Chapter Text
Night had settled over Seoul, and the streets around were nearly empty. The glass façade of their building reflected the city lights, its upper floors glowing faintly in the dark. A thin layer of haze clung to the air, softening the edges of traffic signals and distant headlights. Somewhere nearby, the low hum of a delivery truck rolled past, then faded. The city felt unusually slow tonight, as if it had taken a deep breath and decided to rest all at once.
At the building’s back exit, SEVENTEEN stepped out into the parking lot. They moved slowly, muscles worn, footsteps soft against the pavement. Bags dragged behind them, shoes scraped across the asphalt, and not one of them bothered to talk loudly. Their bodies were heavy, worn down from the hours spent repeating routines, polishing harmonies, rewatching footage, catching flaws, and starting all over again. Every comeback was a climb, one they knew well. But knowing didn’t make it easier.
Three black cars waited for them in the lot, parked neatly side by side. The air still held a trace of exhaust and warm concrete. Their manager stood between the cars, phone in hand, pacing slowly as he scrolled through something unreadable. His brow was creased, lips pressed into a line like he was already planning tomorrow’s schedule. The tension hadn’t left his shoulders all day.
He glanced up as the group approached, slowing his steps. “Everyone good to go?”
“Yeah, hyung,” Seungcheol answered, his voice low but steady. He shifted the strap of his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. “We wrapped up together. Just tired.”
“You all look it,” the manager said, eyeing them with quiet concern. “Practice go okay?”
“We survived,” Seungkwan muttered, dragging his feet as he passed.
The manager offered a thin smile, then stepped toward the first car. He knocked lightly on the window, bending down.
Inside, Joshua was already in the driver’s seat, one hand resting on the wheel, the other adjusting the mirrors. Despite the shadows under his eyes, his posture was upright and focused. Hearing the knock, he looked up, blinking slowly.
“You good to drive?” the manager asked.
Joshua gave a soft nod. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Don’t push yourself. You sure?”
“I slept well last night.”
“Alright.”
Inside the car, Jeonghan sat in the passenger seat, elbow propped against the window, fingers pressed to his temple like he was fighting a headache. Behind them, Jihoon was scrolling silently through his phone, both earbuds in. Seokmin yawned into his sleeve as he buckled in. Seungkwan was slouched in the corner of the backseat, already half-asleep, head lolling toward the window.
The manager gave the car one last glance, then moved to the second vehicle.
Wonwoo was in the driver’s seat, engine off, hands relaxed in his lap. The window was already down.
“You good?”
Wonwoo gave a short nod. “Yeah. Took a break earlier.”
Seungcheol sat in the passenger seat, leaned back with his head turned slightly toward the window. His bag was at his feet, one hand resting on his thigh, eyes half-closed but alert.
“Don’t let Mingyu distract you,” the manager said with a faint smirk.
“He already planned three snack stops today,” Wonwoo replied without missing a beat.
“He’s eating for two,” Vernon mumbled as he climbed into the back, tucking a hoodie under his head like a pillow. Mingyu followed with a rustle of plastic, settling into the seat beside him and opening a small container of something crispy and loud.
The manager chuckled faintly, shaking his head. “Seriously,” he added, “take care. Call me when you all get home, Seungcheol-ah.”
“Got it,” Seungcheol said.
The manager nodded and made his way to the last car.
Minghao sat in the driver’s seat with the window down, fingers drumming softly on the doorframe. His seat was adjusted low, posture loose, eyes on the rearview mirror.
“You doing okay, Hao?”
“I’m fine,” he replied. A little too quietly.
Jun was beside him, head leaned back, staring quietly through the windshield. He didn’t move when the door closed, just sighed once and shut his eyes. In the back, Soonyoung was stretching his neck side to side, trying to work out the stiffness in his shoulders. Chan sat beside him, rubbing at his knee absentmindedly, earbuds in but no music playing yet.
Sensing their manager's worry, Hoshi offered, “I can drive if he gets tired.”
Jun opened his eyes and looked behind. “You should rest, hyung. You led most of practice.”
“I can still—”
“Nope,” Jun said firmly, then looked back at their manager. “I'll take over if Hao taps out. It’s fine.”
The manager nodded, satisfied. “Alright. Keep it slow and take your time.”
“We will."
The manager stepped back, surveying them all one last time. Car doors were shutting now with soft thuds. Inside, seatbelts clicked into place. The night wrapped around them again.
“Seatbelts on, right?” he called across the lot. “No messing around. No racing. If anything feels off, just call me.”
Seungcheol raised his hand in acknowledgment. “I’ll update you.”
“Good.” The manager’s voice softened. “You all did well today. Really. Go home. Rest. Drive safe.”
“Thanks, hyung,” a few voices called back, muted by windows and sleep.
The engines started up one by one, headlights cutting into the humid dark. The cars rolled forward slowly, gravel crunching under their tires. The lot was quiet again, only the soft hum of the city left behind them.
The hum of the engine settled into a steady rhythm, blending into the soft sound of tires skimming over asphalt. Streetlights drifted past them, each one blinking softly into the windows before fading behind.
Inside the first car, the silence was comfortable.
Joshua drove with calm steadiness, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gearshift. His posture was relaxed but alert, eyes trained on the road as his mind wandered, not thinking hard, just letting the silence settle.
From the passenger seat, Jeonghan exhaled long and low, eyes half-lidded as he pressed his temple to the cool glass. The blur of lights reflected dimly in his gaze. He wasn’t quite asleep, but close, hovering in that still space between consciousness and dream.
In the backseat, Jihoon was still buried in his phone, one earbud in now. His foot tapped slowly against the floor. Seokmin had slumped back with his hoodie drawn up and one leg sprawled over the seat, while Seungkwan had a jacket bundled into a makeshift pillow, his head resting against it as he shifted now and then to get comfortable.
“You guys alive back there?” Joshua asked, his voice low but amused.
There was a pause before Seungkwan mumbled, “I left my will to live in the practice room.”
“Performance team had it hard,” Woozi said without looking up.
“Right,” Seungkwan murmured. “They worked too hard today. We better have it easy after this comeback.”
Jeonghan let out a sigh and adjusted his position slightly. “This comeback better go smoothly.”
“We’ll be fine,” Joshua said. “Let’s just stay healthy.”
“That’s the dream,” Woozi replied quietly.
“You did well today. All of you. Really.”
A few tired smiles followed. Woozi gave a small nod. Jeonghan exhaled through his nose, not quite a laugh, but something close. Even Seungkwan, half-asleep, managed a faint thumbs-up without lifting his head.
A few minutes passed before Seokmin raised his head slightly, glancing out the back window. “…Huh.”
Joshua glanced at him in the mirror. “What?”
“Where’s everyone else?”
Joshua checked the rearview mirror automatically. Nothing. The road behind them was dark and empty.
“They were behind us a few minutes ago,” Jeonghan murmured, rubbing his eyes.
“Maybe they stopped?” Woozi leaned forward a little to look out the rear window.
“Or maybe,” Seungkwan yawned, eyes barely open, “Joshua’s trying to join a racing league. They just couldn’t keep up."
“I’m literally going the speed limit,” Joshua replied.
“...Should we wait?” Seokmin asked quietly.
“I’ll slow down.”
No one said anything. Silence filled the car again but something about the open road behind them felt a little too quiet now. Joshua didn’t comment, but he checked the mirror again.
Still nothing.
The second car was making its way steadily through the same stretch of road, just a few minutes behind. Wonwoo drove in calm silence, hands steady on the wheel. The dashboard lights lit his face in pale green, his expression relaxed but focused. In the passenger seat, Seungcheol sat with one leg crossed, fingers tapping idly against the window frame.
In the back, Vernon and Mingyu sat sprawled in their seats, trading low conversation.
“You remember those nights we used to walk back from practice?” Seungcheol said suddenly.
Hansol glanced forward. “You mean when we were broke and had no car?”
“Exactly. Those nights.”
“Feels like forever ago.”
Mingyu stretched his arms overhead, groaning. “Back when a cup of ramen from the corner store felt like a gourmet meal.”
“We really came up,” Vernon said.
Seungcheol gave a half-smile. “We’re still together. That’s what matters.”
“It’s rare,” Wonwoo said softly. “For a group to last this long. It’s been more than a decade. That’s longer than most people stay at a job.”
“Longer than some marriages,” Vernon added dryly from the back.
Mingyu let out a quiet laugh. “We’re basically married to each other. That’s the deal.”
Seungcheol shook his head. “Sounds exhausting.”
“You love it,” Mingyu said, nudging him lightly on the shoulder.
“I do,” he admitted after a pause.
They drove in silence for a while.
“Shua-hyung’s way ahead,” Wonwoo said eventually.
“Let him be,” Seungcheol replied. “No rush. I’d rather get home late than never.”
“There’s no one else on the road,” Hansol said, stretching his legs out.
“And that’s when people get overconfident,” Seungcheol replied. “Wonwoo, just keep driving like this.”
“You got it.”
Mingyu, quiet until then, reached for his phone and unlocked it. “Should I call the group chat?”
“Why are you like this,” Vernon said without even opening his eyes.
“I miss them.”
“We were just together.”
“I have attachment issues.”
Before anyone could protest, Mingyu tapped the group call button. It rang a few times, and then Seokmin’s face popped up on screen, too close and slightly tilted. He answered on behalf of the vocal team.
“Clingy,” Seokmin greeted. “You miss our voices or is there an actual emergency?”
“Bit of both. Why’d you ditch us?” Mingyu complained.
There was a pause. Shuffling sounds. Then Seokmin again: “We didn’t ditch you. Joshua just didn’t wait.”
Jeonghan’s voice chimed faintly from the background. “We didn’t realize you were gone.”
Beside Seokmin, someone stirred.
“Seungkwan’s half-asleep,” Seokmin whispered, then angled the camera back to show him.
“I’m not,” Seungkwan said, eyes still shut.
Mingyu smiled faintly. “Where’s performance team? You see them?”
Seokmin blinked. “Aren’t they behind you?”
“Oh. Right,” Mingyu muttered, more serious now. “There’s no one behind us.”
That made Seungcheol turn in his seat. Wonwoo checked the mirror again. Darkness.
“…Minghao’s driving, right?” Seungcheol asked.
Seokmin frowned, adjusting the phone. “We were just talking earlier about how you guys weren’t behind us, and now you're saying they’re not behind you either? Maybe they pulled over?”
“They probably switched drivers,” Woozi’s voice called from off-camera. “Myungho looked pretty tired earlier.”
“Yeah,” Mingyu said, though he didn’t look convinced. “It’s just… weird not seeing their headlights at all.”
“They’re probably fine,” Seungcheol said, tone calm. Still, his hand shifted slightly on the door armrest, knuckles pressing down.
The call ended without much ceremony. The members were too tired to continue the conversation. The second car slipped back into quiet.
No one said it but they all kept glancing at the rearview mirror a little more often than before.
Back on the road, the third car had fallen further behind. Minghao’s hands were tense on the steering wheel. His eyelids were growing heavier by the minute. The car was quieter than the others, filled with that comfortable kind of silence that came from familiarity.
Hoshi sat in the backseat, half-asleep, watched him from the corner of his eye.
“Hey,” He said softly. “You good, Hao?"
Minghao blinked a few times. “A little tired.”
Jun leaned forward from the passenger seat. “I’ll take over."
After a pause, Minghao nodded slowly. “Let’s switch.”
They found a safe place off the side of the road and pulled over. Jun moved to the driver’s seat, adjusting it. Minghao climbed into the passenger side, exhaling deeply.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“It’s okay. We’re not in a rush anyway,” Jun said, checking his seatbelt before pulling the car back onto the road, smooth and steady.
“Good work today, Hao.” Soonyoung leaned back against the seat, head tilted slightly to the side. Beside him, Chan had his cheek resting lightly on Soonyoung’s shoulder. His face looked soft, almost younger somehow.
The youngest yawned and rubbed his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Switched drivers,” Jun replied. “Go back to sleep, baby.”
“I’m not a baby,” Chan mumbled.
Minghao smiled faintly. “He looks like one right now.”
“He always does when he’s quiet,” Hoshi added. He pulled out his phone and quietly took a photo.
“I heard that,” Chan said, eyes still closed.
They laughed softly, voices melting into the sound of the engine and the steady rush of the road beneath them. The air inside the car was cool and comfortable. The road ahead was calm, the city slowly thinning behind them.
For a moment, everything was okay.
Then something shifted.
A burst of red light flashed in the corner of Jun’s vision.
The screech of tires slicing across asphalt.
A scream from somewhere in the back.
Then—impact.
Something slammed into the left side of the car. Hard. Sudden. Brutal.
Metal crunched. The car jolted violently. Glass exploded inward like a wave, scattering across the seats. Jun’s hands whipped the steering wheel, but it was too late. The force sent the vehicle spinning. Time shattered into fragments, flashes of headlights, a shout, a blur of motion.
Soonyoung reached instinctively toward Chan, pulling him close. Minghao braced himself against the dash. The sound was deafening. The grinding metal, breaking glass, the sharp crack of the frame folding inward.
Then everything went still.
The car came to a lurching stop, nose-down, smoke curling from the hood. A wheel spun uselessly in the air. Inside, silence settled like dust. Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind that followed laughter or sleep.
This was different.
This was the kind that echoed.
The kind that came when something was missing.
The kind that didn’t end.