Minwoo didn't come to practice.
Not the next day.
Not the day after that.
Not even when Hana begged him in the group chat.
He left one message.
> "Tell the fans I'm focusing on recovery. Tell Jae-hyun whatever he wants to hear."
Jae-hyun read it over and over until the words burned into the back of his eyelids.
He hadn't replied.
He didn't know what to say.
The studio had never felt so hollow.
---
FULL VOLUME GROUP CHAT:
Hana: we have the venue booked. rehearsal at 4PM
Hana: someone tell minwoo
Manager: we need all members present for final track testing
Hana: j a e ?
Jae-hyun: I'll ask
He didn't ask.
---
Jiho was the one who showed up early now.
He didn't gloat. Didn't say "I told you so." He just kept his distance, and occasionally looked over like he wanted to speak, but never did.
Even he knew this wasn't a victory.
Not when Jae-hyun looked like a ghost walking on autopilot.
---
They performed that night at a smaller event—just a warm-up for the concert. A stripped-down version.
Minwoo's part was muted. Covered by backup vocals.
Jae-hyun stood center stage, eyes scanning the crowd. But he wasn't looking for applause.
He was looking for someone who wasn't coming.
---
The moment he got off stage, he ran to the back exit.
Minwoo wasn't there.
But Jiho was.
He was leaning against the railing, smoking something cheap. Jae-hyun didn't say a word, just kept walking.
Jiho called out. "He watched the livestream, you know."
Jae-hyun froze.
Jiho shrugged. "Didn't say anything. Just turned it off halfway."
That was somehow worse than if Minwoo had thrown his phone or sent hate texts.
He stopped watching.
He gave up.
---
That night, Jae-hyun finally cracked.
He walked the whole way to Minwoo's place. The streetlights flickered. His jacket clung to him like a second skin, soaked from light rain.
He buzzed the door.
Nothing.
He texted.
> Please. Just five minutes. You can yell at me. Throw stuff. Anything. Just… answer.
Still nothing.
---
But from behind a window on the third floor, someone watched.
Minwoo didn't move.
Didn't open the blinds.
Didn't even pick up the crutches by his bedside.
He just stood there, arms wrapped around himself like armor.
Because if he let Jae-hyun in now, he knew he'd never stop letting him in.
And Minwoo wasn't sure his heart could take it anymore.
---
Back at the dorm, Jae-hyun unlocked the door with shaking hands.
On his bed was a single envelope.
No name. No stamp.
Inside was a printed photo.
A photo of him and Minwoo in the studio—unreleased, untagged, private. Minwoo's hand on his back. Jae-hyun mid-laugh.
On the back, written in thick, red ink:
> "So this is who I have to break."
He dropped it.
And for the first time in years, Eun Jae-hyun cried.