The dorm was silent, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor. Everyone else had gone to bed hours ago, exhausted after practice.
Kael sat on the couch, his injured ankle propped up on a pillow, an ice pack resting against it. He leaned back with his phone in hand, scrolling through endless messages from the manager: reminders about interviews, promotions, and the looming comeback.
It felt heavy—everything felt heavy these days.
"Still awake?"
Kael's head snapped up. Klan stood in the doorway, wearing an oversized hoodie and loose sweatpants, his ash-brown hair messy from sleep. He looked soft, almost fragile in the dim glow of the lamp.
"You should be sleeping," Kael said.
"So should you." Klan walked in and sat across from him, pulling his knees up to his chest. For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet between them felt… different. Not awkward, but charged.
Kael set his phone down. "What are you doing up?"
Klan hesitated, biting his lip before answering. "Couldn't sleep." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "Too many thoughts."
Kael studied him carefully. The gray-blue eyes that always looked calm on stage now seemed lost. "About what?"
Klan didn't answer right away. He stared at his hands, twisting the hem of his hoodie, and then said softly, "About… us."
Kael stilled. His chest tightened, but he kept his tone even. "Us?"
Klan's gaze lifted slowly, meeting Kael's amber eyes. "Not just… you and me," he clarified, though his voice trembled. "The group. Everything. I keep wondering if we're good enough. If I'm good enough."
Kael exhaled, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly. He reached forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "You are good enough," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Don't let anyone make you think otherwise."
Klan swallowed hard. His throat felt dry, but he nodded. Still, something in his chest wouldn't stay silent.
"Kael…" he began, his voice barely audible. "Can I tell you something? Something I've never said to anyone?"
Kael's brows furrowed, but his eyes softened. "Yeah. You can tell me anything."
Klan hesitated, then whispered, "Sometimes I feel like I can't breathe when I'm on stage."
Kael's heart clenched. He hadn't expected that.
Klan continued, his voice shaky. "Not because I hate it. I love performing, I do. But… every time the lights hit me, I feel like I'm going to disappear. Like I'm just a shadow behind everyone else." His eyes glistened under the soft lamp light. "And the only reason I don't completely break is because…"
He stopped. The words stuck in his throat.
Kael leaned closer, his voice a low rumble. "Because what?"
Klan's breath hitched. His fingers tightened on his hoodie. "Because you're there."
The words hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite.
Kael froze. His chest tightened, heat pooling low in his stomach. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for something to say—but nothing came.
Instead, he reached out, almost without thinking, and gently touched Klan's hand. Just a brush of fingers, warm and grounding.
Klan looked at him, eyes wide, heart pounding so loud he was sure Kael could hear it.
The moment stretched—soft, fragile, dangerous.
Then Kael pulled back, his expression carefully neutral even though his pulse was racing. "You won't disappear," he said quietly. "Not as long as I'm here."
Klan smiled faintly, but his chest ached in a way he didn't understand.
Neither of them noticed how close they'd gotten until Klan stood abruptly, breaking the tension. "Good night," he murmured, his voice shaky as he hurried toward his room.
Kael watched him go, fingers curling into fists.
Because you're there.
The words burned in his head long after Klan disappeared behind the door.