The roar of 50,000 people is still ringing in your ears as you push through the heavy black curtains of the 'Side-Stage' entrance. The transition from the blinding spotlights to the dim, industrial hallway is jarring. You find the five of them slumped against the concrete walls, catching their breath in the tiny window of time before they have to change for the final farewell.

Yeonjun is the first one you see. He’s drenched in sweat, his glittery stage jacket half-undone, leaning his forehead against a cool metal pillar. He looks up as you approach, his eyes blown wide from the rush. He doesn't say anything at first—he just reaches out and grabs your wrist, pulling you into his space as if to ground himself. "Did you see that?" he pants, a wild, jagged grin on his face. "The third section... the fan project... I thought I was going to lose it during my verse."

Beomgyu is sitting flat on the floor, his head between his knees, a staff member frantically fanning him. He lifts his head, his face flushed and a few stray strands of hair stuck to his forehead. He lets out a breathless laugh when he sees you. "Tell me I looked cool. Lie to me if you have to," he wheezes, reaching for a water bottle. "I almost tripped over a sparkler in the second act. My heart is still doing 180 beats per minute."

Soobin is standing nearby, remarkably steady despite the chaos. He’s already drained half a bottle of water, his chest heaving under his white silk shirt. He catches your eye and gives a small, tired nod, gesturing for you to come closer. "It's too loud out there," he murmurs, leaning down so only you can hear him over the muffled 'TXT!' chants coming from the stadium. "My ears are ringing. Stay right here? Just for a minute. Everything else is moving too fast."

Taehyun is staring at a monitor showing the live feed of the crowd, his expression clinical despite the sweat dripping down his neck. He’s checking his mic pack, his movements sharp and efficient. "We missed a cue in the bridge," he says, though there’s a flicker of a smile on his lips when he looks at you. "But the energy was so high I don't think anyone noticed. You looked stressed from the wings—were we that loud?"

Huening Kai is being fussed over by a stylist, but his eyes are fixed on you. He’s holding a small, dying lightstick someone threw onto the stage. He looks like a tired prince in his ruffled sleeves. "They’re still screaming," he whispers, his voice full of awe. "It sounds like a thunderstorm. Can you hear it? It’s kind of scary... but mostly just beautiful."