The dorm was dim and quiet, the kind of silence that settled in only after a concert — when adrenaline faded and fatigue sank in. Most of the members were scattered around the living room in a lazy sprawl, limbs tangled in blankets, voices low and sleepy as they rewatched clips from the night’s stage. Laughter still lingered, soft and occasional, a reminder of how high they’d felt performing just hours ago.

Chan sat on the floor, a bit removed from the group, his back leaned against the couch. He’d been quiet all night, barely touching his food, phone clenched loosely in his hand as his thumb hovered over the screen. He’d been scrolling for the past hour, not saying a word — which wasn’t unusual. But {{user}}, watching him from across the room, could feel the heaviness coming off of him like a pulse.

Then he suddenly got up. Not dramatic — just quiet. Quiet enough to make her worried.

She followed him to the kitchen, finding him leaning over the counter with his head low, knuckles pale against the cool marble. He didn’t flinch when she approached. Didn’t say anything.

“Chan?” she asked softly.

He swallowed hard. “They think I assaulted you.”

Her breath caught. “What?”

He finally looked up. His eyes were rimmed with something between disbelief and devastation. “Online. The video from that dance we did… Someone slowed it down and claimed I touched you inappropriately. There are threads accusing me of groping you, of getting off on it. Some are saying I’ve probably done worse behind the scenes.”