Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights in the practice room had been buzzing for the past twenty minutes, and it was starting to drive Hongjoong insane.
He tried to focus on the choreography, watching Yunho and San run through the bridge section for the fifteenth time, but that persistent electrical hum kept pulling his attention away. His eye twitched.
San's movements were fluid as always, his body rolling through the motions with that effortless grace that made everything look easy even though Hongjoong knew how much work went into it. Yunho moved beside him like a mirror image, their heights perfectly complementing each other in the formation. They'd been working on this section for over an hour, adjusting the timing, making sure their movements were perfectly synchronized.
"One more time," San said, breathing hard but determined. "I think I'm rushing the turn."
"You're not," Yunho assured him, but he reset to the starting position anyway. They knew better than to argue when San got that particular look in his eyes—the one that said he wouldn't be satisfied until it was perfect.
Hongjoong watched them from his spot against the mirror, feeling the vibration of the bass through his back. The other members were scattered around the room in various states of exhaustion. Mingi was lying flat on the floor near the speakers, one arm thrown over his eyes. Jongho was sitting cross-legged in the corner, scrolling through his phone but occasionally glancing up to watch the others practice. Wooyoung had been pacing for the past five minutes, restless energy radiating off him despite the hours they'd already put in.
And Seonghwa—Seonghwa was standing near the sound system, monitoring the music with that focused intensity he brought to everything. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, blonde strands escaping around his face. He'd been wearing that expression for most of practice, the one where his eyebrows drew together slightly and he unconsciously chewed on his bottom lip. Hongjoong had kissed that expression off his face more times than he could count.
The thought came unbidden, and Hongjoong felt warmth bloom in his chest. Two years since debut, and sometimes he still couldn't quite believe they'd made this work—all seven of them, this complicated beautiful thing they'd built together. It hadn't been easy. There had been long conversations, careful navigation of feelings, moments of jealousy and insecurity that they'd worked through together. But they'd made it work because the alternative—not being together, not having all of this—was unthinkable.
"Hyung, you okay?" Wooyoung asked, pausing mid-movement to look at him. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, clinging to his frame, and his hair was pushed back from his face with a headband that was definitely Yunho's.
"The light," Hongjoong said flatly, pointing up.
Everyone stopped to listen. Sure enough, the buzz was unmistakable, a high-pitched electrical whine that seemed to drill directly into his skull.
"Oh my god, I can't unhear it now," Mingi groaned, covering his ears dramatically. He sat up, face scrunched in displeasure. "Thanks for that, hyung. Really appreciate it."
"I'll text maintenance," Seonghwa said, already pulling out his phone. He typed quickly, thumb moving across the screen with practiced ease. "They should be able to send someone up."
"How long do you think it'll take?" San asked, finally stopping the choreography. He walked over to where Yunho was standing, and their hands found each other automatically, fingers interlacing. It was such a casual gesture, so natural that Hongjoong doubted they even realized they were doing it anymore.
"Knowing our luck? Could be an hour," Seonghwa replied, hitting send and pocketing his phone. "Could be five minutes. Could be never."
"Optimistic as always," Wooyoung teased, walking over to bump his shoulder against Seonghwa's. "It's one of the things we love about you."
Seonghwa's lips quirked up in a small smile, and he reached out to tug on a strand of Wooyoung's hair. "Someone has to balance out your delusions of grandeur."
"Delusions? Delusions?!" Wooyoung clutched his chest dramatically. "I'll have you know every grand thought I have is completely justified."
Jongho flopped onto the floor, stretching his legs out. "Break time anyway. We've been going for three hours."
"Three hours and twenty minutes," Yunho corrected, checking his watch. He was always precise about time, something that drove Wooyoung crazy and that Hongjoong deeply appreciated. When you were running on schedules as tight as theirs, every minute mattered.
"Nobody asked, walking timer," Wooyoung said, but there was affection in his voice. He dropped down next to Jongho, immediately poking at the younger's leg. "You know what your problem is?"
"That you won't leave me alone?"
"You're too accurate. It's unsettling."
"Stop that."
"Make me."
"I'm too tired to make you do anything."
"Then suffer."
Hongjoong watched them with fond exasperation. This was normal—the banter, the exhaustion, the way they could switch from intense professionalism to complete chaos in seconds. Two years since debut and some things never changed. The teasing, the casual touches, the way they gravitated toward each other like planets in orbit—it was all still there, maybe even stronger than before.
He remembered the early days, right after debut, when they'd all been so careful with each other. Trying to figure out boundaries, what was okay, what was too much. Hongjoong had been terrified of messing it up, of his feelings for all of them somehow damaging the group. But then there had been that night after their first music show win, all of them piled in the dorm living room, high on adrenaline and disbelief, and someone had kissed someone else (Hongjoong still wasn't sure who started it), and then suddenly they were all kissing, all tangled together, and it had felt so right that the fear had melted away.
They'd talked about it the next morning. Talked for hours, actually. Established rules, boundaries, made sure everyone was on the same page. Made sure everyone wanted this, all of this, with all of them. It had been Seonghwa who'd said it first: "I don't want to choose. I don't think any of us do." And he'd been right.
San walked over to the mirror, peering at his reflection critically. He lifted his shirt to check his abs, frowning slightly at whatever he saw there.
"You look fine," Seonghwa said without looking up from his phone, though Hongjoong could see the slight smile playing at his lips.
"I didn't say anything!"
"You were thinking loudly."
San pouted but dropped his shirt. He caught Hongjoong's eye in the mirror and grinned sheepishly. Hongjoong just shook his head, smiling. San's insecurity about his body was something they all tried to reassure him about, though some days were harder than others. He looked perfect—they all thought so—but Hongjoong understood the pressure, the constant scrutiny, the way every photo could be picked apart by thousands of people online.
His own reflection looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes from another late night in the studio, and his hair was getting too long again, falling into his eyes. He needed a haircut. He needed sleep. He needed about forty-eight hours to work on the tracks that were living rent-free in his brain. The melodies kept circling, demanding attention, and he couldn't quite figure out what they were trying to tell him.
"Hyung, drink water," Mingi said, tossing him a bottle.
Hongjoong caught it reflexively. "Thanks."
"You're doing that thing where you zone out and forget about basic human needs." Mingi stood up, stretching his long limbs. His shirt rode up, exposing a strip of stomach, and Hongjoong looked away before he got distracted. They had a meeting soon. Focus.
"I am not."
"You are," all six of them chorused, and Hongjoong felt his cheeks heat slightly at the unified call-out.
He rolled his eyes but obediently drank the water. It was cold and perfect, and he hadn't realized how thirsty he was until it was sliding down his throat. The bottle was already half-empty by the time he lowered it, and Mingi looked smug.
"See? You were dying."
"Dramatic."
"Accurate," Yunho chimed in, and San nodded in agreement.
Seonghwa walked over, his approach quiet but purposeful. He stopped in front of Hongjoong and reached out, fingers gentle as they brushed the hair out of Hongjoong's eyes. The touch was casual, automatic, the kind of thing they did for each other constantly now. But it still made something warm unfurl in Hongjoong's chest.
"You need a trim," Seonghwa said softly.
"I know. Haven't had time."
"Make time. You'll feel better." Seonghwa's thumb traced along Hongjoong's cheekbone, so light it was almost not there. "You're running yourself into the ground again."
"I'm fine."
"Hongjoong."
The way Seonghwa said his name—patient but firm, loving but concerned—made Hongjoong sigh. "I know. I'll ease up."
"Will you?"
"I'll try."
"Good enough." Seonghwa's hand dropped, but not before his fingers squeezed Hongjoong's shoulder gently. It was a promise, a reminder: I'm watching you. We're all watching you. You're not alone in this.
Hongjoong finished the water and checked his phone, squinting at the screen. "We should probably call it. We have that meeting with CEO-nim in an hour."
Groans echoed around the room, loud and theatrical.
"I forgot about that," Wooyoung said, face-planting into the floor with a thud that had to hurt.
"How did you forget? It's been on the schedule for two weeks," Jongho pointed out, looking at Wooyoung with that particular expression of fond disbelief he seemed to reserve for his hyung's antics.
"Selective memory. It's a gift." Wooyoung's voice was muffled by the floor.
"More like a curse for the rest of us who have to remind you of things," Mingi muttered, but he walked over and nudged Wooyoung with his foot. "Come on, get up. You're gonna get floor germs in your mouth."
"Bold of you to assume my mouth isn't already full of germs."
"Please never say anything like that again."
Wooyoung finally lifted his head, grinning. "You love me."
"Debatable," Mingi said, but he offered Wooyoung a hand up. When Wooyoung took it, Mingi pulled him up easily, and they stood there for a moment, hands clasped, before Wooyoung pulled Mingi into a quick hug.
"You definitely love me," Wooyoung said into Mingi's shoulder.
"Unfortunately," Mingi replied, but his arms came around Wooyoung and held on tight.
They gathered their things slowly, bodies protesting after hours of dancing. Hongjoong's knees hurt—a dull, persistent ache that he was getting used to. Dancer's knees, their physical therapist called it. Occupational hazard. He'd been doing the exercises she recommended, icing when he remembered, but some days it just hurt and there wasn't much to be done about it except push through.
San was limping slightly, favoring his left ankle, and Yunho noticed immediately. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just tweaked it a little during that last run. It's nothing."
"Let me see." Yunho's voice had taken on that particular tone—gentle but brooking no argument. San sighed but sat down on the floor, and Yunho knelt beside him, careful fingers probing at San's ankle through his sock.
"Does this hurt?"
"A little."
"This?"
"No."
"Okay. Ice it when we get back, and tell me if it gets worse." Yunho looked up at San, and something passed between them—a whole conversation in a glance. San nodded, and Yunho leaned in to press a quick kiss to his forehead before standing up.
These moments—the casual intimacy, the care they showed each other—still took Hongjoong's breath away sometimes. The fact that they could have this, could be this for each other, felt like a miracle some days.
"What do you think the meeting's about?" Yunho asked as they gathered their bags and headed toward the showers. The practice room felt bigger with just their voices echoing off the mirrors, no music to fill the space.
"Probably comeback schedule," Seonghwa guessed. He had his bag slung over one shoulder and was carrying Hongjoong's without being asked, something Hongjoong had long since given up arguing about. "We're supposed to start preparing soon."
"Or another variety show," San suggested, hopping along beside Yunho. "We've been getting a lot of requests."
"I liked the last one we did," Jongho said. "The cooking one. Even though Wooyoung almost burned down the kitchen."
"That was ONE TIME, and it was a very small fire."
"Fire is fire, hyung."
"You're supposed to be on my side!"
"I'm on the side of truth and justice."
"So dramatic," Wooyoung muttered, but he was smiling. He reached out to ruffle Jongho's hair, and Jongho let him, which was its own kind of victory.
"As long as it's not another survival show," Mingi said, and everyone agreed emphatically. They'd done their time on survival shows, paid their dues, and none of them were eager to repeat the experience.
Hongjoong thought about the tracks he'd been working on, the concepts floating around in his head. He'd been trying to figure out a direction for their next album, but nothing felt quite right yet. Everything was good, but good wasn't enough. He wanted something special. Something that would show their growth, push them to new heights, prove they belonged in the conversations happening about the industry's top groups.
The pressure was constant, a weight he carried in his chest. They were doing well—better than well, if he was honest—but there was always another level to reach, always someone else to prove themselves to. And as the leader, as their primary producer, so much of that fell on his shoulders.
Sometimes he wondered if the others understood how much he wanted this for them. Not just for himself, but for all of them. They deserved everything.
The showers were quick—they'd gotten the timing down to a science. Fifteen minutes later, they were all relatively presentable, damp hair and fresh clothes, making their way to the top floor where the executive offices were.
The locker room had been full of the usual chaos—Wooyoung singing loudly and off-key, Mingi complaining about the water temperature, San and Yunho taking turns with the good showerhead. Hongjoong had let the hot water beat down on his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension that had taken up permanent residence in his muscles.
When he'd emerged, Seonghwa had been waiting, holding out a towel. These little gestures—they happened constantly, all of them taking care of each other in small ways. Jongho making sure everyone ate. Yunho monitoring their schedules and making sure they got enough sleep. Mingi's terrible jokes that could make any of them laugh even on the worst days. Wooyoung's ability to lighten any mood. San's quiet check-ins, always knowing when someone was struggling even if they didn't say it.
The building was busy at this time of day. Trainees hurried past, bowing respectfully. Staff members moved with purpose, arms full of papers or phones pressed to their ears. Someone was singing in one of the vocal practice rooms, voice muffled through the door but beautiful nonetheless. Hongjoong caught a few words—a ballad, something melancholic and aching—before they moved past.
This was their world. Sometimes Hongjoong still couldn't believe it. Four years ago, he'd been a broke teenager sleeping on a studio floor, convinced he'd never make it, too stubborn to give up but terrified it would all fall apart. Now he was here, leading seven people he loved more than anything, making music that people actually listened to, living a dream that had seemed impossible.
"You're thinking too loud again," Mingi said quietly, falling into step beside him. Their shoulders bumped, a casual touch that grounded Hongjoong in the present.
"Just thinking about how far we've come."
"Getting sentimental on us, hyung?"
"Maybe."
Mingi's hand found his, fingers interlacing briefly before letting go. Just a moment of contact, a reminder: we're here. We made it. Together.
The CEO's assistant greeted them with a smile. "They're ready for you. Conference room three."
"They?" Wooyoung whispered as they walked, eyes wide with curiosity. He was bouncing slightly, that nervous energy that overtook him before important meetings.
Hongjoong shrugged, but his stomach tightened slightly. Multiple people meant it was something bigger than a simple schedule update. He caught Seonghwa's eye, saw his own concern reflected there, and something in him settled slightly. Whatever this was, they'd handle it together.
Conference room three was spacious, with a large table and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Seoul sprawled out below them, glittering in the late afternoon sun, and Hongjoong took a moment to appreciate the view. Their CEO was there, along with their head producer, their creative director, and a few other staff members Hongjoong recognized but didn't work with regularly. The atmosphere was professional but not tense, which was a good sign.
"ATEEZ," the CEO greeted warmly, gesturing to the chairs. "Please, sit. Thank you for coming."
They settled around the table, and Hongjoong noticed the way everyone's posture automatically straightened, becoming more professional. Seonghwa folded his hands on the table, that perfect picture of composure. Yunho stopped fidgeting with his watch. Even Wooyoung's expression became more focused, the playfulness tucked away for now.
This was part of what they did—the switching between versions of themselves, the professional faces they wore for meetings like this. It wasn't fake, exactly. It was just... different. The same way they were different on stage, in front of cameras, than they were alone in the dorm at three in the morning.
"I wanted to talk to you about the direction for your next album," the CEO began, and Hongjoong felt his attention sharpen immediately. This was it—the thing he'd been waiting for, stressing about, losing sleep over. "We've been discussing internally, and we have some thoughts. But first, I want to hear from you. Hongjoong, you've been working on material. What are you thinking?"
Hongjoong appreciated being asked. Not all companies valued their artists' input like this, and he never took it for granted. He knew groups whose labels controlled every aspect of their music, who weren't allowed creative input at all. The fact that he got to produce for ATEEZ, that his vision mattered—it was a gift.
"I've been experimenting with different sounds," he said carefully, choosing his words. "Trying to find something that feels like growth but still authentically us. I have about fifteen demos in various stages, but nothing that feels like the title track yet. I keep coming close, but there's something missing. I can feel it, I just can't... find it."
The creative director nodded, and Hongjoong saw understanding in her expression. She'd been in the industry for decades, had worked on countless albums. She knew the struggle of chasing a sound that lived in your head but wouldn't translate to reality.
"That's actually perfect timing," she said. "We've been considering bringing in outside collaboration for this album."
"Like featured artists?" San asked, leaning forward slightly. His eyes were bright with interest.
"Potentially. Or production collaboration. We want this album to showcase your versatility, push you into new territory while maintaining what makes you distinctive." She pulled out a tablet, swiping through what looked like charts and data. "Your last album performed well, but we think you're ready for the next level. To get there, sometimes fresh perspective helps."
"Who were you thinking?" Seonghwa asked, and Hongjoong heard the careful diplomacy in his voice. Seonghwa was good at this—the political side of their career, reading between lines, knowing when to push and when to wait.
The CEO and producer exchanged glances, and Hongjoong's radar pinged. There was something they weren't saying yet.
"We're still in very preliminary discussions," the CEO said. "Nothing is confirmed yet. We wanted to gauge your interest first. How would you feel about working with established producers? Maybe some international collaboration?"
International. The word hung in the air, heavy with possibility. International meant Western markets, meant English lyrics, meant a kind of exposure they'd only dreamed about. But it also meant compromise, meant adapting their sound, meant risks.
"I'm always open to learning from other producers," Hongjoong said honestly, feeling the weight of six pairs of eyes on him. This was his domain—the music, the production. They trusted him to make the right calls. "As long as we still maintain creative input. I don't want to just be handed tracks to perform. I want to be part of the creation process."
"Of course. This would be collaborative, not dictatorial," the producer assured him. "We've seen what you can do, Hongjoong. We're not trying to replace you. We're trying to enhance what you already bring to the table."
The knot in Hongjoong's chest loosened slightly. "Then yes. I'm interested."
"We all are," Seonghwa added, and the others nodded. Wooyoung looked excited, practically vibrating in his seat. Mingi looked cautiously optimistic. San and Yunho were having one of their silent conversations, and apparently reached agreement because they both turned back to the table with matching expressions of determination.
They spent the next hour discussing concepts, timelines, potential sounds. The creative director showed them some reference tracks—Western producers they'd been in contact with, styles that might complement ATEEZ's existing sound. Some of it was interesting, some of it made Hongjoong want to immediately start working, and some of it he wasn't sure about at all.
But that was okay. This was just the beginning.
They talked about visuals too—potential concept directions, the story they wanted to tell. Dark and dramatic versus bright and energetic. Growth and maturity versus youthful rebellion. The balance they always walked between appealing to their existing fans and attracting new ones.
"I think we can be darker," Jongho said at one point, speaking up for the first time. "Not like, depressing. But more mature. We're not rookies anymore."
"I agree," Hongjoong said, and saw the way Jongho's shoulders straightened slightly at the validation. "I think our fans are ready for us to evolve."
Mingi had thoughts about choreography—wanting to showcase their individual strengths more while maintaining group cohesion. Wooyoung wanted more opportunities for vocal runs, showing off what they could do technically. San wanted concepts that let them act, tell stories through their performances.
Hongjoong's mind was racing, already spinning possibilities. If they brought in outside producers, someone with a different perspective, it could be exactly what they needed to push to the next level. Someone who could hear what he was trying to do and help him get there, who could add elements he hadn't considered.
It was exciting. Terrifying, but exciting.
"We'll keep you updated as discussions progress," the CEO said as the meeting wound down. The sun had shifted, painting the conference room in golden light. "In the meantime, keep working on those demos, Hongjoong. The rest of you, start thinking about what kind of growth you want to show as performers. What stories you want to tell. We'll reconvene in two weeks with more concrete information."
They filed out, buzzing with energy despite their earlier exhaustion. The elevator was crowded, all of them pressed together, and Hongjoong felt Seonghwa's hand at the small of his back, steadying.
"International collaboration," Yunho said excitedly once the doors closed. "That could be huge."
"If it happens," Jongho cautioned, ever the realist. "They said preliminary."
"Still. Imagine." Yunho's eyes were distant, already seeing possibilities. "We could actually break through in the US market. Europe. It could change everything."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Seonghwa said gently. "But yes. It's exciting."
Wooyoung was practically bouncing. "Do you think they mean like, really famous producers? Like Grammy-winning people?"
"Maybe," Hongjoong said. "They didn't give specifics."
"That's because they don't want us to be disappointed if it falls through," Mingi pointed out.
"Why are you all so pessimistic?" Wooyoung demanded. "This is amazing news! We should be celebrating!"
"We will celebrate," San said, smiling at Wooyoung's enthusiasm. "Once we know what we're actually celebrating."
The elevator opened on their floor, and they headed toward the parking garage. Most of the staff had left for the day, the building quieter now. Their manager was waiting by the van, scrolling through his phone.
"How was the meeting?" he asked as they approached.
"Good," Hongjoong said. "Really good, actually. We'll fill you in."
The drive back to the dorm was filled with chatter, everyone talking over each other, excitement and speculation blending together. Hongjoong let it wash over him, content to listen. His mind was already elsewhere, thinking about the demos sitting on his laptop, wondering which ones might work with outside collaboration.
When they got back to the dorm, someone ordered chicken—Wooyoung's choice, which meant it came with way too much beer and not enough pickled radish. They spread out across the living room, eating straight from the containers, the TV playing something nobody was really watching.
This was home. Not the building, not the dorm itself, but this—all of them together, comfortable and easy, the masks they wore for the world set aside. Mingi's legs thrown over Yunho's lap. San feeding Wooyoung pieces of chicken even though Wooyoung was perfectly capable of feeding himself. Jongho stealing the best pieces from everyone's containers. Seonghwa sitting close enough to Hongjoong that their shoulders touched.
"I call shower first," Wooyoung announced through a mouthful of food.
"You always call shower first," Jongho protested.
"That's because I'm smart and you're slow."
"I'm going to put your favorite moisturizer in the trash."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
Hongjoong smiled, feeling the tension from earlier finally starting to drain away. The meeting had been good. Stressful, but good. And now they were here, together, and that was what mattered.
His phone buzzed. A text from their choreographer: *Tomorrow 10 AM. Be on time.* Hongjoong showed it to the others, earning a chorus of groans.
"Ten?" Wooyoung whined. "That's so early."
"That's literally normal time," Yunho said.
"For you, maybe. Some of us are nocturnal."
"Nocturnal implies you're productive at night," Mingi pointed out. "You just scroll through social media."
"Productive," Wooyoung insisted. "I'm staying updated on current events."
"You're looking at memes."
"Memes ARE current events!"
Hongjoong let them bicker, warmth spreading through his chest. Yeah. This was home.
Later, after showers (Wooyoung did go first, the bastard) and the chaos of seven people trying to use three bathrooms had settled, Hongjoong found himself back in his studio. He hadn't meant to come here—he'd planned on actually going to bed at a reasonable hour for once. But his feet had carried him here anyway, pulled by the gravity of unfinished work.
The studio was his sanctuary. Small, cramped, equipment filling every available surface, but it was his. The walls were covered in notes, lyric sheets, concept sketches. Photos of the members at various stages—pre-debut, after their first win, candid shots from practices and shows. A reminder of why he did this.
He pulled up his demos and listened with fresh ears. What would an outside producer hear? What could they add? What was he missing?
The first track was too safe, he decided. The second had potential but needed work on the bridge. The third was almost there, but the production felt cluttered. He made notes, adjusting levels, trying different arrangements.
His phone buzzed periodically with messages from the group chat, but he was too absorbed to check properly. Just glanced long enough to see they were talking about tomorrow's practice, some joke he didn't have context for, Wooyoung sending increasingly ridiculous selfies.
He worked until his eyes were burning, until the tracks started blending together in his head. At some point he looked up and realized it was 3 AM, and he had practice in seven hours, and he definitely needed sleep.
Saving his progress, he shut down the system and stretched, feeling his spine pop in several places. His neck hurt. His shoulders were tight. The beginnings of a headache pulsed behind his eyes.
Worth it, he thought. It was always worth it.
When he finally stumbled back to the dorm, key fumbling in the lock because his hands were shaking with exhaustion, Seonghwa was still awake. He was sitting in the living room with a book, soft lamp light making his hair look almost white.
"You should sleep," Seonghwa said quietly, not looking up from the page.
"So should you."
"I'm not the one with a meeting at nine tomorrow."
Hongjoong grimaced. He'd forgotten about that—another meeting, this one with their stylist team about comeback concepts. "Set an alarm for me?"
"Already done. Go to bed, Joong." Seonghwa finally looked up, and his expression was gentle but concerned. "You're going to burn out."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." Seonghwa set his book aside and stood, crossing the space between them. His hands came up to cup Hongjoong's face, thumbs brushing under his eyes where Hongjoong knew the shadows had taken up permanent residence. "But I know you won't stop, so I'm just going to keep reminding you to take care of yourself. And keep setting alarms. And making sure you eat. And all the other things you forget when you get like this."
Hongjoong leaned into the touch, letting his eyes close. "Thank you."
"Always." Seonghwa pressed a kiss to his forehead, gentle and grounding. "Now bed. Actually bed, not studio."
"Actually bed," Hongjoong agreed.
Seonghwa walked him to his room, made sure he actually got into bed and pulled the covers up. It was so domestic it made Hongjoong's chest ache. How had he gotten this lucky? How had any of them?
"Sleep, Joong," Seonghwa whispered, fingers carding through Hongjoong's hair one last time before he turned to leave.
Hongjoong went, but sleep didn't come easily. His mind was too active, possibilities spinning endlessly.
International collaboration. New producers. A chance to show what they could really do.
This next album felt important. He could feel it in his bones, in the way his heart raced when he thought about it, in the melodies that wouldn't leave him alone.
He just didn't know why yet.
But he would figure it out. He always did. And he wouldn't be doing it alone—he had seven people who loved him, who trusted him, who would be there every step of the way.
The thought was comforting enough that eventually, finally, he drifted off.
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