Chapter 7: Torn Strings and Shared Sheets
The studio buzzed with quiet tension.
Hyunjin sat slumped on the couch in the corner, earbuds in, hoodie pulled over his head, but he wasn’t listening to anything. His eyes were on her—Sherri—just a few feet away, typing on her laptop with her headphones on. She hadn’t looked at him once today. Or yesterday. Or the day before.
She was here. Still working in the same space. Still breathing the same air. And yet, she felt galaxies away.
He had sent over twenty messages. Called seven times. Left voicemails.
Not a single reply.
The silence from her was louder than any fight they’d ever had. And what made it worse—what made it unbearable—was that she hadn’t left. She was always there, just ignoring him. Even in the studio.
Hyunjin’s fingers twitched with the ache to touch her. Just one look. One word. One sign that she still cared.
But her wall was up. And it was taller than he could climb.
YoungBok walked in, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. He paused in the doorway, sensing the tension instantly. His eyes moved from Sherri to Hyunjin, catching the defeated slope of his shoulders, the way his fingers clenched into his sleeves.
His jaw tightened.
He walked over to Hyunjin without a word, dropped his bag by the wall, and sat beside him.
“You look like hell,” YoungBok muttered.
Hyunjin said nothing.
YoungBok leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching Sherri for a moment. “She’s not even looking at you.”
“I know,” Hyunjin whispered.
“She’s right here. And it’s killing you.”
Hyunjin slowly turned to look at him. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then why do you keep falling apart like this?” YoungBok asked, voice sharp. “Why do you keep choosing this pain over me?”
Hyunjin’s eyes snapped open wider. “I never stopped choosing you.”
YoungBok looked at him—really looked at him—searching for truth behind tired eyes.
“You say that,” he said quietly, “but you can’t even breathe when she’s around.”
Hyunjin dropped his head into his hands. “Because I love her. And I love you. I never asked for this to be so—messy.”
YoungBok stood abruptly. “You need to decide what you want.”
Hyunjin looked up at him with broken eyes. “I want you. I want both of you. But I can’t have her when she won’t even look at me.”
“And I don’t want to be your second choice,” YoungBok whispered, then walked out of the studio.
---
The dorm was quiet that night.
Hyunjin unlocked the door to their shared room and stepped inside slowly. The soft hum of the air conditioner was the only sound. YoungBok lay on his side, facing the wall, a small reading lamp casting a dim glow beside the bed.
Hyunjin dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes, and walked over without a word.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said quietly.
YoungBok didn’t move.
“I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I’m not functioning without you,” Hyunjin murmured, voice cracking. “But when she won’t talk to me, it feels like my whole world is folding in.”
YoungBok turned slowly to face him, eyes shining but unreadable. “And what am I to you, then? A warm place to collapse when she shuts you out?”
Hyunjin’s chest tightened. “No. You’re… you’re the only place I’ve ever felt safe.”
He climbed into bed, their legs brushing beneath the blankets. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
And then YoungBok reached out, his hand trembling, and touched Hyunjin’s cheek. “You’re a mess.”
“I know.”
“You’re hurting.”
“I always am when I can’t have you close.”
YoungBok leaned forward, their foreheads pressing together. “Then let me be close.”
Hyunjin’s breath hitched.
And then their lips met.
It wasn’t desperate—it was slow, grounding. The kind of kiss that said I see you. I’m here. I still choose you.
Hyunjin slid his hand behind YoungBok’s neck, pulling him closer. Their bodies pressed together beneath the covers, heat rising between them like a long-held storm finally breaking free.
YoungBok’s fingers slid under Hyunjin’s hoodie, brushing along his waist. Hyunjin shivered.
“Stay,” he whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere,” YoungBok replied, lips grazing Hyunjin’s skin as he kissed down the curve of his neck. “But you need to stop torturing yourself.”
“I can’t let go of her,” Hyunjin admitted.
“I know.”
“But I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t.”
Hyunjin rolled on top of him, breath shaking as he leaned down and pressed their lips together again, harder this time. The kiss turned heated, hands tugging at fabric, hearts racing. But beneath the passion, there was something softer—aching and fragile.
They moved together slowly, limbs tangling, breaths caught between kisses. Every touch was a silent plea, every moan a confession.
When it was over, they lay tangled in the sheets, foreheads pressed together, chests heaving.
YoungBok traced slow circles on Hyunjin’s back. “You’re mine. You always were.”
“I don’t want to lose her,” Hyunjin whispered.
“I know.”
“But if it means losing you too—then I’d rather bleed silently.”
YoungBok’s eyes welled with tears. “Why does loving you have to hurt this much?”
“I ask myself that every day.”
They fell asleep tangled together, the world outside momentarily forgotten.
--
The next morning in the studio, Sherri was already there when they arrived. She didn’t look up when Hyunjin walked in.
YoungBok placed a gentle hand on his lower back as they passed her. Just enough to remind him: You’re only mine.
Hyunjin paused. Looked at Sherri.
She kept typing.
His heart cracked again—but this time, it didn’t break entirely.
Because last night, for a few hours, he remembered what it felt like to be loved completely.
Even if the world outside remained messy and cruel, inside the dorm, beneath those tangled sheets and whispered promises—he still had YoungBok.
And YoungBok still had him.
---
The lights of the arena had long dimmed, but the echoes of screaming fans still rang in Hyunjin’s ears.
He sat silently in the corner of the van as they returned to the dorm, fingers trembling against his knees. YoungBok was seated beside him — tired but warm, his hand resting on Hyunjin’s thigh in comfort. Hyunjin didn’t move.
His eyes stared out the window, searching the night sky like it held answers. But all he saw was emptiness.
No Sherri in the crowd tonight.
No unread message waiting after the show.
No accidental glance in the hallway at the studio.
Nothing.
He hadn’t seen her in days.
When the van pulled into the dorm lot and the members stumbled out, laughing softly and teasing each other about off-pitch notes or missed steps, Hyunjin followed in a haze.
YoungBok nudged him. “Shower and bed, yeah? You need to rest.”
Hyunjin gave a faint nod. But his body moved on its own.
The last thing they noticed was that Hyunjin hadn't said a single word.
---
In the shared room, YoungBok changed into sleepwear, brushing his teeth when he heard a soft creak of the door — the signal that Hyunjin was finally inside.
But when YoungBok came out of the washroom.
He didn’t find Hyunjin in the room.
YoungBok stepped out into the hallway, frowning. “Hyunjin?”
Silence.
He checked the kitchen.
The bathroom.
The laundry area.
Nothing.
Then he walked back into the room — and froze.
Hyunjin’s phone was still on the bed.
Unlocked. Notifications pinging.
He never left it behind.
---
Within the next ten minutes, chaos unfolded.
“Maybe he went for a walk?” Seungmin offered.
“At this hour?” Jisung asked, worry creeping in. “He looked so out of it after the show.”
“He didn’t speak the whole ride,” Changbin added.
YoungBok’s voice cracked. “He left his phone, guys. He never does that.”
“Call Sherri,” Jeongin whispered.
“No,” YoungBok replied too quickly. Then he exhaled. “No, she’s been avoiding us… him. She wouldn’t—”
But the fear was growing in his chest.
Something wasn’t right.
---
Meanwhile...
Sherri had been curled on the couch with a book she hadn’t read for twenty minutes, thoughts spiraling again.
She missed him. Every day. Every moment.
And then—
A knock.
Soft. Barely there.
Then came the voice.
“Sherri…”
She flung the door open — and the breath was ripped from her lungs.
Hyunjin was crouched outside, forehead pressed against the wood, arms limp at his sides. His jacket had fallen off one shoulder, and his cheeks were soaked.
“Hyunjin—” she gasped.
His eyes met hers — bloodshot, shattered, desperate.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he whispered.
She pulled him in without a second thought.
---
Inside, he collapsed to his knees in her hallway. His sobs filled the room, heavy and raw.
“I thought I was okay. I told myself it was fine. That I’d survive if I just kept pretending. But the moment you disappeared, I— I started falling. And I couldn’t stop.”
Sherri knelt in front of him, hands gripping his cheeks, grounding him.
“I couldn’t breathe without seeing you,” he cried. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I know it hurts him. But I can’t stop loving you, Sherri.”
She pulled him into her arms, and he crumbled against her.
“I miss you,” he whispered into her neck. “I miss everything.”
“I’m here,” she murmured. “Just breathe.”
His breaths were shallow. Panicked.
“I left my phone. I didn’t even notice. I just walked. I don’t know how I got here. I just… my feet found you.”
She held his face gently, lips brushing his damp cheeks.
“You’re safe now.”
He looked at her like she was the only star left in the sky.
And then — trembling fingers found hers.
Their lips met in silence.
Desperate.
Searching.
He kissed her like he’d die if he didn’t. And she kissed him back like her heart had never left his side.
Minutes later, he lay curled on her couch, blanket pulled around him, hair still damp with sweat and tears. He fell asleep murmuring her name.
Sherri stood over him, torn.
Then, slowly, she picked up her phone.
Her fingers hovered… before typing.
> To: YoungBok
He’s here.
I don’t think he even knows how he got here. But he’s safe. I promise.
She didn’t expect a reply.
But across the city, YoungBok’s heart dropped the moment he read it.
And for the first time that night—
He let himself cry.