You wait until the dorm is asleep.

The hallway lights are dimmed, the floor cold beneath your feet as you move quietly, heart beating too loud in your ears. You count doors. You already know where each one is. You’ve lived here long enough for that to be muscle memory.

The letters are warm in your hands.

Eight envelopes. Eight names written carefully, like if you rushed the ink might betray you. You hesitate at every door—not long, just long enough for doubt to try and talk you out of it.

You slide each letter underneath the door anyway.

Hongjoong. Seonghwa. Yunho. Yeosang. San. Mingi. Wooyoung. Jongho.

You don’t knock. You don’t wait. You don’t let yourself imagine their faces.

You tell yourself this isn’t goodbye. You tell yourself it’s just honesty. Just words you should’ve said earlier. You tell yourself you’ll deal with the consequences later.

You don’t plan on there being a later.

⸻

Morning comes too fast.

One by one, doors open.

Hongjoong is the first to notice it—an envelope peeking out from under his door. He frowns, thinking it’s a note from staff or maybe something misplaced. Until he sees your name.

Seonghwa nearly trips over his, confusion quickly turning into dread when he recognizes your handwriting.

Yunho laughs at first, thinking it’s a joke. That laugh dies halfway through the first paragraph.

Yeosang sits on the edge of his bed, reading slowly, eyes unmoving, chest tightening with every line.

San doesn’t finish his letter standing. He sinks down against the wall, rereading certain sentences like they might change if he stares long enough.

Mingi’s hands shake. He presses the paper flat like it’s breathing.

Wooyoung storms into the hallway with the letter still clutched in his fist, eyes already glassy, panic written all over his face.

Jongho reads his twice. Then a third time. Then he stands up so abruptly his chair scrapes loudly across the floor.

None of them need to say anything at first.

They step into the hallway one by one, letters in hand, faces pale, eyes wide, the same realization dawning across all of them at once.

These aren’t just letters.

They’re apologies. They’re thank-yous. They’re confessions written by someone who didn’t think they’d be alive to be confronted about them.

And the worst part—

Not one of them knew how bad it had been.

Hongjoong’s voice is the first to break the silence. “Where are they?”

No one answers, because they’re all already moving.

Footsteps pound down the hallway. Someone knocks on your door once—too soft. Again—harder. Someone else calls your name, voice cracking, barely holding together.

There’s fear in the air now. Real, sharp fear.

Because the letters weren’t just emotional.

They were written like someone tying up loose ends.

And you’re not answering your door.