Work Text:
The common room felt warmer at night.
It wasn’t the temperature, the old heater clicked and groaned more than it worked but the way everyone drifted into the same space after long training days, collapsing into cushions and blankets like gravity pulled them together. Someone had dragged in an extra lamp, casting a soft amber glow that turned the walls honey-coloured. Outside, winter pressed cold against the windows. Inside, there was laughter.
“Okay, okay,” Wooyoung insisted, cross-legged in the middle of the rug. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly. No backing out halfway.”
“Bossy” San muttered from the sofa arm, tail flicking lazily behind him. Even in his human form, the suggestion of feline grace clung to him. the slow blinks, the quiet way he chose his space and made it his.
Wooyoung grinned, sharp and bright. “Yep! I just don’t want people backing out halfway way and ruining it all.”
“It’s bonding, I doubt anyone will or even can leave halfway through” Yunho said cheerfully, already curled on the floor with his chin on Jongho’s knee. He radiated warmth even when he was still, like sunlight soaking into carpet. “Today we share our animal forms. Easy.”
Mingi shifted closer to the coffee table, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. “W-what if someone laughs?”
“No one’s laughing,” Jongho said, steady and certain. His voice always landed like something solid you could lean against. “We respect each other.” Hearing the youngest of the group place that boundary had Mingi relaxing a little. The room was palpable with the taste of excitement and apprehension.
Yeosang nodded once in agreement, posture elegant even while he tucked his feet beneath him. There was a composed softness to him alert, poised, but gentle at the edges.
Hongjoong sat near the lamp with a small wooden box open in front of him. Inside were scattered trinkets: coins from different countries, bent rings, a key without a lock, bits of polished metal and glass. He sorted them by texture rather than value, humming under his breath. The collection grounding him, stopping him from spiralling with anxiety too much and more than happy to let their newest edition to the group, Wooyoung, take the lead in this activity.
Seonghwa watched his hands.
He hadn’t meant to drift closer, but somehow he was sitting near Hongjoong’s shoulder now, knees drawn in, gaze following the way the lamplight glinted off the tiny pieces of gold and silver.
Something in his chest eased when he looked at them.
“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, pointing. “You start.”
Hongjoong didn’t look up. “I already know what mine is.”
“That’s not the game,” Yunho laughed.
Hongjoong sighed theatrically, ready to play the role of leader once more, and closed the lid of his box. “Fine.”
He shifted, and for a moment the air seemed to flicker with movement, quick, darting energy. His presence sharpened, brightened as he switched from his human form.
Curiosity. Quickness. Clever hands that gathered and stored and sorted.
“A Tamias Squirrel,” Wooyoung announced, as if confirming a suspicion. “Knew it.”
It’s not that Hongjoong had hid his animal traits. Ears and tails were often the most visible in every hybrid. However, hongjoong had only his small brown ears atop his head, of which many animal breeds could potentially own. His obsessive hobby of hoarding small trinkets was moreso the giveaway.
Hongjoong switched back only a minute after his initial switch so he could be alert when watching the others.
Seonghwa gave him an encouraging smile to his side. The only one that Hongjoong had explicitly revealed his species too prior to tonight. Back in their earlier training days he had found the man crying, worried of how being a prey species may impact his role as leader.
Many other idol groups chose a strong predator to lead the packs, prey types naturally gravitated toward them. Seonghwa had been thorough in shutting those awful thoughts down and everyday since felt proud watching Hongjoong lead with his natural charm rather than forcing instincts.
Next was Yunho.
He didn’t even hesitate. Warmth radiated outward, an invisible wag of joy filling the room. If comfort had a shape, it would be him.
“Golden retriever,” San spoke before him and the others jumped on the big dog breed. Giving him pats and cuddles.
They went around the circle.
Yeosang’s presence unfolded with graceful precision, composed strength softened by gentleness. A noble silhouette tempered with softness at the edges.
“A Doberman?” Jongho said.
“…and a Maltese!” Wooyoung added.
San stretched languidly before revealing his own: quiet independence, watchful eyes, affection given deliberately rather than freely.
“A Bombay Cat,” Yunho said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
San flicked his tail.
Mingi’s came with a nervous laugh, small, quick, easily startled but soft-hearted.
“Woah!,” Wooyoung said, already reaching over to Mingi’s new form.
However Yunho got there first. Picking up little mingi in a single hand.
“Hello baby chick!” Yunho held the yellow fluffball in his hand, bringing it up to eyeline. Certain he could see the 6ft man blushing before placing him back down.
Mingi took a while to switch back to being human, though when he did, the other members were all quick to hug and reassure him that his animal form was just as appealing as his human, despite the jarring disparity.
Seonghwa and Mingi were the only two members that didn’t have any obvious external traits. Seonghwa himself was certain that Mingi, like him, would be a predator type. Though the fondness that struck at seeing little mingi was now mixing uncomfortably with the nerves in his stomach.
Wooyoung didn’t need guessing. There was mischief in the air before he even spoke, sharp intelligence and playful cunning.
Plus he had blurted out his exact animal type only a week after having met them all.
“Red Fox,” Jongho confirmed.
Wooyoung bowed, jumping on the laps of everyone.
Then Jongho.
He moved to the corner of the room, away from the circle. The room then stilled as his presence settled like something ancient and protective. Strength without threat. A quiet promise of safety.
“A brown bear,” Yunho whispered, warily leaning against him.
Jongho smiled and growled softly before giving a big hug to Yunho, making sure his paws didn’t harm him.
The two youngest were the predators in their group. Seonghwa was relieved on Hongjoongs behalf. Half worried one of the elder members may have had an animal classification that clashed with him. He couldn’t picture either Wooyoung or Jongho posturing all that seriously to their leader, not enough to shift the balance of the group. A small proud smile sat on Seonghwa’s face at the realisation that this could actually work between them, they could really form a pack and bond.
Seven pairs of eyes turned.
Seonghwa felt the shift before anyone spoke.
The air then grew heavier around his ribs.
“Are you ready?” Hongjoong asked gently.
Seonghwa laughed, soft and dismissive. “It’s… embarrassing.”
Wooyoung tilted his head. “Embarrassing how?”
“It’s not cute,” Seonghwa said quickly. “You all have… such pretty animals. Friendly ones.”
Silence.
“So what? Hyung you could be like a blobfish and I’d still pet you and put you in a tank” Jongho spoke up after reentering the circle.
“Yeah! Or like a naked mole rat or something” Mingi tried to supply encouragement.
“Is it becuase you’re a mouse hyung? I promise I won’t bite” San supplied teasingly. “Though I can’t promise Wooyoung won’t”
Hongjoong nodded once. “But… you don’t have to share.”
Relief and shame tangled in his chest.
“Yeah,” Yunho said, smiling warmly. “Only when you’re ready.”
Wooyoung leaned back on his hands. Seonghwa could tell he was upset. The sickness in his stomach only rose “Mystery animal it is.”
Yeosang said nothing, but he shifted slightly closer.
“I guess none of us won the bet” Yunho muttered under his breath.
“What… what bet?” Seonghwa asked.
Yunho continued “We placed bets on what we’d thought you’d be. Most thought bunny! Though usually their breeds come with those cute floppy ears… but you’re so cute! Just like one!”
“But not as cute as princess chickie Mingi!” Wooyoung roared before jumping on the larger man, followed by San.
Seonghwa was grateful for the lighter atmosphere and the change in direction.
Hongjoong reopened his trinket box.
Seonghwa let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and leaned nearer, drawn by the faint glimmer of metal.
Hongjoong picked up a small gold coin and turned it between his fingers. Without looking, he held it out.
Seonghwa hesitated then accepted it.
Warmth spread through his palm.
“You can keep it,” Hongjoong said lightly.
Seonghwa stared at the coin, at the way the lamplight slid across its surface.
Something deep in his chest stirred,
something instinctive and ancient and impossible to explain.
“…thank you,” he whispered.
The others calmed down and drifted into easy conversation, laughter rising again like nothing fragile had passed between them.
But Seonghwa stayed where he was, shoulder brushing Hongjoong’s, fingers curled around the small piece of gold.
For the first time that evening, his breathing slowed. No one looked afraid.
Still, he kept the truth tucked carefully behind his ribs, where it burned softly and secret and bright.
And beside him, Hongjoong sorted treasure into careful little piles, as if he understood that some things revealed themselves only when they felt safe enough to shine.
Years passed the way seasons do when you aren’t watching for them.
The common room had changed apartments. Now living in three separate dorms. Furniture had been replaced, lost, donated, reclaimed. Mugs chipped and vanished. Plants died and were replaced by hardier ones under Yunho’s optimistic care. Hongjoong’s collection of trinkets had grown from a small wooden box to shelves, jars, shadow boxes, and labeled drawers. Their groups trophies being the center of it all.
What hadn’t changed was the gravity that pulled them back to one another.
And what hadn’t changed, at least not entirely, was the way Seonghwa held himself carefully, like something bright wrapped in silk.
He no longer denied what he was.
As he matured, his confidence grew with him. He was no longer the wide-eyed teenager who first arrived at the dorm, but a self-assured man. He had also come to appreciate his striking features, once awkward on his younger frame, they now lent him a natural grace.
Especially on stage, where the others exerted energy outwardly towards their fans with their vocals, rap and solid dance movements, the world seemed to bend and gravitate into him, pulling the world seam by seam until it stretched so thin that it felt as if one breath in the arena would shatter it.
The lack of visible animal traits also allowed him to be signed to many fashion brands and shows, using this fluidity to pull off any runway.
Despite his inner acceptance and newfound love of his animal class, he did not outwardly offer it freely. At least not to the fans.
The company had respected his wishes, for which he will forever be indebted to Hongjoong for. And pushed his classification as ‘unknown’ to the public. The speculation and mystery had been taken well and fuelled fans to consistently analyse videos and photos. Sure that they were the one to have the correct answer.
Instead, it lived in the quiet spaces between them, revealed in glimpses and gestures, in warmth and shimmer and the faintest suggestion of wings.
Each member had been vital in Seonghwa’s rise in confidence. Especially when it came to accepting his animal behaviours.
Hongjoong was the first place Seonghwa ever felt safe.
Dragons liked treasure.
Seonghwa never said the words aloud, but Hongjoong noticed the way his fingers lingered on gold, how his shoulders relaxed when lamplight scattered across metallic surfaces.
Their evenings often ended the same way: sitting shoulder to shoulder at the table while Hongjoong sorted and catalogued his finds.
Seonghwa polished them.
Sometimes Hongjoong would slide a piece toward him without comment.
Sometimes Seonghwa would tuck something into Hongjoong’s palm in return a coin from a market, a golden button found in a coat pocket, a bent ring rescued from the pavement.
Nothing needed explaining.
Hongjoong never treated him like something rare to be admired from a distance.
He treated him like someone who belonged.
Yunho loved him loudly.
There was no subtlety to Yunho’s affection, only warmth, gravity, and the kind of loyalty that made the world feel less sharp.
Hugs from Yunho were grounding events. He never flinched at the searing heat beneath Seonghwa’s skin, never hesitated when faint scales shimmered across his shoulder blades in moments of emotion or exhaustion.
“You’re warm,” Yunho would say contentedly, cheek pressed against him. “Perfect in winter.”
On difficult days, Yunho simply leaned against him, steady and present.
Seonghwa learned that he could soften completely in Yunho’s presence.
That he didn’t always have to be careful. Didn’t always have to have his guard up.
With Yeosang, understanding existed in quiet observation.
Yeosang noticed details others missed: when Seonghwa avoided reflective glass, when certain textures made him uneasy, when the room temperature crept too high because Seonghwa had lost control of the warmth under his skin.
He never mentioned it in front of others.
Instead, a window would be opened. A glass of cold water placed nearby. Curtains drawn to soften harsh light.
Once, while adjusting Seonghwa’s collar before an event, Yeosang paused at the faint gold shimmer at the base of his neck.
“Pretty hyung,” he said simply.
San respected distance.
He understood the instinct to retreat, to observe before offering affection, to exist in shared silence without the pressure of filling it.
Occupying the same dorm, they would often go prolonged periods without speaking, San perched by a window, Seonghwa curled in a chair, the quiet between them companionable rather than empty.
When Seonghwa’s emotions ran too fast, when his chest felt tight with things he could not name, San would sit beside him and lean close enough for their shoulders to touch.
Just a presence that steadied him every time.
Mingi had been shy around him at first.
But Mingi’s gentleness outweighed his fear.
He asked questions about his observations in hesitant bursts:
“Do your scales… hurt?”
“Can you feel intense heat?”
Seonghwa answered every question softly, grateful for curiosity untainted by fear.
Over time, Mingi became the first to lean against his back during movie nights, the first to nap with his head resting against Seonghwa’s shoulder, trusting the warmth like a steady hearth.
“You feel safe,” Mingi admitted once, half-asleep.
Seonghwa carried those words carefully, thankful that the most vulnerable member of his team had chosen to trust an unknown predator so vocally.
Wooyoung delighted in him.
Not in the frightening myth, but in the drama of it, the brilliance, the aesthetic poetry.
“Do the scales catch light differently at sunset?” he asked once, dragging Seonghwa to the rooftop to find out.
He treated Seonghwa’s nature as something magnificent rather than intimidating.
Where others reassured, Wooyoung celebrated.
He bought gold-thread embroidery for Seonghwa’s clothes, held jewelry up to his skin to admire the way metal glowed against warmth.
Seonghwa laughed more easily around him than he used to.
Jongho never asked questions.
He never needed to.
From the beginning, he saw strength and responsibility where others might see danger. He understood instinctively what it meant to carry power carefully.
Jongho never treated him like something fragile.
He treated him like someone strong who didn’t always have to be.
Years after that first night in the common room, Seonghwa still did not transform fully in front of them.
But he no longer hid.
Gold glimmered faintly along his collarbone when he laughed.
Warmth radiated from him when they gathered close.
Sometimes, in the late hours, a shadow of wings would stretch across the wall behind him.
No one flinched.
It was no longer hidden that Seonghwa was a particular strong and rare species. But it was never explicitly spoken of. The members still respecting and waiting for the day the eldest member would reveal it himself.
So it began, as most truths in their lives did, in quiet.
They were in the practice studio long after midnight, the city beyond the windows reduced to scattered lights and distant traffic hum. The others had left in twos and threes, drawn toward showers, food, sleep. The lights to the studio had been dimmed, so as to not overexert the eyes. Only Hongjoong remained, crouched near his bag, untangling headphone wires with meticulous focus. A punishment for losing yet another set of wireless earphones.
Seonghwa lingered by the mirrors.
The adrenaline from rehearsal still moved beneath his skin, too bright, too fast. The preparation for their new concert was really doing a number on him. His reflection shimmered faintly, not visible enough to alarm anyone passing the hall, but enough that he could still see it: heat gathering along his spine, something ancient stirring behind bone and muscle.
“You staying any later?” Hongjoong said without looking up.
“Are you?.”
A quiet beat.
Hongjoong finished coiling the wire and finally lifted his head. His gaze moved to the mirrors, then to Seonghwa’s shoulders, where tension sat like a held breath.
“You’re holding it in again.”
Seonghwa let out a soft, humorless exhale. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay, it wasn’t a negative comment.”
The lights above them flickered once, reacting to the subtle shift in temperature.
Seonghwa closed his eyes.
The control he had learned over the years was precise, careful a lifetime of containing something vast inside a human frame. But exhaustion frayed the edges of discipline. Emotion loosened the bindings. Tonight, both pressed close.
“I don’t want to scare anyone,” he murmured.
“it’s only me,” Hongjoong whispered.
Simple. Certain.
Seonghwa turned.
The air thickened.
It began with warmth, not heat like fire, but the deep, living warmth of something that burned at its own core. The studio lights dimmed further as if bowing to a different kind of radiance.
Gold shimmered beneath his skin.
Not paint. Not reflection. Something intrinsic, molten and luminous, threading through him like light through crystal.
His breath left his lungs in a slow exhale, and with it came the first visible shift.
Light traced the line of his collarbones.
Fine scales surfaced freely like whispered secrets, catching the overhead glow in soft, liquid flashes. They did not armor him; they adorned him, delicate and precise, each one edged in faint auric light.
Hongjoong did not move.
Seonghwa’s shoulders rolled as tension released, and something vast unfurled beneath muscle memory and restraint.
Wings did not burst forth, there was no violence in this half transformation. Instead, space itself gave to acknowledge their presence: black arcs of light extending from his back, their structure defined by gleaming veins of gold and ember-bright filaments.
The temperature rose another degree.
The mirrors fogged and Hongjoong, who had calmed down from their dance practice, noticed beads of sweat forming once more. Breathing suddenly became harder in the hot atmosphere.
Seonghwa opened his eyes.
They glowed gold, not blazing, not monstrous, but molten and steady, like a hearth at dusk.
Ancient. Patient. Endless.
A slow curl of shimmering vapor escaped his lips, dissipating into the air like breath on winter glass.
Hongjoong’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“…beautiful.”
Seonghwa swallowed, throat tight. “You’re not afraid.”
“How could I be?”
The wings shifted once, catching the dim studio light and scattering it across the walls in fractured gold.
In that moment, he was not a creature of legend or terror. Treasure guarded not by greed, but by devotion.
Power held with reverence.
The glow softened. The scales receded like light sinking beneath water. The vastness folded gently back into the careful architecture of his human form.
Only warmth lingered in the air.
Only the faint scent of heated metal and rain.
Seonghwa’s knees weakened slightly as the last shimmer faded. Hongjoong crossed the space between them without hesitation, his hand closing gently around Seonghwa’s elbow as he steadied him. They ended up face to face, close enough to feel the warmth still radiating between them.
“You don’t have to hide from me,” he said softly.
Seonghwa released a breath that felt centuries old, his forehead nearly brushing Hongjoong’s as the last of the heat left his lungs.
“I won’t,” he whispered. “I mean… I don’t want to hide anything from you. Not anymore.”
For a moment neither of them moved.
Hongjoong tucked a strand of Seonghwa’s long black hair behind his ear with little recognition of doing so.
“My beautiful sweet dragon, how will I ever deserve you?”
Outside, the city lights flickered against the glass like distant stars.
Inside, something ancient and radiant had finally been seen and, in the quiet space between their breaths, gently held.