Chapter Text
For the eight members, ALD1 wasn't just where they clocked in; it was the beating heart of their shared dream.
The air inside always felt thick with a shimmering, golden intensity, vibrating with the weight of eight different lives all pouring themselves into one masterpiece.
When all eight members were in the zone, the room felt alive, driven by pure ambition and pure adrenaline.
Yet, beneath that golden glow sat a heavier truth; the studio often felt less like a sanctuary and more like a gilded cage, a tight space where the weight of high expectations pressed against them from every corner, leaving them little room to breathe.
Junseo saw everything. He was observant by nature, and in a group this close, secrets had a way of becoming common knowledge.
It was no secret that some members were sleeping together. Junseo understood the logic behind it. They were young, driven, and needed a release for the mounting tension. For many, sex was simply a form of comfort—a way to feel grounded when their world felt chaotic.
Jiahao was usually at the center of that comfort.
Junseo watched the patterns develop:
• Anxin: The first to seek Jiahao out, their connection fueled by long-term familiarity.
• Leo: Whose interactions with Jiahao were quiet, frequent, and intensely private.
• Geonwoo: The most recent addition, very bold and very clingy.
Junseo told himself he was above it. He maintained his composure, acting as the steady pillar the group needed. But lately, the logic was failing him.
Every time he saw Jiahao emerge from a bedroom with messy hair and blissful eyes, or saw Leo slide a heavy, possessive arm over Jiahao’s waist, or when Geonwoo's whole heated body draped over Jiahao’s, Junseo felt a sharp tug in his chest. It was a slow-burning irritation that flared up during practice when he caught Anxin and Jiahao’s gaze each other across the dinner table.
It wasn’t just observation anymore. It was jealousy.
Jiahao wasn't oblivious. He had a way of looking at Junseo—a lingering, questioning glance that invited him in. It was an open door, a silent offer of the same comfort the others received.
But Junseo couldn't bring himself to give in.
To Junseo, Jiahao wasn't just a "release." If he touched him, it wouldn't be simple. It wouldn't be a way to blow off steam before a comeback.
It would mean admitting that he wanted Jiahao more than he wanted his own self-control.
Alpha Drive One was scheduled to perform in Macau for a special music bank this weekend, but they had arrived several days earlier due to other company-planned schedules.
Junseo wasn't sure if heaven or hell was making plans for him, but he had roomed up with Jiahao, somehow.
The humidity at their hotel seemed to seep through the heavy glass of their hotel suite, making the air between them feel thick and suffocating.
Junseo sat on the edge of his bed, watching Jiahao with a growing, silent irritation. Back at the dorms, the boundaries were fluid and non-existent. He was used to seeing Jiahao lounging in oversized tank tops that slipped off his shoulders, or walking around half-dressed after coming out of Geonwoo’s or Leo’s room.
But here, in the quiet of their shared suite, Jiahao was acting almost like a stranger.
Jiahao moved with a careful, polite precision that set Junseo’s nerves on fire. He didn't just turn his back to change; he gathered his silk pajamas and disappeared into the bathroom, clicking the lock shut. When he finally emerged, he was buttoned up to the very top of his throat, his damp hair the only sign that he had just stepped out of the steam. He stayed near the far wall, keeping a meticulous distance as he folded his assigned outfit for tomorrow’s schedule, avoiding Junseo’s gaze entirely.
Junseo’s imagination began to spiral because he knew exactly what Jiahao was like with the others.
With them, Jiahao was open and reachable. With Junseo, he was a masterpiece locked behind glass.
The "polite" act wasn't a courtesy; to Junseo, it felt like an exclusion.
The worst part was that Junseo knew he had no right to be angry with Jiahao. The younger man wasn't being cold; he was being respectful.
He was following the silent boundary Junseo himself had spent months building. Every time Jiahao had lingered a second too long in his space or offered a silent invitation with his eyes, Junseo had been the one to pull back.
"You don't have to do that," Junseo finally spoke, his voice sounding rough even to his own ears.
Jiahao paused, his fingers trembling slightly against the fabric of his shirt. "Do what, Hyung?"
"Be so... careful," Junseo said, standing up. He watched the younger member from across their room, gauging his reaction. "You don't hide in the bathroom when Geonwoo is around. You don't button your shirt to the chin when Leo is in the room. Why am I the only one you feel the need to protect yourself from?"
Jiahao stopped at what he was doing, his eyes went up to look at Junseo.
"It’s different with you. You’ve always made it clear where you stand. I don't want to... I don't want to overstep where I'm not invited."
The words stung because they were true. Junseo had built this wall stone by stone, and now he was the one trapped behind it, starving while the others ate.
The tension in the room snapped like a physical cord. Jiahao looked up, his dark eyes shimmering with a mix of surprise and a long-buried hurt.
"You think I wanted to be careful?" Jiahao whispered, his voice trembling.
"I stayed away because I thought you looked down on it. I thought you looked down on me for needing them."
Junseo felt a pang of genuine regret. He found himself faltering back and forth, to go or not to go to Jiahao, who was sitting so small right there.
"I didn't look down on you," Junseo admitted, his voice thick. "I was just terrified of how much I wanted to be one of them. No—I was terrified that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop as they do."
Jiahao didn’t offer a confession or a dramatic rebuttal. Instead, he looked down, his expression unreadable and guarded. He gave a small, stiff nod—a quiet acceptance of the suggestion to stop being so careful—but he didn’t move to bridge the gap.
"We have an early schedule tomorrow, Hyung," Jiahao murmured, his voice barely audible. "We should go to sleep."
He climbed into his own bed, pulling the duvet up to his chest and turning his back.
The rejection, though polite, stung worse than an argument. Junseo stood alone in between both of their single beds for a moment, the cool air of the room hitting his bare chest. He eventually climbed into his bed.
The suite fell into a heavy, artificial silence, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning. For an hour, neither of them spoke. The only light in the room came from the dim glow of their phone screens. Junseo scrolled aimlessly, his thumb moving over the glass without seeing a single word. His ears were tuned entirely to the sound of Jiahao’s breathing a few feet away. He could tell by the rhythm that Jiahao wasn't sleeping either; he was just as restless, just as wired.
The quiet was suffocating.
Slowly, Junseo set his phone on the nightstand. He stood up, the floorboards silent beneath his feet, and walked the short distance to the other bed.
Jiahao stiffened as he felt the mattress dip significantly under a new weight. He didn't turn around, but his breathing hitched. Then, he felt it—the solid, radiating heat of Junseo’s body pressing against his back. Junseo didn't ask for permission. He slid under the duvet, his arm reaching over Jiahao’s waist to pull him flush against his chest.
Junseo buried his face in the crook of Jiahao’s neck, inhaling the scent of the hotel soap and something uniquely Jiahao. He felt the younger man tremble slightly, but he didn't pull away. The silence of the room shifted from cold to something thick and expectant as Junseo tightened his grip, his thumb tracing small, possessive circles over Jiahao’s hip.
Jiahao lay perfectly still, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard he was sure Junseo could feel it through his back. He didn't turn around, but he didn't pull away either. He simply closed his eyes, letting the heavy, familiar warmth of Junseo’s body anchor him.
"You're not sleeping," Junseo whispered, his voice a low vibration against the shell of Jiahao’s ear.
Jiahao let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into the duvet. "Neither are you, Hyung."
Junseo’s hand, which had been resting tentatively on Jiahao’s waist, began to move. He slid his palm upward, tracing the line of Jiahao’s ribs through the thin silk of his pajamas.
"I'm tired of watching,"
Junseo murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Jiahao’s neck. "I'm tired of being the only one who controls."
Jiahao finally turned, and the movement brought them face-to-face, their noses nearly touching in the dark. In the dim light from the city outside, Jiahao could see the raw hunger in Junseo’s eyes—a look he had never seen before, stripped of all the order and discipline.
"Then don't just watch,"
Jiahao breathed, his voice barely a thread of sound.
That was the only permission Junseo needed. He moved with a sudden, controlled urgency, pinning Jiahao beneath him. The bed creaked under the weight of two bodies finally colliding after months of friction. Junseo’s mouth found Jiahao’s in a kiss that wasn't polite or cautious; it was possessive, tasting of a jealousy that had finally been given an outlet.
As Junseo’s hands mapped the skin he had only ever admired from across a practice room, Jiahao let out a soft, broken sound. He arched his back, his fingers tangling in Junseo’s hair, pulling him closer as if trying to merge their bodies.
Jiahao’s only response was to pull Junseo down for another bruising kiss, his legs tangling with Junseo’s as they sought more friction. The grinding intensified, their hips locking in a frantic pace, and Jiahao’s body jerked responsively, his heels digging into the sheets.
Just as the heat seemed to reach its breaking point, Junseo’s hip froze as Jiahao slid his hand into his pant trying to soothe his length.
The reality of the situation suddenly came crashing down on Junseo.
If he did this now, it would be just like the others. It would be a frantic, late-night release fueled by a week of frustration and a few hours of jealousy. Junseo didn't want to be just another name on the list of people Jiahao sought out for comfort.
"No," Junseo whispered, his voice cracking with the effort of his own restraint.
Jiahao shifted, turning his head slightly to look at Junseo with confused, clouded eyes. "Hyung?"
"Not like this," Junseo said, more to himself than to Jiahao.
He climbed off the bed entirely, his chest still heaving, his body screaming at him for the finish he had just denied himself.
He grabbed his discarded pajama top from the floor and pulled it on as Jiahao was sitting up slowly, pulled the duvet up to his chin to cover his exposed skin.
The rejection was palpable, a sudden chill replacing the feverish heat of moments ago.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"You did everything right,"
Junseo said, his back turned as he stared at the glowing lights of the Macau skyline.
"That’s the problem. I’ve spent months being the one who didn't touch you because I wanted it to mean something more. If I do this now, while I’m this angry and this jealous... It’s just sex. And I realized I don't just want to sleep with you, Jiahao."
He finally turned around, his expression pained and raw.
"Go to sleep," Junseo said quietly, moving back to his own bed and lying down with his back to the room.
Jiahao watched him, his expression unreadable. He didn't reach out to pull Junseo back into the bed or demand any more answers. He lay hurtfully on his own bed, facing the other way like the first time, and the gap between their beds felt miles wide again.
The silence returned, but it wasn't the silence of peace. It was the heavy, agonizing weight of two people who had come inches from the edge, only for one of them to pull back and leave them both shivering in the dark.
The next morning, the bright, artificial lights of the Music Bank venue felt like a direct assault.
Junseo moved through the rehearsal with a cold, mechanical precision, his body aching from the lack of sleep and the brutal restraint of the night before.
Across the stage, the usual patterns were playing out, but today they felt amplified.
Leo wasn't just being touchy; he was being bold. During the blocking for their main performance, Leo’s hand lingered on the small of Jiahao’s back far longer than the choreography required. He kept catching Jiahao’s eye, a smirk playing on his lips that suggested a shared secret.
Then, during a twenty-minute technical delay, Junseo looked up from his floor markings and realized the stage was suddenly emptier. Leo was gone. And so was Jiahao.
Junseo’s heart plummeted. He tried to tell himself they had just gone to the dressing room for water or a mic adjustment, but the silence from the wings felt heavy. His mind, already frayed from the angst in Macau, immediately went to the darkest place. He imagined them in a cramped, dimly lit hallway or a supply closet—Leo’s impatient hands, now taking what Junseo had been too "principled" to claim.
Ten minutes later, Jiahao reappeared, slightly out of breath and tugging at the hem of his stage outfit to straighten it. Leo followed shortly after, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. His eyes swept the room with a cool, sharp focus until they landed on Junseo. Leo gave him a slow, knowing nod—his silent way of acknowledging Junseo for stepping into the leader’s role and holding the line while Leo was elsewhere.
Junseo’s grip tightened on his microphone, tasting his first-ever raging bitterness for the first time.
The dressing room was a frantic blur of stylists and staff until, for one brief moment, the space cleared. Junseo didn't waste a second.
He grabbed Jiahao by the arm and shoved him back toward the corner of the room, behind a heavy rack of sequined stage outfits. The scent of Leo’s cologne—sharp and expensive—seemed to cling to Jiahao’s skin, fueling the fire in Junseo’s chest.
"Where were you?" Junseo hissed, his voice trembling with a rage he could no longer contain.
"With Leo. In the wings. Don't lie to me."
Jiahao winced as his back hit the wall, but he didn't struggle. He looked up at Junseo with wide, startled eyes, his breath hitching.
"We were just... he wanted to talk about the choreo change, Hyung. The mic packs were—"
"Stop it," Junseo spat, the words cutting through Jiahao’s explanation like a knife. The image of them together, of Jiahao giving himself away so easily to anyone who asked, made Junseo’s vision blur. "I stayed awake all night thinking I was doing the right thing by stopping. I thought you deserved more than a quick fix in a hotel room."
Junseo leaned in closer, his face inches from Jiahao’s. His voice dropped to a cruel, venomous whisper.
"But I see now that I was just being a fool. You don't want something meaningful, do you? You’re just the group’s convenience. You’re everyone’s release. Geonwoo, Anxin, Leo... and you would have let me do it too, just to add another name to the list. Is that all you are? Just a place for everyone to dump their tension because you're too easy to say no?"
The air in the corner of the room turned freezing.
Junseo expected Jiahao to snap back.
He expected a shout, a slap, or a defensive lie. But Jiahao did none of those things.
Instead, the light in his eyes simply... went out. His posture slumped, and his hands, which had been hovering near Junseo’s chest, dropped limply to his sides.
He didn't get mad. He didn't even look away. He just looked at Junseo with a profound, quiet defeat that was far more terrifying than anger. A single, jagged breath escaped his lips, and his eyes filled with a glassy layer of tears that he refused to let fall.
"If that's what you think of me," Jiahao whispered, his voice small and hollow, "then I don’t have anything to say to you, Hyung."
He didn't push Junseo away. He simply stepped to the side, moving with the slow, ghost-like grace of someone who had just been shattered from the inside out. He walked past the clothes rack and out into the main room, leaving Junseo standing alone in the shadows.
The victory Junseo thought he wanted felt like ash in his mouth. The silence Jiahao left behind was deafening, and the look of pure, quiet heartbreak on his face left a mark on Junseo’s soul that no amount of pride could cover. He had tried to protect his heart, but in his jealousy, he had ended up destroying the very person he was trying to keep.
The Music Bank performance was a blur of neon lights and artificial energy. On camera, they were ALD1—perfect, synchronized, and untouchable. But every time the choreography forced Junseo and Jiahao together, the air felt cold.
Jiahao performed with a mechanical, haunting perfection. He hit every mark, but his eyes were vacant. Usually, during their shared center part, Jiahao would catch Junseo’s gaze with a spark of hidden intensity. Tonight, he looked right through Junseo, treating him like a piece of the stage equipment.
When the music finally cut, and the lights dimmed, Jiahao didn't linger for the usual celebratory pats on the back. He was the first one off the platform, disappearing into the wings before the applause had even faded.
The van ride back to the hotel was a nightmare of cramped silence. The other members were buzzing with adrenaline, but Junseo sat in the back, his gaze fixed on the passing lights of Macau. Across from him, Jiahao had his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window, his headphones on, completely shutting out the world.
The mark Junseo had left wasn't on Jiahao's skin—it was on the very air between them. He had wanted to be "more" than the others, but in his jealousy, he had turned himself into the only person Jiahao couldn't even bear to look at.
The hotel door clicked shut with a finality that made Junseo’s heart drop. The luxury of the suite felt like a cage. Jiahao didn't even acknowledge his presence.
Junseo stood in the middle of their shared suite, the silence echoing his own cruel words back at him.
“Just a place for everyone to dump their tension.” He felt sick.
He had watched Jiahao all day, hoping for a crack in the armor, but Jiahao’s vacancy was worse than his anger.
When the bathroom door finally opened, Jiahao emerged in those same silk pajamas, buttoned all the way up, through and through. He didn't look at the vanity; he didn't look at Junseo. He walked straight to his bed and climbed in, pulling the duvet over and turning his back.
"Jiahao," Junseo said, his voice cracking.
The figure under the covers didn't move. No response. Not even a shift in breathing.
"Jiahao, look at me. Please." Junseo walked to the edge of Jiahao’s bed. He felt the desperate urge to reach out, to undo the damage, but his hands felt heavy with the weight of his own pride. "I was out of line. I was angry and I... I saw you with Leo, and I lost my mind."
Jiahao finally spoke, his voice muffled by the pillow, sounding smaller than Junseo had ever heard it. "You said what you felt, Hyung. You don't have to apologize for the truth."
"It wasn't the truth!" Junseo snapped, his voice rising in desperation.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight.
"I was jealous. I’ve been rotting with it for months. Watching them touch you, watching you go to them for things I was too stubborn to give you... I hated it. I tried to make you feel worthless so I wouldn't feel like I was losing."
Jiahao finally turned over. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale in the dim light. He looked at Junseo, not with the warmth of the night before, but with a flat, stinging sadness.
"You talk about loyalty, Hyung," Jiahao said, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a cold blade. "You talk about wanting to be the only one I stay with. But we both know what the real issue with you is.”
Jiahao finally shifted, sitting up slowly against the headboard. The duvet fell to his waist, leaving him looking frail in the dim hotel light.
"I know about 1THE9, Junseo," Jiahao continued, and for the first time, a tear escaped, trailing a slow path down his cheek. "I know about the relationship you had. I know it lasted years. I know that even after the group ended, you never really let go of him."
Junseo opened his mouth to deny it, but no sound came out. The secret he had buried under layers of professional leadership and cold discipline was laid bare on the hotel sheets.
"You're not mad at me for being 'easy,' Hyung," Jiahao said, his voice barely a thread of sound in the dark room. He looked away, his gaze landing on the empty space between their beds. "You’re mad because I’m a reminder that you’re still here. With us. Instead of with him."
Junseo’s grip tightened instinctively, his breath hitching. "Jiahao, don't—"
"I know how you look at your phone when you think no one is watching," Jiahao whispered, cutting him off with a softness that hurt more than a scream. "I saw the way you closed yourself off after 1THE9. I’m not... I'm not him, Junseo-hyung. I know that."
He didn't say it out loud, but the implication hung heavy in the air. You didn't stay away from me to protect me. You stayed away because I wasn't worth the effort of moving on. In Jiahao’s mind, he had reached a simple, painful conclusion: Junseo’s heart was a locked room, and Jiahao simply didn't have the key.
"I’m sorry, I’m not the person you wanted to stay for," Jiahao murmured, his voice trailing off as he gently pried Junseo’s fingers from his shoulders.
Jiahao didn’t wait for Junseo to find his voice or offer a half-hearted denial.
With a quiet, mechanical movement, Jiahao sat up. He didn't look at Junseo’s pained expression. He reached over, grabbed his own pillow, and tucked it firmly under his arm.
"Where are you going?" Junseo asked, his voice low and panicked.
Jiahao didn't answer. He didn't owe him an answer. He walked to the door, his footsteps silent on the carpet. He knew that going to the younger members’ room at this hour would spark a firestorm of curiosity. Anxin and Xinlong were protective and observant; they would see the redness in his eyes and the way he was clutching his pillow like a shield. They would ask questions—probing, difficult questions—but to Jiahao, that was a small price to pay to get away from the suffocating ghost of Junseo’s ex-boyfriend.
He stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut, the soft thud sounding like a final curtain call.
When he knocked on the door three rooms down, it was Anxin who opened it, looking sleepy and confused in a silk robe.
When his eyes landed on Jiahao—standing there in the dim hallway light, clutching his pillow like a lifeline—he was instantly awake.
"Jiahao? What are you doing here?" Anxin whispered, stepping back to let him in.
Jiahao didn't look him in the eye. He walked past him into the room, where Xinlong was already sitting up, squinting through the dark. "The AC," Jiahao murmured, his voice sounding thin and brittle even to his own ears. "I think it’s broken in our room. It got... too hot. I couldn’t sleep."
It was a clumsy lie. The hotel was a five-star luxury resort; the idea of the climate control failing was nearly impossible, and the way Jiahao’s hands were trembling against the fabric of his pillow told a much different story.
Xinlong looked at the thermostat in their own room, then back at Jiahao. "Hyung, you could have called maintenance. Did Junseo-hyung say—"
"He’s asleep," Jiahao interrupted softly, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Don't wake him. I’ll just stay here on the sofa."
Anxin didn't say another word. He knew better than to push when Jiahao was in this state—fragile, quiet, and retreating into himself.
“Don’t sleep on the sofa. Sleep on the bed with me.”
Anxin watched as Jiahao picked up his pillow and walked toward him.
Anxin's gaze darkened. He didn't need a confession to know that Junseo had finally let that wall fall on top of Jiahao.