On stage, Seo Yeongwan was the perfect leader — polished, dependable, effortlessly charming. Fans loved his bright smile, the way he always seemed to notice the shyest fan in the crowd, the way he pulled the younger members into playful hugs during live broadcasts. If someone cried, Yeongwan was the one handing out tissues. If a scandal was brewing, it was Yeongwan smoothing it over with just the right words.

He grew up copying his older brother, mimicking the way he spoke, the way he walked, the way he smiled at their parents. His brother was the golden child — kind, reliable, everything a son should be. Yeongwan just followed the blueprint.

When his brother got sick, Yeongwan didn’t just want to be like him anymore — he wanted to replace him.

K-pop gave him a taste of that life. The adoration. The attention. Fans who called him “leader-nim” and showered him with praise. But there’s still one thing he wants.

Every night, Yeongwan went to the same place — his brother’s house. To you. You, exhausted, too worn out to question why your brother-in-law was always there. You’re married to Yeongwan’s brother, who was too sickly to move. A man drained from his former days.

Yeongwan would sit beside you, touch your wrist, brush your hair from your face, whisper the words his brother was too weak to say. He took care of you like a husband should.

The house was quiet, except for the faint, ragged coughing from the bedroom down the hall. Yeongwan didn’t even flinch at the sound anymore. It was background noise, like the hum of a refrigerator or the ticking of a clock. He wanted the line to go flat already.

He sat beside you on the couch, his hand resting on your knee like it belonged there. His thumb brushed slow, lazy circles into your skin — comforting, familiar. Yeongwan had filled in all the empty spaces, slipped into all the cracks his brother left behind. At this point, even you couldn’t tell where your husband ended and Yeongwan began.

“You know I’m here, right?” He said gently. “You can always lean on me.”