Chapter Text
MARTIN
The track finally cuts out, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing echoing off the studio walls.
Practice had run incredibly late, stretching far past their usual limits, but the moment the final note fades, the relief in the room is instant.
James is already slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, throwing a tired nod toward the exit.
Nearby, the twinz are a blur of frantic energy, shoving their gear into their bags with the single-minded goal of getting back to the dorms to finally collapse into bed.
In the center of the room, Juhoon isn't quite finished. He stands under the harsh fluorescent lights, running through a specific, stubborn piece of footwork one last time. He’s completely focused, correcting his angle in the glass until the movement is flawless. Only then does he let out a heavy breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he walks over to the wall and drops down to sit against the mirror.
The exact moment Juhoon stops, Martin gives in. He collapses flat onto his back right there on the practice room floor, staring blankly up at the ceiling tiles.
As the leader, it’s his job to monitor everything—formations, pacing, details. That’s why he observes. That’s the excuse he gives himself as his eyes inevitably drift sideways, tracking the silhouette of Juhoon sitting just a few feet away, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.
Juhoon tilts his head back against the glass, a few damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, the harsh studio lighting hitting the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his neck.
Martin freezes. A thought pops into his head,
completely unbidden'He looks really pretty like that.'
The thought hits him like a bucket of ice water. A sudden, chaotic wave of absolute panic spikes in his chest.
Wait. What? Pretty? His brain completely short-circuits. He’s supposed to be analyzing choreo execution, not cataloging how soft Juhoon's hair looks when it's messy or how nice his expression is when he's relaxed.
Martin’s heart does a violent, traitorous flip. His eyes widen slightly as he stares at the ceiling, his mind scrambling to erase the thought. No, no, no. I’m just tired. Delirious. Hallucinating from sleep deprivation. They are way too early in their career for his brain to be glitching like this over his own teammate.
Juhoon turns his head, catching Martin staring with a strangely tense expression from the floor. He lets out a soft, tired chuckle. "You alive or do we need to drag you to the van?"
Martin swallows hard, his throat suddenly completely dry as he tries to suppress the internal alarm bells still ringing in his ears. He forces himself to sit up, letting out a slightly hesitant laugh to cover up his racing thoughts.
"Alive," Martin says, his voice a little tighter than he intended as he looks anywhere but directly at Juhoon's face.
Reaching out, he grabs a nearby unopened water bottle from the floor and tosses it over to him. Juhoon catches it with a blink of surprise.
"Drink," Martin tells him, pushing himself up to his feet and grabbing his own gear.
"We're leaving in five."
The heavy thud of his duffel bag hitting the floor does little to drown out the ringing in Martin’s ears.
Even with his back turned to Juhoon as he zips his bag shut, he feels incredibly on edge.
'Pretty? You thought he looked pretty martin?' martin thinks
He starts completely rejecting it. He's just exhausted. Twelve straight hours of tracking formations and fixing synchronization errors is bound to make his mind play tricks on him. It’s just a weird, sleep-deprived glitch in his system. Nothing more.
"Hey, Martin, you got the keys to the studio locker, or did Manager-nim take them?"James’s voice breaks through the haze.
He’s standing by the door, swinging his arms to stretch out his tight shoulders.
Behind him, the twinz are already bickering over who gets the window seat in the van, their voices carrying that high-pitched, manic energy that comes from being entirely run down.
Martin clears his throat, forcing his vocal cords to cooperate. "I have them," he says, trying to say it as normally as possible. "Go ahead down to the lobby. I’ll lock up here."
"Sweet. Hurry ok. " James says, tossing a lazy wave over his shoulder as he steps out. The twinz trail out right after him, their chaotic chatter fading down the hallway until the heavy studio door clicks firmly shut.
Suddenly, the room feels massive. And incredibly quiet.
"You're not moving," Juhoon’s voice cuts through the quiet room. He is still leaning against the mirror, the unopened water bottle Martin had tossed him resting on his lap. He’s looking up at Martin, his dark eyes observant.
"I'm moving," Martin replies trying hard to stare at juhoon.
He turning around to scan the floor. He points toward a stray roll of muscle tape left near the speakers. "Just looking to see if something was forgotten.look Keonho left his tape again."
Juhoon cracks a small, tired smile, finally twisting the cap off the water bottle. "He'd lose his own head if it wasn't attached." He takes a long drink, his throat moving as he swallows.
Martin’s eyes accidentally track the movement, catching the line of his jaw under the harsh lights, and that weird, tense feeling spikes in his chest all over again.
He quickly snatches up tape, mentally cursing the exhaustion that's making him act so strange.
Juhoon lets out a soft grunt as he pushes himself up from the floor, stretching his arms over his head.
His oversized practice shirt tugs upward slightly, and Martin immediately looks away, his heart doing another stupid, uninvited flip against his ribs.
Seriously, what is this? Martin thinks, his jaw tight. He is the leader. He has known Juhoon for a long time. He is like a brother to him. They have sweated through countless evaluations together and spent nights packed into a crowded dorm. Juhoon has always been his steady, reliable brother like others in studio and Martin has come to respected him.
But this hyper-awareness? This sudden tightness in his throat every time Juhoon moves into his line of sight? It’s just the fatigue. It has to be. They are way too early in their career for his brain to be short-circuiting over his own teammate. He is just completely drained.
"Martin."
Martin blinks, realizing he’s been staring blankly at the roll of tape for a solid thirty seconds. He turns his head, his face fixed back into its standard, cool mask. "Yeah?"
Juhoon is standing a few feet away now, his duffel bag already slung over one shoulder. He looks at Martin with a slight frown. "Are you actually okay? You've been quiet since the last run-through. Is something bothering you ?"
"I'm completely fine," Martin interrupts, pushing the tape into his pocket.
"I'm just tired, Juhoon like everyone My brain and body are just gone ."
Juhoon doesn't look entirely convinced, but he lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head, walking toward the exit. "Fair enough. Let's get out of here."
"Right behind you."
Martin reaches for the light switch by the door and flips it, plunging the studio into the dim, soft glow of the hallway lights. He takes a deep breath in the dark, letting the cool professionalism of being the leader take back over. As he pulls the heavy door shut and turns the key, Juhoon falls into step right beside him, their shoulders brushing casually as they walk toward the elevator.