Chapter Text
MAY • DEADLINE IN: 120 MINUTES
Who chose white folding chairs and silk aisle runner that refused to stay flat on the ground, Donghyuck didn’t know. People darted around him with half-full champagne flutes, some of them frantically trying to chase down uncle Hajoon who had wandered into the vineyards. Presumably to smoke without his wife nagging behind his shoulder.
Somewhere in the mess of floral arrangements and shouted instructions, Donghyuk stood absolutely still with his arms crossed and sunglasses balanced on the top of his head, brushing away loose strands. He looked like he belonged in the chaos of Chenle shoving a backup ring into Jisung’s hand, yelling ‘don’t lose it’ .
Of Jeno trying to get Jimin’s attention as she paced with a clipboard in her hands, muttering death threats under her breath.
Out of the blur, Donghyuck caught a flicker of stillness.
Mark stood in the corner of the terrace, tucked away out of everyone’s sight while the white curtains billowed slightly in the breeze.
He wasn’t ready. Wasn’t even remotely close to being ready.
With his shirt unbuttoned at the top and a tie half-draped around his neck like it wanted to escape, his hands moved slowly; almost absent-mindedly.
Taeyong stood firmly in front of him. One hand on Mark’s shoulder, the other gesturing slowly as he spoke. It wasn’t a scolding Donghyuck was witnessing, but then – he wouldn’t even know, because he couldn’t hear a word they were saying.
“Haech!”
He turned as Jimin barreled towards him in a blur of silk and hairpins, waving her clipboard like a weapon.
“Where’s Johnny?” she shouted.
“I don’t know.”
“He was supposed to meet me!”
“I’m not his keeper,” Donghyuck matched her energy in an instant and threw his hands up in the air. “Why don’t you ask Mark?”
Jimin shook her head and turned away, storming back into the dressing area, shouting something about bow ties and eyeliner.
Donghyuck glanced at the terrace, where Mark still hadn’t moved. He was still fiddling with his tie like it didn’t belong to him, and was still listening to Taeyong, who now looked more like a friend than some kind of mentor.
The boy in the corner, who used to walk him home when they were kids. The one who didn’t look like a groom, but could be one if he tried. Just Mark .
JUNE • DEADLINE IN: 12 YEARS
Donghyuck laid upside down on the bed with his head hanging over the edge like he was waiting to fall into a dramatic coma.
“You have to make one,” he groaned for the eighth time this evening.
Minhyung, sitting on the carpet by the bed with a worn-out Rubik’s cube in his hands and a very obvious plan to avoid eye contact, sighed for the ninth time. “No, I don’t.”
“You’re being technology-phobic.” Donghyuck whined.
“That’s not even a real word.”
“For me it is! You’ll be gone in like a month,” he cried, flinging himself into an upright position. “That’s like… Four weeks. That’s twenty-eight days. That’s–”
“Basic math,” Minhyung supplied.
“That’s a millisecond! You’re going to some high school for gifted nerds who also like to do art and I’m going to be stuck here doing P.E. laps with future criminals,” Donghyuck groaned, flopping dramatically onto the bed. “What am I supposed to do? Send you carrier pigeons?”
“Texts exist.”
“That’s not the same, Minhyung. How will I stalk you? How will I know you’re still alive? What if you get a new best friend who’s taller than me and–”
Minhyung gave him a pointed look. “That’s literally not hard.”
“Wow,” Donghyuck gasped. “You wound me. Truly, madly, deeply.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I won’t.”
“It’s two hours away.”
“Exactly! That’s basically another country.”
Minhyung smiled then – just a twitch of his mouth, but it didn’t go unnoticed. He leaned back against the bedside, tossing the Rubik’s cube into a nearby knick-knacks basket. “You’ll forget about me in a week.” he said in a mocking tone.
“Wrong,” Donghyuck retorted, lifting his head. “I am going to be so annoying, you won’t even get a chance to forget me.”
“You already are,” Minhyung pointed out, earning himself a smack to the arm.
“Then create an Instagram”.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I have no pictures to post.”
“That’s the whole point,” Donghyuck rolled off the bed and landed on the carpet with a dramatic ‘oomph’. “You’re going to take a lot of photos so I will know what you’re up to.”
Mihyung stared at him for a second, blinking slowly like a cat accepting its fate. Then, with the heaviest sigh known to man, he unlocked his phone.
“Yes!” Donghyuck fist-pumped the air.
Minhyung opened the app store. “You are the most exhausting person I know.”
“And yet, I am your favorite.”
“I’d never admit that.”
“You don’t have to,” Donghyuck mused. “It’s in your eyes.”
“God,” Minhyung groaned. “Why are you like this?”
Nonetheless, he opened the app and started setting up his account. Quickly navigating through the boxes he filled, one was left empty.
Username.
“You should do something cool and mysterious. Ooh, I know, I know–” Donghyuck started chattering, but Minhyung ignored him and typed a simple ‘minhyung_’ in the box.
The screen blinked. Blank profiles with no bio and no posts. It didn’t have followers until Donghyuck, in the speed of light, unlocked his own phone and slammed his thumb down on the follow button. The notification popped up on Minhyung’s screen – “@hyuckkkkkie followed you!’.
For now, best friends are supposed to stay forever.
JUNE • DEADLINE IN: 11 YEARS
Donghyuck stood near the exit, his fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of a jacket that still didn’t sit right on his shoulders, even if his mom promised he would ‘grow into it soon’. Someone from his science class brushed past him, offered a half-hearted hug and a ‘good luck in high school’ as if they haven’t shared only one lab and a final exam meltdown.
He smiled and nodded. And forgot their name a second later.
It felt like the last day of something. Not because of the cheap caps or the teachers’ speeches, but because he was leaving this place for good and going to high school thirty-five minutes away. Which was still a bit closer than where Minhyung went, but–
Yeah, Minhyung wasn’t here, by the way.
Donghyuck pulled the phone out of his pocket and swiped through the homescreen.
@minhyung_ was still private, with a blank profile picture. Still following one person and was only followed by one person.
His most recent post was three months old – a square photo with atrocious filters plastered on it. Three, blurry pairs of shoes on a subway platform, with a caption ‘these are the city boys. no idea what we were doing honestly’ .
Donghyuck tapped the photo to see who had been tagged on it. Of course, scuffed checkered Vans with white socks were Minhyung’s. Those black and loosely laced apparently belonged to the guy named Johnny; and the bright orange Nikes, haphazardly untied were Jungwoo’s. Donghyuck recognized their names from Minhyung’s early stories.
Before they stopped talking, that is.
He should’ve commented something along the lines of ‘wow three pairs of shoes and none is mine’ or ‘so glad you’ve found new best friends, i’m soooooo thriving without you’. But he didn’t.
Instead, he locked the phone and slid it into his jacket pocket.
“Cool,” he said to no one. Totally fine.
Donghyuck turned back towards the hallway and caught a flash of someone else – short, soft lines of his face, put-together like a neat puzzle. The name popped into his head without effort.
Renjun was saying something to their homeroom teacher, the smile small on his lips. Then he glanced over and, for a split second, their eyes met.
He nodded. And Donghyuck nodded back. Nothing more and nothing less.
The crowd thinned quicker than anticipated. Families left in waves and the school emptied like it had been holding its breath all year and just now got a chance to exhale fully. Donghyuck felt a pang on his heartstrings, like he should stay behind a few minutes longer, trying to pretend the air didn’t feel heavier somehow.
A year ago, he and Minhyung promised each other they’d keep in touch. That they’d be best friends forever and this Instagram account would be like a bridge that will save them from the abyss of drifting apart. But now?
There were pictures and inside jokes Donghyuck didn’t understand, because he was standing in a gym that he wouldn’t remember in half a year, thinking about someone who hadn’t posted anything in 92 days.
SEPTEMBER • DEADLINE IN: 11 YEARS
His new school was a maze compared to a small, eight-room facility he’d been going to for the last three years. Surrounded by sterile, lemony-yellow lockers and fluorescent lights Donghyuck felt a bit out of place. The morning bell had rung twenty minutes ago, but his first period was free, courtesy of being a freshman.
He just leaned against a locker that wasn’t his and sipped a smoothie from a plastic pouch.
“First day and already giving nothing,” someone said beside him.
Donghyuck looked over and noticed two boys. One taller and broad-shouldered, all-black outfit with an ugly, plaid shirt thrown over his back. The other was softer around the edges, but his eyes and grin were filled with mischief that completely didn’t match the beige sweater he had on.
“Thanks,” Donghyuck said, not missing a beat. “I practiced.”
The taller one grinned. “New in town?”
“No, I’ve just been invisible this whole time.”
The other one laughed loudly, almost obnoxiously. “I like you.”
“Thanks.” Donghyuck repeated and sipped on his smoothie again.
“Jeno,” the tall one offered, stretching out his hand.
“Jaemin,” the one in beige said, throwing up a peace sign in the air instead.
“Donghyuck,” he replied, shaking Jeno’s hand.
“So where are you coming from?” Jaemin asked.
“Small town school with no air conditioning.”
They talked for a bit, but didn’t touch on anything deep. They shared their worst electives (P.E., obviously) and snarky predictions for which kid would peak in the next two years (unanimously: the drama club president from Jaemin’s middle school that faked a Busan accent) while the hallway started to feel less crowded.
Donghyuck leaned back again, already deciding that he liked the two boys enough to keep them close for the time being. And then Jaemin asked, as casual as anything,
“What’s your Insta? I’ll add you.”
Donghyuck’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. He looked at the locker across from him instead of Jaemin.
“I don’t have one,” he said lightly.
Jaemin blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” Donghyuck said, twisting the cap back on the smoothie pouch. “Social media is a capitalist scam built on surveillance and oppression.”
Jeno raised an eyebrow in a silent question, but Donghyuck only grinned. “Also, I forgot the password and never made a new one. It’s kind of the same.” he said, earning himself another loud laugh from Jaemin.
But in his chest something twisted, because of that one username someone picked out with him that was supposed to be theirs.
“Alright, Hyuckie,” Jaemin said, nudging his shoulder. “You’ll have to woo me the old-fashioned way then.”
“I’m way better in person anyways,” Donghyuck said, winking.
OCTOBER • DEADLINE IN: 11 YEARS
Donghyuck laid on his stomach, legs bent at the knees, with his socked feet kicking in slow, distracted rhythm. Music was playing low from the speaker, filling the room with one of those playlists he swore he didn’t curate for vibes, but definitely did.
He stared at the messages on his Instagram. One profile that he clicked on. Still private, still no new photos. He swiped back into the messages.
me
saw a guy in orange shoes today at school and almost thought |
me
saw a guy in orange shoe |
me
s |
Donghyuck locked the phone and rolled onto his back. A loud exhale escaped his nose like he could laugh at himself if only it didn’t feel a little too much like missing someone who didn’t remember how to talk to him anymore.
MARCH • DEADLINE IN: 10 YEARS
Jaemin cornered him by the vending machines somewhere between sixth period and cheer practice, looking like he was about to reveal some secrets sent to him by the Pentagon.
“Okay,” he said with his voice low. “I found something and you need to listen.”
“If it’s another trap remix of iCarly theme, I swear–”
“Better,” Jaemin grinned and pulled out his phone. “I’ve found this guy… Or a girl? I don’t know. Them. I’ve found them on SoundCloud. It has your vibes.”
He tapped around and turned the volume up. The music filled the air in faint waves – looped chords and chopped vocals that were barely coherent, as if someone acted on instinct when they opened GarageBand on their iPad.
Donghyuck arched an eyebrow and said, “You are a SoundCloud raider now?”
“Apparently,” Jaemin nodded. “Look! Only five tracks, but they hit so good. This one sounds like rain through a broken speaker. Genius.”
Donghyuck nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the username.
@makgeolli82
Huh?
“Pretty good,” he said, fighting with his voice so it doesn’t break.
Jaemin beamed. “Right? Whoever made it is going through something.”
Donghyuck laughed, but it was short. “Aren’t we all?”
🎷
That night in his room the silence was louder than ever before.
He’d done his homework, half-watched some drama Jaemin recommended to him two months ago and texted Jeno something sarcastic about gym class, and still – the thought was lingering in the back of his mind.
As if on auto mode, he opened SoundCloud on his laptop and quickly typed in the username.
@makgeolli82
There it was. The same tracks he didn’t pay attention to in the hallway. He pulled out his headphones from the side pocket of his bag, closed his eyes and hit play. It was faint, but what immediately caught his attention was a vocal clip layered into the background in the middle of the reverb haze.
His own laugh.
Not that clear, obviously, but his own. Distorted and buried somewhere in the waveform, cut like an afterthought. It could’ve come from an old voice memo he hadn’t known was kept.
The song didn’t end yet but he was already on Instagram, fingers shaking as he reached for a search bar.
@minhyung_
The profile was no longer private and the bio was filled with some nonsense.
“doing too much
📌 seoul
🎧 @makgeolli82”
Donghyuck blinked in disbelief and scrolled down. The most recent post, the one he hadn’t seen yet, was from a week ago. A blurry rooftop picture with the light of a golden hour spilling over five people leaning against the railing and four people tagged on it.
@johnnyjsuh @taeoxo @do0y0ung @jungwoo_jw
And Minhyung.
The caption loomed over Donghyuck like a curse – ‘five kidz’. With almost three thousand likes and a dozen comments filled with emojis and inside jokes from people Donghyuck didn’t recognize.
It was like watching someone move on in real-time and maybe that was what it was.
Donghyuck stared at the screen. Didn’t like the photo, but didn’t close the app, either. He just let it sit there in his palm like a dying animal.
JUNE • DEADLINE IN: 7 YEARS
The party died down by 11pm, but the class group chat was still buzzing with an afterthought. Someone had dropped a Google Drive link to the senior slideshow and Giuk was threatening everyone that he’d leak embarrassing videos from their junior ski trip if they didn’t all respond to his sentimental ‘i’ll miss you’ paragraph. Jaemin had already posted three graduation photo dumps in a row, each one more chaotic than the last, and Jeno –reliable as ever– sent a playlist titled ‘things that sound like 2am working on Ms Garam projects’ with no further explanation.
Donghyuck hadn’t replied to any of it.
He was lying on his back, one leg hanging off the side of his bed. The only light came from the soft glow of his phone screen and the orange flicker of the streetlamp sneaking in through the window.
His cap and gown were slung over the chair and the paper diploma was still at the bottom of his bag, rolled and tied. Untouched. An evidence of something big happening, even if it didn’t feel like it.
His finger hovered for a moment, then tapped the app he hadn’t touched in almost two years.
Instagram.
The loading screen blinked and then faded into a feed that hadn’t changed. The same username, hanging like a dusty thread leading to the past – @minhyung_ still sitting there at the top of the follower list like a sneeze refusing to escape Donghyuck’s nose.
He tapped the button.
‘Remove follower’
There was no dramatic pop-up – just a small box asking if he was sure. He told himself that he was and his thumb pressed ‘Confirm’.
The name disappeared.
He set the phone down for a moment and stared at the ceiling. His hand curled slightly over the blanket, as if he was reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore. And then, like flipping a switch, he sat up and unlocked his phone again. Opened the same app. Again. But this time with a bit more purpose.
He deleted everything – the old selfie with half of his face hidden out of the frame, the overhead photo of a school lunch tray without a caption, and seven different photos of the sky during various moments of the day. Gone, all of it.
He needed a new angle. A lens he can see the world through.
First post on this account was a simple photo from the very end of their graduation ceremony. A blur of his cap midair, framed by the skyline in the background without people in sight. It could be about anyone, about some kind of movement or something.
Quickly, he tapped the letters on his keyboard.
‘chapter closed’
By the time the post had finished uploading, Donghyuck was sitting cross-legged on his bed like a general overseer of a campaign launch. The glow from his phone cast dramatic shadows across his face – exactly the kind of cinematic framing he deserved for a moment like this.
He checked the profile one last time, adjusting his bio like it was about to stay there for the rest of his life. The new version read ‘all feelings are performance art’. It was ridiculous. Over-the-top. Perfect.
He switched apps and opened the group chat he had with Jeno and Jaemin.
me
please put down what youre doing
history is being made
And then he sent the handle.
Within seconds, the typing bubble appeared.
jaem
OH MY GOD
WAIT
THIS??????
nono
finally
welcome to the grid your highness
Donghyuck grinned and rolled over on his bed before he took a screenshot of their messages. Maybe one day, when he’s famous and critically misunderstood, this moment will be a part of his lore.
me
bitches be like “new era” and post a pic of nothing
that’s me
😘🪩
SEPTEMBER • DEADLINE IN: 7 YEARS
When Donghyuck reached his floor he noticed the same beige walls as on the previous two and doors opened slightly ajar. Down the hall, someone was already blasting an acoustic cover of Taio Cruz’s ‘Dynamite’, which made him rethink all of his life decisions leading up to this moment.
Slowly, he reached the door 305, took a deep breath and pushed it open. The dorm was smaller than the photos, of course. Two beds, two desks, and a narrow window with light pooling in on an empty floor. One side had already been claimed with neatly stacked books and folded blankets.
And with his new roommate, who was standing in front of the open wardrobe like he’d just stepped out of a contemporary art exhibit.
“Donghyuck?” the guys asked, turning his head.
“Present,” Donghyuck replied, letting one of his bags collapse next to the closet. “And you are?”
“Sicheng.”
“Sicheng,” Donghyuck echoed, testing how the name tasted in his mouth. “You sound like a philosophy major from some shitty dark academia book.”
Sicheng blinked with confusion, but that didn’t last long. After a beat of silence he, too calmly for Donghyuck’s liking, said, “Architecture, actually. But the aesthetic is not that far off.”
Donghyuck grinned.
“You’re a junior?” he asked, already starting to unpack like he owned the place.
“Mhm. Got pulled into dorm rotation at the last minute.” Sicheng sat back on his desk chair. “From the form you seemed like someone who’d need watching.”
“Rude,” Donghyuck said, mockingly offended. “I’m an angel.”
“A loud one.”
“It’s my personality sparkling.”
“And static noise.” Sicheng added, and what would seem to everyone else as a rude comment didn’t hold the same power with Donghyuck. The latter tossed his hoodie onto the bed and turned around with a grin plastered on his face, throwing a half-hearted middle finger at Sicheng.
Fortunately, the roommate laughed. They were cool.
About twenty minutes into unpacking his stuff, when Donghyuck debated whether to use his LED desk lamp for mood or studying, came knocking on the door. Actually, not even a knock – more like a bang mashed with clatter, and the door swung open like the intruders owned the place.
“New neighbor welcome committee!” someone sang.
Two heads popped in. The first –a boy with soft brown hair and a tray of drinks in his hands– smiled wide. The second had sharper energy, making jazz hands as he stepped into the room.
“I’m Shotaro,” the first one said, “and this is Chan. Lee Chan to be exact, because he told me to say that every single time. Apparently, there’s about seven different Chans in our building.”
“But I’m the original.” the other guy added, eyes scanning the room like he was cataloguing personalities.
Shotaro stepped forward and held out a tray. “We brought sparkling yuzu water. No one asked us to. That’s how generous we are.”
Donghyuck looked at them with confusion. “Are you trying to sell me something? Like a pyramid scheme?”
“We’re selling ourselves,” Chan grinned. “As cool neighbors.”
“Damn.” Donghyuck said, grabbing a can from Shotaro’s tray. “You always show up this loud?”
The question earned a laugh from Sicheng who sat in his corner, sipping his water silently and watching the exchange with the slow amusement of someone who’d already seen too much today.
“Only when we sense someone has a more dramatic ass than us,” Shotaro said with a wink. “So we were drawn here like moths.”
The can with yuzu water cracked open. “You’re right to be drawn to me. I’m dramatic on a daily basis.”
“Nice,” Chan said instantly. “What’s your name?”
“Donghyuck,” he said.
“Cool. We live next door, 306. You’ll hear us either way, so we figured we’d introduce ourselves before the bass drops,” Chan leaned against the bed and gestured to the LED lamp. “This side’s giving influencer boyfriend, not gonna lie.”
“It’s aspirational,” Donghyuck replied, sipping.
Shotaro raised an eyebrow mockingly. “Sounds like wishful thinking.”
“You have no idea.”
They stayed for a bit long enough to exchange their plans for majors (turned out Chan was a sophomore and Shotaro was a freshman just like Donghyuck), promise to drag each other to the first floor mixers, and trade music recommendations. Which, by the way, was atrocious by Donghyuck’s standards, because who in their right state of mind enjoys listening to Skrillex and David Guetta?
Donghyuck also quickly learned that Shotaro was actually from Yokohama, and that his Korean was still a work-in-progress. “I learn faster with people,” the boy said brightly, saluting like he was ready to serve. “So if I say something weird, just tell me.”
Donghyuck grinned. “Okay, we’ll start your training now. First word: fuck. Second word: shit.”
Shotaro clapped happily. “You are so… How to say this–” he paused, brows furrowed as he searched for the word.
“Loud?” Sicheng offered dryly from his desk.
“No, no,” Shotaro said quickly and looked back at Donghyuck with a bright-eyed sincerity that made people lean in instead of away. “You’re like–” he made a small, round gesture with his hands. “Sun?”
Donghyuck blinked. “Huh?”
“Hae”, Shotaro said, testing the syllable carefully in his mouth. He turned to Chan and his voice trailed off but his eyes lit up with mischief. “It means the sun, right?”
“Like full of sun?” Chan supplied.
“Haechan.” Shotaro said, delighted and pointed at Donghyuck. “It fits. Bright, loud. Sun boy.”
Chan nodded from the edge of the bed, mouth suddenly full of chips he’d been snacking on this entire time. “It does kinda fit. Could be a cool nickname.”
“Fine,” Donghyuck said, flicking his bangs out of his eyes like the moment needed any more drama. “You’re all welcome for the exclusive debut of Haechan. Use it wisely.”
Shotaro smiled so wide his eyes disappeared, and even thought it was all said with jokes and laughter, knowing that Donghyuck would roll his eyes at it later – something about hearing the nickname spoken like it already belonged to him made Donghyuck’s heart melt.
When they finally left, with a ‘see you tonight!’ and the sound of Shotaro humming loudly down the hall, Donghyuck turned back to find Sicheng watching him over the top of a paperback book he’d mysteriously started reading during all of that debacle.
“Don’t get attached,” Sicheng said dryly. “Chan enjoys chaos too much.”
Donghyuck collapsed onto his bed. “You love it. I think your previous roommate was just boring.”
Sicheng just turned the page.
“I like having an older roommate,” Donghyuck added, propping his head up on his hand. “You’re gonna give me lots of college wisdom and judge my choices.”
“I’ll offer critiques and charge you for it.”
“Nice.” Donghyuck smirked.
Sicheng didn’t look up from the book. “You keep saying that.”
🎷
The party was louder than it needed to be, but not in a bad way. Donghyuck thought it was this kind of loudness that meant the things hadn’t gotten weird yet. Just enough music, lights and mystery between the names you hadn’t learned and ones you might remember.
He stood near the edge of the shared kitchen with a half-finished soda can in hand, watching the crowd of East Dorm tilt and ripple with energy. The walls were glowing blue and pink under cheap LED strips and the air smelled like peach vape and microwavable popcorn.
Chan had already dragged Shotaro into a dance circle near the chill area, yelling something about starting an all-party-goers game of dance charades. It was almost too easy for them as if their personalities had skipped awkward stage entirely.
Donghyuck sipped on his drink and adjusted the sleeves of his slightly-too-tight top. He wasn’t trying to be the mysterious one in the corner of the room. He just… Hadn’t found the right spot in the room yet.
“Cool shirt,” a voice said beside him, light and clear.
He turned to see two girls, both holding plastic cups and wearing expressions that didn’t scream extrovert or introvert. Just present in an observant way.
“Thanks,” Donghyuck replies. “You have no idea how much I agonized over it.”
The girl who’d spoken smiled. She was tall, hair pulled into a low ponytail. “I’m Jimin”, she offered, then nodded at her friend. “And this is Aeri. We’re both in the North Dorm. Across from the music building.”
“Donghyuck,” he said, adjusting his stance slightly. “From here, 305. With a roommate who looks like he alphabetizes his snacks.”
Jimin laughed, soft and melodic. “Sounds like that one Vice-President guy. Sicheng, was it? Something Chinese.”
“Yup.”
“Figures,” Aeri grinned. “He has the posture of someone who meditates in his sleep.”
Donghyuck chuckled, instantly more relaxed. “And I have the posture of someone who falls asleep during meditation. So, balance.”
Aeri tipped her cup toward him. “Nice to meet you, Hyuckie.”
They talked easily – about classes, orientation weirdness, and all things college. Jimin had a knack for laying out the conversations before they drifted into small talk, and Aeri had this way of cutting through things with humor that made people feel safe.
They didn’t treat him like he was something to figure out. Just someone new they might like to know, and to Donghyuck that mattered more than he expected.
“I swear, if another person says they’re doing business just because it’s‘safe’, I’m going to scream,” Jimin said, sipping from her bottle of half-warm cider. “No shade, but I cannot sit through another presentation with six stock photos of people high-fiving each other.”
“Okay, what are you doing then?” Donghyuck asked, swirling his cup for more dramatic effect.
“Communications and advertising,” she replied, voice calm but precise. “I want to do branding, but the real kind. Not the ‘let’s make it pink and put glitter on it’.”
Donghyuck tilted his head slightly. “That’s cool.”
Jimin smiled. “Thanks. I’ve been practicing the pitch because my family thinks I’ll end up dead on the street.”
“What about you?” Aeri asked, nudging him. “Please don’t say media studies. Or performance arts. You give theater kid.”
“I do not,” Donghyuck said, dramatically offended. “I’m more nuanced than that.”
“Okay, nuanced theater kid.”
He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Actually… I’m thinking of forensic science.”
That stopped both of the girls. Aeri blinked, confused. “Seriously?”
Jimin nearly choked on her drink. “Like… Dead people and labs?”
“Yup.” Donghyuck grinned like he’d dropped the most shocking plot twist of modern cinematography. “Crime scene reconstruction and blood spatter analysis. I’m not joking, by the way.”
“You’re too pretty to be around that much gore,” Aeri said immediately.
Jimin nodded, clearly thrown off the loop. “I mean– I believe you, but you don’t exactly scream lab coat.”
Donghyuck leaned against the counter, amused. “People think I’m built for attention, but I like the things no one notices.”
“That’s…” Jimin tilted her head. “Actually kind of poetic.”
“Don’t tell anyone yet. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Aeri raised her cup. “To hot people in STEM, I guess.”
They all clinked and just like that something settled between them – a moment where the freshmen performance fell back just slightly and the real version of each of them got to speak.
By the time the lights dimmed and someone started taking blurry group photos with a flash, Donghyuck was leaning against the wall by the doorway, thumbing through his phone. His cheeks were flushed, partly from heat and partly from alcohol Shotaro had him down in the game of innocent ‘Truth or Dare’.
He opened Instagram and scrolled to a quick mirror pic from earlier in the night – shirt rumpled just right, lips slightly parted, strands of hair falling over his forehead. And blurry bodies of Jimin and Aeri in the background. He would want to see a person like himself on his own timeline.
Without hesitation he posted the picture with a simple caption – ‘week one: survived ✌️’. Almost immediately, the liked started trickling in. Jaemin. Shotaro. Jimin.
Then, just as he was about to close the app, he saw it.
‘@minhyung_ liked your photo!’
His heart stuttered as he stared at the notification and his thumb hovered cautiously over it. But when he clicked on the post, the name was gone. No like, no trace of memories. It wasn’t there.
He refreshed and checked again.
Still gone. Like it never happened.
He stood there for a long second, phone suddenly heavier in his hand.
It could’ve been a glitch. Or maybe a mis-tap. Maybe Minhyung accidentally brushed his screen and noticed, too late whose name he’d touched, even if Donghyuck’s post wasn’t even supposed to show up on his timeline.
Courtesy of Donghyuck softblocking him, right?
Or maybe it didn’t happen at all and it was just hallucination, because only God knows what the drinks could be spiked with.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked up. Jimin was waving him over from the couch, where, also, Shotaro had climbed onto the coffee table again, shouting about group karaoke.
And, wow. Chan had grabbed the ukulele.
JANUARY • DEADLINE IN: 7 YEARS
me
whats it like having motivation
asking for a friend
(me)
nono
cold
run away before you catch it
jaem
i just turned in a paper i started 45mins ago and signed it like this
[attached: photo of a screen with ‘regards and regrets’ plastered at the very bottom]
me
nice
Inspirational
jaem
it was socio lol
Do i kno what i wrote? no.
will i pass? Who the fuck knows really
nono
how’s hyuckie holding up?
me
found out blood dries differently on cotton vs polyester
jaem
Remind me to never get murdered around you
nono
you’re coming home for the weekend? me and jaemin will be back and we can drop by your house for fun
me
nope
sicheng actually invited me to hot pot
i think he loves me
jaem
college changed u
me
nope i’m still emotionally deranged
nono
miss u
me
miss u more
jaem
Liar
me
yup
pathological
MAY • DEADLINE IN: 7 YEARS
Jimin quietly sat on the chair next to him, passing a lukewarm cup of coffee obtained like a treasure at the library cafe. Donghyuck's cold fingers brushed her hand and she visibly shivered at the touch.
“Are you ever hot?” she whisper-shouted, sending him a deathly glare.
Donghyuck raised his head up and grinned, an answer already bubbling in his chest. Jimin was faster, though, and she shook her head as if to say ‘don’t even start your shit again’.
“Focus.” was all she said before turning to the rest of their study group, already invested in recapping everything they've done before the meeting.
And yes, they should really focus on those slides for the summary of their project and assign roles before the end of the week, but there were more important things than college. Which Donghyuck didn’t quite understand, because his parents’ mantra was always ‘go to college, get a degree, make a life for yourself’.
“That guy from statistics texted me last night,” scrawny Sumin said, giggling. “He’s kinda cute, though.”
“And knowing you, you texted him back immediately.” the other girl named Mina rolled her eyes.
Jimin propped her elbows on the table and leaned towards the girls, quirking her eyebrow. “Who's the guy?” she asked, threading her fingers together.
Yeah, Donghyuck couldn’t care less.
“Oh, it's Jihoon,” Sumin said quickly and turned her phone towards Jimin to show her this guy's Instagram.
Donghyuck glanced at the photos. The guy wasn’t half bad – he had a cute smile, that’s for sure. The one that makes you wonder if his eyes can crinkle more than they already did. But that's it.
“So he texted you?” Jimin played nice because, of course, she lived off of gossip and caffeine.
Sumin nodded excitedly. “I swear I felt butterflies in my stomach when I saw the notification,” she mused, locking the phone and setting it down on the table.
“Isn't that like… Anxiety?”
Out of all the things he could've said, Donghyuck had to choose this one. The one that made everyone's heads turn to him with a surprised expression, as if they had never considered it an option.
Sumin raised her eyebrows. “What?”
Even Mina, who’d already returned to color-coding the slide titles, paused mid-scroll to look at him with a puzzled expression.
Donghyuck didn’t flinch. He just shrugged. “Weirdness in the stomach, racing heart, and sudden shortness of breath? Sounds like a panic response to me.”
Sumin suddenly looked offended. “No. It’s cute. You wouldn’t get it.”
“Right,” Donghyuck muttered, turning his attention back to his notes. “Because I’ve never been cute in my entire life.”
That earned a light, distracted laugh from the bunch, making the conversation shift slowly into the right direction, but the change in the air was palpable. Jimin kept looking at him with curiosity, like she was drawing mental circles around something she had figured out before Donghyuck even breathed.
They did their work, gossiped some more and –eventually– Sumin was the first to declare intellectual defeat for the afternoon, slamming her laptop shut with a dramatic sigh and mumbling something about rewatching ‘Boys Planet’ as a brain reset. People started to peel away from the group – they went on a bathroom break that never ended, made phone calls that lasted longer than they should’ve, went to satisfy their nicotine cravings outside.
Donghyuck was the last to pack, neatly shuffling everything inside his bag. He slung it over his shoulder, texted Jimin a simple ‘you still alive?’ (because she kind of disappeared after declaring a smoke break), and headed into the sun-lit corridor.
JUNE • DEADLINE IN: 6 YEARS
By the time Donghyuck arrived at the end-of-year party, it was already swarmed with bodies and too much noise. What else could you expect from Chan’s (or rather Chan’s older cousin) two-storey apartment with red LED strips attached to the ceiling and a massive speaker everyone kept yelling over.
Not his scene. Not his music. He knew how to play along anyway, swaying a bit to the sound of some Avicii’s song played on loop.
He found Jimin first as she stood in the kitchen, double-fisting a red solo cup filled with straight tequila and the other one with some kind of cheap beer Chan probably stole from his father’s garage. Her mascara had smudged just enough to make her look effortlessly cool and kind of unapproachable at the same time.
“Look who the cat dragged in,” she said, handing him the cup filled with beer without asking if he even wanted it.
“I feel like I’ve just crawled out of a cave,” Donghyuck muttered, taking a sip. Surprisingly, the beer tasted more like lemon than alcohol, which he appreciated more than Jimin would have guessed.
“Sexy,” she grinned, pulling Aeri out of the conversation held nearby.
Donghyuck listened, a tang of cheap beer still on his tongue and tried, really tried , to listen to Aeri’s insistent retelling of the gossip she’d heard from every single person she met since she arrived at the party.
He knew he was detached, maybe exhausted, but he thought he could hide it quite well. Shotaro pulled him out of the girls’ grasp and introduced him to some people from his dance troupe; then he mingled with other people standing by the wall. If someone looked into the party from the outside, they might have assumed that the social butterfly that Donghyuck presented himself as is back. Until–
Jimin quickly grabbed his clammy hand and pulled him onto the tiny balcony in the back of the living room. When their breaths finally fogged the cool air, she leaned casually against the railing, twirling the empty plastic cup in her hand.
“So…” she started tentatively. “Iseul?”
“Who?” Donghyuck muttered, dumbfounded.
“The girl from my econ class. You two talked for a bit.”
Ah, yes. Iseul. So that was her name. Donghyuck shrugged. “Yeah. She was… Nice.”
“Nice?” Jimin repeated back at him, one eyebrow raised.
“What do you want me to say?” he huffed. “It was fine. She asked about my major. I told her. We laughed a little.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Jimin looked up at the night sky, still playing with the cup. After a beat of silence she tried again, softly. “You know, it’s okay if you didn’t feel anything.”
Donghyuck frowned at the words. “It was just awkward. I don’t know her and you, out of all of them, know best that I’m not that good with new people.”
“You’re actually great with people.” Jimin disagreed. “But you’re not… How do I say this? Looking for anything.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes dropped to the railing, the cold sweat drenching his exposed neck. The nervousness itched his fingers, because what if Jimin decides to push? What if she asks for more?
She turned to face him fully with a gentle smile on her lips.
“I’ve been watching you fall in love with moments, with songs, with routines. But not people. Not like that.”
Donghyuck opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out of his mouth. And if his head started spinning a bit, he’d blame it on those shots of tequila Shotaro had him down an hour earlier when he walked through the threshold.
“Maybe that’s just who you are, baby.” she said without a drop of smugness to her tone.
He wanted to deny it. To say ‘no, I just haven’t found the right person’ or ‘maybe I’m too focused on studying, unlike the rest of you’, or ‘maybe I’m scared’.
Silence. He chose silence because it was more comfortable than the sofa in the girls' dorm room; because, deep down, those words felt like a soft truth he hadn’t let himself say.
SEPTEMBER • DEADLINE IN: 6 YEARS
Donghyuck stood barefoot by his door, holding a cup of instant coffee and watching the circus unfold like he’d won the battle with Ticketmaster and got front-row tickets. His graphic tee hung off one shoulder and his sweatpants really looked like they’d seen better days.
“Can you feel it?” he grinned, looking back into his room. “The smell of existential dread in the morning?”
“It’s 3pm,” Sicheng replied, appearing behind him with a banana in one hand and a book in the other.
“How many times do I have to tell you that time is a social construct?” Donghyuck sipped the coffee. He was about to spew some more bullshit, just to make Sicheng even more exhausted, when a voice called from down the hallway:
“Heads up!”
A suitcase came careening past, followed by a boy who was half-laughing, half-panicking. He caught up to the suitcase just before it hit the wall, skidding slightly in his socks. His hair was dyed honey-blonde and fell over his eyes, a sheepish grin plastered on his face.
“Sorry! It got away from me.”
Donghyuck laughed and stepped aside to let the boy and his rogue suitcase pass. “New?”
“Fresh out of the orientation walk,” the boy said with a mock salute. “Eunseok. Room 307.”
Haechan pointed across the hall. “That’s two doors down. This is 305.”
Eunseok beamed. “Cool. I like your… Coffee-stained apocalypse aesthetic.”
“Thank you,” Donghyuck said, glancing down at his Queen t-shirt that looked like it’d been washed one too many times. “I got it at Wembley in ‘85 during Live Aid.”
He took another sip and grimaced dramatically. Eunseok laughed – not politely, but in a way that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “So,” he said, “you’re older than me. Should I be scared?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Donghyuck replied. “I’m in charge of hazing. Be prepared.”
Eunseok grinned again and picked up his suitcase. “Catch you in a bit, Hazer.”
“Looking forward to it.”
As Eunseok disappeared into his room, Sicheng’s voice floated from inside 305. “You? Flirting?”
“No, I’m not.” Donghyuck said too quickly.
“You are. It’s gross.”
“Your face is gross,” he mumbled into his cup.
About half an hour later, the sound of loud knocking came from the next door down – the abandoned 304 that never got used, because of some leakage issue. Donghyuck was sprawled out on his bed, scrolling through memes Jimin sent him, pretending he didn’t have a syllabus to read.
“Can you tell them to fuck off?” Sicheng asked without looking up from his sketch.
“Fine,” Donghyuck sighed. He padded over and yanked the door open just to find a boy standing there with a half-empty tote bag over one shoulder and an expression like he was already regretting moving in.
“Hi,” the boy said. “I think the RA told me to come get my key from one of the rooms on this side?”
“No RAs here,” Donghyuck said.
“Oh. Then I think I knocked on the wrong door.”
“You think?” came Sicheng’s dry voice from inside the room.
The boy exhaled like he’d been through five stages of grief just from getting here. “Whatever. I’m Chenle, 308.”
“Donghyuck,” he said. “Or Haechan, depending how close you want to be with me. This is 305.”
Chenle squinted. “You don’t look like a Donghyuck.”
“That’s the point of having Haechan, too.”
Chenle considered him for a second longer. “Okay. Well, this was a waste of time,” he said and then turned and walked off, hoodie sleeves flapping like irritated flags.
“Charming,” Donghyuck mumbled, closing the door. But before he managed to do that and come back to his bed, a foot slipped between the wood and the threshold. He looked up just to see the two menaces he was kind of hoping he’d see today.
“Orientation’s over and we’re making rounds!” Chan announced, throwing his arms open like a pastor ready to baptize.
Shotaro held up a pack of instant tteokbokki. “Bribery. We’re going into the room.”
“305 already knows you.” Donghyuck supplied, but let them in nonetheless.
“Have you met anyone?” Chan sighed, visibly exhausted from filling his role as a floor rep.
“New chapter of crazy rich Asian trauma Sicheng acquired this summer,” Donghyuck said, gesturing vaguely. “And two freshmen – Eunseok from 307 and this guy named Chenle who thinks sarcasm is a personality trait.”
“Chenle?” Shotaro asked, tilting his head. “Blonde?”
“Yup.”
“He said my shoes were pretentious.”
“Were they?”
“Absolutely.” Shotaro grinned, putting his foot up in the air so Donghyuck could examine his Shrek Crocs.
Donghyuck leaned against the wall. “Anyways, Eunseok’s kinda witty. Might be tolerable.”
As if summoned, a knock came on the door again. This time, when Donghyuck opened it, Eunseok stood there with a mug in his hands.
“Hi,” he said, lifting the mug. “I made too much hot chocolate. Peace offering? So you don’t haze me too much?”
“I accept all bribes,” Donghyuck replies, ushering him in. “Guys, this is Eunseok. The only freshman on this floor with more than two brain cells.”
Eunseok nodded at Shotaro and Chan. “Hi. You guys are the welcome committee, right?”
Sicheng snorted quietly.
“More like the chaos control team,” Chan said, not even sparing a glance in Sicheng’s direction. “We bring snacks, vibes and an occasional trauma bonding.”
“Perfect,” Eunseok said, sliding into the room like he’s always been part of it.
They talked for a bit, mostly about nothing, which was somehow better than the standard conversation about majors and workload. Eunseok kept catching Donghyuck’s eye mid-sentence and grinning like they shared a secret, and Donghyuck wasn’t sure if it was just a good vibe.
Then, of course, Chenle showed up. He knocked once, then opened the door without waiting.
“Did you take my extension cord?”
“Do I look like someone who’d commit cable theft?” Donghyuck asked.
Chenle shrugged dismissively. “Yes.”
Shotaro giggled. “He’s got a point.”
“Try asking Sicheng,” Donghyuck said, pointing at his roommate. “He’s the one with mysterious drawers full of tech he never uses.”
Chenle didn’t even acknowledge the others. His eyes briefly passed over Eunseok, then flicked back to Haechan. “Whatever. I’ll check with someone more competent.”
“Your mom must be so proud,” Donghyuck called after him.
When the door clicked shut, the room went silent for a fraction of a second. Eunseok tilted his head. “So that was–”
“A cryptid,” Donghyuck supplied.
Shotaro nodded. “You two are going to be besties by the end of the year.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Donghyuck snorted. “At least he makes you all look friendlier by comparison.”
“Wow,” Eunseok grinned. “High praise from Mr. Hazer.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
And just like that, something settled like a tiny click, a sound of a key fitting neatly into the right lock.
🎷
Someone –and Donghyuck was pretty sure it might’ve been Chan– dragged the dorm’s outdoor chairs into a loose circle. String lights zigzagged between tree branches like drunken constellations and the firepit crackled off to the left. Simply saying – the party was uncoordinated. Too loud in some corners and too quiet in the others. The kind of night where everyone looked slightly grainy, like they’d been edited through a nostalgic VSCO cam filter.
Donghyuck stood near the drinks table, chewing on the edge of his plastic red solo cup. His t-shirt was still stuck to his back where the fabric hadn’t dried right from pre-party humidity and his hair was frizzing despite his valiant attempt to keep the strands in check.
He wasn’t sure why he felt weird. He had friends here and the main example was Shotaro, who was currently trying to convince someone that cider counted as a mixer. Still, something sat uneasy under his skin.
“I’m getting weird vibes,” he said aloud.
Chan, who had just appeared with a second cup of cider and zero awareness of personal space, chuckled. “Because you’re people-watching.”
“People are weird,” Donghyuck muttered.
“You are the people.”
“I am a person.”
Chan snorted and offered him the extra cider. “Go vibe somewhere.”
And Donghyuck did. Not far, just around the edge of the party where the lights didn’t quite reach and the music got swallowed by wind. He found a low patch of grass by the trees and sat, knees up, phone forgotten in his pocket. Across the lawn, someone had set up a speaker on an overturned crate.
The music wasn’t even good in Donghyuck’s standards, but it was familiar in a sense – like a flash of sound from a summer that never fully belonged to him. He turned his head to the massive speaker and noticed a lonely phone laying on the top of it, shaking from the bass echoing through the grass.
“What’s this shit?” Chan snorted, pointing at the speaker. Donghyuck thanked whatever higher entity was looming above them and made him ask.
The girl next to Chan, whose name Donghyuck hadn’t quite caught, but it sounded something like Hayun (or Haeun?), laughed and said,
“This is from Johnny’s summer set. He’s so sick live. My cousin got us in for free.”
Johnny.
The world around Donghyuck slowed down for a moment. He hadn’t heard that name in a hot second, let alone spoken like it’s a fact, not a rumour hiding on that one SoundCloud account he’d stalked in the middle of the night.
His stomach tightened.
The voices around him became noise. Filtered and hollow. Like the track itself – chopped up vocals layered with bass too heavy for the setting.
He pulled his phone out with stiff fingers.
The last time he’d searched @minghyung_ was maybe a few months ago. It had been part impulse, part masochism, but tonight was different. Like maybe, for once, the past reached for him instead.
He tapped on the handle.
Nothing.
No results. No profile. Not even an echo.
Donghyuck frowned and tried again. Same result.
He switched tactics. Opened the SoundCloud app instead, a different form of self-harm. Typed in the only breadcrumb he had left.
@makgeolli82
There it was. Still five tracks. Still the same username, but the linked profile now led somewhere else. He followed the trail like a dog – SoundCloud to bio, bio to Instagram.
@marklee
First thing that caught Donghyuck’s attention was a profile pic that was never there. A shot of the guy's back, white t-shirt sitting loosely on his now wider shoulders. The grid was full of grainy backstage photos, tour buses, late-night convenience stores and badly lit selfies. And in the middle of it, a blurry photo of someone tuning sound equipment under a spotlight, head down, hands poised like it was instinct. The caption: ‘final mix’.
Donghyuck zoomed in slowly.
It was Minhyung.
Hair longer now, dyed a washed out blue; jaw sharper and the posture tense. No tags. No mention of the past. Just a new handle, new person, new context. Gone, and yet still there.
He closed the app and held the phone to his chest, trying to pretend the beat thudding in it belonged to the party, not to something that had cracked open again.
Chan nudged him with an elbow. “Haech, you good?”
Donghyuck blinked. “Yeah. Just remembered something.”
“Leave that for classes,” Chan said.
“Yeah,” Donghyuck murmured, eyes fixed on the pulsing speaker across the lawn. “Yup.”
🎷
Donghyuck was drunk. Not in a dramatic, falling-down-the-stairs sort of way. Just a bit off-balance. He’d had too many cider-spiked somethings handed to him by Shotaro with a wink and –truthfully– he’d lost track of how many ‘just a sip’ promises he broke after that.
He leaned against the tree, feeling his stomach slosh with something warm and acidic, one sneaker planted in the dirt and the other slightly sliding every time he shifted. The world swayed around him, slightly to the left.
“Haechan?” someone said beside him, voice cutting through the drunken haze.
Eunseok.
Of course.
Donghyuck turned his head a bit too quickly. Eunseok stood there, hoodie unzipped, concern written across his face like he was trying not to make it obvious.
“I’m fine,” Donghyuck said immediately, which, during those kinds of parties, was a universal code for ‘not fine at all, help’.
“Okay,” Eunseok replies. “Still. Come on.”
“I can walk,” Donghyuck insisted, taking a step forward and then grabbing Eunseok’s arm immediately. “Okay, maybe I can walk with assistance.”
Eunseok smiled, looping Donghyuck’s arm around his shoulder. “Let’s get you back, yeah?”
They moved slowly across the grass, each step calculated and deliberate. Donghyuck’s head lolled, cheek brushing the side of Eunseok’s hoodie. It smelled like clean laundry and something citrusy. Lemon? Lime. Hell.
Donghyuck closed his eyes. His stomach flipped.
Butterflies.
Or nausea.
Same difference.
They reached the dorm steps. Eunseok held the door open and guided him through, careful on the stairs. Donghyuck let his weight fall more fully against him, like his body couldn’t decide if it wanted to stand or fold.
Eunseok didn’t say anything for a long beat. Just helped him to 305, waited while Donghyuck fumbled for the key, then took it out of his hands and opened the door for him. Inside, it was quiet. Sicheng’s desk lamp still glowed faintly, casting soft shadows around the room. He was either asleep or pretending to be, judging by the way he didn’t turn.
Eunseok eased him down onto the edge of the bed. Donghyuck sat there for a moment, hands gripping the blanket.
“Thanks,” he said.
Eunseok knelt slightly to help untie his shoes, fingers working quickly.
Donghyuck watched him.
Watched if he felt something.
Anything.
Please.
“You’re kind,” he said, at last.
Eunseok looked up. “You’re drunk.”
“That’s two truths and no lie,” Donghyuck replied with a crooked smile and just observed as Eunseok set his shoes aside and stood again, brushing invisible lint from his hoodie.
“You need water,” Eunseok said, already crossing the room to the mini fridge.
“I need a new brain,” Donghyuck mumbled.
“That’s unfortunately out of stock,” Eunseok called back.
When he returned with the bottle, Donghyuck took it from his grasp and pressed it to his cheek instead of drinking.
“Do you like me?” he asked suddenly.
“I think you’re interesting,” Eunseok said. “Funny, exhausting, but in a good way.”
Donghyuck blinked.
“That’s not a ‘yes’,” he said with a pout.
“It’s also not a ‘no’.”
“Yup.” Donghyuck nodded slowly. “Yupyupyup.”
They sat in silence for a while. Donghyuck’s nausea ebbed, replaced by a tired ache in his bones and the familiar hollowness that followed after trying too hard to be something you’re not.
“I’ll go,” Eunseok said eventually, rising slowly. “Get some sleep, okay?”
Donghyuck nodded, not trusting his voice. He watched as Eunseok slipped out the door, quiet and careful to not alarm their RA. Then he laid back on the bed fully clothed and let the room gently pace in circles around him.
MAY• DEADLINE IN: 100 MINUTES
Donghyuck found his ties on the back of a chair in the groom suite. Dark navy silk caressed his fingertips, even though it was still cheaper than it should’ve been. They got them in a bulk order from some kind of online boutique. Probably.
He stood in front of the mirror in the room attached to the suite. It was empty except for a folding table stacked with a lukewarm tea and a fan that wasn’t plugged in – that was why his shirt was already sticking to his back.
Donghyuck’s hands moved instinctively – collar up, tie looped around. Muscle memory.
His fingers shook. Not enough to drop the tie, but just enough to fumble the loop. He looked down at the material, frowning, and tried again.
Pull. Tuck. Slide through. Tighten.
Now, his fingers missed the seam.
He huffed and shook his head.
Loop. Cross. Pull. Tuck.
Missed again.
“Shit,” he whispered, but the quiet in the room made it louder. He looked at his reflection and deflated for a moment.
In the groom suite someone laughed loudly. It echoed down the hallway and curled around the doorway like it was trying to reach him. Probably Johnny or Jaemin, judging by the volume.
Donghyuck took another deep breath. He’d done it with his eyes half-closed, for fuck’s sake, but now his fingers wouldn’t stop trembling.
He let his hands fall, untied tie still hanging around his neck. He stayed like that for another minute, just breathing. Listening to the chaos outside.
And that’s when he heard quiet footsteps in the hallway. He kept his eyes on the mirror and said nothing. Waiting.