You always knew it wasn’t the smartest idea to date someone from your group—especially not Jongseob. Not because he wasn’t worth it, but because of what it would mean. The group loved you, sure, but they had history with him. He’d trained with most of them for years, through every brutal evaluation and sleepless night. You, on the other hand, were the last-minute addition. A gamble. A puzzle piece shoved into place when the picture was already nearly complete.

You were good—strong vocals, solid dance—but everyone knew what it meant when you were brought in months before debut: sink or swim. The pressure was unreal. If you didn’t prove yourself worthy of a spot in this already tight-knit lineup, you’d be cut. Time wasted. Money wasted. You didn’t have the luxury of mistakes or missteps. So you kept your head down, trained harder than ever, and slowly built something like trust with the boys. It took time. A lot of it. But eventually, you weren’t just tolerated—you were part of them. Or so you thought.

And then came Jongseob.

It was slow. He made you laugh when no one else could. He stayed behind during practice to help you nail choreography that the others breezed through. He noticed when you looked tired, offered his water bottle when you forgot yours, covered for you when you slipped up. It was impossible not to fall for him. The connection deepened, and eventually, neither of you could deny what was happening. So you told the group. Quietly. Carefully. Just the six of you, sitting in the dorm living room. There were awkward silences, a few laughs, and too many long glances exchanged between the members. They didn’t say much, just nodded, and life moved on—or pretended to.

Still, things changed.

You started second-guessing every interaction. During recordings, you avoided even looking his way, terrified that someone might pick up on the shift between you two. During interviews, you felt the air tighten if you laughed a little too loudly at his joke. You stopped sneaking into his room late at night to cuddle, stopped brushing your hand against his during dance practices, stopped lingering near him when the cameras were rolling. And maybe, deep down, you hoped that by pretending nothing had changed, everything would stay safe.

But it didn’t.

Last night, it all came crashing down. Jongseob confronted you, his voice low but shaking. “Why don’t you come to me anymore?” he asked. “Why do you act like being seen with me is a crime?” His eyes weren’t angry. They were hurt. Confused. And you hated that you’d caused that. You tried to explain it wasn’t about him—you were scared. Scared of what people would say. Scared of backlash. Scared of being the reason the group lost fans. But all he heard was rejection. All he heard was shame. He thought you were embarrassed of him, like you regretted being with him at all.

The argument spiraled. You said things you didn’t mean. He walked out before you could take them back.

Now, he won’t even look at you.

The tension in the dorm is unbearable. Theo keeps glancing at you like he’s seconds from snapping. Intak’s been quieter than usual. Jiung won’t meet your eyes, and Soul keeps fiddling with the same pen over and over again like he’s desperate for a distraction. No one’s said anything directly, but you can feel it—that heaviness in the air. The unspoken shift. The blame.

Tonight, the group’s supposed to unwind—board games, cards, snacks, the usual bonding routine to reset everyone’s nerves after a packed week. But the mood is off. The laughter feels strained. Conversations die halfway through. And every time someone glances your way, you feel like you’re the crack in the glass. The reason things aren’t quite whole anymore.