The LUMINA dorm was quieter than usual. After days of rehearsals, interviews, and nonstop activities, silence settled like a blanket over the shared space. But inside Klan's mind, chaos raged.
He sat alone on the studio floor, knees tucked to his chest, a hoodie drowning his slender frame. The soft light of the mixing board blinked like a heartbeat, but everything else felt still. Distant laughter echoed from the living room—Kael, Eren, Sion, and Tavi watching some old variety show episode. It felt a world away.
Klan reached for his notebook. The one he only opened when no one was watching. The one filled with lyrics he'd never show anyone.
"I can smile for the cameras,
Shine for the fans.
But when the curtain falls,
Who catches me when I can't stand?"
His pen stilled. His chest tightened. He wasn't sure anymore who he was writing for—himself, Kael, or the version of him he was losing in the spotlight.
A knock on the door startled him.
"Klan?" Kael's voice, low and cautious.
He wiped his eyes quickly and shoved the notebook under the desk. "Yeah?"
The door opened slowly. Kael peeked in, his expression unreadable. He wore his practice gear, still sweaty from dance drills, but his eyes were focused—on Klan, not the room.
"You okay?" Kael asked.
Klan smiled, the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just writing."
Kael stepped in and closed the door behind him. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too charged.
"I know that look," Kael said, sinking to the floor beside him. "You're burning out."
Klan didn't respond. He didn't have to. Kael leaned his head back against the wall and let the silence linger. No pressure. No pretending.
"Do you ever wish we could go back?" Klan finally whispered. "Before debut. When it was just us, the dream, and no expectations?"
Kael turned to him, eyes softer than usual. "Every day."
They sat in the quiet, memories flooding them—late-night ramen runs, practice room confessions, laughter over cheap convenience store snacks.
"I miss you," Klan said suddenly, the words escaping like a breath he'd been holding too long. "I mean... the real you. The one who didn't have to act like he wasn't in love with me."
Kael froze. Then slowly, he reached for Klan's hand and laced their fingers together.
"I never stopped being that version," Kael said quietly. "I just had to hide him."
Klan's heart cracked open like fragile glass. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel like he was breaking alone.
Outside, the laughter of their members faded. Inside, a moment bloomed—quiet, raw, and real.
The world could have its spotlight.
But this—this was the echo that mattered most.