For the first time in weeks, I woke up without an alarm.

No manager’s call, no schedule notifications, no one yelling for someone to get out of the bathroom. Just quiet.

It felt suspicious.

I blinked at the ceiling for a while before realizing the sun was already peeking through the curtains. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, the smell of food hit me — eggs, something fried, and instant coffee.

The twins were already at the table when I got to the kitchen. Boom was eating like he hadn’t seen food in three days, and Bang was lecturing him about “chewing like a civilized person,” despite doing the exact same thing.

“Morning,” I mumbled, reaching for a cup.

“Morning, hyung,” they chorused, completely in sync like some creepy breakfast ritual.

Jiahao was flipping something on the stove. “You’re up late,” he said.

“Do we have a schedule?”

“Nope,” he said, sounding suspiciously cheerful. “Manager Garam texted earlier. Day off. He said to ‘use the time to rest. Which means: don’t die, don’t post anything stupid, and don’t get photographed holding hands with anyone famous.”

“Good to know,” I said, sipping my coffee.

Yujun wandered in a minute later, hair sticking up in every direction. “Rest day, huh?” He stretched and groaned. “I forgot what freedom tastes like.”

“Freedom tastes like eggs and cheap toast apparently,” Geon said dryly, taking a bite.

Renji appeared last — still half asleep, hoodie pulled up, voice low when he greeted everyone. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I replied, and for a second, his eyes met mine. Just a flicker. But enough to send a weird flutter through my chest again.

Breakfast was chaotic in the usual way — half-eaten food, jokes flying across the table, Yujun threatening to move out because Boom used his toothbrush again “by accident.” By the end, Jiahao declared that anyone who didn’t wash dishes would “face divine punishment,” which meant everyone suddenly had somewhere else to be.

I was about to follow the herd when Renji’s voice stopped me.

“Minjae.”

I turned. “Yeah?”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Want to go out today?”

“Out?”

“Yeah. Shopping, maybe. Lunch after.”

I blinked. “You want to go shopping?”

He gave me that deadpan look he was so good at. “Do I look like someone who enjoys being trapped in a dorm all day?”

“…Fair.”

The streets were busy, but it was the kind of busy that felt alive rather than suffocating. Renji wore a cap and mask, and I did the same — just two guys blending into the weekend crowd.

We started at a clothing store downtown, the kind with too many mirrors and way too much black. Renji picked through racks with the kind of precision that made me think he’d secretly done this a hundred times before.

“This one looks good,” he said, holding up a fitted black jacket. “Try it.”

“Why me? You wear it.”

He gave me a sideways glance. “You've got the face of a center. You need to look the part.”

I rolled my eyes but took the jacket anyway. It actually fit perfectly — which he noticed, of course.

Renji crossed his arms. “Told you.”

“You just like being right,” I said.

He grinned — small, rare, but real. “Obviously.”

We moved from shop to shop like that, him pretending not to care while secretly enjoying every minute, and me pretending not to notice. At one point, we ended up in a sneaker store where Boom would’ve probably fainted from excitement.

Renji tried on a pair of white ones and turned his foot this way and that. “Too clean,” he muttered.

“That’s… the point?”

“I’ll get them dirty in a week.”

“Then you’ll match the rest of us,” I said, earning an amused snort.

Lunch ended up being at a small restaurant tucked between two clothing stores — one of those cozy places with handwritten menus and old love songs playing faintly in the background.

We sat by the window, watching people pass by. Renji ordered too much food, and I complained about it, but still ate everything.

Somewhere between bites of tteokbokki and teasing each other about who had worse fashion sense, I realized how normal it all felt.

No cameras, no choreographers, no pressure. Just the quiet hum of city life and someone who didn’t make the silence uncomfortable.

It was strange — and kind of dangerous — how easy it was to forget, even for a moment, what I was really here for.

After lunch, and a bit more shopping neither of us said anything about heading home.

The sun was starting to dip, painting everything in gold, and Renji just pointed toward the direction of the Han River. “Let’s walk a bit.”

We followed the riverside path, cups of iced coffee in hand, the air gentle against our skin. Families were scattered along the park — kids chasing each other, couples sharing snacks, the smell of street food drifting in from somewhere.

It was the kind of calm that felt almost unreal after weeks locked in practice rooms and recording studios.

Renji stopped near the railing, gazing at the water. “You ever forget what real air feels like?”

“All the time,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Studio air doesn’t count. It’s just recycled sweat.”

He laughed softly, a sound that made something twist quietly in my chest.

We sat on a bench facing the river. For a while, neither of us spoke. Just the sound of waves brushing against the concrete and the low murmur of people passing by. I could feel the tension between us — not sharp anymore, but heavy in that unspoken way, like both of us were waiting for the other to bring it up.

Renji was the one who did.

“About… what you told me,” he began quietly, eyes still fixed on the water. “I kept thinking about it all week.”

My stomach tightened. “Yeah?”

“I didn’t know how bad it was,” he said, voice low. “Back then, when you just… disappeared. I was devastated at first, then angry. Then I tried not to care. But it was like—” he paused, searching for words, “like something had been ripped out. I didn’t know how to fill that space.”

I stared down at my hands, knuckles pale around the plastic cup. “I didn’t mean to ghost you. I just… couldn’t face anyone. Not after everything.”

“I know that now,” he said. “I just wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me back then.”

“I trusted you. It wasn't about trust. I just felt too weak to face reality,”

Renji turned to look at me then. His expression wasn’t sharp or distant like usual. It was open, almost fragile.

“I understand now,” he said quietly. “You’re the reason I stayed in this industry. When you left, everything went grey. The group fell apart, I fell apart — I kept telling myself I was fine, but it never really stopped hurting.”

The confession hit me harder than I expected. My throat tightened again. “Renji…”

He exhaled through a half-laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know that.”

The sky was deepening into amber and pink, the kind of light that made everything softer. I watched the reflections ripple across the water, feeling that strange warmth in my chest again — part guilt, part relief, part something I didn’t want to name.

“I missed you too,” I said finally. “Every day.”

Renji smiled, faint but real. “Good. Then we’re even.”

“Even?”

“You made me miserable for two years,” he said, nudging my shoulder lightly. “Now you’re stuck with me until I decide I’ve forgiven you fully.”

I laughed under my breath. “So… never?”

“Maybe,” he said, glancing sideways at me. “Or maybe I already did.”

The air between us felt different after that — lighter, but charged in a way that made my pulse skip. For a long moment, we just sat there, watching the sun sink below the horizon. His shoulder brushed mine once, accidentally — or maybe not — and neither of us moved away.

The city hummed around us, cars rushing by, laughter echoing faintly. I felt like I could breathe again.

Not as a journalist, not as an idol — just as Minjae.

And next to me, Renji sat quietly, eyes reflecting the soft light off the river, like he was finally at peace too.

By the time we got back to the dorm, the sun had already dipped below the skyline. The city lights glowed faintly outside the windows, reflecting off the glass as we stepped inside.

The twins were sprawled across the couch like a pair of dead sea lions. Jiahao was watching some anime on his phone, and Geon was pacing around the kitchen with a bag of chips in one hand boba tea in the other, with a face mask and hair clips on.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Jiahao said without looking up.

I shot him a glare. “We just went shopping.”

“Uh-huh,” Geon drawled, still munching chips. “You went shopping for 10 hours and came back looking like you filmed a commercial for couple perfumes.”

Renji dropped his shopping bags on the floor. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Am I?” Geon raised a brow. “Because you’re smiling, and you never smile unless you’ve insulted someone.”

The twins immediately perked up from the couch. “Wait, Renji smiled?!” Bang said dramatically. “That’s, like, a national event!”

“Quick! Someone post it before it disappears!” Boom added, pretending to film with his phone.

Renji groaned and walked straight to the kitchen, ignoring the laughter. I followed him, mostly because I didn’t trust what kind of chaos the others would unleash if I left him alone.

He started taking things out of the fridge to make a quick dinner — leftover rice, eggs, and some kimchi that hadn’t yet reached Geon’s “may cause botulism” phase. I leaned beside him on the counter, watching him quietly.

“You can sit down,” he said without looking up.

“I’d rather stand,” I replied. “Moral support.”

Renji side-eyed me. “You’re doing nothing.”

“I’m morally supporting you.”

He sighed, but I caught the corner of his mouth twitching again — that small, almost reluctant smile he probably didn’t even realize he made.

By the time dinner was ready, everyone gathered around the table, half-fighting for space like a pack of starving animals. Jiahao sat at the head like a mafia boss, the twins elbowed each other for side dishes, and Yujun glared at Geon for stealing his spoon.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Renji’s hand brushed against mine when we both reached for the soy sauce. Neither of us pulled away.

It wasn’t anything big — just a brief touch — but apparently, the twins had eyes like hawks.

“Oooh, what’s this?” Boom sang.

“Hand holding at the dinner table?!” Bang gasped dramatically. “So scandalous!”

I nearly dropped my chopsticks. “It’s not— we weren’t—”

Renji calmly picked up his rice bowl, completely unbothered. “You two should debut as clowns.”

“Too late,” Geon said with no exoressiom. “They already did.”

The twins whined in unison, and Jiahao clapped his hands once like a kindergarten teacher. “Alright, alright, kids. Let’s not bully Minjae and Renji on their honeymoon.”

I choked on my rice. “What honeymoon?! We just went shopping!”

“Sure,” Jiahao said, raising an eyebrow. “And you just coincidentally came back smiling ear to ear like you found God.”

Even Yujun, who usually ignored these conversations, muttered under his breath, “Finally. The tension between them was killing me.”

Renji didn’t even try to defend himself this time. He just continued eating calmly, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips while I died quietly inside.

After dinner, we migrated to the couch for a movie — or at least, that was the plan. The twins fell asleep halfway through, Yujun disappeared to his room, and Jiahao was pretending not to scroll on his phone behind a cushion.

Renji sat beside me, our shoulders pressed together under the shared blanket. It felt warm, safe, and strangely normal.

Geon, of course, noticed.

“Should I leave you two alone?” he asked dryly.

“You could,” Renji said without missing a beat, eyes still on the screen.

Geon blinked. “Wait, I wasn’t prepared for a real answer—”

The dumbfounded look on his face cracked everyone up.