Chapter Text
It had taken three whole days for the boys to work up the nerve to check Jinu’s warehouse. They could’ve gone sooner, but Mystery—being Mystery—flat-out refused, only agreeing after the others promised to sit through his dramatic poetry about how much Jinu sucks. Mystery didn’t hate Jinu; he loved him like an older brother. That only made the fear worse: what if Jinu hated him for beating him up?
“I-Is it too late to leave?” he asked, hovering by the door while Abby cursed as another lockpick snapped.
For Abby and Romance, this was muscle memory from a life they didn’t brag about. Back when they were all still learning about each other, Baby and Mystery would tilt their heads at the older idols’ “life skills.” Whenever anyone raised an eyebrow, Abby or Romance would just say, “Easy to judge when you’ve never been cold with nowhere to go.” Picking a lock for a warm place to sleep instead of freezing in the rain or snow wasn’t a crime; it was survival.
Sometimes it was easy to forget Abby and Romance had lived hard lives—especially when they joked and laughed the way they did, loud and bright, a sound Mystery had learned to find comfort in. Sometimes, when Mystery looked at Romance, he saw a younger version of his mother—still laughing after three jobs, still finding breath to read him a bedtime story.
Another lockpick snapped. The sound yanked Mystery out of his thoughts as Baby rolled his eyes and started to speak.
“Mystery, I love you, man, but if you’re old enough to have sex, you’re old enough to face Jinu,” Baby said, slinging an arm over Mystery’s shoulders—right as Abby hissed and tossed the broken sliver of metal.
Mystery flushed and swatted him away. “T-That’s not the same, hyung, and you know it!”
“Of course not. One’s pleasurable, and the other—” Baby pulled a face. “I’d rather kick rocks in open-toed shoes than deal with a pissed-off Jinu.”
“Baby, shut up,” Romance cut in, rubbing at his temple. “Don’t freak him out—especially after all the damn poetry we had to sit through. I swear, if you scare off Mystery, I’ll shove my foot up your—”
“Kinky. Is that something Abby’s into too?” Baby grinned.
“We tried foot play once. Didn’t go well,” Abby said flatly, leaning into the lock, a gleam of sweat rolling down his forehead.
The grin slid off Baby’s face. He and Mystery whipped their heads toward Abby, identical horror dawning.
“What the actual fuck,” Baby muttered.
Mystery’s ears burned. “Hyung, I could’ve lived my whole life not knowing that.”
Romance just sighed. “Play dumb games, win dumb prizes.”
“Or we could—hear me out—joke like normal people,” Baby said, bouncing on his heels.
“And where’s the fun in that?” Abby murmured, twisting the last pick with a hopeful little flourish—
The door creaked open on its own.
The boys froze in place as they came face-to-face with their elusive leader.
Jinu filled the frame like a bad dream: hair unstyled and flat, jaw shadowed and already yellowing from Mystery’s punch, T-shirt wrinkled, dark circles doing nothing to hide his bruised eye. Something small shifted behind him—Derpy’s worried meow—and, somewhere deeper in the room, a dry, judgey click from Sussy.
“Do you all have to be so damn loud?” Jinu’s voice was low—sharp as a blade, heavy with exhaustion.
Abby was still half-crouched, guilty as a kid with a hand in the cookie jar. “…Well. Hello to you, too, fearless leader.”
Baby gave a low whistle. “And here I thought Abby finally picked something besides—”
Romance elbowed him before Jinu decided whose head to rip off first. “Hey, Jinu. Long time, no see. Think you could let us in, buddy?”
Jinu didn’t answer right away. He let his gaze pass over each of them before he sighed and stepped aside.
“Get your asses inside.”
Abby clicked his tongue and pocketed the surviving picks. “Would’ve been nice if you opened the door as soon as you knew we were here instead of making me do all that.”
“And ruin your fun? Please. I knew you were here the second I heard Baby bitching.”
“Hey!”
“Besides, I come here to be alone. Giving any of you the key would defeat the purpose.”
“Well, we wouldn’t have to come if you just answered the damn phone,” Baby remarked, patting Jinu on the head and sticking his tongue out when Jinu glared.
Mystery was the last to slide past him, avoiding Jinu’s eyes and instead taking in their leader’s rarely seen warehouse.
Jinu had always been a private, enigmatic man, but he was particularly quiet about the warehouse he’d bought as soon as he had enough money. While they were trainees, he picked up odd jobs and saved every won he could. He’d lucked out when the older lady selling the place had a soft spot for pretty men. He took his time getting it fixed, and now, two years later, the other members of Saja Boys had only ever seen pictures of the usually clean space. When they asked to visit, Jinu said no. The boys knew the address but never had a key; hence, breaking in was the next best thing. Mystery had never thought he’d see it like this.
The warehouse smelled like stale whiskey, coffee grounds, and stale laundry. Empty bottles crowded the kitchen counter like a graveyard; coffee cups ringed with brown halos sat among crumpled notebook pages. The upright piano by the window was littered with torn music paper at every stage of crumpling. The word Free bled through the pages, like someone had pressed the pen too hard. Look closely, and you could see the tear stains Jinu had left in his drunken state.
“Wow, Jinu, um… love what you did with the place, dude,” Abby said sheepishly, a poor attempt at being polite.
“Dude, the place is—Fucking hell, stop hitting me!” Baby yelled as Romance smacked the back of his head. The pink-haired man smiled mockingly as he walked toward his lover.
“Then stop being rude,” Romance murmured, lacing his fingers with Abby’s with practiced ease.
“Baby, listen to your mother—you know he’s right,” Abby said teasingly, bringing their laced fingers up to kiss Romance’s knuckles.
“Ugh, stop flirting,” Baby gagged, then went quiet as Jinu headed for the kitchen. The boys watched as he yanked a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and poured himself a glass with ice. No one said a word as he took a long sip and looked back at his uninvited guests.
“Why are you here?”
“Well, uh—we came because—dude, do you really need to drink right now?” Baby said, the laugh catching wrong in his throat as his gaze swept the bottles.
“Does it matter?” Jinu muttered. The bitterness hit like a slap. He drained the glass and set it down hard, a wet ring blooming beneath it.
Silence settled, heavy and hot.
“It… it does,” Mystery managed. His voice sounded too small in the big room.
Jinu looked at him then—only for a second, but it was enough to knock the breath from Mystery’s lungs. He refilled his glass—out of spite—and tossed it back in one swallow, ignoring the burn searing down his throat.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Mystery flinched, not used to this side of Jinu. No matter how upset Jinu got, he never talked to the Saja Boys like this—least of all his maknae. Jinu was always gentle with Mystery. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much to be at the forefront of Jinu’s anger.
“H-Hyung,” Mystery said, taking a step the way you approach a feral cat—slow, palms open. Romance’s hand brushed his elbow, a quiet don’t push, but Mystery couldn’t stand the distance. “I… I was wrong. I-I shouldn’t have hit you—”
Jinu’s laugh was dry and mean. “You think that’s why I’m like this?”
Mystery’s throat tightened. “I—”
“Jinu,” Baby cut in, the devil-may-care attitude wiped clean; for once, he sounded like the eldest. “Cut the kid some slack. He was scared to death to come see you. Don’t be a dick.”
Jinu and Baby stared each other down while the others watched, the tension thickening with every second of silence. Jinu looked away first, reached for the bottle, and poured. “Fine. I’ll cut him some slack.”
He grabbed his drink and headed for the couch, ignoring the way Mystery flinched as he passed. Once he settled, Jinu glanced back at them, boredom flat on his face. “Well? What do you want?”
Abby lifted both hands. “Truce. We’re not here to fight.”
Romance nodded, eyes skimming the bottles, the crumpled pages, the piano. “We just wanted to make sure you were alive.”
“Clearly you aren’t,” Baby muttered, then shut up when Jinu’s gaze cut to him.
Jinu took another sip, the glass sweating in his palm. “Congrats. I’m clearly alive. Now what?”
Mystery’s mouth opened, then closed; the tiny confidence he had was fading away by the second.
Abby gave a grin before going to the fridge, pulled out a water bottle, twisted it open, and came back to Jinu. He held it out. “Give me the glass and sober up, Jinu. We need to talk.”
Jinu looked from Abby to the bottle, annoyance prickling. Who the hell did Abby think he was? This was Jinu’s home.
“What the hell do you want to talk about?” Jinu asked, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his drink—partly out of spite, mostly to keep his anger in check.
In truth, he wasn’t angry at them; he was angry at himself—angry he still couldn’t fix it with Rumi. Even after finally naming the song that had haunted him since childhood—Free—that brief flicker of hope buckled under the old noise in his head. Shame had a voice, loud and relentless and taking the form of a shadowy being that looked like Jinu. He told himself that leaving his mother and sister was balanced by the money he sent every month. It was easier to aim his self-loathing at Rumi than to admit that greed had made him sacrifice the people he loved. A dedication wouldn’t absolve him, and he knew it. He knew nothing could make up for lying to Rumi, for dragging his friends into the deal with Gwi-ma, and—most of all—nothing could erase the truth: Jinu was a selfish bastard.
He didn’t deserve Rumi or the small peace he found whenever he was with her. His self-hatred went quiet when she laughed and teased him, as if he were worth even a second of a second chance. No—Jinu had no right to think he should have Rumi. So in all his chaos and pity, he began to numb himself with alcohol, trying to get used to the idea of her leaving him—alone, with nothing but Free to keep him together.
“Well, after the fight between you and Mystery, we realized we’re way over our heads here. Mystery knows someone—a lawyer who can help us,” Romance said as he sat down next to Jinu and gently slid the glass out of his hand.
Jinu’s jaw twitched as he watched Romance take the water bottle from Abby and place the bottle into Jinu’s hand, his tone calm but firm. “We can get out of this, Jinu. But we need you. We need you to snap out of whatever this is.”
Jinu barked a laugh, bitter enough to sting. “Snap out of it? You think it’s that easy? Drink some water, see a lawyer, happily ever after?” He shoved the bottle hard back against Romance’s chest. “I’m the one who dragged us into this in the first place. I’m the one who suggested using Huntrix. Don’t sit there acting like I can just wash my hands clean.”
Abby’s grin finally slipped. His usually bright eyes dulled, heavy with guilt. “You think we don’t know that? You think we didn’t feel like shit too, going along with it even though we knew how we felt about them?”
His voice cracked, rare and sharp. “Besides Romance, I love Mira more than anything in this world, Jinu. And I hate myself for lying to her—for being selfish enough to think I could love her without hurting her. So don’t you dare sit here acting like you’re the only one who’s guilty. We made our choice too.”
Jinu shoved up from the couch, nearly knocking the table over. “Oh, fuck you,” he snarled, stepping into Abby’s space. Romance, still seated beside him, reached out—fingers brushing Jinu’s arm in a plea to calm down.
Jinu yanked away as if the touch burned him. “Don’t,” he snapped, voice cracking. “Don’t fucking try to fix shit Romance.”
Romance froze, hurt flashing across his face, and that was enough to light Abby’s fuse. He shoved Jinu back, chest to chest. “Don’t you pull that shit with him. You wanna shove me around, fine. But you don’t get to hurt Romance just because you can’t stand yourself.”
Jinu staggered, fists trembling, his glare feral. “Stay out of it, Abby!”
“The hell I will!” Abby’s voice tore through the warehouse. “You think you’re special because you’re louder about hating yourself? We all fucked up, Jinu. You’re not the only one who fucking wishes they could take it back.”
A hiss ripped the air. Derpy crouched low on the piano, tail thrashing, eyes blazing yellow. Above, Sussy let out a harsh squawk, wings flaring wide, the noise jagged as broken glass. If Jinu weren’t so upset, he would have appreciated the way his beloved companions stood up for him in his time of need. It
Baby stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice flat with an edge none of them dared ignore. “That’s enough. You two want to tear each other apart? Do it later. Right now, we’ve got bigger enemies than the ones sitting in this room.”
The air stayed sharp, Jinu’s fists still trembling, Abby glaring, Romance silent. Then Mystery’s voice broke through, trembling but clear. “Hyung… please stop.”
Jinu turned, ready to snap at him, but froze. Mystery wasn’t angry. He was crying.
“I—I’m sorry for hitting you,” Mystery stammered, tears spilling freely. “I was angry, and I dumped it on you because of that stupid interview, because I didn’t know what else to do!” His words tripped over themselves, raw and frantic. “But I didn’t mean it, Jinu, I swear—I didn’t mean it!”
His breath hitched as he sobbed, ugly and unsteady. He pressed both fists against his eyes, bangs plastered damp against his face. “I just— I don’t know what to do anymore!” His voice broke into a desperate wail. “Please, hyung—stop drinking. Stop shutting us out. Please just come home!”
It wasn’t the first time they’d seen Mystery cry. But this was different. Not sulking tears, not frustration. This was desperation, ripped from somewhere deeper, the kind of crying that sounded like it might tear his throat apart. The kind of crying a sibling would cry when their beloved sibling was leaving.
“M-Mystery—” Jinu’s voice faltered, the anger bleeding out of him. For a heartbeat, he wasn’t standing in his warehouse. He was a boy again, hearing his sister’s muffled sobs whenever he stormed out to cool off. He never asked, but he always knew—she cried because she thought he’d leave her, the same way their father had. And eventually, she’d been right.
The memory twisted in his chest, pulling tight, until Mystery stumbled forward and broke through it—throwing his arms around Jinu and clinging as if he’d drown without him. His voice cracked against Jinu’s chest, raw and pleading.
“I-I’m sorry! Please don’t hate me—please, don’t!”
Derby hissed once more, then went quiet, ears still pinned flat. Sussy gave a low, uneasy click from the rafters, wings rustling like they too were waiting for Jinu’s answer.
Jinu stood frozen, hands flexing at his sides as if unsure what to do. Then, slowly, he gave in—pulling Mystery into his arms, holding him tight. The smell of whiskey clung to him, but his voice came steady, low, the way he used to soothe Hana when she was sick or scared.
“Shh… it’s okay, Mystery. I’m here.”
He rubbed the younger man’s back, patted his head—like muscle memory, like holding the little sister he’d left behind. The truth was, Jinu had never once been angry at Mystery. How could he be, when Mystery had always reminded him of Hana? Mystery filled that hollow space his mother and sister once lived in, a piece of home Jinu thought he’d never find again.
And as the younger man clung tighter, Jinu realized just how lucky he was. Lucky to have found this family in the Saja Boys. Lucky, even if he didn’t deserve them. His anger melted away, replaced by the ache of gratitude and guilt tangled together. He was one lucky, ungrateful bastard—and he knew it.
When he finally looked up, his gaze landed on the others. Abby was still tense, planted in front of Romance like a shield. Romance, steady, patient, hurt still flickering behind his calm eyes. Baby watching from the side, arms crossed, but his jaw tight with something heavier than annoyance.
They were all still here. Still with him. Even after the lies, the fights, the mess he’d made.
For a moment, Jinu couldn’t find his voice. He just tightened his hold on Mystery and let the silence sit. The only thought he could manage was the one that clawed at his chest: Don’t lose them, too.
“I’m sorry.” The words finally came when Mystery calmed enough to pull away. His lavender bangs were plastered damp across his face, his golden eyes still swollen from crying.
“I’m sorry for not answering the phone and not opening the door right away, but most of all I’m sorry for being a dick to you all.” Jinu’s voice dropped, rough with shame. “You guys didn’t do anything wrong. I was just—” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish in a way that looked almost foreign on him.
Romance leaned in slightly, voice steady but not without hurt. “You just what?”
His expression was soft, compassionate even, but his eyes gave him away. The bruise of Jinu’s silence still lingered there, the ache of a friend who had kept reaching out only to be pushed away.
Jinu sighed, his throat burning in a way the whiskey never could. Words he longed to say crowded his chest, heavy with everything he wished could make up for his mistakes. Longed to be enough.
“I-I—” His voice cracked, smaller than any of them had ever heard. The last time he’d felt this small was under his father’s disdain, or when Gwi-ma made him believe that giving up his family had been for nothing.
“You what, Jinu?” Baby cut in, impatient.
Abby shot him a glare sharp enough to slice. “Chill. Let the guy talk.” Even angry, Abby’s voice softened, the anger pushed aside for the moment Jinu clearly needed.
That crack was all it took.
Jinu’s face twisted, his breath hitching as the dam finally gave in. “I didn’t want to lose you too!” The words tore out of him, raw and shaking. “I already left my mom, I left Hana—what kind of son- fuck- what kind of brother does that? I told myself it was for the best, that the money would make it worth it, that sending them money each month would make up for it but—” His knees buckled, and he dropped back onto the couch, head in his hands.
Jinu dropped back onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.
“I lied—to myself, to Rumi, to all of you. I told myself if we made it, it would justify everything. That maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.” His voice cracked, shoulders shaking. “But fuck—it hurts more than I can stand.”
The silence that followed was broken not by words, but by the soft thump of paws. Derpy leapt down from the piano and padded toward him, weaving around his legs before springing lightly onto the couch. The cat pressed close, curling against Jinu’s side as if to anchor him.
Above, Sussy fluttered down from the rafters, claws clicking on the back of the couch. He tilted his head, feathers fluffed, and with a low, throaty coo nudged against Jinu’s shoulder.
Jinu’s hands shook as he tried to wipe his face, only to feel Derpy’s warmth pressed against him, Sussy’s weight steady at his back. The comfort was wordless, instinctive—like even the creatures who lived in his solitude were reminding him he wasn’t alone.
No one spoke as Jinu’s sobs filled the warehouse, raw with years of guilt. Derpy pressed close, purring like an engine in his chest, while Sussy crooned low from the couch back, steady and grounding. They weren’t leaving him. Not now. Not ever.
When Jinu finally calmed down, it was Baby who broke the silence.
“You fucking dumbass. You didn’t need to carry all this shit by yourself.” His tone was rough, but not unkind, like an older brother scolding more than judging.
He shifted closer and threw an arm around Jinu, tugging him into a hug that was half headlock, half comfort. “Move over.” Baby nudged, crowding him with affection that was too blunt to refuse.
Sussy squawked at the intrusion, feathers puffed, but calmed when Jinu lifted a shaky hand to pat his head. Derpy kneaded deeper into Jinu’s side, rumbling louder as if seconding Baby’s words.
Romance, sitting right there, leaned into the huddle without hesitation. His arm settled across Jinu’s back, firm and steady—no words, just the kind of quiet reassurance only he could give.
Abby hovered for a moment, his jaw tight, then finally crouched in front of them. The edge in his eyes had softened, though his voice still carried weight.
“All you had to say, Red Ranger, is that you needed help,” Abby muttered. “You don’t need to be strong all the time, Jinu. We can carry the guilt too.”
Mystery, blotchy-faced from crying, nodded hard and perched on the arm of the couch, staying close.
“I didn’t want you to carry it.” Jinu shook his head but didn’t move from Baby’s embrace. “I know I fucked up. I don’t need any of you to cut me slack, considering I was the one who came up with the plan in the first place—despite knowing how we all felt about the girls. There’s no way I can ever justify that.”
“We weren’t asking you to justify it,” Baby said, ruffling Jinu’s messy hair with rough affection. “But at some point, you’ve got to understand two things: one, you did it to survive. And two, you did it so we’d all have the chance to chase our dreams. You didn’t do it for fun, dumbass.”
“Yeah,” Abby added, voice low but steady. “And it’s not like any of us said a damn thing when you brought it up. Don’t get me wrong, Jinu—at the start, I was pissed. We all were. But eventually we figured it out. You were desperate. Gwi-Ma?” He scoffed. “That bastard was malicious. He enjoyed having us on strings, loved knowing he could choke our lives out whenever he felt like it.”
He shifted, sliding onto the couch and tugging Romance into his lap without hesitation. A muscular arm went around both Baby and Jinu, pulling them tighter into the huddle.
Derpy and Sussy both voiced their displeasure at the sudden jostle—Derpy with a sharp hiss, Sussy with an indignant click—before deciding against leaving entirely. Derpy hopped down to the floor, stretching before curling up at Jinu’s feet. Sussy fluttered after him, landing squarely on the cat’s back. With a ruffle of feathers and a long sigh, the bird tucked himself down as Derpy purred, the unlikely pair settling at Jinu’s feet as if keeping watch.
“We’re at fault too, h-hyung,” Mystery hiccuped, scrubbing at his swollen eyes and stuffed nose. At least the tears had slowed.
Jinu looked over, then reached out. Without hesitation, he pulled Mystery down from the arm of the couch and onto his chest. The younger man melted against him like a child, instinctively tucking in, his lavender hair frizzed and wild.
Jinu held him there, one hand cradling the back of his head, and for the first time in weeks, he let himself breathe. Baby was still latched onto his other side, stubborn in his closeness. Romance stayed pressed against him, steady and quiet, a weight that grounded more than suffocated. And Abby, ever the protector, had his arm wrapped around all three of them like he could shield them from the whole damn world.
It hit Jinu then—harder than any punch he’d taken from his father. Somewhere along the way, he’d built a family again. Not the one he left behind, not the one he’d abandoned, but one just as real. Mystery clinging to him like a younger brother. Romance is steady at his side. Abby holds them together even through his anger. Baby’s grip is fierce and unshakable.
He didn’t deserve any of them. And yet, here they were—close, warm, refusing to let him fall apart alone.
Jinu closed his eyes, pressing his cheek into Mystery’s hair, and for the first time in a long time, the guilt didn’t feel like it was crushing him. It was still there—maybe it always would be—but under it was something stronger.
The boys stayed like that on the couch, a quiet knot of warmth and exhaustion, seeking comfort the way they used to back in their trainee days—when their dorms had no heat and the only way to get through winter nights was to pile together like strays. It had been years since they’d held each other like this. Years since survival had forced them into closeness.
Jinu hadn’t realized how much he missed it until now. The simple weight of them pressed against him, their breathing syncing with his, felt like something he’d been starving for without knowing it.
A reminder that no matter how badly he’d screwed up, he still had this. He still had them.
*
All five of them stayed crammed on the couch until Baby groaned about being hungry. Without hesitation, the others agreed, pulling out their phones to order fried chicken—soy garlic for most, extra-hot wings just for Baby—and a couple of trays of tteokbokki. They even added beer and sodas, one for Jinu and one for Mystery, no questions asked.
While they waited, they moved around the warehouse together. Bottles were bagged up, papers stacked or tossed, and the counters wiped clean. Romance dragged a trash bag across the floor as Baby dumped glass into it; Abby took charge of scrubbing down surfaces, while Mystery carefully gathered the sheet music scattered around the piano.
It wasn’t spotless when they finished, but for the first time in three days, the warehouse looked less like a storm had torn through it and more like a place someone actually lived.
“Are you working on a new song, hyung?” Mystery finally asked as they settled around the coffee table.
Romance moved with practiced ease, setting out freshly cleaned plates, napkins, chopsticks, and spoons. Abby tore open the greasy paper boxes and slid the fried chicken tteokbokki, and rice into the center, steam curling into the air. Baby grabbed the glasses, pouring grape soda into Jinu’s and Mystery’s cups before clinking the bottles of beer against the table for the rest.
Jinu sat back in a daze, watching it all unfold. His bandmates slipped into the rhythm of an old routine—chopsticks snapping open, food passed around, plates filled without him lifting a hand. He blinked when Abby dropped a drumstick onto his plate, when Romance scooped tteokbokki beside it, when Baby nudged the cup of soda closer. Even Mystery, red-eyed and sniffling, leaned forward to slide a napkin toward him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jinu didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He stayed quiet, nibbling at his food before finally admitting, “Yeah… I’m trying.” His eyes flicked down to his plate, then up at the boys around him. For the first time in days, he let himself believe—just a little—that maybe he wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.
Mystery nodded, sipping at his grape soda. “What’s it about?”
Jinu hesitated, fingers drumming against his plate. He’d never really told the others about the melody that had haunted him since childhood—not because he didn’t trust them, but because he never thought he’d finish it. Clearly, he’d been wrong.
“You know how I used to play the piano after training? That wasn’t me messing around. I… I’ve had this tune stuck in my head since I was a kid. I had the beginning, but it always stopped before I could reach the chorus.” His voice dropped as he picked half-heartedly at his drumstick. “And I could never write the lyrics. Not until—”
He cut himself off, the words snagging as an image flickered unbidden: Rumi’s teasing smile, the way she laughed that night in the music room. His chest tightened, and the sentence died on his tongue.
“Not until what, Red?” Abby asked, half his words muffled through a mouthful of rice.
Baby leaned back with a smirk, beer in hand. “Come on, we all know it’s about Rumi. Don’t make us drag it out of you.”
Jinu didn’t answer right away. Instead, he busied himself with a bite of his soy-garlic drumstick, chewing slowly, buying time. The others let him. Chopsticks clinked, sauces dripped, and the table filled with the sounds of eating—loud enough to cover for him, quiet enough to leave him space. They didn’t press, not yet. They just gave him room to find the words.
“After Mystery came home upset… I came here to spiral,” Jinu finally said, voice low. “I drank until I passed out, and when I woke up, Rumi was here.” He paused, throat dry, his hand tightening around his chopsticks. “I was a dick to her. I said things I didn’t mean—things I regret more than anything. But it wasn’t because of her.” His jaw clenched, eyes burning into his plate. “I was mad at myself. Mad at the choices I made. And I took it out on her.”
He let out a shaky breath, shoulders hunched. “So this song—it’s the only way I know how to make up for it.”
“How far have you gotten with it?” Romance asked, dabbing at both Abby’s and Baby’s messy faces with a napkin, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Jinu dragged a hand through his hair, tugging until his scalp stung. “Not fucking far enough.” The words came out raw, thick with self-disgust. His gaze dropped to the half-eaten drumstick in front of him, as though it might offer an answer.
“Back when we were trainees, Rumi helped me write the first verse to the chorus,” he admitted, voice low. “But I never finished it. After our fight, I didn’t know what else to do to make up for being such a dick to her—so I went back to the song. I managed to get some of the next part down, but like always, I got stuck in my own head.” He exhaled, shaky, fingers tightening around his chopsticks. “I just… I want it to be perfect. Because at least for once, I’d be honest with her.”
Abby leaned back, chewing slowly, his grin gone. “Look, Jinu, I’m not going to pretend I’m not in the same boat as you. God knows we’re gonna pay for it once we get our shit together and tell the girls the truth. But at least you’re trying. At least we’re all trying to make things right.”
Romance reached across the table, laying a hand over Jinu’s wrist before he could shred his napkin to pieces. “We’ve accepted there’ll be consequences. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to be better, Jinu.”
“Hell yeah,” Baby added, pointing at Jinu with a half-eaten wing. “We screwed up. Big time. But it doesn’t mean we can’t fight like hell to make the best of it—and fight for our freedom while we’re at it.”
Mystery sniffled, nodding quickly. “Hyung… we’ll face it together. All of it. So stop acting like you’re alone in this.” His voice cracked, but his golden eyes didn’t waver.
“I-I don’t know what to say,” Jinu whispered, eyes burning as the realization settled in: for once, the voices in his head were quiet.
“Then don’t,” Baby cut in, blunt as ever. He leaned back, arms crossed, gaze steady. “You don’t gotta say shit, Jinu. Just know this—if you go down, we’re going down with you. Saja Boys for life.”
“Wow,” Abby quipped, a grin tugging at his mouth even as pride flickered in his eyes. “When did you become an inspirational speaker?”
“Hey!” Baby snapped, grabbing a rice cake and chomping down with exaggerated defiance. “I might be an idiot sometimes, but I know when to be inspirational.”
Romance rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, while Mystery broke into a soft laugh, the sound still rough from earlier tears.
Jinu just sat there, staring at them in awe. Baby was right. For all their flaws, these were his brothers—the ones who’d follow him down just as much as they’d drag him back up.
He had made mistakes, ones that couldn’t be excused. He’d abandoned his family, thinking money could patch the wound. He’d used Rumi, even while loving her more than anything.
But as the weight settled in his chest, something new cut through the guilt. He hadn’t been a good person—not really. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be better. There was still time to make things right, if only he stopped running.
“…is that alright, Jinu?”
“What?”
“Dude, are we that boring to you?” Baby asked, wiping his hands with a napkin. The other Saja boys turned toward him, their faces etched with minor concern.
Jinu blinked, cheeks heating. “W-What? No, it’s not that—I was just… thinking.”
“Dude, are you blushing?” Abby squinted at him, his grin tugging wider.
“N-No!”
“Aww,” Baby cooed, smirk cutting sharp. “Jinu totally just realized he’s lucky to have us.”
Jinu’s blush deepened, heat crawling up his neck. “N-No, shut up—”
“Oh my god, he is blushing,” Abby crowed, pointing like he’d just solved some great mystery.
Romance shook his head, trying not to smile. “Let him be, guys.”
“No way,” Baby cut in, grinning like a wolf. “This is history in the making. Cold, broody Jinu actually admitting—” he gasped dramatically, clutching his chest—“that he likes us.”
Mystery’s laugh cracked out, small but real. “Hyung really does love us.”
Jinu groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Why did I ever let you idiots in my warehouse…”
“Because deep down,” Abby teased, reaching over to ruffle his hair, “you knew you couldn’t survive without us.”
Jinu groaned, burying his face in his hands as Abby and Baby cackled at his expense.
“Alright, enough,” Romance said firmly, his voice cutting through the noise. His hand landed on Jinu’s shoulder, grounding, steady. “Quit teasing him. That’s not what we were asking.”
The room settled, the laughter tapering off. Jinu peeked up through his fingers, cheeks still burning.
Romance met his eyes, calm and serious now. “What I asked before still stands. Let us help you finish the song, Jinu. Don’t carry it alone anymore.”
Jinu let out a slow breath, eyes flicking between them. “…Alright. We’ll finish it.” His voice was steady enough, but doubt lingered in his expression, the kind that came from years of bracing for everything to fall apart.
Romance gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “Good. That’s all we’re asking. You don’t have to be sure of everything—you just have to take this step.”
Abby leaned in, his usual grin tempered but warm. “And after we finish the song? You clean yourself up. No more drowning in whiskey, no more hiding out here.”
“Because once that’s done,” Baby added, tone serious for once, “we’re meeting with the lawyer. We’re not just bullshitting anymore, Jinu. We’re actually doing it.”
Mystery nodded, rubbing at his still-red eyes. “And it’ll be okay, hyung. Maybe not right away, but… it will.”
Jinu looked at each of them, their faces set with a conviction he hadn’t been able to muster on his own. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope again.
It's with that hope that Jinu, after years of being haunted by the same melody since childhood, finally finished it.
He just hoped that Rumi would be willing to listen to it.
*
Jinu didn’t know what to expect from Eun-Kyung—especially after spending the entire car ride listening to Mystery’s dramatic warnings about her.
They were headed to a bar outside the city, one Baby swore by for its cheap drinks and discreet staff—a place he usually only visited after one-night stands. Jinu had his hands on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road as the summer air hummed through the cracked window.
“Mystery, you need to chill out,” Abby said from the passenger seat without looking up, thumbs flying across his phone.
Romance leaned in from the back, peeking over his boyfriend’s shoulder before grinning. Jinu caught that look—soft, amused—and rolled his eyes the second he realized it was Mira-related.
“You don’t understand, hyung,” Mystery groaned, tugging at his sleeves despite the humid air. “Eun-Kyung is great at her job, but she’s... a lot.”
“Okay? And?” Baby said flatly from the backseat, not looking up from his Switch 2. “We just need a good lawyer. May I remind you that you’re the reason we even have her number?”
“W–Well, I didn’t see you guys coming up with anything!” Mystery shot back, voice cracking slightly.
Baby finally set his Switch down, leaning forward with a smirk. “Why would we? Especially when our adorable dongsaeng took it upon himself to find us a lawyer.”
“Oh, fuck you, hyung!” Mystery growled, swatting Baby’s hand away as the older pinched his cheeks.
The car burst into laughter, the noise filling the space until even Jinu couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his mouth. Mystery’s ears burned red as he turned toward the window, muttering something about switching seats on the way back.
The laughter faded, replaced by the soft hum of an old radio station Jinu had thrown on when no one could agree on a playlist. For a while, it was peaceful—almost normal.
Almost.
Jinu’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror every few minutes, scanning the traffic behind them. The highway lights blurred past, but his mind stayed sharp. They’d cut rehearsal early, feeding management some excuse about needing studio time to polish new songs. Gwi-Ma hadn’t questioned it, but Jinu knew better than to think they were off his radar. The man always had eyes everywhere—runners, drivers, so-called “assistants” who reported back more than they worked.
So Jinu kept one hand steady on the wheel and the other close to the gear shift, jaw tight as he watched the dark stretch of road ahead. Just a little longer, he told himself. Just make it to the bar without drawing attention.
The bar was exactly like Baby had promised—rundown, tucked off the highway, and gloriously indifferent. Nobody gave a flying fuck as five undeniably attractive men—poorly disguised, mind you—slipped through the door looking like lost puppies while Baby strutted in like he owned the place.
“You know, brat, if I hadn’t seen your friends coming in with you, I’d have assumed you were lost,” the older woman at the counter called out, towel slung over her shoulder.
Baby pushed his pink face mask down and grinned. “Nice to see you too, Ajumma.”
She huffed, flipping the towel with practiced annoyance. “Yah, damn punk. I should kick you out just for that.”
“Aw, come on, old timer,” Baby said, mock-offended. “You know you love me.”
Her lips twitched, though her tone stayed sharp. “You cause trouble, and I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll giggle every time you shake and shimmy on TV.”
Abby mouthed ‘smooth’ at Baby from behind Jinu and Romance, who were already scanning the room for a decent corner. Mystery hovered near the bar’s shadowy booth area, shoulders too tight, while Jinu kept the group moving together,a quiet shepherd guiding his idiots to safety.
The bartender, clearly used to Baby’s nonsense, waved them toward the back without a word. The air reeked of fried oil, spilled beer, and faint cigarette smoke. The neon over the counter buzzed like it was gossiping about them.
They slid into a cracked leather booth, masks tugged low but faces open enough to pass for casual. For a moment, it was just the hum of voices, the clink of glasses, and the faint hiss of oil from the kitchen—until a voice cut through it.
“Well, aren’t you boys a sight for sore eyes,” someone drawled, smooth and amused.
Every head turned at once, nearly in sync, to find the source of the voice—Eun-Kyung.
She was shorter than they’d expected, barely five feet tall, but her presence carried the kind of confidence that made height irrelevant. The beige fitted suit she wore walked a fine line between professional and dangerously flattering, leaving little to the imagination. Her wrists glittered with bracelets and rings—save for one very bare ring finger. Chrome-red nails caught the bar’s neon light as she crossed her arms, brown hair streaked with subtle wine-colored highlights framing her face. Her makeup was understated yet sharp, emphasizing the curve of her lips as she smirked at the Saja Boys like she already knew all their secrets.
“H-Hi, Eun-Kyung,” Mystery stammered, scrambling to his feet so fast his knee bumped the table. The rest of the boys followed suit, bowing politely. Jinu stayed tense, his nerves on edge as Eun-Kyung’s sharp gaze swept up and down the line of them before landing on Mystery.
She grinned, the kind that said she already owned the room. “Come on now, Mystery Machine. Why so serious?” Her tone turned teasing. “Especially when I was there the day you ran around my mother’s house naked because you didn’t want a bath.”
The words hung for a beat before Baby snorted, trying—and failing—to hold in a laugh. Abby and Romance lost it next, grinning wide while Jinu covered his mouth, shoulders shaking. Mystery groaned, hands over his face as his ears turned a brilliant shade of red, the picture of pure misery.
Eun-Kyung only smiled wider, clearly pleased with herself. “Good to see some things never change.”
Without missing a beat, she slid into the booth—smooth, confident, like she owned the place. As she dug through her suede tote, she motioned for the boys to sit with a flick of her wrist. “Well? Don’t just stand there—sit.”
The boys shuffled in quickly, squeezing together on one side to give her space. The booth squeaked under their collective weight, but no one dared move once she looked up.
“So,” Eun-Kyung began, pulling a few napkins from the holder and laying them neatly across the table before setting down a pastel blue folder. Her tone was casual, but her eyes were razor-sharp. “How do you want me to play this? The cookie-cutter way—” she snapped the folder open, “—or straight for the jugular?”
Jinu swallowed hard as his eyes darted over the folder. It was filled with color-coded highlights, margin notes, and underlines—every inch screaming super fucked.
“Just tell us how screwed we are,” Baby said flatly. The rest of the boys nodded like they were signing their own death warrants.
Eun-Kyung smirked, flipping a page with one manicured finger. “Well, boys... you’re pretty fucked.” She let the words hang for a moment before her grin curved wider. “But not hopeless.”
She turned the folder toward her, flipping through pages with brisk precision. “In layman’s terms,” she said, tapping a paragraph highlighted in neon pink, “this contract was written to make sure that no matter what—whether you rise or crash and burn—Demon Records walks away untouched.”
“What?” Romance blurted, brows knitting together. The outburst caused a few bar-goers to glance over at the ridiculously full booth — five attractive men and a single woman.
Abby, jaw tight, pulled Romance into his arms, running a hand through his boyfriend’s hair to calm him. Baby’s expression darkened, the easy confidence from earlier fading into something raw and angry. Jinu swallowed hard, his heartbeat loud in his ears, palms slick as he forced himself to stay composed. Mystery reached out, fingers brushing Jinu’s wrist under the table — silent reassurance. Being the leader meant burying the dread clawing up his chest.
For the first time since introducing herself, Eun-Kyung’s confident smirk softened into a thin line of sympathy.
“This contract,” she began, exhaling through her nose, “has to be one of the biggest fuck-yous I’ve seen in my time as a contract lawyer.”
When none of the boys reacted, she cleared her throat, adjusting her posture as she flipped to another highlighted page. “Okay, so here’s the ugly part. Demon Records owns everything — your names, your image, your music, your choreography. Hell, technically, they even own your social media handles. You’re assets, not artists.”
She tapped another clause with the edge of her nail. “And if you’d failed when you debuted? Demon Records wouldn’t have taken a single ounce of responsibility. They would’ve walked away clean — and you would’ve owed them for every advancement they fronted you. Housing, clothes, food, training, equipment… all of it. Basically, you’d spend the rest of your lives working off a debt you never agreed to in good faith.”
None of the boys spoke. The air felt heavier now, their earlier nervous energy replaced by quiet disbelief.
Eun-Kyung continued, voice steady but laced with disdain. “It was a win-win for them in every shape and form. They even slipped in clauses to protect themselves in case of a scandal — image clauses, morality clauses, even a thinly veiled gag order to keep you quiet if things went south. Classic manipulation. A company taking advantage of young, desperate idols who thought they were signing their dream instead of a leash.”
Abby exhaled slowly, the sound shaky as Romance tightened his arms around him. “...So they never believed in us in the first place?”
The table went silent. Even the bar noise seemed to fade.
Eun-Kyung shook her head, her voice soft but unflinching. “No, kid. These assholes never believed in you to begin with.”
Jinu closed his eyes, wishing the bar’s worn floor would just open up and swallow him whole. But instead of escaping, he saw her.
He saw Rumi at fifteen, sticking her tongue out at him whenever he teased her. He saw the smile she gave him when he handed her a cactus for her eighteenth birthday — said it reminded him of her: “pretty, but sharp enough to hurt.” He heard her laugh again, bright and reckless, and then the sound shifted — to the way she’d moaned his name, trembling against him. The memory hit like a blade.
Every image, every echo, twisted tighter until it hurt to breathe. None of it brought him peace — only the crushing realization that he’d thrown it all away.
Rumi wasn’t going to forgive him.
Because in the end, it had all been for nothing.
Mystery was noticed first—the way Jinu’s shoulders stiffened, the muscle in his jaw twitching like he was seconds away from cracking.
“Hyung,” Mystery said softly, voice breaking through the noise in Jinu’s head.
Jinu blinked, dragging himself back to the dim light of the bar. The others were watching him now—Baby’s usual smirk gone, Abby’s hand still gripping Romance’s shoulder like he needed to ground himself too. For a second, Jinu hated that they could see him like this—haunted, small.
He forced a breath through his nose, straightened, and muttered, “I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” Eun-Kyung said, not buying it for a second. Her gaze sliced across the table, sharp but not unkind. “No one sitting here is fine. That’s why we’re fixing it.”
The words snapped the air back into motion. Jinu let out a shaky breath and stared down at the pastel folder between them. The bar didn’t feel quiet anymore—just heavy and humming with the possibility of what came next.
Eun-Kyung leaned forward, fingertips tapping the table. “Now that you know what you’re up against,” she said, voice low and sure, “we can talk strategy—how we’re going to make Demon Records pay.”
“Wait.” Jinu cut in, fists tightening on the table. “Before we get to that—there’s something else. If we go public, it can’t hurt Huntrix. We can’t drag them down with us.”
Eun-Kyung raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “Of course. But aside from any agreement the companies made after the game show—why would this affect them?”
Jinu scanned the bar, that prickling sense of being watched crawling up his spine again. He leaned forward, meeting Eun-Kyung’s gaze. “Because making that deal with Hunters Record was part of the plan I came up with.”
“Jinu, you know that’s—” Romance started, but Jinu waved him off, forcing himself to continue. It was a confession he’d already made peace with—or at least decided he needed to own up to after his friends had sought him out.
“What do you mean ‘the plan I came up with’?” Eun-Kyung repeated, folding her hands as she leaned back into the cracked leather booth, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
Jinu opened his mouth, then shut it again, the words sticking like they didn’t want to be born. Telling his friends had been one thing—telling a stranger who had no reason to believe he was a good person felt like peeling his skin back.
“I—” he started, but the guilt slammed into him so hard his breath hitched. The room tilted, just enough to make his stomach twist.
Eun-Kyung clocked it immediately. Her expression didn’t soften, but her tone shifted—steady, grounded, cutting right through the panic.
“Look,” she said, voice low and edged like she’d used it to win more battles than conversations. “I’ve seen a lot of dirty shit in my time at Choi Law Firm. I watched companies bury employees alive to cover their own mistakes. I sat across from people shaking while trying to explain decisions they never would’ve made if they weren’t desperate and cornered.”
She exhaled once, sharp, then ran a hand through her hair as if brushing off memories she wished she could scrub out. “And when I started calling it out? When I tried to actually help the people getting crushed? Surprise, surprise—every rich prick in the room hated it.” She let out a humorless huff. “My boss especially. He made damn sure I’d never get hired by another firm again. Blacklisted me so fast it should’ve left burn marks.”
Her eyes met Jinu’s—still sharp, but with a flicker of understanding. “So whatever you think you’re about to confess? I promise you… I’ve heard worse. And I don’t scare easily.”
Jinu let out a shaky breath. Hearing her say that didn’t make the guilt disappear, but it loosened something in his chest—enough to force the words out.
“When our debut started tanking,” he said quietly, “Gwi-Ma was ready to drop us. All of us. Just—throw the whole group out like trash.”
The boys stayed still. No one interrupted.
“So I-.” Jinu’s fingers curled into the edge of the table. “I came up with a plan. A way to make us impossible to ignore. I knew Huntrix was blowing up and I knew that they were going to be on a game show—” He swallowed. “I told Gwi-ma to use Huntrix by getting on the same game show as them. We would bribe the host of Let’s Play a Game and give the fans something they wouldn’t forget. Once that happens we would present a deal to Hunters Record- one that would be beneficial for both parties. All we wanted was to be close enough to ride the wave.That's all it was supposed to be”
Abby closed his eyes, while Romance’s hand tightened on his. Baby stared at the table. And Mystery- well he just held onto Jinu's hand looking away with shame .
Jinu kept going, because that was the only thing he could do now. Keep going even if the outcome sucks.
“It worked. Too well, maybe. But it wasn’t clean. It wasn’t… honest.” His voice wavered, but he didn’t stop. “And the girls—Huntrix—they didn’t deserve to get dragged into a PR stunt. Especially not Rumi.”
He finally looked up, meeting Eun-Kyung’s eyes head-on. His throat felt thick. “If this blows up, she’s the one who gets hurt. They all do. And I-we can’t let that happen. Whatever happens next—We want it to hit us, not them.”
Eun-Kyung listened without interrupting, her face unreadable but focused in a way that didn’t feel judgmental—just precise, like she was sorting pieces into place.
When Jinu finally stopped, she leaned back, studying him for a long moment before saying,
“Well… that explains a lot. I didn’t even know about Soda Pop until that new episode of Let’s Play a Game aired.”
The boys nearly choked. Even Jinu let out a startled, mortified breath.
Eun-Kyung lifted her folder again, tone shifting into something firm but not unkind.
“Look, my job is to represent you as a group of young men who were taken advantage of by a powerful company—and trust me, the evidence lines up that way. But I’m not gonna sugarcoat it.” She tapped the folder with one manicured finger. “There will be backlash for the choices you made out of desperation.”
Eun-Kyung tapped the folder again, but her gaze softened just slightly as it moved across the boys.
“But,” she said, “the fact that you’re sitting here worried about Huntrix instead of yourselves? That matters. It says a hell of a lot more about your character than any contract ever could.”
Jinu’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away.
She exhaled slowly. “I can protect the girls legally. People will try to blame them but I will try my best so that it's not as overwhelming towards Huntrix or their company. That part? I can handle.”
Then her voice gentled—honest in a way that didn’t try to cushion the blow.
“But whether the girls forgive you…” She shook her head. “That’s not something any lawyer, judge, or PR team can control. Once the truth is out, the only people who get to decide that are the girls themselves.”
Silence thickened around the booth.
“You just need to be ready,” Eun-Kyung finished. “For the consequences, and for the chance they still choose to walk away.”
Silence settled over the booth, heavy enough that even the bar’s old neon sign seemed to quiet down.
Romance and Abby shared a look before nodding in agreement. Mystery let go of Jinu’s hand and stared at the table, thumb rubbing over the indent in the wood like he could ground himself through it. Baby wasn’t even pretending to mask his emotions—his jaw flexed hard, eyes locked on nothing. Though he wasn’t involved with the girls romantically, Baby still hurt at the idea of his friends suffering from a broken heart.
And Jinu… Jinu just swallowed, throat tight, because Eun-Kyung was right. All of it was right.
“They deserve the truth,” he said quietly, though it sounded like it cost him.
“They do,” Eun-Kyung agreed. “But you don’t rip off that bandage until you actually have something to show for it.”
She straightened the folder, sliding back into business mode with a practiced ease. “Which brings us to the next steps.”
All four boys lifted their heads.
“First,” she said, “I’ll make some calls to a friend of mine. He’ll start digging around. He’s a PI, good at checking records, shell companies, payment trails—anything that shows Demon Records has been pulling strings illegally or unethically outside your contract. Companies like this don’t just pull one shady move.”
She pointed at each of them. “Meanwhile, you gather whatever you can. Old messages, schedules, recordings, receipts. Even small things matter. You’re not building the whole case right now—you’re laying the foundation.”
“Does that include my mother… and her medical expenses?” Mystery asked, shoulders tight.
Romance and Abby exchanged a look before adding, “And the harassment we dealt with too?”
“Yes,” Eun-Kyung confirmed. Her eyes softened with something close to sympathy. “But you have to act normal. Rehearsals, interviews, variety shows—nothing can change. If that prick of a CEO senses something’s off, this gets ten times harder.”
Baby groaned, rolling his eyes. “So… pretend everything’s fine?”
“Exactly,” Eun-Kyung said. “Act like the obedient little idols they expect. Then, when my friend and I have enough evidence, we kick their asses in court.”
Jinu’s fingers curled into fists. “That’s it? We just act like nothing is wrong?”
Eun-Kyung held his gaze. “You aren’t acting like nothing is wrong, Leader-nim.”
Jinu exhaled shakily.
“You have to trust me as much as I’m choosing to trust you,” she said, her voice softer again. “You’re not alone anymore. Just have a little hope.”
Jinu stared at Eun-Kyung for a long moment, letting the words settle.
Hope was all Jinu had left—hope for his friends, hope for Rumi, hope that he could still make this right somehow. He’d buried his own doubts just to keep moving, but hearing Eun-Kyung say he wasn’t alone…
That hit deeper than he expected.
Maybe fixing the mess he made wasn’t impossible after all… but it was too much. All of it. Too fast, too heavy, too close to the truth he’d been running from.
Before anyone could register the shift in his expression, Jinu shoved himself out of the booth. He brushed past Mystery, ignoring the startled sounds of his name from behind the table. His legs moved on their own, carrying him through the haze of cigarette smoke and neon until he pushed into the bar’s grimy hallway.
By the time he stumbled into the bathroom, the panic was already clawing up his throat. His chest ached—tight, burning—and his breaths came short and sharp, like his lungs had forgotten what they were supposed to do. The overhead light flickered, buzzing weakly as Jinu gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white.
The cracked mirror in front of him reflected a version of himself he barely recognized—wide eyes, trembling jaw, sweat gathering at his temple.
He dragged in another breath, but it only made everything spin harder.
“Ah—” The sound tore out of him, raw and shaky. His palms slipped against the scuffed sink, sweat slicking his grip as he clung to the porcelain like it was the only thing anchoring him to the floor. His right hand trembled violently when he reached for the faucet, fingers missing it entirely.
He tried again. Failed again.
The shaking wouldn’t stop.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck—
Jinu’s thoughts tumbled over each other as he wheezed, tearing at the stupid face mask strangling his breath. He yanked it off, then tugged his light sweater over his head with shaking arms, letting it fall to the filthy floor. The bathroom felt too hot—like the walls were closing in—and his chest burned like it was about to crack open and expose all of his sins.
Nothing grounded him. Nothing slowed the panic clawing up his throat. Everything burned with words he longed to say but never gave himself the chance to say out loud.
Things felt too fast and slow at the same time and it only got worse when the flashbacks hit.
His mother’s tired eyes mirrored his own in both color and shape.
Hana’s soft voice asking if she could have more of Jinu’s candy before bed and the smile she would give whenever he gave into her childish whim.
Then there were flashbacks of nights spent crying into his pillow, ripping up unfinished letters begging for forgiveness he never earned nor knew how to ask for.
He remembered crossing out birthdays in his planner—his mother’s first, then Hana’s—because calling hurt too much, and pretending he’d forgotten hurt even more.
The room tilted.
Jinu gripped the sink again until his knuckles blanched and ached, but the memories kept coming, sharper and meaner than any contract clause.
Hana crying for him when she tripped on the pavement, reaching out with small scraped palms for Jinu. Trusting that her big brother would always be there for her, because that's what good brothers should do.Sometimes Jinu wondered if Hana still called for Jinu whenever she was upset or needed something. It would be wishful thinking if she still bothered to think of her brother who left her behind, even if he always thought of her.
His mother’s exhausted smile when he’d quietly set dinner on the table, pretending not to notice the tremor in her hands. Jinu would make his mother tarakjuk with a bit of honey. It wasn’t much but his mother seemed to appreciate it by the way she would ruffle his hair and tell him she was lucky to have a son like him.
His breath hitched. Something hot stung the back of his throat.
He dragged his gaze up—just trying to center himself, just trying to breathe—
And froze.
For a split second, the mirror didn’t catch up to him.
His reflection lagged, head hanging lower than he actually was.
Then it lifted.
Slowly.
Not with him.
The version of him in the mirror stared back with glowing golden eyes, swallowing the warm amber eyes he had come to know. The dim light carved harsh shadows along its marked cheeks, sinking hollow like something carved out rather than alive. Under the fluorescent buzz, Jinu squinted trying but failing to change the purple skin that tainted his reflection.
A smile tugged at its mouth.
Jinu’s lips didn’t move.
The bathroom lights flickered, humming louder as his pulse thundered in his ears.
His reflection leaned forward, the glass seeming to ripple around its face, distorting it—stretching the grin until it looked carved into him.
Jinu stumbled back, hitting the wall hard enough to rattle the rusted dispenser.
His breath came out ragged, quick, too loud in the cramped bathroom.
The reflection didn’t step back.
It only tilted its head, eyes glinting like it was amused.
Like it was waiting.
Jinu squeezed his own eyes shut, palms pressed to his ears as if that could block out the buzzing, the memories, the thing in the mirror that looked too much like him and nothing like him at all.
His heartbeat hammered against his ribs, wild and uneven, but somewhere between the buzzing lights and the warped grin in the mirror-something else pushed through.
Rumi.
Her name didn’t thunder the way everything else did.
It arrived soft. Steady.
Like a hand on his back pulling him out of deep water.
He sucked in a shaking breath.
He remembered the way she flicked his forehead when he zoned out during her nagging.
The way she’d wrinkle her nose at him when she was annoyed but still cared.
The night she’d rested her head on his shoulder, humming a melody he didn’t even realize he’d want to give her.
The mirror rippled again, but this time Jinu didn’t look.
He clung to her instead.
Rumi laughing so hard she snorted.
Rumi lectured Jinu about different flowers and their meanings.
Rumi whispered his name like it was something worth praising.
His breath steadied—barely, but enough.
The panic clawing at his throat loosened, inch by inch.
Jinu lowered his hands, still trembling, and forced himself to breathe again—slow, deliberate, the way she would whenever she got so nervous before her aunt came to see her.
“In… out…” he whispered, mimicking her caring voice.
It wasn’t perfect. His chest still felt tight, his palms still shook, but the world wasn’t spinning anymore.
He dared a glance at the mirror.
Just a cracked sink.
Just the dim bathroom.
Just him.
Still shaken.
Still pale.
But him.
It was just Jinu and the shitty bathroom, and that was okay. Everything was going to be okay. Rumi was going to be okay. They would be okay. They had to be.
Jinu gave himself a few more minutes, figuring the others would wait—he did have the car keys, after all. He grimaced at the stained sink before splashing cold water onto his face, pointedly avoiding his reflection in the broken mirror.
He took one final breath, scooped his sweater off the floor, and made his way to the door. As he unlocked it and pulled it open, he came face to face with a very surprised Eun-Kyung.
Jinu froze in the doorway, sweater hanging from one hand. Eun-Kyung blinked up at him, equally startled.
“…You good?” she asked, tone light but her eyes sharp, scanning his face like she already knew the answer.
Jinu swallowed. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”
“Try thirty.” She crossed her arms. “Your boys told me to leave you alone, but I figured if you’d drowned in the toilet I’d break my client alive to dead ratio.”
Despite everything, Jinu let out a breathy half-laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“Don’t be sorry, it happens,” Her voice softened. “I still wanted to make sure you were alright.”
He nodded, eyes lowering. “I… yeah. I just needed to breathe.”
Eun-Kyung studied him for a moment, the noisy bar muffled by the hallway around them. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Leader-nim. You just happened to meet your breaking point.” She nudged his shoulder with her knuckles. “It happens to the best of us. The fact you lasted so long while dealing with all the pressure of being an Idol and keeping the group together against a jack ass CEO. That makes you braver than anyone else I know. ”
Jinu didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded again. He didn’t feel brave, if anything he felt numb. The only thing that kept him going was keeping Rumi safe, his band of misfits, and the family he left behind.
They started heading back toward the booth when someone lurched out of nowhere—a drunk man stumbling toward the bathroom with a bottle still in his hand.
“Watch it—!” Eun-Kyung snapped, stepping aside only for the man to shove Jinu square in the chest.
Jinu stumbled back, instinctively throwing a hand out. His palm hit the wall right beside Eun-Kyung’s head as his body leaned toward hers. His other hand brushed her waist just long enough to steady her before he jerked it away.
It happened in less than a second—too fast to think, too close to process.
Eun-Kyung’s breath caught, cheeks tinting pink.
Jinu immediately pushed himself off the wall, stepping back like it burned him. “S—Sorry! I didn’t mean— I mean, are you okay?” His ears flushed red, eyes darting anywhere but at her.
“I—yeah,” Eun-Kyung said, smoothing her suit, lips twitching in flustered surprise. “Just… fast reflexes, Leader-nim.”
Neither of them noticed the soft click from the far end of the hallway.
Someone lowered their phone, screen glowing with a perfectly misleading snapshot:
Jinu, one arm braced above Eun-Kyung, bodies impossibly close in the dim hallway light, her back against the wall, his face angled toward hers.
A split-second accident that looked like anything but.
The stranger slipped back into the crowd before either of them even realized a picture had been taken.
When the Saja boys leave from the bar, they feel a bit lighter, hopeful that the future they dreamed and wanted would soon be set in stone. They just had to be patient, but that's the thing about time. Time is neither kind nor cruel, it just is.
Jinu just wished he had time to wipe Rumi’s tears as both Mira and Zoey lead her away with tears of their own.