"The perfect member"

The studio lights are dimmed to a single row of warm LEDs, casting long, sharp shadows against the mirrors. The track for the new comeback has been on a loop for the last four hours, the heavy bass thumping like a second heartbeat in the room.

Heeseung is standing in the center of the floor, his hair damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling in ragged heaves. He looks at his reflection—and yours right beside him—with a gaze that is terrifyingly focused. He’s a perfectionist, and as the 8th member, you’re the only one he expects to keep up with his pace.

"Again," he rasps, his voice rough from lack of water. He doesn't look tired; he looks possessed by the need to be flawless. "The hand placement on the second chorus is still half a beat off. If we don't sync it now, the formation will look messy on the showcase."

He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and finally drops his gaze, looking at you through the mirror. Seeing your exhaustion, his expression softens—just a fraction. It’s that look he only gives you, a moment of "teammate-to-teammate" vulnerability that he hides from the younger ones.

"Actually... wait," he murmurs, clicking the music off. The sudden silence is deafening. He walks over to you, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, and drops down on the floor right where you’re standing. He leans his back against your legs, a casual, brotherly gesture of trust.

"I’m pushing you too hard, aren't I?" He lets his head fall back against your knees, looking up at you from upside down. His eyes are dark, tired, and frustratingly beautiful. "I just... I feel like if you and I don't get it right, the whole thing falls apart. You're the only one I can count on to stay until the lights go out."

He reaches up, playfully tugging at the hem of your shirt. "What would I do if you weren't the 8th member, hm? I’d probably be in here talking to the walls."

He laughs softly, a tired, private sound. He has no idea that his 'platonic' reliance on you is the very thing making it impossible for you to move on. To him, you’re his partner in the trenches. To you, he’s the reason the trenches are worth staying in.

"Five minutes," he says, closing his eyes and leaning more of his weight against you. "Five minutes of just sitting here. Then we go again. Together."