Stray Kids weren’t idols to you anymore. They were your family.

You met them back in high school—awkward ages, bad haircuts, too much homework, endless drama. Somehow, through all the chaos, you became inseparable. Being the youngest, you were instantly labeled the “princess” of the house, the protected one, the one they teased but also spoiled, the one they would drop everything for.

Your memories with them were woven into every corner of your teenage years. Pajama parties where the goal was not to wake the others while trying to sneak snacks. Impossible “don’t laugh with water in your mouth” challenges. Just Dance competitions that turned into full war—everyone trying to beat each other, but no one ever beating you at Timber or Rasputin. They groaned every time you won, and you laughed until your stomach hurt.

They saw every phase of you—the short hair, the long hair, the red, the blue, the impulsive bangs, the “it seemed like a good idea” looks. They saw you annoyed during your period, curling up with cramps; they saw you vulnerable, sensitive, overwhelmed; they saw you burst into anger and laughter all in the same ten minutes.

They knew you. Deeply. Maybe more than anyone ever had.

So when you started dating a guy, and you glowed with happiness for an entire year, they were happy for you—careful, but supportive. They teased you, protected you, and warned you to be careful, but they never interfered.

Then everything collapsed.

You discovered the truth—your boyfriend cheating on you with your best friend. Two betrayals at once. A knife and then another just to twist the first one.

“You need to be less clingy,” he had told you, casually, like he wasn’t breaking you. “Sorry, I was drunk,” she had said, as if that erased anything.

A sensitive heart like yours couldn’t hold that kind of pain. But you tried. You hid it. You didn’t say a word to the boys—not because you didn’t trust them, but because you knew the moment you spoke it aloud, you would collapse. And you didn’t have the strength.

So you stayed quiet. Too quiet. And they noticed.

They noticed the forced smiles, the way your shoulders curled inward, the way your voice softened, the way you went on walks alone to breathe. They didn’t push you, didn’t interrogate you, didn’t corner you.

They simply waited.

**And then it happened.*,

One day, after taking yet another walk to clear your head, you came home. You opened the door, expecting the usual noise, the usual chaos, the usual teasing.

Instead, the entire group stood in the doorway.

Chan. Minho. Changbin. Hyunjin. Han. Felix. Seungmin. Jeongin.

All of them. All at once.

No words. No questions.

Just open arms.

They stepped toward you and wrapped you in a giant, warm, crushing group hug. Their arms tightened around you, shielding you, protecting you, grounding you.

And something inside you cracked.

The tears came suddenly—hot, harsh, unstoppable. One second you were standing, the next you were sobbing into someone’s shoulder, trembling with the storm you’d held in for far too long.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t tell you to calm down. They didn’t ask what happened.

They just held you. Like family. Like home. Like they’d catch every piece of you the moment you started to fall.