TW for this chapter: mention or implication of sexual assault. 

Chihwei bolted from the bathroom, his steps echoing down the empty hallway. For a moment, the air hung heavy with silence. Geon and Bang bolted after him, but Yujun shouted. 

“Stop! I—he didn’t—!”

Jiahao’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles pale, but he didn’t speak. There was a brief flicker in his eyes—a shadow of recognition, of something buried deep and unresolved—but he remained silent, letting Yujun’s words fill the room.

“Yujun, we’re just worried about you,” Bang started, stepping forward. “You don’t have to—”

“I said stop!” Yujun snapped, his tone sharp, almost pained. “You don’t understand! You don’t know him like I do!”

Geon raised an eyebrow, his voice calm but firm. “Yujun, we’ve been looking all over for you. Can you at least tell us what’s going on?”

“I don’t need to tell you anything!” Yujun barked, stepping back as if creating space between himself and the others. “He’s helped me. He… he’s done things for me that no one else could.”

Renji’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable but tight with frustration. “Yujun, listen to yourself. This isn’t help. This—this isn’t normal.”

“I don’t care!” Yujun yelled, shaking his head violently. “I—he’s the only reason I got here. I owe him everything!”

I felt my chest tighten. I wanted to step closer, to grab Yujun’s arm and pull him down to calm him, but I hesitated. Every word Yujun spoke was soaked in a mix of fear, loyalty, and confusion.

Jiahao shifted slightly, as if to say something, but all that emerged was a low, tight exhale through his nose. He didn’t intervene directly, but the muscles in his jaw and the subtle tension in his shoulders spoke volumes—an unspoken history, a reflection of pain too long buried.

“Yujun,” Minjae said softly, stepping forward. “We’re your friends. We just want to make sure you’re okay. You don’t have to protect anyone from us.”

Yujun’s eyes glistened with frustration and tears he wouldn’t let fall. “I don’t… I can’t. You don’t get it. You wouldn’t understand. Just… leave it alone.”

Geon’s voice softened slightly, but remained firm. “Yujun, we’re not leaving until you at least hear us out.”

Yujun turned away, refusing to meet any of their eyes. The tension in the room didn’t dissipate. For a moment, it felt like time had frozen, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on them all.

Renji’s hand twitched slightly, a barely perceptible gesture of restraint. Minjae felt the urge to step closer, but he knew forcing Yujun would only make him retreat further.

For now, all they could do was wait.

The dorm was quiet when we got back. Normally, even after a long day, the air would hum with chatter, laughter, the twins bickering over something trivial. Tonight, though, it felt heavy—like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

I dragged off my shoes and let my bag drop onto the floor. Everyone was moving mechanically, going about their routines without really speaking. Even Renji stayed uncharacteristically silent, his gaze fixed somewhere across the room. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I wasn’t ready to answer the question burning in my chest: how do I fix this?

Yujun’s words replayed in my mind, the sharp edge of loyalty and fear cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. “He’s the only reason I got here. I owe him everything!”

The room smelled faintly of leftover takeout from earlier, and the hum of the refrigerator felt deafening in the quiet. I sank onto the couch, elbows on my knees, hands gripping my face.

I wanted to protect him. I needed to protect him. My stomach twisted at the thought of what we’d seen tonight, the way Chihwei had cornered him, manipulated him, forced him to defend him even as he was hurt. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how alone Yujun must feel, caught between fear, gratitude, and guilt that wasn’t his to carry.

I knew I couldn’t handle this alone. Park Hana had warned me about situations like this, and she was the only person I trusted to navigate such a delicate, dangerous situation. But… how do you explain someone else’s trauma without making it worse? How do you even start?

And then there was the bigger question, one I’d pushed aside for months: should I tell the members about who I really am? About why I’m here in the first place? If I came out to them now, would it help Yujun, or would it just complicate things? Apex Weekly had been clear about boundaries. My identity, my real motives—they weren’t to be shared. Yet every second I thought about leaving this secret in the dark, it felt heavier, more suffocating.

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, letting my thoughts tumble around unchecked. I have to do something. I can’t just sit here while he suffers. But what if I make it worse?

The only conclusion my swirling thoughts landed on was the simplest one: I would visit Park Hana in the morning. Tell her everything. No matter how tangled, no matter how messy, no matter how much fear coiled in my chest. She would know what to do. She would know how to help Yujun.

I exhaled, long and shaky, and let my head fall back against the couch. The room still felt heavy, but at least the weight of indecision had shifted, if only slightly. Tomorrow, I would take the first step.

For Yujun. For what was right.

I stayed on the couch a little longer than I probably should have, staring at the muted TV that was only flickering with light, not sound. Eventually, I heard the soft creak of Renji’s footsteps as he returned from wherever he had been. He didn’t sit immediately—just leaned against the doorframe for a moment, as if weighing whether to join me.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said finally, voice low, almost careful.

“I’ve… been thinking,” I admitted. My fingers twined nervously in my lap. “About Yujun.”

Renji’s posture stiffened slightly, just enough that I could feel the tension radiating from him. He didn’t answer immediately, but he did cross the room and sit down beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. Not touching yet, but close. That small proximity carried more weight than words.

“He… he’s in a bad spot,” I continued, forcing the words out. “I don’t know if any of us can really understand. I mean… what he’s been through, what he’s still going through. And he keeps defending Chihwei. I don’t know if it’s fear, or gratitude, or both.”

Renji’s hand moved slightly, resting near mine on the couch but not quite touching. His gaze was fixed on me, unreadable, but I could feel him listening.

“Renji… if you were able to help him, even if that might cause you pain, would you do it?” My voice barely rose above a whisper.

He didn’t answer at first. Just tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Then he exhaled, a long, slow breath that sounded like it carried all the weight of the world.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he said carefully. “I’d want to help. Of course I would. But sometimes, trying to help the people you care about… it hurts you in ways you can’t prepare for.”

His words made my chest tighten. I could see him struggling with the thought, the invisible weight of all the people he wanted to protect. And I understood that feeling all too well.

“I just…” I hesitated, voice catching. “I can’t leave him like that. I feel like if I do nothing… I’ll regret it forever. I have to do something.”

Renji finally reached over, brushing a hand lightly against mine—not enough to touch fully, just the ghost of contact. It was enough. Enough to anchor me in the moment.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured. “We… we’ll figure it out. Together.”

The words made something inside me tighten and melt at the same time. He didn’t fully say it, didn’t declare that he would stand in the fire with me—but his tone, his quiet certainty, it said enough.

I nodded, trying to steady my racing thoughts. Tomorrow… I’m going to see Park Hana. I’ll tell her everything. She’ll know what to do.

Renji’s hand lingered near mine for a moment longer before he let it fall back to his lap. “And… Minjae?”

I looked at him, uncertain.

“Be careful. Don’t carry it all on your own.”

I smiled faintly, a small, tired smile. “I’ll try not to.”

After a while, neither of us said anything more. The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional creak of settling floorboards. I could feel the tension in my chest slowly easing, replaced by something warmer—something like the fragile comfort of being close to someone who understood, even without words.

Renji shifted slightly, and before I knew it, he was leaning fully against me. Just resting his head on my shoulder, heavy but gentle. My heart did that stupid flip again—the one it always did whenever he got near—but I didn’t pull away. Not yet.

“You can stay here,” he murmured, voice low, almost sleepy. “If you want.”

I swallowed, heat rising to my cheeks. “I… I don’t want to be alone either.”

It was a weak confession, but he didn’t call it weak. He just shifted a little closer, and I felt his hand brush against mine. I let it rest there, not daring to move it. My pulse sped up as the contact lingered, small but electric.

I leaned my head against his, and he exhaled softly, a quiet sound that made me feel ridiculous for how much I wanted to curl up even closer. My hand found its way to his arm, almost instinctively, and I buried my face a little more into his shoulder.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered, and I could feel the faint edge of a smile in his voice. “Don’t get too clingy, or I might lose my mind.”

I laughed softly, a little tipsy from nerves and relief and everything in between. “You’ve already lost your mind,” I teased, curling closer anyway.

He didn’t argue. He just let me, and for a while, we stayed like that. Just two people on the couch, leaning into each other, letting the silence and warmth stretch between us. No words were necessary. We didn’t need them.

Eventually, sleep started to tug at my eyelids. I shifted slightly, pressing closer to him without thinking, and felt him shift too—pressing back just enough that it was reassuring, comforting. I tried not to panic at how exposed I felt, how vulnerable, how completely safe at the same time.

“Minjae,” he murmured as I was drifting off, “sleep. I’ve got you.”

I let the words sink in, and for the first time that night, I actually believed them.

And then, somewhere between the quiet hum of the dorm and the soft rhythm of his breathing, I let myself fall asleep, wrapped up in the fragile, unspoken promise that no matter what we faced tomorrow, we wouldn’t be facing it alone.