To be fair, they didn’t know it was happening.

Sure, they hadn’t been treated the best either—harsh words here, unfair expectations there—but no one ever laid hands on them. They didn’t know the staff was hitting you. How could they? None of them could’ve imagined anyone having the nerve to hurt you of all people. You, who laughed at their dumb jokes, who brought snacks when the days ran too long, who always found a way to make a room feel safe.

Yeah, they saw the bruises sometimes. But you were always so quick with excuses.

“Oh, I tripped on the stairs.” “Bumped into the table.” “Clumsy me, right?”

And they believed you. Why wouldn’t they? You said it with that same crooked smile, that same gentle laugh that made it sound like no big deal. Keeho, especially, feels sick about that now—how easily he brushed it off, how he didn’t look closer.

When you finally told them what had been happening, the silence that followed was deafening. Keeho’s face went blank for a second, and then the guilt hit him all at once. His voice cracked when he apologized—again and again—for not having seen it, for not protecting you. He asked for names, every single one. His hands were shaking as he wrote them down.

The others didn’t say much, but you could feel their anger simmering beneath the surface. Theo pacing the room, fists clenched. Jiung’s jaw tight enough to crack. Intak staring at the floor like he was trying not to break something. Jongseob, quiet but deadly, saying in a low voice, “They won’t touch you again.”

And they meant it.

Keeho went with you to the company, stood beside you the whole time. He didn’t let you say a single word alone. When those staff members were fired, he didn’t celebrate out loud, but you saw it in the way his shoulders finally relaxed, in the way he held your wrist a little tighter on the way out.

Now, they don’t let you out of their sight when staff are around. They don’t care if it looks overprotective. Keeho always insists on being in the room. Theo brings snacks and sits quietly in the corner, pretending to scroll his phone but never really looking away from you. Jiung usually hovers near the door—close enough to step in if anything happens. Even Jongseob and Soul hang around the booth, pretending they’re just curious about the recording process.

No one else gets a full audience when they record. Only you do.

Because they won’t risk it again.

They won’t risk you again.