The second the words left Felix’s mouth, something inside Hyunjin didn’t just crack, it split.

He didn’t react. Not outwardly. His expression stayed neutral, his posture loose.

But inside, everything collapsed in on itself. His mind spiraled fast and deep, tumbling into places he refused to touch in front of anyone else. He locked it down immediately, shoving everything behind carefully built walls. He wouldn’t let himself think. No thinking. No feeling. Not here. Not where anyone could see. He couldn’t afford to.

Weakness wasn’t something he showed. Not even a hint of it. Not even a fracture. Weakness was a liability. Hesitation was dangerous. And Hyunjin had spent years making sure no one ever saw either.

Felix didn’t want him.

The thought hit once. Then again. Then again.

The thought repeated, over and over, louder each time; like a song he couldn’t shut off, echoing and bouncing through his skull until it drowned everything else out.

He turned, walking into the back without a word to Felix. “I’m heading out,” he told the bartenders. No explanation. No elaboration.

They didn’t ask. They knew better.

By the time he got home, the silence was suffocating.

Hyunjin sat in his car, engine off, hands locked around the steering wheel, knuckles pale, like he was bracing for impact that had already happened.

Did I do something wrong?

His jaw tightened.

Did I push too far?

His grip tightened until it hurt.

Am I too much?

A bitter laugh almost escaped him, but died before it could.

Of course you are.

What happened?

The questions crashed into each other, piling up faster than he could process them, until it felt like his head might split open. His chest felt too tight. Like something was pressing in from the outside, squeezing until there was no room left to breathe. He dragged in a sharp inhale.

“I knew better,” he muttered under his breath, voice hollow. “I knew better than to let my guard down.” Because this is what happens. He gets comfortable. He starts to think maybe, just maybe, he’s allowed to have something good. That he’s allowed to be happy. And then it gets ripped away. Every fucking time.

“I was stupid,” he said, louder now, the word tasting like something rotten. “Thinking I was worth that.” The silence didn’t argue. It never did. Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then he exhaled sharply, jaw clenching.

No.

He couldn’t sit here. He couldn’t think like this. So instead of going inside, he turned the key again, the engine roaring back to life as he pulled away from the curb. There was only one place he could go.

The drive to Chan’s felt shorter than it should have.Or maybe Hyunjin just didn’t remember it. One second he was on the road, the next he was out of the car, crossing the driveway in long, uneven strides, and slamming his fist against the door.

Chan opened it almost immediately…and froze.

Hyunjin looked like hell. Clothes wrinkled and half out of place, hair a mess, eyes glassy and rimmed red like he’d been holding something back too long. His hands were shaking, barely controlled. Chan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Hyunjin’s arm and pulled him inside.

“What happened? What do you need? Are you o-”

“Don’t.” Hyunjin’s voice was sharp enough to stop him mid-sentence, voice strained. “Don’t ask me if I’m okay right now.” he said, voice tight, controlled in a way that made it worse. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping abruptly. “If you do, I might say something I don’t mean. Or worse.”

Chan went quiet and still. A beat passed. Hyunjin swallowed hard, his voice dropping.

“I need to hit something.”

Chan blinked. “…Okay.”

“Your boxing room,” Hyunjin added. “Can I use it?” Chan blinked, caught off guard, but nodded quickly and stepped back immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. It’s set up already. I’ll be out here if you need anything.” Hyunjin didn’t respond. He was already moving.

Chan stood in the hallway for a moment after Hyunjin disappeared into the room, listening.

The first hit echoed through the house like a gunshot.

Then another.

And another.

It didn’t take long before the rhythm broke into something violent; rapid, aggressive, and relentless strikes, each one harder than the last. The dull thud of fists and feet against the punching bag filled the space, followed by a sharp inhale; and then blood curdling wails that ripped through his chest.

Chan exhaled slowly and leaned against the wall outside, arms crossed, jaw tight. This was bad. Really bad. He hadn’t heard Hyunjin like this ever. They hadn’t used the boxing room like this in years.

Not since they were kids, back when anger was the only thing they were allowed to feel. Back when their fathers handed them gloves thinking it was a good idea to teach them how to fight instead of how to deal with what was underneath. Back when anger was easier to understand than anything softer. 

Eventually, they’d made a pact. No more unnecessary violence. No more losing control. Only when it was needed. And if Hyunjin was here, it was definitely needed. Something was very, very wrong.

It went on for nearly half an hour.

Long enough that Chan started counting the hits without meaning to.

Then,

nothing.

Silence dropped heavy and sudden.

Chan pushed himself off the wall, hesitating only for a second before stepping toward the door. He nudged it open just enough to look inside.

Hyunjin was on the floor, collapsed.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath in uneven bursts, his entire body trembling from exertion and something deeper. Sweat clung to his skin, but it was the tears that made Chan’s chest tighten; silent, relentless, slipping down his face like he didn’t even have the energy to stop them. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just relentless. 

Chan didn’t say anything. He just walked over and sat down beside him, pulling him into his arms without hesitation. That was all it took.

Hyunjin broke.

A choked, strangled sob tore out of him as he buried his face hard into Chan’s shoulder like he was trying to disappear, his hands gripping and fisting the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing holding him together. His body shook with emotion; raw, unfiltered, the kind of crying that came from somewhere deep and ugly.

  Words spilled out between gasps, broken, slurred, and muffled, too tangled to understand.

Chan didn’t try to make sense of them. He just held him. Steady. Grounding. Rocked him slightly. Let him get it out. Time passed; minutes, maybe longer, until the sobbing softened into shaky breaths. Finally, Chan spoke, voice low.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said carefully, “and you don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. But… I’m glad you didn’t keep that in.” Hyunjin let out a weak, humorless laugh, his voice raw.

“I don’t understand, Chan.” He pulled back slightly, eyes unfocused, his voice raspy and raw. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just…I wanted to be happy.” His voice cracked. “I wanted him.” The last word barely made it out. A pause. “Why can’t I have anything good?”

Chan’s chest tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. Then, quieter, “Why is that always too much?” Chan’s grip tightened slightly, but he still didn’t interrupt.

Hyunjin laughed weakly, but there was no humor in it. “I actually believed it this time,” he admitted. “That it could be… different.” His jaw clenched. “That I could be enough for someone.” He shook his head, sharper now. “Stupid.” Chan exhaled slowly through his nose.

He let Hyunjin keep talking; about Felix, about the way it felt easy with him, natural in a way nothing else ever had. About how it was supposed to be something real, something different. How he’d actually let himself believe it could work. How he’d been ready to let someone in for the first time in years. About how he’d been ready, actually ready, to let someone see him without the walls. That part stuck. Because Hyunjin didn’t do that. Ever. Because Hyunjin didn’t let people in. Not since high school.

And Felix… Felix had gotten closer than anyone else ever had. Which made this make even less sense. Which meant something wasn’t right. Chan frowned slightly, thinking back to every glance, every interaction, every small detail he’d noticed between them.

Felix hadn’t looked like someone who wanted out. If anything, he seemed like he wanted more, needed more of Hyunjin. The way Felix looked at Hyunjin, the way they fit without trying. It didn’t add up.“Hyunjin.” A beat.“Do you think he meant it?” Hyunjin stilled. “What?”

“What he said,” Chan clarified. “Do you think that was the whole truth?” Hyunjin hesitated; and that hesitation said everything. “I…” He swallowed. “I don’t know.” Chan nodded slowly. A pause settled between them. Then Hyunjin spoke again, quieter now.

“…Should I text him?” Chan didn’t answer right away.

“Hey,” Hyunjin muttered suddenly. Chan blinked, pulled from his thoughts. “Hm?”“I said… do you think I should text him?”

Chan hesitated. “I know he said not to,” Hyunjin continued, staring at nothing, voice uncertain. “But if I just explain…if I tell him I’m not going anywhere, that whatever it is we can figure it out, maybe he’ll-”

“No.”

The word was firm, but not harsh. “I don’t think you should. Not tonight.” Chan added softly. Hyunjin stilled.

“You’re not thinking clearly. Neither is he. Give it some time,” Chan said gently. “Let both of you breathe before you reach out again.” Hyunjin exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly.

“…Yeah.” Hyunjin murmured after a moment. “Yeah, that makes sense.” But he still looked lost. He still looked like he was holding onto something fragile.

“I just don’t understand,” he admitted. “He didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything that made it seem like this was coming.  There was nothing. No warning. No distance. He didn’t pull away, he just… ended it. It just…” He shook his head. “Came out of nowhere.” “That’s exactly what’s bothering me,” Chan said quietly. Hyunjin glanced at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”  

“When I watched you two together,” Chan continued, choosing his words carefully, “it made sense. You made sense. And I’m usually pretty good at reading people.” He paused.

“He felt the same way.” That hit hard. Hyunjin’s expression shifted; confusion, then something more cautious. “So what changed?” Hyunjin asked. Chan exhaled slowly and leaned back slightly, thinking.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But you said he never talks about his family, right?”Hyunjin nodded slowly.

“Then I don’t think this is about you,” Chan said cautiously. “I think something happened, and whatever it is, it scared him enough to shut this down before it got deeper.”

Hyunjin went quiet at that. Hyunjin’s chest tightened. Scared. Felix… scared? His mind shifted, something colder slipping in between the hurt.“…What if it’s not just fear?” he said slowly.

Chan’s gaze sharpened. “What are you thinking?” Hyunjin hesitated. “What if something happened?” he said. “Like…something he couldn’t tell me. Something or someone from our world got to him. What if…they found out?” The idea settled heavily between them. Chan studied him for a moment, then nodded once.

“…That would make more sense than this being random,” Chan admitted. Hyunjin’s hands curled slightly against his knees.

“…Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “I just… I hope he’s okay.” Chan studied him for a moment before speaking again.

“Would it help,” Chan said carefully, “if I kept an eye on him?” Hyunjin looked up, hesitating slightly. “Nothing obvious,” Chan added. “Just… make sure he’s okay. See if anything feels off.” Hyunjin went still.

Because now that the thought was there, it wouldn’t leave. The idea settled in his chest, heavy. If something had happened to Felix…if this wasn’t just rejection… If it was something worse… it made things more comprehensible. It made sense.

Felix’s silence.

The sudden distance.

The way none of it added up.

And beneath the hurt, something darker started to form.

Concern.

Suspicion.

“…Could you?” he asked finally, voice quieter.

Chan nodded once. “Yeah. I can.”

A pause.

“I’m telling you,” Chan added, his tone lower and more serious now, “there’s something off about this. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

Hyunjin swallowed.

His chest still ached, but now it wasn’t just heartbreak sitting there.

It was something sharper.

“I know,” he said.

And for the first time since Felix walked away, his thoughts weren’t just about being left.

They were about why.