Hyunjin, a 23-year-old mafia member, walks through fire and blood without blinking. His name is whispered in back alleys and feared in enemy circles. But even fire has its silence—and for Hyunjin, that silence is Seungmin.

Seungmin, now 20, is the boy who once followed Hyunjin through crowded middle school halls with a sketchbook tucked into his bag and sleeves pulled too far past his wrists. The boy who never asked for help but needed it more than anyone. The boy Hyunjin swore to protect—long before either of them knew what that really meant.

In the quiet of the Black Mansion, surrounded by their gang—Bambam, Yugsoo, Chan, and Jihyun—Seungmin retreats into his own world again, music up, mind far away. But Hyunjin knows that look. He’s seen it for years. He doesn’t need words to know when Seungmin is drowning again.

And Hyunjin doesn’t ask permission to pull him back.

⸻

Rain ticked softly against the tall windows of the Black Mansion. Thunder rumbled in the distance, slow and lazy. The gang had gathered in the living room like they always did when business was light—scattered across the leather couches, half-bottles of whiskey on the table, soft music playing from Chan’s phone.

It was the kind of evening that felt almost normal. Almost.

Seungmin sat curled up at the far end of the L-shaped couch. His hood was pulled halfway over his head, oversized sleeves covering his hands entirely. His knees were pulled to his chest. His eyes were open, but barely.

He had his AirPods in.

Hyunjin was across the room. He sat in a velvet armchair, elbows on his knees, head tilted slightly—watching.

He always watched.

No one else noticed the way Seungmin’s fingers were pressed too hard into his palm. No one else saw the way he hadn’t blinked in minutes. But Hyunjin did. He saw everything when it came to Seungmin.

Jihyun was in the middle of telling some story, laughing, waving her hands. “—and then Bambam was like, ‘That’s not a gun, it’s a hairdryer!’”

Everyone laughed. Even Yugsoo cracked a grin.

Seungmin didn’t react.

Then, Jihyun glanced over and nudged him with her foot. “Seungmin! Earth to moody prince. What are you even listening to in there?”

She leaned forward and tugged gently at one AirPod. It slipped out. Seungmin flinched.

Hyunjin stood. Slowly.

Jihyun blinked. “What? I didn’t mean—he’s always—”

But Hyunjin was already next to the couch. He didn’t say a word. Just reached down, picked the AirPod off the couch cushion, and slipped it into his own ear.

Whatever song Seungmin had been listening to… it was soft. A lonely piano, fading like fog.

He crouched in front of him, gently pulling Seungmin’s hood back. “Hey.”

Seungmin’s gaze flicked up, cloudy. “I was listening to that.”

“I know.” Hyunjin smiled faintly. “Just borrowing it for a second.”

A pause.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. Not for show. Not for the room. Just for him.