The streets of Seoul were quieter than usual, swallowed in the thick winter fog. The streetlights cut through the darkness in pale cones, casting long, lonely shadows on the pavement. Chan’s breath came out in short, white bursts as he jogged down the road, his sneakers slapping against the cold asphalt. His phone buzzed uselessly in his pocket. Minho hadn’t picked up a single call.

“Where the hell are you…” Chan muttered, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

Then he saw him.

Minho was slumped against a streetlamp, legs sprawled out like he’d just given up halfway through walking home. His head tilted back lazily, eyes half-shut, the faintest smile curling his lips as if he found something funny about the freezing night air.

Chan let out a breath that was half relief, half exasperation, and walked over. “You idiot,” he said, crouching down beside him. “Do you know how cold it is? You’re gonna freeze out here.”

Minho blinked slowly, then turned his head with a drunken grin. “Hyung,” he slurred, voice hoarse but oddly cheerful. “The lights… they look like stars.”