.
Seungmin doesn’t know how to respond. His body’s already speaking for him—his fingers digging into Minho’s sides, the quiet, desperate noises slipping past his lips as they grind together, chasing something wordless and full of longing.
Minho mouths at his collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to make Seungmin shiver. “You drive me crazy,” he whispers, voice low and wrecked.
They move together like that, steady and close, fully clothed but trembling with the weight of everything they’ve held in for years. It’s messy and warm, breath catching in throats, bodies clinging to each other like they’ll fall apart if they let go.
Seungmin’s voice breaks around Minho’s name as he presses closer, his forehead dropping against Minho’s shoulder. He’s shaking, overwhelmed and completely undone. When it’s over, they stay like that—chests heaving, faces buried in each other’s skin.
Minho’s hand rubs gentle circles on Seungmin’s back.
“I love you,” Seungmin whispers. “I–sorry. I just. I love you.”
Minho pulls back just enough to look at him. His own eyes are glassy. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
Then he kisses him again, slow and certain. “I love you too.”
They don't say much right after.
Their breaths are still uneven, tangled up in each other's arms. Seungmin lies tucked under Minho's chin, skin still flushed, heart still thudding. It's warm. He feels Minho's fingers slowly combing through his hair, gentle now. Careful.
Eventually, Minho shifts, presses a kiss to Seungmin's temple, then mumbles against his skin, "We should get cleaned up."
Seungmin nods wordlessly. He doesn't want to move, but he knows they have to. They help each other up, limbs heavy and slightly awkward, like the weight of what just happened is still settling around them.
Minho disappears into the bathroom first, and Seungmin follows after, stealing one of the soft towels from the rack. They don't talk much as they clean up- just shared glances and quiet touches. A hand brushing over a shoulder, a towel passed silently. It's all soft now. Gentle.
Back in the kitchen, the breakfast dishes are still stacked in the sink, half-forgotten. Seungmin rinses a plate while Minho dries it beside him. It feels almost normal. Like they've done this before. Like they've always been this.
Then, after everything, Seungmin speaks, his voice low, careful.
"Do we tell them? The members?"
Minho doesn't answer right away, just leans back a little, gaze resting somewhere near the kitchen window. The sunlight is pale, just starting to warm the edge of the counter.
"Chan and Jisung haven't told anyone yet," Minho finally says. "Only I know. I found them last night after we got back. Bruised, swollen-lipped, all flushed and out of breath. Looked like they'd kissed for hours in that damn car."
Seungmin blinks.
Minho gives a small laugh, but it's not mocking. It's soft. Knowing. "They looked like going back to the dorms might kill them. Like they'd crash too hard if they let go of each other. And they saw me staring," he adds with a shrug. "But I think they were too tired to care. Or maybe they didn't want to hide anymore."
Seungmin exhales slowly, the kind that stretches out something in his chest.
"Then maybe we don't hide either," he says, quieter.
"Not for long, at least."
Minho turns his head to look at him properly now. His expression is unreadable for a second-then it softens.
"Yeah," he says. "But no rush. We have time."