The hallway smelled like overworked air purifiers and the trace of someone’s cologne—maybe Junseo’s, maybe mine. My jacket was half off, my hands in my pockets, and my brain somewhere between collapsing and combusting.

I couldn’t tell if I was furious or just deeply, soul-sick tired.

I turned the corner and almost ran into Haoran, who was standing frozen by the vending machine, holding a paper cup of lemon tea like he’d seen a ghost.

“You saw?” I asked.

He blinked at me. “...He did it?”

I nodded once.

Haoran didn’t speak for a moment. Then he offered me the tea.

I took it.

The two of us found a bench tucked near the back of the building, behind a stack of dusty speaker cases and forgotten banners from promotions we barely remembered doing. We sat without talking, Haoran’s knee bouncing a little. My head was spinning from the quiet.

“I wasn’t supposed to see that,” he said softly.

“But you did.”

“Yeah.”

We sipped in silence. Somewhere down the hall, someone opened a door and yelled something in fast Korean. Haoran didn’t flinch. He just leaned back, eyes tracing the ceiling like it might spell out a solution.

“Do you think,” he said after a while, “that love runs out?”

I turned to him, caught off-guard.

“I mean,” he continued, quieter now, “not like it dies, but like... it gets tired. Like when we rehearse too long and your muscles won’t lift anymore. Maybe love’s like that. Maybe Junseo’s arms gave out.”

I stared at the cup in my hands. The lemon tea was already cold.

“He broke her in front of all of us,” I said. “Yura’s been with us since the beginning. She was there when we had nothing. She’s family. And he just—he didn’t even warn us.”

Haoran gave a tiny nod. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were red around the edges.

I sighed. “I don’t know if I’m angry for Yura, or for him, or for all of us.”

“You don’t have to know,” Haoran said. “Not right now.”

I laughed under my breath. “Why do you always talk like you’re eighty years old?”

“I’m the group’s philosopher. It’s in my job description.”

I glanced over. He was smiling faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. Then, “No.”

There it was. The crack.

“I thought,” he said slowly, “when I saw it happen… I thought I’d feel relieved. That maybe I could finally…” He trailed off. “But all I felt was sick.”

I didn’t press. I just waited. That’s the thing about Haoran—if you wait long enough, he’ll tell you everything.

“I always liked her,” he said, almost a whisper. “Yura. I knew it wasn’t my place. Junseo loved her. Or said he did. So I kept it quiet. That’s loyalty, right?”

I stayed still. My throat tightened.

“I didn’t want this,” he added. “Not like this. She didn’t deserve that. And Junseo—he looked like he was breaking even as he said it.”

I ran a hand down my face. “This group is falling apart.”

“No,” Haoran said. “It’s just... bleeding.”

I turned to him. He looked calm now. Not because he was fine—Haoran never really was—but because he knew how to float in the wreckage better than anyone.

I leaned back, letting my head rest against the cold wall.

“Haoran,” I said. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

We stayed like that, quiet. Just the hum of the vending machine, the flicker of a dying light overhead. Two idols hiding from their own lives for a few minutes longer.

“I’m gonna fix this,” I said eventually.

“Okay.”

“And if I can’t...”

“You will.”

I looked over. Haoran’s eyes met mine, steady.

“You’re Hyunwoo,” he said. “You keep us breathing.”

And maybe, in that moment, I believed him.

But believing doesn’t solve anything.

The lemon tea still tasted cold and bitter. I stood up slowly, brushing the back of my jeans where the wall had left an imprint, and sighed. Haoran rose beside me without needing to be asked.

“Where is everyone?” I muttered, already walking.

“Scattered,” he said. “Riki stormed off. Said he had to ‘chew this betrayal over like gum.’ Daeun’s been pacing in the hallway for fifteen minutes straight. Junseo vanished. Manager Cho went to smoke.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “So… a normal crisis.”

“No,” Haoran said softly. “This one’s different.”

We turned the corner and found the main practice room door slightly ajar. Voices buzzed behind it like static.

When I pushed it open, five heads turned toward me in sync.

Daeun, wide-eyed and red-nosed, was curled into one corner of the sofa like a soggy blanket. Riki was sprawled in the opposite corner with his legs up and his arm flung dramatically across his eyes.

Haoran walked in first. I followed with a slight nod.

Nobody spoke until I cleared my throat. “Where’s Junseo?”

“Did he tell you why he did it?” Riki asked flatly, still lying down. “Was it love? Was it drama? Was it just him being a dumbass?”

I didn’t answer. Not yet. I was scanning every face in the room—Daeun, Riki, Haoran, the silence.

Then the door opened again.

She stepped in like nothing had happened.

Yura.

Same outfit. Same stage makeup. Same gloss on her lips. But her eyes were empty, and her hair was pinned back messily, like she’d yanked the clips out herself.

I felt Haoran freeze beside me.

“Sorry,” she said, voice even. “Manager Cho told me you’d be in here.”

Riki sat up with a dramatic scoff. “Oh, perfect. Let’s just make it a reunion special.”

“Riki,” I warned.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Yura said. “You’re allowed to be angry.”

“We’re not angry,” Daeun whispered. “We’re just… confused.”

“I’m not,” Yura said. She gave a breathy laugh, the kind that sounds almost beautiful until it curdles at the end. “I’ve never been so clear.”

My phone buzzed.

It was Junseo.

I didn’t respond. I just stared at the screen, then turned it face-down on the table.

“I need all of you to listen,” I said.

Everyone went still.

“We’re not going to self-destruct over this. Junseo’s gone for now. That’s his choice. But our schedule doesn’t stop. Our lives don’t stop. And neither does this group.”

“So what do you want us to do?” Riki asked. “Smile? Post some happy selfies? Pretend our main vocal didn’t break up with Yura in front of a live camera crew like it was the freaking finale of a dating show?”

“Riki—”

“No, I’m serious,” he said, rising. “I know we’re idols, but that was a bloodbath.”

Yura didn’t flinch. She just walked forward, heels clicking softly on the studio floor, and sat down beside Daeun. Her eyes flicked over all of us. Unapologetic. Composed.

“I’m still in the unit project,” she said. “That’s not changing. Not unless you make me leave.”

I looked at her. Really looked.

No cracks.

Only resolve.

I opened my mouth—then Haoran spoke.

“She shouldn’t have to leave,” he said.

Everyone turned.

“She didn’t cause this,” he went on, voice clear. “Junseo did. And he left. That’s on him. Not her.”

I watched him. That rare sharpness in his tone, the steel under the sunshine. Yura looked at him, too—but quickly. Almost too quickly.

No one argued.

Even Riki just sat back down, chewing furiously on invisible gum.

“Fine,” I said finally. “We regroup. We finish the recording schedule this week. Daeun, check the storyboard edits. Riki, PR wants your input on the next photoshoot concept. Haoran, you’re with me. We’ve got the studio review at 8.”

I glanced at Yura again.

“You can stay if you want,” I said. “Or go. Your call.”

She stood.

“I’ll stay,” she said. “I don’t leave things unfinished.”

And just like that, she turned to the mirror wall and began stretching like it was any other day. Like her ex-boyfriend hadn’t detonated their relationship in public like a firework over a funeral.

I turned to the others.

“Let’s move.”

They did. Slowly, stiffly, but they did.

Only Haoran lingered behind.

“You okay?” I asked.

He gave me a look like I was the one who wasn’t okay. “Are you?”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“Good,” he said. “Because I don’t think the hardest part’s happened yet.”

I stared after him as he followed the others.

And maybe, just maybe, I knew he was right.