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Hello readers! Welcome to my collection of Vernon oneshots, where I’ll be bringing to life stories inspired by your ideas and requests. Whether you’re here for fluff, angst, comfort, drama, or whatever else you want, I’ve got you covered. I won’t write smut since I’m not comfortable with it, nor do I feel confident in my ability to do it justice.
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The sun barely crept over the horizon, casting a soft golden light through the curtains of the SEVENTEEN dorm. Vernon stirred in his bed, blinking as he slowly woke from a dream where laughter echoed in the background, and warm, familiar hands held him close. He had grown accustomed to these moments, where the warmth of their love wrapped around him, even in his sleep. The bond between him and the other twelve members had always been there, but these past few years—years of growth, of deepening connections, of learning the nuances of each other’s hearts—had made everything feel more profound, more solid. They had evolved into something indescribable, a harmonious blend of love and understanding, each member contributing their own unique energy to the whole. Today, however, felt different. There was a particular kind of anticipation hanging in the air. He wasn’t sure why, but the buzz in his chest, the flutter of excitement, was unmistakable. Hansol felt something special was about to unfold, something that would remind him of just how deeply loved he truly was. He had been spoiled before, of course—by the group as a whole, in small gestures and grand moments alike—but today was about something more, something planned just for him. He could hear quiet whispers from the other rooms of the dorm, muffled voices of Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Mingyu, the trio of the Hip-Hop Unit. They were the first to take on this special responsibility. As he slid out of bed and padded into the living room, he was met with a sight that made his heart skip a beat: Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Mingyu, all gathered with a certain energy that could only mean one thing—they had been planning, and they were ready. “Good morning,” Hansol mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. He smiled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stretched. Seungcheol, always the leader of the group, was the first to approach. He clapped Hansol on the shoulder with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Morning, Vernon. You ready for today?” Hansol raised an eyebrow, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Ready for what?” Wonwoo chuckled softly from his spot on the couch, a book in hand but his attention fully on Hansol. “Oh, you’ll see. We’ve got a whole day planned for you.” “Don’t spoil it,” Mingyu added with a wink, leaning against the counter. “It’s a surprise, remember?” Hansol couldn’t hide the soft smile that crept up on his face. He loved surprises—especially when it was the members who were behind them. “Alright, alright,” he said, sitting down on the couch beside Wonwoo. “So, what’s first?” Seungcheol moved to the small table where a neatly arranged collection of items sat: a couple of notebooks, a pen, and a small map. It was clear that they had put a lot of thought into today. He motioned for Hansol to come over. “We thought we’d start with something simple but meaningful. You know how you’ve always wanted to take a day to explore your favorite spots in the city, right?” Hansol blinked, surprised by how well they knew him. It was a small thing, a longing he’d mentioned a few times in passing, but they had clearly picked up on it. “You guys remember that?” Wonwoo smiled, leaning forward. “Of course we do. We know you, Vernon. We listen.” Mingyu stepped in with a playful grin. “And we figured it’d be the perfect way to start the day—taking you to those places that make you feel... well, like yourself.” The words settled in Hansol’s heart, and for a moment, a warmth spread through him. He had always thought of the members as his home, the people who knew him better than he knew himself. But this? This was different. This was an affirmation of the way they saw him—a person with dreams, with desires, with a place in the world. “Where are we going?” he asked, his voice quiet with emotion, as he picked up the pen and began to trace circles on the paper, trying to compose himself. Seungcheol grinned, his eyes gleaming with pride. “First, we’re going to that old record store you love so much. You know the one—the one with all the vintage vinyl. We thought you might enjoy spending some time there, picking out a few new records for your collection.” Hansol’s eyes lit up. He couldn’t help it. There was something about the smell of old records, the crisp crackle of vinyl, and the nostalgia of it all that had always felt like a homecoming. He had never really spoken about his love for the shop, but the members had noticed the way his eyes lingered on the display when they passed by it. “Let’s go then,” he said, standing up with a bounce in his step. The trio laughed and followed him out, each of them subtly pulling him closer in little ways—an arm slung over his shoulder, a hand brushing against his own, the small things that made up the fabric of their love. The drive to the record store was filled with easy chatter—jokes about Seungcheol’s inability to stay quiet for five minutes and Mingyu’s unrelenting obsession with snacks. When they arrived, Hansol could feel the familiar sense of excitement stirring inside him. The musty scent of old records hit him instantly as he stepped inside the small, cozy shop. He was lost in the aisles, running his fingers along the album covers, grinning as his heart found its rhythm in the joy of rediscovery. Seungcheol leaned against a nearby shelf, watching him with a fond smile. “This place suits you,” he said softly, a touch of pride in his voice. “You always know exactly what you’re looking for.” Wonwoo joined them, his presence calm and steady as always. “He’s always been good at finding beauty in the little things.” Mingyu, ever the enthusiast, added, “And he knows how to appreciate the good stuff when he sees it.” Hansol turned to them, his eyes sparkling. “I didn’t think you guys would actually remember this.” “We remember everything about you, Hansol,” Seungcheol said, his voice low but full of meaning. After spending a couple of hours in the record store—Hansol carefully selecting a few albums to add to his ever-growing collection—they moved on to the next part of the day. Seungcheol had arranged for a picnic in a quiet park nearby, one of those hidden gems that not many knew about. The park had been a place Hansol had often gone to during the rare moments of solitude he craved—just to get away from the noise, the schedules, the constant expectations. It was the perfect place to unwind. The trio spread out a blanket beneath a large tree, setting up an assortment of snacks that Mingyu had insisted on bringing, much to the delight of everyone involved. The afternoon unfolded in quiet conversation, laughter, and a feeling of utter contentment. Seungcheol had his arm around Hansol’s shoulders, Wonwoo was stretched out on the blanket, and Mingyu kept offering him more food, knowing full well that Hansol’s eyes lit up at the slightest offer of a snack. As the sun began to set, casting a soft, golden hue over the park, Hansol felt an overwhelming sense of peace. His heart, full of gratitude for the members who had given him this day, softened with the realization that he didn’t need to be anyone other than himself in their presence. He was loved. And he always had been. But there was something about today—a quiet understanding that it wasn’t just about being loved; it was about being cherished in ways he had never fully realized. The day had been perfect, and he didn’t want it to end. As the trio cleaned up, Seungcheol leaned close, his voice soft but steady. “We’re just getting started, you know. This day is about you, and we’re going to make sure you feel that, all the way through.” Hansol smiled, the weight of the world suddenly lighter on his shoulders. “I already feel it,” he whispered. And as they headed back to the dorm, laughter and chatter echoing behind them, Hansol knew that this was only the beginning. ____________________ As they made their way back to the dorm, the soft hum of their conversations filled the air, a comforting rhythm that made the world feel a little less heavy. The day had been perfect so far, the sunlight warm and the breeze gentle. But even as Hansol basked in the joy of the afternoon, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to come. The members had been so thoughtful in how they’d structured the day, and something about the way Seungcheol had looked at him earlier made him feel like they weren’t quite done yet. "Do you guys always plan these surprises?" Hansol asked as they walked back through the familiar streets toward the dorm. His voice was light, teasing, but there was a tenderness in his tone that hinted at how much the day had meant to him. Mingyu, ever the one to jump in with enthusiasm, grinned. "Not always, but we figured today was the right day to spoil you a little." Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head. "Spoil him? This isn’t even the half of it." Hansol raised an eyebrow at that, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "What do you mean by that?" Seungcheol looked back at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You’ll see soon enough. We’re not done with you yet." The playful teasing was enough to keep Hansol’s mind buzzing, trying to piece together what the next part of the day could possibly involve. As they walked into the dorm building, the familiar sounds of the other members chatting and laughing drifted out from the living room. But there was something different in the atmosphere today—a sense of anticipation that made everything feel a little brighter. Once inside, Seungcheol led Hansol toward the kitchen, where a spread of food was laid out on the table. Hansol blinked in surprise, taking in the array of dishes—his favorite foods, carefully prepared and set out in neat little rows. His favorite homemade ramen, dumplings filled with a spicy kick, and a variety of small side dishes that he hadn’t expected to see in the dorm, all packed with flavor. It was a feast, all for him. "Guys," Hansol said, his voice full of awe as he looked at them. "This is… this is too much." Seungcheol placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression soft and sincere. "No, it’s not enough. You deserve more than this, Vernon. You’ve always been there for us, supporting us. We want you to know how much you mean to us, how much you’ve always meant to us." Wonwoo nodded, sitting down at the table. "Today is just a small gesture, but we wanted it to be meaningful. You’re our family, Hansol. We don’t take that lightly." Hansol’s heart thudded in his chest. They always made him feel like he belonged, but hearing their words made something deep inside him stir. The warmth of the day, the laughter, and the way they had so carefully planned everything—it was more than just a celebration of his presence in the group. It was a reminder of everything they had built together, piece by piece, over the years. He sat down at the table, the other three members quickly joining him. The room was filled with a soft chatter, each of them enjoying the food and teasing each other in that easy, familiar way they had perfected over time. Mingyu, as usual, was first to dig into the food, his mouth full as he animatedly described the various snacks he’d packed earlier. Wonwoo watched with amusement, shaking his head at the sight of their ever-hungry member, while Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, smiling contentedly. As Hansol took a bite of his ramen, he found himself lost in the warmth of the moment. The food was perfect—comforting in a way that only home-cooked meals could be. He didn’t need anything more than this—his friends, his family, all gathered around him in this moment of peace. After a while, Seungcheol looked over at him, his eyes gentle. "You know, Hansol," he began softly, "we’ve been thinking a lot about how we can make today memorable for you. How can we show you just how much you mean to us, how much we appreciate everything you do for us?" Hansol looked up, caught off guard by the sincerity in Seungcheol’s voice. "I don’t really need anything, you know. Just being with you guys, spending time together—that’s more than enough." But Seungcheol shook his head, his gaze steady. "It’s not about needing anything. It’s about making sure you feel valued, Hansol. Today is just about reminding you that we see you, and we appreciate all of you. For everything you do—for the group, for us. For the quiet moments and the loud ones." Hansol swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling the depth of their words in a way that made him ache with emotion. This wasn’t just about them being his family—it was about them acknowledging him, seeing him for everything he was and everything he gave. It was about love in its purest form. The kind that didn’t demand anything in return but was freely given. Seungcheol smiled warmly, his voice soft. "And we still have one more thing for you." Hansol’s eyes widened. "There’s more?" Mingyu grinned mischievously. "Of course. You didn’t think we were done, did you? There’s still a surprise waiting for you upstairs." Without saying another word, Seungcheol stood, leading Hansol toward the staircase. The other members followed them, the quiet murmurs of excitement growing as they reached the top floor. When they reached the door to the practice room, Hansol’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but something in his gut told him that whatever was behind this door would be something unforgettable. Seungcheol turned to him with a knowing smile. "Go ahead, Nonie. Open it." Hansol hesitated for a moment, then reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly. As the door creaked open, his breath caught in his throat. Inside the practice room, there was a setup that made his heart swell with emotion—a collection of old photos, memorabilia, and gifts from fans, each piece arranged carefully around the room. But the centerpiece, something that took his breath away, was the video projector sitting in the corner. As the light flickered on, the first image that appeared on the wall was a collection of candid moments: snapshots of Vernon’s journey with the group, moments of laughter, of growth, of struggle. The raw, unfiltered parts of their shared history that had shaped them all into who they were. And then, the video started. It was a compilation of messages from fans, each one expressing their gratitude, their love, their admiration for Hansol. There were heartfelt words from fans all over the world, their voices telling him how much he meant to them. Some were familiar faces from concerts, others were fans who had followed his journey since the very beginning. All of them had one thing in common—they loved him. They saw him for who he was, and they were grateful for the person he had become. Hansol stood there, frozen, unable to find the words. The tears that threatened to spill from his eyes were a mixture of gratitude, love, and overwhelming emotion. This—this was the final gift of the day. A reminder that, even beyond the walls of the dorm, beyond the bright lights of the stage, there were people who saw him, who loved him unconditionally. As the video came to an end, the room was filled with a silence that held the weight of their shared bond. Seungcheol stepped forward, his hand on Hansol’s shoulder once more. "We wanted you to see just how much you’re loved—not just by us, but by everyone who’s been touched by your music, your heart. You mean more than words can say." Hansol couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. He turned to Seungcheol, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. But his voice came out, barely a whisper, filled with everything he couldn’t put into words. "Thank you," he said, his voice trembling. "Thank you for everything." The members crowded around him, enveloping him in a warm embrace, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. This was more than just a day of surprises—it was a reminder that no matter what, no matter where their paths took them, they would always be there for him. And that, in itself, was the greatest gift he could have ever received. ____________________ The next day dawned, bright and full of promise, but for Hansol, the memories of the previous day’s surprises still lingered in his heart. He’d never imagined he would receive so much love, so much attention from his fellow members. But as the clock ticked on, there was an undeniable feeling that something else was coming. After all, the day before had been all about the Hip-Hop Unit, and there was still the Vocal Unit to consider. He wasn’t sure how much more of this unexpected love he could handle, but the thought of what was to come sent a nervous, excited flutter through his chest. As Hansol prepared himself for another day, he found himself in the living room, already deep in thought. The other members were bustling around, some lounging lazily, others moving in a more purposeful fashion. But there was a clear change in the air—the excitement from the day before hadn’t yet dissipated. Today would be something different. Seungkwan was the first to approach him, his usual bright energy on full display. “Hey, Hansolie! Are you ready for today?” Hansol chuckled, meeting his eyes with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “You guys really are planning something else for me, huh?” “Of course!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice filled with uncontainable enthusiasm. “You didn’t think the Vocal Unit would let you off the hook that easily, did you?” Before Hansol could respond, Woozi appeared, his usual cool demeanor softened by a small, knowing smile. “We’ve got something special lined up. You’re going to love it.” Jeonghan, who had been quietly observing the conversation from a distance, made his way over, a gentle smile on his lips. “Don’t worry, Hansol. It’s not going to be as intense as what the Hip-Hop Unit did, but it’s something we think you’ll appreciate.” Joshua, ever calm and composed, added his own piece. “We just wanted to show you that we’ve got your back, too. You’ve always been there for us, and now it’s our turn to make sure you know how much you mean to us.” Hansol felt a warm flush spread across his chest at their words. There was something uniquely comforting about being around the Vocal Unit, about the way they always seemed to find the perfect balance between fun and sincerity. His bond with them was different—less playful than the one with the Hip-Hop Unit, but no less meaningful. The members led him to the back of the dorm, where the day’s events were about to unfold. As they arrived at the area, Hansol was taken aback by what he saw. It wasn’t some grand setup like the one from yesterday. Instead, there was an intimacy to it—something that spoke of quiet, shared moments. A picnic was spread out beneath a tree, a cozy setup of blankets and cushions, accompanied by a carefully prepared spread of foods that he immediately recognized as some of his favorites. There were pastries, snacks, fruit, and of course, his favorite tea. It wasn’t just a picnic—it was a collection of memories, small moments they had shared over the years. His heart skipped a beat at the sight. “We thought we’d do something low-key for you today,” Joshua explained as he gestured toward the setup. “We know you like moments like this—simple, peaceful.” Jeonghan nodded, leaning against a nearby tree. “Sometimes the best gifts are the ones that don’t make a lot of noise.” Woozi grinned as he took a seat on the blanket. “It’s not always about the big gestures. It’s about the quiet moments we get to spend together.” Hansol slowly sank down onto the blanket, feeling an overwhelming wave of emotion flood through him. He wasn’t sure how to express it, so he simply gave them a grateful smile. “I don’t deserve all this.” “Stop it,” Seungkwan replied with a teasing tone. “You definitely do. We just want to make sure you know that. And besides, you’ve got the perfect company for a quiet afternoon.” They all gathered around the picnic, and as they sat down, the atmosphere shifted into something serene, warm, and full of love. The conversation flowed easily, moving from shared anecdotes about their recent schedule to nostalgic stories of their early days together. Hansol found himself laughing, his heart lighter than it had been in days. They talked about the moments when they first became a team, the late nights spent practicing together, and the struggles they’d overcome. Each word, each smile, wove them all closer together. Seungkwan handed Hansol a cup of tea, grinning. “You have no idea how much of a pain it was to get the tea just right. Woozi was incredibly picky about the temperature.” Woozi rolled his eyes playfully but didn’t deny it. “It had to be perfect. You can’t make tea for someone like Vernon and not make it exactly right.” Hansol’s heart swelled. He didn’t expect this. The day before had been filled with grand gestures and surprises, but today was something entirely different. This wasn’t just a celebration—it was a reminder of everything they had together, the quiet bond they’d forged through countless small moments. And it meant more than any grand gesture ever could. As they continued to chat and enjoy the simple pleasure of each other’s company, the warmth of the afternoon sunlight bathed them in a gentle glow. The world outside the dorm felt far away, irrelevant. In this space, in this moment, there was nothing but the five of them and the deep connection they shared. As the day passed, Hansol began to feel the weight of the love surrounding him. The Vocal Unit wasn’t known for their loud gestures, but it was clear in everything they did that they cared for him deeply. They didn’t need to say it—they showed it in their actions, in the way they had orchestrated this simple yet perfect day. The conversation slowly faded as the group grew quiet, taking in the peaceful afternoon. The only sound now was the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze and the soft clink of cups being set down. Hansol leaned back on the blanket, closing his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t just the gifts, the meals, or the surprises. It was the thought behind it all, the love and the effort that had gone into making him feel seen, heard, and appreciated. And in that moment, he realized just how much they meant to him. Not just the Vocal Unit, but every single one of the members. They weren’t just his group—they were his family. And that was more than enough. After a while, they began packing up the picnic, each of them helping in their own way. As they stood, Jeonghan smiled softly at Hansol. “You know, Vernon, we didn’t need to go all out with this day. But you deserve to feel this kind of love. And I’m glad we could give it to you.” Hansol, still overwhelmed, nodded. “Thank you, all of you. Really.” With a final glance at the quiet space they had created, the group made their way back to the dorm, the weight of the day’s quiet love settling into Hansol’s heart. He wasn’t sure how to express what he was feeling, but he knew one thing for certain—this was a day he would never forget. ____________________ The afternoon unfolded lazily as they made their way back inside the dorm, and though they hadn’t planned it, the quietness of the day seemed to linger in the air, leaving Hansol with a deep sense of peace. As the Vocal Unit began to help clean up the picnic area, Hansol noticed how natural and effortless it all felt. It wasn’t forced. It was like the small, shared moments of affection that had quietly built up over the years had simply converged into something unspoken but deeply understood. They drifted back to the main living room, where the day continued. The sunlight filtering in through the windows cast soft golden beams on the group, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere. Jeonghan, still exuding that calm elegance, slumped lazily onto one of the sofas, his hands resting gently on his lap. “You’re welcome to relax here as long as you like,” he said with a soft smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But I think we’re not done with the surprises yet.” Hansol tilted his head, smiling in return. “You guys really planned this whole day, didn’t you?” Seungkwan, ever the enthusiastic member, leaned forward on the armrest of a nearby chair, his eyes gleaming. “Of course we did! We’ve been talking about this for weeks. You didn’t think we’d let you get off that easy, did you?” The mood shifted again, this time toward something lighter and more playful, as if the quiet, intimate picnic had set the tone for what was to come next. The five members began to gather around Hansol, ready to bring a bit of fun into the mix after the serenity of the afternoon. Joshua stretched his arms, his usual calm demeanor still intact, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, since we’ve spent the day keeping it chill, I think it’s time to shift gears a little. We thought we could take you out, Vernon. Do something a little more... active.” Hansol raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Active?” Woozi, his signature focus and precision evident in the way he spoke, nodded. “Yes, but we want to make it fun for you. Something that speaks to your interests.” Seungkwan practically jumped to his feet. “Yeah! And, honestly, we just wanted an excuse to get out of the dorm for a bit! So, what do you say? A little adventure?” Hansol hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t exactly one to jump at physical activities, but there was something about the excitement in Seungkwan’s voice that made him want to agree. Besides, the members had been so thoughtful all day; he felt like he owed it to them to join in on whatever this next surprise was. “I guess I’m in,” Hansol said, his voice laced with a small chuckle. Jeonghan’s smile widened. “Good. We’ve got something perfect planned.” The group filed out of the dorm and into the cool evening air, with Hansol trailing behind. The short walk to their destination was filled with a sense of anticipation, with each member chatting excitedly about what was to come. Hansol couldn’t help but feel a small knot of curiosity in his chest. Where were they taking him? As they arrived at a local bowling alley, the realization hit him, and a small laugh escaped his lips. It was such a simple thing, but the idea of a bowling night with the Vocal Unit felt surprisingly perfect. Bowling wasn’t something they often did as a group, and Hansol had never even thought of it as a date activity—but now that he saw it, it seemed to fit their dynamic perfectly. There was something charming and understated about it. The simplicity of it allowed for easy conversation and lighthearted competition—just what they needed to keep the day fun and relaxed. “We’ve got a private lane reserved,” Joshua explained as they walked inside, leading Hansol to the area where the others had already started setting up. “We thought it would be a fun way to spend some time together. And, of course, we wanted to make sure you felt special.” “I’m not exactly a pro at this,” Hansol admitted, his voice filled with amusement as he looked at the bowling shoes. “But this sounds like a blast.” Seungkwan grinned, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! You’ll do great. And if not, it’ll be funny watching us all try.” The members quickly slipped into their shoes, and after a few rounds of stretching and casual conversation, they started their first game. The atmosphere was light and filled with laughter, as Hansol found himself quickly relaxing, the pressure of the previous days melting away. The members, despite their talent in other areas, were surprisingly competitive when it came to bowling, each of them jokingly trash-talking each other after each turn. Hansol’s first roll was a bit of a disaster, the ball veering off course entirely, but the laughter that followed made him forget all about the embarrassment. In fact, he was filled with such a sense of camaraderie that he didn’t care about the score. It wasn’t about that anyway. What mattered was that they were all together, in this moment. As the game went on, each member took turns, each adding something different to the energy. Woozi’s quiet but precise throws were always met with silent anticipation, while Seungkwan’s over-the-top celebrations after every point scored had everyone laughing out loud. Jeonghan, ever the natural charmer, was the one who made sure no one took the game too seriously, poking fun at himself as much as at the others. DK’s infectious energy kept the mood light, while Joshua played the role of the calm, steady player, always showing good sportsmanship. Through it all, Hansol couldn’t help but notice how, despite the competitive nature of the game, they still kept it about the bond between them. There was no true rivalry—just moments of joy and connection. By the end of the game, the scores were mostly irrelevant. Seungkwan had somehow managed to win, but even that wasn’t important. What mattered was the shared experience—the warmth of their friendship and the moments of laughter that had brought them closer together. As the night wound down, Hansol found himself sitting back, his body tired but his heart full. The day had been full of laughter, moments of connection, and quiet reassurances. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but in the span of this day, surrounded by his members, he had come to realize something deeper—something that had always been there but had never been more clear. They loved him. They really did. And not just because he was a member of SEVENTEEN. They loved him for who he was, all of him—the quiet moments and the energetic ones, the lighthearted and the serious. Hansol leaned back against the padded bench, the soft glow of the bowling alley lights casting gentle shadows across their faces. The members were gathered around, chatting amongst themselves, but he felt a deep sense of gratitude in that moment—a moment that felt suspended in time. They had shown him something special, something that words couldn’t capture. “Thanks, guys,” he whispered softly, knowing it was enough to be surrounded by their love, their laughter, and their presence. No need for grand gestures. The simplicity of today was everything he had ever needed. As they began to pack up and head out, the night ended as quietly as it had begun. The members walked side by side, teasing and laughing, as Hansol felt the weight of their love settle warmly in his chest. It was exactly what he needed. Exactly what they all needed. ____________________ The air felt crisp with the cool touch of the early morning as the sun slowly began to rise, casting soft golden rays over the quiet streets of Seoul. Hansol could feel a familiar sense of excitement buzzing in his chest as he made his way downstairs to the meeting point in the living room. The previous day with the Vocal Unit had left him feeling light and cherished, but today, something different lingered in the air. The Performance Unit was known for their high energy and spontaneous nature, and he was eager to see what kind of adventure they had planned for him. When he entered the room, he was met with an unusual calmness. There were no loud greetings or over-the-top excitement, but that only made the atmosphere feel even more special. Jun was the first to notice him and immediately flashed his signature grin. “Morning, Vernon!” he called out, his warm voice breaking the silence like a spark. “Ready for a fun day with us?” Hansol smiled back, already feeling the pull of their close-knit dynamic. "I’m ready," he replied, his voice carrying the same sense of anticipation. Hoshi, ever the ball of energy, jumped up from the couch with a bright smile on his face. “Today’s going to be awesome, trust me. We’ve got something planned that’s going to be a perfect mix of chill and action!” His enthusiasm was infectious, and Hansol couldn’t help but laugh at the excitement in his voice. “Relax, Soonyoung,” Jun teased, a playful glint in his eyes. “Let him breathe first before you overwhelm him.” Minghao, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, flashed a small but knowing smile, nodding toward Hansol. “We’ve got a few surprises in store,” he said, his calm presence grounding the moment. “But today’s going to be about you—your pace, your rhythm.” Dino, standing a little to the side, beamed at Hansol. His youthful energy balanced out the more relaxed vibe the older members were exuding. “We’ve been thinking about what you like. You enjoy a good challenge, right?” His eyes sparkled, filled with the kind of mischief that Hansol knew would lead to a fun day. “Challenge? I can’t wait to see what you guys have planned,” Hansol responded, raising an eyebrow, intrigued by their quiet but mysterious demeanor. His heart already felt lighter, just from their energy and the way they made him feel safe and supported. The first surprise came when they led him to a nearby park. But it wasn’t just any park—it was a skate park. The sight of ramps and smooth concrete pathways immediately took Hansol by surprise. The Performance Unit members had clearly noticed his interest in skateboarding from the way he occasionally talked about it in passing. It was something he used to do in his downtime, though he hadn’t really indulged in it recently. “Today,” Hoshi said with a grin, “we’re going to help you get back into it. We thought it might be fun to get some air and practice your moves.” “Wait,” Hansol looked at the others, a mix of excitement and doubt on his face. “Are you guys serious? You know I haven’t done this in a while, right?” Minghao stepped forward, his usual calm demeanor never wavering. “That’s the fun of it, Vernon. We want you to get back into the rhythm of it. No pressure. Just us, a little skateboarding, and the freedom to enjoy the day.” Jun nudged Hoshi playfully. “You’ve been wanting to teach him for a while, huh?” Hoshi rolled his eyes, but there was affection in the way he did so. “Hey, I’m a great teacher. Vernon will see!” As the group donned their helmets and knee pads, Hansol hesitated for just a second, but the warmth of his members' smiles pushed him forward. The last time he skated had been during one of the quieter moments after rehearsals, but the sense of freedom he got from it had always stayed with him. With a deep breath, he pulled his skateboard off the rack, stepping onto the smooth surface as he rolled to the edge of the park. The others were quick to join him, each of them encouraging him with laughter and playful comments. Hoshi was the first to zoom off, his movements fluid and sharp, performing tricks and spins with the ease of someone who had been doing this for years. Dino, though the youngest, was nimble and quick on his board, gliding through the park with surprising confidence. Hansol started off slow, taking small, steady steps as he felt the ground under his wheels. It was familiar, yet his movements were a little rusty. Jun, sensing the small amount of hesitation in Hansol’s body language, came up beside him, his presence reassuring. “You’ve got this, Vernon,” Jun said, his voice quiet but firm. “Just focus on the rhythm. We’re all here to support you.” With Jun by his side, Hansol found himself letting go of his doubts. He picked up the pace, gaining confidence as the wind whipped through his hair. Hoshi and Minghao were quick to offer tips, while Dino cheered him on from the sidelines, his excitement palpable. At first, Hansol’s movements were awkward, but as he practiced, the rhythm of skating began to come back. The steady flow of his board beneath him, the familiar feel of the air rushing past his face—it all came back in moments, like reconnecting to a piece of himself he hadn’t realized he’d missed. “See? Told you it would be fun!” Hoshi shouted from the other side of the park, performing a jump and landing gracefully. Hansol’s heart swelled with gratitude for the way the members had thought of him, for the way they’d paid attention to his likes, and for the way they made him feel seen. In this moment, he realized something deeper—this day was more than just about the activity. It was about the effort they had put into creating something that made him feel comfortable and cared for. They knew the importance of letting him be himself, of trusting that he could navigate these moments with their quiet encouragement. As the afternoon wore on, the group shared laughter, attempts at stunts, and moments of genuine joy. Even when Hansol fell a few times, the group was there, offering both teasing words and gentle support, lifting him up every time. By the time the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Hansol had become more confident on his board. The group had bonded over something so simple but meaningful, and the peaceful satisfaction he felt was evident in his smile. His body was tired, but there was a lightness in his chest—an unspoken realization that he had been embraced not just by their love, but by the space they created for him to be himself, unrestrained. Sitting on the grass near the park’s edge, Jun leaned over, nudging Hansol with his shoulder. “How do you feel?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. “I feel good,” Hansol said with a genuine smile. “Like I’m finally in the right rhythm again.” Minghao’s smile was soft but knowing. “It’s about letting yourself enjoy the small moments,” he said quietly. “And not feeling rushed. You’ve got time.” As the last light of day slipped away, the group gathered together, hands on each other's backs as they made their way to the car. The quiet bond between them, the unspoken affection in their movements, reminded Hansol of just how far he’d come—from the quiet, unsure moments to now, surrounded by warmth and understanding. He felt fully embraced by his members, in every sense, and for that, he couldn’t have asked for more. ____________________ As the sky darkened into twilight, the performance unit made their way to a quieter part of the park, a secluded corner surrounded by trees and soft lights. The atmosphere was different now—calmer, more reflective. There was a comfortable energy in the air, and Hansol felt at ease in their presence. The earlier skateboarding session had energized him, but the time together now felt like a grounding moment, a way for him to truly appreciate what he had with his members. Hoshi, who had been the most energetic throughout the day, seemed to mellow out as they found a comfortable place to sit on the soft grass, with the twinkling stars above them providing a serene backdrop. He smiled at Hansol, his voice quieter now. “I’m glad you enjoyed that. I know it’s been a while since you’ve skated, so I wanted it to be something you could just enjoy, no pressure.” Hansol nodded, grateful for Hoshi’s thoughtfulness. “It was perfect, honestly. I feel like I got a part of me back today.” Dino, who had been bouncing around with his usual youthful energy, flopped down beside Hansol, his eyes bright. “I can tell! You looked so happy out there.” Hansol laughed softly, the sound light and free. “I was. Honestly, you guys make it hard not to feel that way.” Jun sat cross-legged across from them, his gaze steady, but his smile was warm, reaching his eyes. “We’ve always wanted to create moments for you where you can just be yourself, you know? Not be burdened by anything. Just have fun.” Minghao, who had remained mostly quiet throughout the day, leaned back against a tree, his eyes thoughtful. “It’s not just about skating or any activity. It’s about creating spaces where you can feel comfortable, where you don’t have to worry about anything except enjoying the moment.” Hansol took a deep breath, appreciating the sentiment. “I’ve felt that with all of you today. You guys have really made me feel... like I belong.” He paused for a second, letting the feeling settle inside him. “It’s not something I always get to feel, but today, I do.” The quiet that followed felt like a moment of understanding between them, a shared connection. They didn’t need to say more, because each of them felt the truth in what Hansol had said. It wasn’t just about the activities or the laughter. It was about creating space for each other to grow, to breathe, to exist as they were, without judgment or expectation. Hoshi, ever the optimist, broke the silence with his usual energy, though there was a depth to his voice now. “You know, we still have one more surprise for you, right?” Hansol turned his head toward Hoshi, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “What’s that?” Dino leaned in, excitement twinkling in his eyes. “A small dance session! Just us. We thought you might want to get back into the groove of things, get those moves flowing again. But this time, it’s not about the choreo—it’s about having fun and letting go.” Minghao nodded, a soft smile gracing his face. “We just want to dance, no pressure, no perfection. Just movement.” Jun grinned, already standing up and extending his hand to Hansol. “So, what do you say? You in for one last round of fun?” Hansol hesitated for only a moment. He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to dance again—he’d been more focused on skating and simply being with the group. But there was something comforting about the way the members were offering it: a space for him to just be. Without pressure, without expectation. “I’m in,” Hansol said with a grin, standing up to join them. They moved to an open area in the park, where the soft moonlight illuminated their surroundings. There was no music playing—just the hum of the night and the steady rhythm of their breaths. The Performance Unit’s day had been about allowing Hansol to reconnect with a piece of himself he hadn’t realized he was missing. And now, as the moment stretched out in front of them, they were creating one more space for him to let go of any remaining hesitations. Hoshi started first, a simple step that flowed into a more exaggerated move, his body moving with ease, embodying the fun of the moment. He smiled, looking over at Hansol. “No need to worry about anything, just go with the flow.” Hansol watched for a moment, then slowly, he let himself move. It was a small step at first, but with each passing beat, he became more comfortable, letting his body respond to the rhythm of the night. Minghao was beside him, his movements graceful, almost like a fluid extension of the music in his mind. Dino joined in too, his youthful energy bringing a burst of joy to the simple movements they shared. Jun was the next to move, his body a perfect balance of strength and finesse, leading the flow with a quiet sense of control. “You’re doing great,” he said to Hansol, his voice low and encouraging. “You’ve got the rhythm in you. Don’t hold back.” And that was the magic of the moment—the freedom to move without holding anything back. No judgment, no expectation. Just a group of friends dancing under the stars, letting the world fade away as they lost themselves in the music and the connection they shared. As they danced, Hansol felt a sense of release he hadn’t realized he needed. It wasn’t about getting every move perfect or performing. It was about rediscovering the joy of movement, of being present in the moment with the people who cared for him most. After a while, they all stopped, breathless and laughing. The night air felt cooler now, but there was a warmth between them—one that had nothing to do with the temperature. It was the warmth of friendship, of genuine care, of creating memories that would last. Hoshi, panting lightly, grinned widely. “See? Wasn’t that fun?” “It was perfect,” Hansol said with a laugh, the weight of the day finally catching up to him. “You guys are really something else. I’ve never had a day quite like this.” Jun clapped him on the back, his grin wide. “That’s the point. We wanted to make sure you felt like you were a part of it all—no need to pretend to be someone else.” Minghao’s voice was soft but full of meaning. “You are enough just as you are. Today was about celebrating that.” Dino, ever the cheerful spirit, added, “And if we get to dance and skate with you along the way, it’s even better.” Hansol looked at all of them, his heart full. “Thank you. For today. For everything.” They all gathered around him, their presence a silent promise of the bond they shared. No words were needed. They knew this moment, like the day itself, would stay with them forever. It was not just about fun or games; it was about being together, supporting each other, and making space for each other’s happiness. As the stars twinkled above, the night felt like it had been crafted just for them—a perfect end to a day of rediscovery, laughter, and unspoken connection. ____________________ Hansol hadn’t expected to feel this way. The exhaustion in his body was a comfortable one, the kind that settled deep in his bones but left his heart full. Three days, three completely different experiences, yet all of them had been crafted so perfectly around him—his interests, his joys, his insecurities—by the people who knew him better than anyone. The dorm was quiet when he stepped inside, save for the soft hum of voices from the living room. He expected to find just a few members still awake, but as he turned the corner, his breath caught in his throat. All twelve of them were there, waiting for him. The atmosphere was warm, the glow of the soft lighting making the space feel even cozier. Some were sprawled out on the couches, others sitting cross-legged on the floor, and a few leaned against the furniture, looking up as he entered. The moment he stepped inside, all eyes turned to him, and a wave of emotions swelled in his chest. Seungcheol was the first to speak, his voice gentle. “Hey, you’re back.” Hansol swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. He took in the sight of them—the members who had planned three entire days just for him, making sure that each moment was filled with love, laughter, and connection. They had thought of everything, right down to the little details that made him feel seen. His throat felt tight. “You guys didn’t have to wait up for me.” “We wanted to,” Joshua said softly. “This was never just about the individual days. It was about all of us.” Hansol nodded slowly, stepping further into the room, feeling the warmth of their presence surround him. There was something about this moment—something deeper than gratitude, deeper than appreciation. It was the realization that he wasn’t alone, not in the way he sometimes feared he was. Seungkwan patted the empty spot on the couch beside him. “Come sit. Tell us—how was it?” Hansol didn’t know where to start. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on each member in turn. “It was… more than I could’ve ever expected. You guys put so much thought into everything.” Woozi, who was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, smiled faintly. “Of course we did. You deserve that much.” Hansol exhaled a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t even know how to thank you guys for all of this.” “You don’t have to,” Mingyu said, leaning forward slightly. “We didn’t do it because we wanted thanks. We did it because we love you.” The words hit Hansol in a way he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t sure why—he knew, logically, that they loved him. But hearing it so plainly, so sincerely, made his chest ache in the best way. Jun, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, tilted his head. “You okay?” Hansol blinked rapidly, looking down at his hands for a moment before exhaling a small, breathy laugh. “I don’t know. I just—” He swallowed. “I don’t think I ever realized how much I needed this.” Dino nudged him lightly. “Good thing we did, then.” Hansol lifted his gaze again, taking in each of their faces. There was no expectation in their eyes, no need for him to say anything profound. Just understanding. Just love. He thought about the way Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Mingyu had made him feel completely free, letting him be reckless and carefree, knowing they’d always be there to catch him. He thought about the way Jeonghan, Joshua, Woozi, DK, and Seungkwan had wrapped him in warmth, reminding him of the quieter parts of himself that still deserved to be celebrated. And he thought about the way Jun, Hoshi, Minghao, and Dino had pushed him just enough to rediscover something he thought he’d lost, showing him that he didn’t have to hold back. He had spent the last three days being seen in ways he never had before. Hansol let out a breath, a small, genuine smile pulling at his lips. “I love you guys too.” The words were met with a chorus of affection—some members teasing, others grinning, but all of them radiating the same warmth that had carried him through the past few days. And for the first time in a long time, Hansol didn’t feel like he had to prove anything. He didn’t feel like he had to earn this love. He just had to accept it. And that was enough.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Hansol never planned for this. If anything, he had spent years actively avoiding it. Sure, he was no stranger to humor—his dry, deadpan wit had its own charm, and he could be effortlessly funny without trying. But aegyo? That was a whole different beast, one he had skillfully dodged for as long as SEVENTEEN had existed. So when it happened, it wasn’t premeditated. It wasn’t part of some grand scheme or an attempt to reinvent himself. It just… happened. It started with a fan. They were in the middle of a live broadcast, one of those casual ones where they gathered around, talking about anything and everything. Seungcheol was leading the conversation, Jun was spacing out, and Seungkwan was doing his usual job of keeping the energy up. Vernon was comfortable in his usual spot, occasionally chiming in when the mood struck him. And then, the comment appeared. "Vernon-oppa, please do aegyo!" A harmless request. Simple. Innocent. His immediate reaction was to pretend he hadn’t seen it. Maybe if he ignored it, they’d move on. But Seungkwan, of course, was sharp. “Oh? Vernon-ah, a Carat wants to see your aegyo!” Seungkwan announced with barely contained glee. The room’s energy shifted in an instant. “Aegyo? Hansol?” Mingyu laughed, already leaning in as if this was about to be the event of the century. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do real aegyo before,” Joshua mused, eyes twinkling with amusement. Hansol tensed. He could already hear the inevitable teasing that would come from this. There were ways out, of course. He could say no. He could deflect, change the subject, pretend his Wi-Fi suddenly cut out. But for some reason—maybe because of the sheer anticipation in the air, or maybe because he didn’t want to disappoint the fan—he found himself doing something unexpected. He lifted both hands, curled them into fists, and hesitantly brought them to his cheeks. “Bbuing-bbuing,” he muttered, voice flat, expression unchanging. Silence. Then chaos. Seungkwan actually fell over, clutching his stomach. Joshua and Jeonghan were laughing so hard they could barely breathe. Mingyu was dramatically shaking his head in mock disappointment. Even Woozi, who usually stayed out of these things, was chuckling under his breath. “That was terrible,” Hoshi gasped between laughs. “Like, impressively bad.” Hansol shrugged, expression still neutral. “I tried.” “You really didn’t,” Jun deadpanned, wiping tears from his eyes. And just like that, something clicked. Maybe it was the reaction—how even Woozi, the hardest to crack, had found it funny. Maybe it was the way the members immediately latched onto it, throwing exaggerated reactions his way. Maybe it was just the sheer absurdity of it all. But for the first time in his life, Vernon thought… maybe aegyo wasn’t that bad. Maybe—just maybe—he could have some fun with this. ____________________ The laughter didn’t die down easily. Every time someone managed to catch their breath, one of them would glance at Hansol and start wheezing all over again. “That was so bad,” Seungcheol said, wiping at his eyes. “I mean, I knew it would be bad, but I didn’t think it would be that bad.” Hansol sat there, arms crossed, utterly unbothered. “I did what they asked.” “No, you did the bare minimum,” Seungkwan corrected, still breathless. “Somehow, that made it funnier,” Mingyu pointed out. “Like, you weren’t even trying, and it still had the biggest impact.” Hansol tilted his head in thought. That was true. He hadn’t actually put much effort into it, and yet it had completely derailed the live. Maybe that was what made it funny—his deadpan approach, the sheer wrongness of seeing him attempt aegyo. “Wait, wait,” Hoshi suddenly sat up straighter, eyes glinting with mischief. “Do it again.” Hansol blinked. “Why?” “Because now you have to commit,” Hoshi said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “If you’re gonna do aegyo, you can’t half-ass it. You gotta go all in.” The others immediately jumped in. “Oh, yes,” Jeonghan grinned, leaning forward. “I fully support this.” “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Joshua offered, though his smile said he was curious to see how this played out. “Do it,” Woozi encouraged, his voice unusually light. “For the fans.” Hansol narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t entirely opposed to doing it again, but if he was going to, he needed to make it count. If they thought his weak little bbuing-bbuing was funny, then what would happen if he really went for it? A challenge sparked in his chest. Fine. If they wanted aegyo, he’d give them aegyo. Hansol cleared his throat, and the room quieted slightly. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, his entire demeanor had changed. He clasped his hands under his chin, tilting his head at an exaggerated angle, eyes wide like a puppy’s. Then, in the highest, most ridiculously sweet voice he could manage, he chirped, “Ppiyak~!” Pandemonium. Seungkwan shrieked. Mingyu collapsed onto Joshua’s shoulder, wheezing. Seungcheol’s soul visibly left his body. Hoshi was on the floor, clutching his stomach. Woozi covered his mouth, shaking with silent laughter. “No, no, no, no, NO,” Seungcheol gasped between breaths. “What was THAT?” Hansol grinned. “You asked for it.” “That was so much worse than I expected,” Jeonghan choked out, wiping tears from his eyes. “That was terrifying,” Wonwoo deadpanned, though his expression betrayed amusement. “I think I transcended for a moment,” Joshua said, voice weak from laughter. Hansol just sat there, completely unfazed by the reaction. This was actually… kind of fun. The chaos continued, the members trying to recover, wiping their eyes, fanning themselves as if he had just done something groundbreaking. And that’s when he knew—this wasn’t the end. This was just the beginning. ____________________ If Hansol thought his spontaneous aegyo moment would be a one-time thing, he was sorely mistaken. The moment their live ended, the members were relentless. “You have to do that on camera again,” Seungkwan insisted, still wiping away tears. “Carats are going to lose it.” Hoshi draped himself over Hansol’s shoulders, voice syrupy with mischief. “Imagine doing that during an encore stage. The fans would eat it up.” “Do it for content,” Mingyu said, poking Hansol’s arm. “You know the staff will love it.” Hansol just blinked at them, completely unimpressed. “I don’t have to do anything.” That, of course, did not deter them in the slightest. From that moment on, his life became a battlefield. Every time he turned a corner, someone was waiting, phone in hand, demanding another aegyo performance. At practice, Jun would suddenly call his name and make an exaggerated heart motion at him. At the dorm, Woozi—Woozi!—would smirk and casually say, “Hey, Vernon, give us a ppiyak~,” just to see him suffer. It was never-ending. And worse, it was spreading. After Hansol’s unexpected dive into aegyo, the entire group had entered a new phase of competitiveness. “Okay, but mine’s still better,” Seungkwan declared one day, striking a cute pose. “Mine’s natural.” “Yours is predictable,” Jeonghan countered. “Hansol’s works because it’s unexpected.” “I can do unexpected,” Seungkwan said, determined. He turned to Hansol. “Teach me your ways.” Hansol just stared at him. “You’ve been doing aegyo for years.” “Yes, but your aegyo is special.” It didn’t stop there. During a variety show recording, DK and Mingyu both tried to imitate his aegyo—poorly. DK’s attempt had him doubling over in laughter halfway through, while Mingyu’s was so exaggerated that even the staff cringed. “Please,” Woozi muttered after watching Mingyu. “Make it stop.” Hansol could only watch in mild horror as his one accidental act of aegyo had become a full-blown epidemic. And then, the unthinkable happened. Someone suggested he do it during a music show ending fairy moment. “We’re running out of ideas anyway,” Hoshi pointed out. “You should just do your signature aegyo when the camera lands on you.” “Absolutely not.” “Carats would love it,” Joshua reasoned. “They’d go insane.” “I’d love to see it,” Woozi admitted, a rare sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “No.” But the seed had been planted. Hansol could already tell—this wasn’t going to end until someone physically forced him to stop. ____________________ Hansol had officially lost control of his own life. At first, it was just the members messing around, trying to get him to do aegyo whenever they had downtime. But now? Now, it was a full-blown movement. The Vernon Aegyo Agenda was being pushed from all angles—staff, fans, and even their own managers were in on it. It started subtly. The next time they did a live, Seungkwan casually mentioned, “Oh, Vernon’s really been enjoying doing aegyo lately.” Hansol’s head snapped toward him. “I what?” Jeonghan leaned in with a smile that was far too sweet. “Yeah, it’s his new thing. He’s actually the cutest member now.” The comments exploded.
VERNON AEGYO ERA???
I NEVER THOUGHT I’D LIVE TO SEE THIS DAY
DROP THE COMPILATION NOW
PPUYAAAK
Hansol buried his face in his hands as Seungkwan and Jeonghan grinned like they had just secured the ultimate victory. And it only escalated from there. During their next fan sign, a Carat handed him a post-it note with a request:
Can you do bbuing-bbuing for us?
Hansol froze. He could feel the members watching him, waiting for his reaction. He turned slowly, eyes pleading for help, but all he got in return was Woozi muffling laughter and Mingyu nodding encouragingly. Traitors. “You can do it,” Joshua said, ever the supportive hyung. “They asked nicely.” Hansol took a deep breath. “Fine.” He clenched his fists near his face, scrunched up his nose, and let out a hesitant, “Bbuing-bbuing.” Chaos erupted. Carats shrieked. Seungkwan actually collapsed in his chair, wheezing. Hoshi fist-pumped the air, while Jun dramatically fanned himself like he was about to faint. Hansol groaned. He knew—he knew—this would come back to haunt him. And it did. During their next Going Seventeen shoot, the producers set up an aegyo battle, with him as the final boss. “NO,” he said immediately. “Yes,” Jeonghan countered. “They already know who the winner is,” Hoshi said, slinging an arm around him. “Vernon, show them your true power.” “This is actually psychological warfare,” Hansol muttered, but he had no choice. So he went all out. He did the full puppy eyes, pout, high-pitched voice combo, throwing in an exaggerated wink at the end. It was too much. The members screamed. Minghao physically backed away. DK had tears in his eyes. “MAKE IT STOP,” Wonwoo begged, covering his face. Seungcheol, their fearless leader, just sat there in stunned silence before saying, “I have never been more afraid in my life.” Hansol took a deep breath and sat back down, satisfied. At least now they knew—if he was going to suffer, they were all going down with him. ____________________ The thing was, Hansol hadn't really planned for this to happen. It started as a joke, something spontaneous and ridiculous, but now it was a full-blown phenomenon. Every time he walked into a room, someone was either teasing him about his aegyo or demanding he do more of it. He’d overheard staff members calling him “the secret aegyo king” and had seen too many compilations online titled Vernon’s Unexpected Cuteness Taking Over the World. But the real moment of reckoning came during a quiet night in the dorm. The members were scattered around the living room, some on the couch, some sprawled across the floor. They had just finished a long day of schedules, and the exhaustion hung in the air, but it was the good kind—the kind that came after giving their all. Seungkwan, half-asleep with his head resting on Joshua’s shoulder, mumbled, “I still can’t believe Vernon is willingly doing aegyo these days.” Woozi chuckled. “It still doesn’t feel real.” Hansol leaned against the armrest, staring at the ceiling. “…It’s not that weird, is it?” Mingyu scoffed. “Hansol. You used to visibly cringe whenever someone did aegyo near you. Now you’re doing full-on performances. What changed?” He hesitated. The truth was, it wasn’t just some random shift. “Do you remember that fan sign a few weeks ago?” he asked, voice quieter than usual. The members exchanged looks. “There was this one Carat,” he continued, “who asked me to do aegyo. But before that, they told me they’d been having a really hard time. That watching our content was the only thing keeping them going.” No one interrupted. “I didn’t know what to say at first,” Hansol admitted. “So I just… did something stupid. Bbuing-bbuing, or whatever. And they laughed.” He exhaled, rubbing his hands together. “And it hit me—if doing something dumb like that could make someone smile, even for a second, then… why not?” The room was silent. Then Seungcheol, always the first to understand, gave him a small, knowing nod. “That’s very you.” Woozi smiled, soft and genuine. “I get it now.” Seungkwan, still resting against Joshua, murmured, “You really do care a lot more than people think.” Hansol shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “It’s not that deep.” But it was. Because after that moment, it wasn’t just about making the members suffer from secondhand embarrassment—it was about something bigger. It was about making people smile. ____________________ The weight of his words settled over the room, but it wasn’t heavy—it was warm, like the comfort of an old hoodie or the way their voices blended together when they sang. Jun, who had been quietly listening from the corner, finally spoke up. “So, you’re saying you started doing aegyo just to make people happy?” Hansol hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much.” There was a beat of silence before Minghao, ever the observant one, leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “And now it’s become a habit.” Hansol blinked. “Huh?” Minghao smirked. “You don’t even realize it, but you’ve been doing it more and more. At first, it was just a joke. Then it was to cheer people up. But now?” He pointed at him. “You do it without thinking.” Hansol opened his mouth to argue—but then he thought about the past few weeks. The way he unconsciously scrunched his nose when teasing Seungkwan, the exaggerated pouts he’d started throwing at Mingyu whenever he wanted something, the automatic peace signs and winks during fansigns. Oh, no. Mingyu burst into laughter, smacking his knee. “He’s right! You’ve become one of them.” Hansol groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is not what I intended.” Hoshi, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly perked up. “So you’re saying… you’ve embraced the aegyo?” “No, I—” “I knew this day would come,” Hoshi gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “You mocked us, Vernon. You laughed at us! But now? Now you are one of us.” “I AM NOT—” “You’re like a method actor who got too deep into the role,” Seokmin added, grinning. Joshua, ever the peacemaker, chuckled. “Well, I think it’s kind of nice.” Hansol turned to him in disbelief. “Not you too.” Joshua shrugged. “You’re showing us a different side of yourself. And honestly?” He gave him an easy smile. “I think it’s cute.” Hansol groaned louder, flopping back against the couch as the members erupted into laughter. But beneath all the teasing, there was something unspoken—something Hansol wasn’t sure he knew how to put into words. It wasn’t just about making people happy. It was about letting go of the idea that he had to be just one thing. Cool, composed, laid-back—he could be all of that and still be playful, still be ridiculous, still be soft. And his members? They never needed him to be just one thing, either. They loved all versions of him. ____________________ Hansol was done. Finished. Retiring. He was putting his aegyo career to rest before it could spiral even further out of control. At least, that was the plan. The moment he walked into the practice room that morning, he announced it to the group. “I’m quitting aegyo.” No one reacted. Seungcheol was stretching, Mingyu was chugging water, and Woozi was tuning his guitar. Hansol cleared his throat. “Did you hear me? I said I’m quitting.” Joshua, without even looking up from his phone, calmly replied, “No, you’re not.” Hansol frowned. “Yes, I am.” Jun, leaning against the mirror, smirked. “Nah.” Frustration bubbled up. “What do you mean, ‘nah’?” “You can’t quit,” Seungkwan said simply. “Why not?” “Because it’s too late,” Minghao said dramatically. “You’ve become aegyo.” Hansol scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. I can just stop.” Mingyu crossed his arms, skeptical. “Oh yeah? Prove it. Go the whole day without doing anything remotely cute.” Hansol rolled his eyes. “Easy.” Seungcheol clapped his hands together. “Alright, everyone heard it. From now until midnight, Hansol is banned from doing aegyo. If he fails, he has to do a full minute of over-the-top aegyo live on Weverse.” Hansol’s stomach dropped. “Wait, what?” Jeonghan smirked. “You agreed.” Hansol groaned. This was going to be a nightmare. ____________________ The first few hours went well. He kept his facial expressions neutral, avoided any accidental pouts, and refrained from using the cute voice that had somehow developed over time. He was completely in control. But then the traps started. Hoshi “accidentally” dropped his water bottle in front of him, forcing Hansol to resist the instinctive puppy-eyed stare he’d apparently picked up. Mingyu, fully aware of Hansol’s habit of whining dramatically when things didn’t go his way, stole his phone and waited. Jun pretended to be sad just to see if Hansol would instinctively do bbuing-bbuing to cheer him up. It was psychological warfare. And then came the real test. During a break, Hansol sat on the couch, feeling confident. It was almost dinnertime, and he was winning. But then Woozi—who had been quietly watching the chaos unfold—suddenly smirked. “Hey, Hansol.” Hansol turned. “Yeah?” Woozi pointed at his own cheek. “Aegyo.” It was a reflex. A conditioned response. Before Hansol could even think, his hands went up automatically—bbuing-bbuing in full force. The room exploded. “GOT HIM!” Seungkwan screamed. Hoshi collapsed to the floor, laughing so hard he wheezed. Mingyu fist-pumped. “We KNEW he couldn’t last.” Hansol sat there, frozen, hands still in position. “…I hate all of you.” Seungcheol clapped him on the back, grinning. “Get ready, Vernon. You’ve got a live broadcast to do.” ____________________ That night, Hansol sat in front of his phone, broadcasting live to thousands of excited Carats. “…I lost a bet,” he admitted, expression flat. The comments flooded in. DO THE CUTE STUFF, VERNON!!! WE NEED FULL PERFORMANCE MODE! Aegyo king!!! Hansol sighed. “I want you all to know that I tried to stop.” Behind the camera, Seungkwan yelled, “LIAR.” Hansol glared before turning back to the screen. “…Fine.” And with the deepest sigh of resignation, he lifted his fists and bbuing-bbuinged with all the dramatic flair he could muster. The comments exploded. The members cheered. Hansol groaned. There was no escape. He was doomed to be the unexpected aegyo king of SEVENTEEN forever.
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The theme park was already alive with motion, a swirling mix of colors, sounds, and energy that pulsed through the summer air. The sun hung high, beating down on the endless lines of families, teenagers, and tourists, all eager to experience the thrill of rides and the charm of themed attractions. The scent of buttery popcorn and sugary churros drifted through the crowded walkways, mingling with the occasional burst of mist from hidden cooling fans. Hansol adjusted the strap of his crossbody bag, his gaze flicking between the towering roller coasters and the oversized, costumed mascots dancing along the main street of the park. He wasn’t exactly a theme park enthusiast—crowds weren’t his thing, and neither was standing in long lines under the scorching sun—but the rare day off with Seungkwan, Joshua, Mingyu, and DK had been enough to convince him to tag along. “Alright, where are we heading first?” Joshua asked, tilting his head slightly to glance at the map in his hands. “The biggest roller coaster, obviously,” Mingyu grinned, pointing toward a looping monstrosity in the distance. “No, no, we should start with something easy,” Seungkwan countered, already looking exhausted from the heat. “Like... the shaded benches. In the snack area.” DK chuckled, throwing an arm around Seungkwan’s shoulders. “Come on, it’s a theme park! We gotta go for something exciting first!” Hansol stood a little behind them, taking in the chaotic but joyful atmosphere around him. The mix of excitement and slight unease stirred in his chest—he wanted to enjoy himself, but the sheer number of people pressing in from all sides made him feel a little on edge. Still, the playful arguments of his members made it easier to focus on the fun. Eventually, after some bickering, the group settled on starting with a high-speed ride in one of the themed lands. The line was long, wrapping around metal railings that barely provided shade, but the animated conversations between the members kept them entertained. Hansol found himself zoning out at times, watching the passing crowd, the blinking lights of game booths, the bright banners advertising new attractions. Something about the atmosphere was surreal—the kind of place that felt like a dream when you were inside it and a blur when you left. By the time they got off the first ride, a high-speed coaster that left their hair windswept and their adrenaline pumping, Hansol was laughing along with the others, his earlier hesitation fading. “This is actually fun,” he admitted, brushing a hand through his hair as they stepped back into the crowded walkway. “See? Told you!” DK grinned, nudging him playfully. Seungkwan, however, was already looking over the park map. “Okay, now that we’ve done Mingyu’s pick, can we please get something to drink before we melt?” “Fine, fine,” Joshua relented, scanning the area for a food stand. “Let’s go that way.” The group made their way toward a themed café, passing by a particularly flashy attraction on the way—a quirky, interactive exhibit with giant animatronic figures and an entrance designed like the mouth of a grinning cartoon character. The exaggerated features and bright lights caught Hansol’s eye, and for a moment, he slowed his steps, curiosity tugging at him. He hesitated, glancing toward the others, who were still talking and heading toward the café. It wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look, right? Just a minute. With that thought, he let his feet carry him toward the entrance, stepping into the cool, dimly lit interior of the attraction. He didn’t realize his mistake until much later. ____________________ The moment Hansol stepped inside, the chaotic sounds of the park outside dulled into a strange, whimsical atmosphere. The air-conditioning was a welcome relief from the humid summer heat, and the space was filled with oversized, cartoonish props that made him feel like he had walked straight into a surreal storybook. The attraction was designed like an interactive funhouse—half-museum, half-walkthrough experience, with exaggerated decor and bizarre displays that encouraged visitors to explore. Giant animated eyes blinked from the walls, and colorful lights flickered in playful patterns along the floor. Somewhere in the background, a looping soundtrack of laughter and quirky sound effects played, making the whole place feel both amusing and slightly eerie. Hansol took a few steps further inside, drawn in by the strange displays. There was something almost nostalgic about it—like the kind of childhood fantasy world he would’ve loved as a kid, but now, as an adult, he wasn’t sure if it was charming or just slightly unsettling. A few other visitors wandered through, taking pictures and pressing buttons on interactive panels that made animatronic characters move and talk. Hansol found himself pausing in front of a particularly strange exhibit: a row of doors labeled with odd, misleading signs like "Shortcut to Adventure!" and "This Way to the Unknown!" He smirked to himself—whoever designed this place had a sense of humor. Instinctively, he reached for his phone to snap a picture, only to be met with the dreaded black screen of a dead battery. Right. Forgot about that. He sighed, slipping the device back into his pocket. He turned to leave, suddenly remembering the others were waiting for him outside. But as he glanced toward the entrance, his stomach sank. The flow of visitors had changed, and the pathway he came from was now blocked by a slow-moving queue of people entering from another direction. The funhouse was built like a maze, with multiple winding paths and looping corridors—without thinking, he had followed an unfamiliar route deeper inside. Hansol took a breath, willing himself to stay calm. It wasn’t a big deal. He could just backtrack and find his way out. Except… every turn he took seemed to lead him into a different section of the attraction. A narrow hallway with mirrors that distorted his reflection. A rotating tunnel that made him momentarily lose balance. A circular room with multiple exits, all of which looked the same. Okay. Maybe this was a slightly bigger deal than he thought. He huffed in mild frustration, running a hand through his hair. Great. I lost the group in a literal children’s attraction. Somewhere outside, Seungkwan was probably complaining about the heat, Mingyu was likely still hyped from the roller coaster, and Joshua and DK were probably laughing about something ridiculous. None of them had noticed he wasn’t with them. Yet. Hansol exhaled through his nose. He just had to find the way out and get back to them before they realized anything was wrong. Simple. Or at least, it should have been. But as he took another turn—this time ending up in an area filled with moving platforms and fake doors—he began to realize something. The longer he wandered, the more overwhelming the whole place felt. The playful decorations now seemed excessive, the blinking lights too disorienting. He had never been one to panic easily, but an uneasy feeling started creeping in. The sound of laughter and excited voices from other visitors filled the space, but none of them were familiar. He was alone in a sea of strangers, with no way to contact his group. And outside, the massive theme park stretched endlessly in every direction. Hansol sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. This is going to be a long day. ____________________ Hansol finally stumbled out of the attraction, blinking against the sudden onslaught of bright summer sunlight. The relief of fresh air and open space lasted about two seconds before reality set in. He had no idea where he was. The funhouse had spat him out into a completely different section of the park than where he’d entered. Instead of the familiar area with carnival games and food stalls where he’d last seen the others, he was now standing in the middle of a plaza surrounded by towering attractions he didn’t recognize. A massive roller coaster roared overhead, its tracks weaving through artificial mountains, and a costumed performer on stilts waved dramatically at passing guests. Hansol took a slow breath. Okay. Think logically. The theme park was split into themed lands, like a mix between Disneyland and a traditional amusement park. If he could figure out which land he was in, he could retrace his steps back to where the others were. He turned toward the nearest signpost, scanning the names of the attractions. “Mystic Canyon,” it read, with arrows pointing toward various rides and eateries. Hansol frowned. That’s… definitely not where I was before. He looked around again, hoping for some kind of familiar landmark, but the crowd was denser here—families with strollers, groups of tourists holding oversized maps, teenagers running toward the nearest thrill ride. It was an overwhelming rush of movement, bright colors, and overlapping conversations, making it impossible to get his bearings. The heat wasn’t helping either. The humid summer air clung to his skin, and the asphalt radiated warmth beneath his feet. Reaching for his phone again out of habit, he cursed under his breath when he remembered it was dead. Alright. New plan. He’d ask for directions. Simple. Spotting a nearby park employee dressed in a brightly colored uniform, Hansol approached with as much casual confidence as he could manage. “Uh, excuse me,” he said, trying not to sound as lost as he felt. “Do you know how to get to…” He hesitated. Where had they even been? “The… area with the carnival games?” The employee smiled brightly. “Of course! That sounds like the Festival Square! You’ll want to head straight through Mystic Canyon, take a left at the Pirate’s Cove, and follow the path past the Cosmic Zone until you reach the entrance to Festival Square!” Hansol stared. That meant nothing to him. Seeing his expression, the employee laughed. “It’s a bit tricky if you’re new! I recommend checking the park app—there’s a real-time map that shows your location and the quickest route!” Hansol managed a tight smile. “Right. Thanks.” The employee nodded and went back to directing guests. Hansol sighed, dragging a hand down his face. No phone meant no app, no real-time map, and no easy way out of this mess. Maybe he should just start walking. With no better option, he set off through Mystic Canyon, weaving through the crowd and keeping an eye out for any familiar sights. But the deeper he went, the more chaotic it became. The pathways twisted in unexpected directions, packed with people moving in every possible way. He found himself sidestepping an excited group of kids, nearly walking into a street performer juggling flaming torches, and getting caught between two massive tour groups moving in opposite directions. Every time he thought he was making progress, he’d hit a dead-end or loop back to where he started. It was frustrating. No, he admitted, it was infuriating. Hansol wasn’t the type to panic, but the sheer size of the park, the density of the crowd, and the constant noise were starting to chip away at his patience. The longer he stayed lost, the more he felt the creeping sense of helplessness settle in. And worst of all, he had no way to tell the others. His stomach twisted. He knew they’d notice his absence sooner or later. Maybe they already had. But for now, he was completely alone in a never-ending sea of strangers. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. No. I just need to focus. Keep moving. Unbeknownst to him, in another corner of the park, four frantic SEVENTEEN members had just realized something was very, very wrong. ____________________ Hansol kept walking. At first, he moved with purpose, determined to find his way back on his own. But as time passed, his confidence wavered. Every new pathway looked identical to the last, every attraction seemed to blend into the chaotic mess of colors, signs, and endless noise. The sun blazed overhead, the heat growing unbearable. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, wishing for even the smallest breeze. His legs were beginning to ache from the constant walking, and his throat felt dry. How long had he been wandering? He paused near a food stand, debating whether to buy something just to take a break. He reached for his pocket—only to remember that his wallet was in Mingyu’s bag. Of course. Hansol groaned. So, no phone, no money, no way to contact anyone. He was well and truly stranded. This was fine. Totally fine. He leaned against a railing, scanning the crowd. He could just ask another employee, but if he got another confusing set of directions, he wasn’t sure his patience would hold. He’d already circled this part of the park twice, and he wasn’t any closer to figuring out where he was. A sudden, sharp tug on his sleeve startled him. “Are you lost?” Hansol turned to find a small kid staring up at him with wide eyes. He blinked. “Uh…” “You look lost,” the kid said matter-of-factly, nodding to himself. “That’s how my little brother looked when he got lost at the zoo.” Hansol let out a short, breathy laugh. “I mean… yeah, kinda.” The kid tilted his head. “You should find a map.” “I would,” Hansol sighed, “but my phone’s dead, and I haven’t seen a paper map anywhere.” The kid’s eyes brightened. “I have one!” Before Hansol could react, the kid dug into his backpack and pulled out a folded-up park brochure, handing it over like it was a sacred artifact. Hansol hesitated, then accepted it with a grateful nod. “Thanks, kiddo. You might’ve just saved my life.” The kid grinned. “No problem! My mom says I have a good sense of direction.” He pointed to the map. “Where do you need to go?” Hansol squinted at the tiny, cartoonish layout of the park. “Festival Square.” The kid hummed in thought. “Ooooh, that’s kinda far. You have to go past the big roller coaster and then through the pirate place. But be careful—there’s a really twisty path, and my mom got lost there once.” Hansol’s shoulders sagged slightly. Great. The kid clapped him on the arm. “Good luck, mister!” Then, without another word, he ran off, disappearing into the crowd. Hansol shook his head with a small smile. Well. At least someone believed in him. Armed with the map, he took a deep breath and started walking again. ____________________ Meanwhile, in another part of the park, chaos had officially erupted. “Okay, so let’s not panic,” Joshua said, attempting to keep his voice level, though his grip on his phone was dangerously tight. “We just… need to think. Rationally.” Seungkwan was pacing. “We lost Hansol. Hansol.” Mingyu ran a hand through his hair. “He was right behind us. I swear he was right behind us!” “Well, he’s obviously not now,” DK pointed out. “What if he—” He cut himself off, refusing to finish the sentence. Joshua exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay calm. “Okay, let’s break this down. Where was the last place we saw him?” “The funhouse,” Mingyu said immediately. “That weird mirror thing.” “Right. So, either he got turned around in there and left through another exit, or he got distracted by something and wandered off,” Joshua reasoned. DK’s phone buzzed. He looked down at their group chat. Seungcheol: why is our gc exploding??Woozi: ??? did one of u get arrested??Hoshi: if it’s mingyu i’m not surprised “Ignore them,” Seungkwan snapped, typing furiously into the chat. Seungkwan: NO ONE GOT ARRESTED WE LOST HANSOL The response was immediate. Seungcheol: YOU WHATJeonghan: lol whatMinghao: how do u LOSE a whole person Mingyu groaned. “This is so bad.” “We’ll find him,” Joshua said firmly. “Let’s split up. Two of us go back to the funhouse, the other two check nearby areas. We meet back here in twenty minutes.” Seungkwan nodded, determined. “We have to find him before he panics.” What they didn’t know was that Hansol had already hit his breaking point. ____________________ Hansol trudged through the park, his frustration mounting with every wrong turn. At first, he had been fine—annoyed, sure, but still convinced that he could handle it. But the longer he walked, the more overwhelming everything became. The laughter, the screams from nearby rides, the blaring music, the overlapping voices—it was too much. His head throbbed. His shirt stuck uncomfortably to his back. Every sign and landmark blurred together. It was like the park was playing a cruel joke on him, twisting and shifting just to keep him trapped. And the worst part? It was his own fault. He had been the one who got distracted. He had been the one who lost track of the group. If he had just paid attention, if he had just stuck closer— Stop. Hansol inhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. Beating himself up wouldn’t help. He had to keep moving. But before he could take another step, chaos arrived in the form of five overly enthusiastic tourists. A camera flashed directly in his face. “YOU! YOU’RE PERFECT!” Hansol blinked, momentarily blinded. “Huh—?” The next thing he knew, he was being pulled into the middle of a group photo. Someone shoved a plastic sword into his hand. Someone else adjusted his hat. The entire group was grinning, completely oblivious to his confusion. “Act like a pirate!” one of them encouraged. “What?” “A PIRATE! Arrrrr!” Hansol stared at them, still trying to process what was happening. They all looked so excited. He hesitated—then, with a defeated sigh, he raised the toy sword half-heartedly. “...Arrr.” The group cheered. “PERFECT!” And then, just as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, running off to their next adventure. Hansol stood there for a long moment, the plastic sword still in his hand. “What just happened?” he muttered to himself. Shaking his head, he tossed the sword onto a nearby bench and kept walking. ____________________ Meanwhile… “Anything?” Joshua asked. “No,” DK sighed, rubbing his temples. “I swear, I checked every possible place near the funhouse.” Mingyu returned, breathless. “Not near the roller coasters either.” Seungkwan was pacing again, his phone clenched tightly in his fist. “This is a nightmare. What if we don’t find him before the park closes?” “Don’t think like that,” Joshua said firmly. “We will find him.” “But what if we—” Seungkwan’s words cut off when Mingyu’s phone rang. Everyone froze. It wasn’t Hansol’s number. It was an unknown number. Mingyu answered immediately. “Hello?” “Uh… hi,” came a hesitant voice. Mingyu’s eyes widened. “Hansol?!” “Yeah. Uh. So.” Hansol sighed. “I need help.” Seungkwan let out an actual sob of relief. “WHERE ARE YOU?!” There was a long pause. “…I have no idea.” ____________________ Hansol sat on a bench, utterly drained. After everything—the wandering, the overthinking, the sheer stress—he had finally given in and borrowed a phone from a kind park employee. The moment he had heard Mingyu’s voice, something in him eased. He wasn’t alone in this. His friends were looking for him. And now, finally, they were coming. ____________________ Mingyu pressed the phone closer to his ear, his heart still pounding. "Okay, uh—what do you see around you? Any landmarks? Signs?" Hansol exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "Hold on." He turned in his seat, scanning his surroundings. "There's... a popcorn stand. And a, uh—" He squinted. "A statue of a giant octopus?" Seungkwan groaned. "That does not narrow it down, Hansol!" Hansol frowned. "You think I chose to get lost next to an octopus?" "Guys, focus," Joshua cut in. "Hansol, did you pass any big rides recently?" Hansol tried to think, but the heat and exhaustion had made his memory hazy. "Uh… I think I walked past a haunted house?" "Wait, I saw that earlier!" DK's eyes widened. "It’s near the back of the park!" Mingyu grinned. "We’re coming! Stay put, okay?" "Yeah, yeah," Hansol muttered, but the second the call ended, he slumped back against the bench, finally letting his guard down. For the first time since getting separated, he felt like he could breathe. ____________________ Meanwhile, the search continued—frantically. "Move faster!" Seungkwan snapped, jogging ahead. "I'm trying, but some people have long legs and I—" DK cut himself off with a wheeze. Mingyu, the fastest of the group, was already several steps ahead, weaving through the crowd with single-minded determination. "Just keep up!" Joshua, despite being the most composed, was also clearly on edge. "Let’s just get to him before he wanders again." "Why do you sound like a stressed-out parent?" DK muttered. Joshua shot him a look. "Because apparently, I am one now." Seungkwan suddenly perked up. "I SEE THE HAUNTED HOUSE!" Mingyu practically sprinted forward, leaving the others scrambling to catch up. ____________________ Hansol sat with his arms crossed, watching a group of little kids fight over a balloon. The longer he sat there, the more surreal the day felt. He had been lost for hours. The anxiety, the frustration—it had been overwhelming. But now that help was finally coming, all that was left was exhaustion. And, okay, maybe a little embarrassment. He had spent all this time convinced that he had to handle everything on his own, but in the end, he had needed the others. He had needed their help, their voices, their reassurances. He wasn’t alone. And before he could overthink it further— "HANSOL!" His head snapped up just as Mingyu skidded to a stop in front of him, nearly knocking over a nearby trash can in the process. Hansol blinked. "...Yo." Mingyu grabbed his shoulders. "ARE YOU STUPID?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH WE FREAKED OUT?!" Hansol barely had time to register Mingyu’s frantic expression before the rest of the group arrived, all equally breathless. Seungkwan bent over, panting. "I—am never—letting you out of my sight—ever again." DK threw his hands in the air. "WE SEARCHED HALF THE PARK FOR YOU!" Joshua just stared at Hansol for a long moment before shaking his head with a relieved sigh. "Finally." Hansol, still somewhat overwhelmed by their sheer intensity, mumbled, "Uh… surprise?" Mingyu whacked his arm. "NOT FUNNY." Hansol winced. "Ow—okay, okay, I get it." Seungkwan suddenly clutched his chest. "Do you? Because I think I aged at least ten years today." Hansol cracked a tired smile. "You aged? I’m the one who had to navigate this chaotic mess alone." Joshua sighed. "Never again." "Agreed," DK said immediately. "Next time, we use a leash." Hansol scowled. "Excuse me?" "Metaphorically," Joshua corrected. Then, after a pause, "…Maybe." Hansol groaned, but despite himself, a warmth settled in his chest. They were all here. They had come for him. And despite everything, the panic, the exhaustion—he suddenly felt lighter. ____________________ Hansol hadn’t expected the feeling of being found to be so loud. The relief hit him first in a rush—like the air itself had thickened, only to clear when he saw the faces of his members surrounding him. But then, everything else seemed to come crashing down at once. Mingyu’s hands were still gripping his shoulders with a force that nearly left Hansol winded, and Seungkwan, after his earlier rant, was now muttering, "I can’t believe this." It wasn’t anger, though—it was something more like a mix of exhaustion and disbelief, the kind you get when a joke stops being funny and starts to feel more like a close call. "I thought you were lost for good," Seungkwan said with an exaggerated groan. "I’m seriously going to write a guide on how to find your way out of a theme park. Step one: stick with the group!" Hansol blinked, half-buried in guilt. "Sorry… I—" "Stop," Mingyu interrupted, pulling away slightly but still hovering close enough to keep his hands on Hansol’s arms. "It’s okay. We found you, that's all that matters." But there was a quiet heaviness that didn’t seem to leave him, something Hansol could feel from the way Mingyu’s eyes lingered on him. The relief, the exhaustion—it was all a cocktail of emotions that left him a little dizzy. Hansol exhaled shakily, finally feeling his shoulders relax after what felt like an eternity of tension. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. It was like he was waiting for something he couldn’t quite articulate—maybe just someone else to confirm that it was all over. Joshua, ever the steady one, stepped forward and gave Hansol a smile that was soft, but there was something behind it. A weight. "It’s fine, Hansol. We just… worry." "Yeah," DK chimed in, the humor from earlier slowly turning into something more genuine, though still a little strained. "But next time? You better let us help." Hansol nodded silently, feeling a weight in his chest that he hadn’t noticed until now. It was almost embarrassing, how much he had resisted help, how stubborn he had been. The whole time he had been convinced he could figure it out on his own, and now, faced with the relief of being found, he felt—what? A little stupid? A little humbled? Maybe both. He caught the way Seungkwan’s gaze softened, just a little, as he glanced back and forth between the others. There was a quiet understanding between them all that Hansol couldn’t quite put into words. "Seriously, though," Seungkwan said, grinning despite his exhaustion, "You almost gave us heart attacks. Don’t ever do that again." Hansol winced, his head ducking slightly. "I didn’t—mean to." "Of course you didn’t," Seungkwan shot back with a laugh that was half-ironic. "But you did, and that’s what matters." There was a beat of silence. The air felt thick, still, but no longer suffocating. Hansol shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to find something to say that didn’t sound too ridiculous. But before he could, Mingyu clapped him on the back, nearly sending him stumbling forward. "Alright, enough talking. You’ve been lost long enough; I think we deserve a reward for saving you from a really long and terrifying adventure," Mingyu said, his usual playful grin resurfacing. "I—uh—what?" Hansol blinked, unsure what Mingyu was getting at. "The reward is food," DK answered before Mingyu could. He waggled his eyebrows. "Or maybe ice cream." "YES!" Seungkwan cheered, clapping his hands together. "Finally, a real treat." Hansol smiled despite himself, feeling the last of the stress from the past few hours melt away under the warmth of his friends. "Okay, okay. But I’m buying this time. I owe you all that much." The members groaned collectively, but Hansol could see the humor behind their reactions. They weren’t angry anymore—not really. "You really do," Joshua agreed, tilting his head toward a nearby cart. "Now, let’s go get that ice cream before Seungkwan steals all of it." Seungkwan gasped dramatically. "What are you accusing me of?!" But Hansol couldn’t help laughing at the playful banter, his anxiety finally ebbing away as they moved toward the stand, a sense of ease settling into his chest. Maybe it was just the ice cream, maybe it was the relief of being with them again, but Hansol felt lighter than he had all day. He wasn’t alone. And for the first time since getting separated from the group, he didn’t feel so small. As they lined up at the counter, all squabbling over flavors, Hansol found himself looking at the others. They were all exhausted, their faces flushed from the heat and the chaos of the day. But the way they moved together—how easily they fell into this rhythm of teasing and laughing—felt like the most natural thing in the world. In that moment, Hansol realized just how lucky he was. Not just to have them around, but to be part of something bigger than this. Bigger than a day at a theme park, bigger than the occasional stress. He was part of something that was messy, unpredictable, and—most importantly—real. It wasn’t about the ride, the food, or the park itself. It was about them. About the people who were willing to search through a crowded theme park in the blistering heat just to make sure he wasn’t left behind. "Next time we’re going to an escape room," DK said with a smirk, his face relaxed, "And I’m locking you in with Seungkwan." Seungkwan gasped. "What?!" Hansol snickered, the sound almost foreign in his own ears. "Only if I get to watch you two figure it out." Mingyu threw his arm around Hansol’s shoulders. "Deal." As they moved off to find a table, laughing and joking about the escape room idea, Hansol let himself feel the warmth of the moment—a quiet sense of belonging that had evaded him for a little too long. He might have gotten lost, but now, for the first time today, he didn’t feel like he was lost at all.
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Vernon had been feeling off since the night before. It started as a dull headache, something he brushed off as exhaustion. He hadn’t thought much of it—not when their schedule was packed, not when the others looked just as drained from rehearsals, and certainly not when Seungcheol had already warned them all to take care of themselves. So he ignored it. But by the time morning arrived, the dull ache had settled behind his eyes, radiating into his temples. His limbs felt heavier than usual, and every movement took just a little more effort than it should. Even blinking felt like a chore. Still, Vernon didn’t say anything. When he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Seungkwan was already seated at the table, scrolling through his phone. Mingyu stood by the stove, humming as he stirred something in a pan. Neither of them looked particularly awake, which was reassuring—at least he wasn’t the only one feeling sluggish. “Morning,” Vernon mumbled, slumping into a chair. Seungkwan barely glanced up. “You look terrible.” “Thanks.” “I’m serious.” Seungkwan narrowed his eyes, setting his phone down. “Did you sleep at all? Your eyebags are worse than usual.” Vernon huffed a quiet laugh. “I slept fine.” Which wasn’t entirely a lie—he had slept. Just not well. His body had ached all night, shifting between being too hot and too cold. But he wasn’t about to bring that up. Mingyu finally turned away from the stove, frowning as he took a better look at him. “Dude, you good? You look kind of out of it.” “I’m fine,” Vernon muttered. “Uh-huh.” Mingyu didn’t sound convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he slid a plate of eggs and toast onto the table. “Eat something, you’ll feel better.” Vernon wasn’t so sure about that. His stomach felt uneasy, but he picked at the food anyway, pushing a few bites around his plate while Seungkwan kept sneaking glances at him. By the time they left for practice, the dull ache in Vernon’s head had transformed into something sharper, more persistent. His muscles ached as if he had overexerted himself, even though they hadn’t done anything strenuous yet. And worst of all—he was starting to feel warm. He told himself it was just the heat in the practice room, the combination of sweat and exhaustion. But when they finished their second run-through of choreography, Vernon felt the world tilt for half a second, and he had to blink hard to steady himself. Jeonghan caught it immediately. “Vernon?” he called from the side, voice laced with concern. Vernon straightened, rolling out his shoulders as if that would ease the tension settling in them. “I’m good.” Jeonghan didn’t look convinced, but before he could say anything, Seungcheol clapped his hands together. “Alright, five-minute break! Hydrate before we go again.” Vernon barely made it to the corner before Seungkwan was beside him, arms crossed. “You’re not good.” Vernon exhaled slowly. “It’s just a headache.” Seungkwan scoffed. “And the dizziness? And the way you’re sweating more than usual? Should I keep going?” “I’ll be fine.” Seungkwan looked ready to argue, but before he could, Seungcheol appeared, his presence alone enough to make Vernon straighten instinctively. The leader’s eyes flickered over him, assessing. “You’re off today,” Seungcheol said simply. Vernon swallowed. “I didn’t sleep great.” Seungcheol’s brow furrowed, but he nodded, not pushing further—for now. “Alright. Just don’t overdo it.” That should have been the end of it. But as the practice dragged on, Vernon found it harder and harder to ignore the way his body was screaming at him to stop. By the time they wrapped up for the day, Vernon could barely focus. His head was pounding, his skin felt feverish, and every muscle in his body ached. And still, he said nothing. Because tomorrow, they had another full day of schedules. He didn’t have time to be sick. But as he climbed into the van, slumping against the window with exhaustion pressing into his bones, Seungcheol’s voice cut through the quiet. “We’re checking your temperature when we get back.” Vernon groaned softly. He didn’t have the energy to argue. And truthfully? He wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore. ____________________ The ride back to the dorm was quiet. Vernon leaned against the van window, the cool glass offering a brief relief against his burning skin. His head was throbbing in sync with his pulse, and every time he blinked, exhaustion tugged at him, pulling him dangerously close to sleep. Across from him, Seungkwan was still watching. Not obviously—his eyes flickered between his phone screen and Vernon every few seconds, subtle but not subtle enough. Mingyu, too, kept glancing up from whatever he was texting, his earlier concern lingering. Vernon ignored them both. Instead, he focused on the soft hum of the engine, the low chatter between Woozi and Hoshi in the front. Seungcheol, seated directly behind the driver, wasn’t talking—but Vernon could feel his presence, the weight of his unspoken concern pressing down on the van like an unbreakable force. By the time they arrived at the dorm, Vernon’s limbs felt heavier than before. He forced himself upright, blinking away the dizziness that tried to pull him under. The others shuffled out first, stretching their legs, murmuring about dinner and showers. Vernon moved to follow, but before he could step out, a firm hand landed on his shoulder. “Stay put,” Seungcheol said. Vernon blinked up at him. “Hyung—” Seungcheol’s expression left no room for negotiation. “We’re checking your temperature.” From the van’s doorway, Seungkwan crossed his arms. “Told you.” Vernon sighed but didn’t resist as Seungcheol pressed a hand briefly to his forehead. The touch lasted only a second before Seungcheol frowned. “Yeah. You’re burning up.” Mingyu, who had been watching the whole exchange, rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh. Okay, yeah, I feel bad now.” Vernon blinked. “For what?” Mingyu grimaced. “I kinda… joked this morning that you looked ‘a little out of it.’” Seungkwan let out a sharp laugh. “A little?” Vernon waved a tired hand. “It’s fine. I wasn’t—” His words wavered as his vision swam for a brief second. He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling through his nose. Seungcheol didn’t wait for him to finish. “Inside. Now.” Vernon sighed, but at this point, resistance was futile. He shuffled out of the van, and as soon as he stepped onto solid ground, his legs wobbled. Seungcheol caught his arm before he could fully stumble. “Okay,” Vernon admitted, swallowing hard. “Maybe I feel a little bad.” “Yeah,” Seungkwan muttered. “No kidding.” Woozi, who had been waiting by the dorm entrance, raised an eyebrow. “Are we finally acknowledging that Vernon looks like he’s about to collapse?” Hoshi, peeking over his shoulder, gasped dramatically. “Wait, is he dying?” “No,” Seungkwan said. “But if he doesn’t get inside and lie down, I might kill him.” Vernon groaned. “I don’t need—” Seungcheol tightened his grip. “Bed. Now.” There was no arguing with that voice. With a resigned sigh, Vernon let himself be led inside. ____________________ The second they entered the dorm, the group split into action. Jeonghan and Joshua were the first to move. Joshua tossed his bag onto the couch, already heading for the bathroom cabinet where they kept the medicine, while Jeonghan strode into the kitchen, presumably to grab water. Seungcheol guided Vernon straight to his room. “You’re lying down,” he ordered. Vernon sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I just need a minute.” “Hyung,” Seungkwan called from the hallway. “Should I get the thermometer, or do we just declare him an inferno and be done with it?” “Get it,” Seungcheol said. Seungkwan disappeared, muttering about stubborn rappers. Vernon let out a slow breath. His body ached with exhaustion, but his mind was still trying to convince him that he didn’t need all this fuss. He wasn’t that sick. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Joshua reappeared a moment later, setting down a bottle of fever medicine and a glass of water on Vernon’s nightstand. “Take this in a bit,” he said gently. “It’ll help.” Jeonghan followed, placing a cool bottle of water in Vernon’s lap. “Drink first.” Vernon hesitated, but the sharp look in Jeonghan’s eyes made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion. Sighing, he unscrewed the cap and took a sip. Seungkwan returned moments later, tossing the thermometer to Seungcheol. “Alright, let’s see just how bad this is.” Vernon stuck the thermometer under his tongue without complaint, letting the beeping fill the silence. When it finally read out, Seungcheol’s eyes darkened. “39.2°C.” Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “No wonder you look like death.” Hoshi poked his head in from the hallway, wide-eyed. “Wait, so he actually is dying?” “No,” Woozi called from the living room. “But his brain might be overheating.” “Very funny,” Vernon muttered. Joshua sighed. “Alright, you’re officially benched. No schedules until you’re better.” Vernon stiffened. “Wait, no. I can—” “No,” Seungcheol said firmly. Vernon stared at him. “But—” Seungkwan groaned. “Hansol. You are literally burning up. We are not dragging your half-conscious body to work.” “It’s just a fever,” Vernon insisted. “It’ll be gone by morning.” Seungcheol exhaled sharply. “That’s not how that works, and you know it.” Vernon bit his lip. He did know that. But the thought of missing schedules, of letting the team down—it made his stomach twist. “I’ll be fine,” he tried again. “I just—” Seungcheol crouched in front of him, placing a hand on his knee. His voice softened, the authority in it shifting into something gentler. “Hansol.” Vernon hesitated. “You’re allowed to rest,” Seungcheol murmured. Something in Vernon’s chest tightened. He swallowed hard, looking away. Seungkwan’s voice broke the silence. “Yeah, dumbass. You take care of us all the time. Now it’s our turn.” The weight of exhaustion pressed heavier against Vernon’s limbs. His body was begging him to just let go, to stop fighting. Jeonghan sighed, ruffling his hair. “Just let us take care of you, okay?” Vernon exhaled slowly. “…Okay.” Seungcheol squeezed his knee once before standing. “Good. Now lie down.” For once, Vernon didn’t argue. As he curled up beneath the blankets, the last thing he heard was Seungcheol telling the others, “Let’s make sure he gets some rest.” And then, finally, he let sleep take him. ____________________ Vernon woke up to the sound of hushed voices outside his room. His head still felt heavy, his body sluggish, but at least the room had stopped spinning. The fever was still there—pressing against his skull, making his limbs ache—but it wasn’t as unbearable as before. He blinked at the ceiling, trying to gather his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was Seungcheol looking at him like he was about to personally wrestle him into bed if he didn’t listen. And Seungkwan—loud, exasperated, but ultimately worried. The voices outside got louder. “…still asleep?” That was Mingyu. “Finally,” Seungkwan muttered. “I swear, if he had tried to get up again, I would’ve tied him to the bed.” Vernon sighed. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, only to feel an immediate wave of dizziness crash over him. His vision blurred, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Okay. Bad idea. The door creaked open. Vernon barely had time to react before Seungcheol stepped inside, arms crossed. “You’re awake.” Vernon cleared his throat, willing his voice to sound less like he’d swallowed sandpaper. “Yeah.” Seungcheol studied him. “How do you feel?” Vernon debated lying. But the look in Seungcheol’s eyes made it clear that wouldn’t work. “…Better,” he admitted, but added, “Still a little out of it.” Seungcheol hummed, not looking convinced. “Your fever’s still high. Woozi checked earlier.” Vernon blinked. “Wait—Woozi?” From the hallway, Woozi’s voice carried in. “Yes. Because some of us are responsible.” Vernon sighed, running a hand down his face. “You guys are acting like I’m dying.” Seungkwan appeared in the doorway, unimpressed. “Hansol. You couldn’t even stand properly a few hours ago. You were literally swaying like a tree in a typhoon.” “Dramatic.” Seungkwan rolled his eyes. “I’d like to see you function with a 39-degree fever.” Vernon muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but the effort of sitting up properly took too much energy for him to keep arguing. Seungcheol stepped closer, pressing the back of his hand to Vernon’s forehead. The touch was brie, but enough for his frown to deepen. “Still warm,” he said. “I told you,” Seungkwan huffed. “He needs more rest.” Seungcheol nodded. “Yeah, but he also needs to eat something.” At that, Vernon’s stomach turned. He wasn’t exactly hungry—his throat felt raw, and the idea of forcing anything down sounded exhausting. Seungcheol must have seen it on his face. “I know you don’t feel like eating, but you need something in your system. Just a little, alright?” Vernon hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded. Seungkwan brightened. “Good. Because we already made food.” Vernon raised an eyebrow. “We?” A sheepish voice chimed in from the hallway. “Uh… mostly Mingyu.” Vernon turned his head slightly, spotting Woozi peeking in. Mingyu sighed. “I let them help with the easy stuff.” Seungkwan smirked. “By ‘easy stuff,’ he means setting the table and staying out of the way.” “Hey,” Woozi protested. “I stirred the soup.” “And almost spilled it.” Woozi pouted. “The ladle was slippery.” Vernon couldn’t help it—he huffed out a quiet laugh. It was small, barely more than an exhale, but the reaction didn’t go unnoticed. Seungcheol’s lips twitched. “Come on. Let’s get you out of bed.” Vernon hesitated. He still felt like he had weights strapped to his limbs, but… he’d been out for hours. He should at least try to move. “Okay,” he mumbled. Seungcheol extended a hand. Vernon eyed it for a second before taking it, letting himself be pulled up. That turned out to be a mistake. The second he was fully upright, the dizziness slammed back into him. His knees buckled. Seungcheol caught him instantly. “Whoa.” “Hyung—” “Yeah, you’re not walking alone,” Seungcheol said firmly. Seungkwan was already at his other side, securing Vernon’s arm around his shoulder. “Seriously, how were you planning to function today?” Vernon grimaced. “Optimism.” “Delusion,” Seungkwan corrected. They guided him toward the kitchen, moving at a slow, steady pace. The second they entered, the rest of the members perked up. Jun grinned. “Look who’s alive.” Hoshi, sitting at the table, gasped. “Wait, he’s walking? Are we sure this isn’t a fever-induced hallucination?” Minghao smirked. “If it were, we’d all look a lot weirder.” Vernon rolled his eyes. “Good to see you too.” Seokmin beamed. “We made you food!” Vernon’s gaze flickered to the table. A steaming bowl of soup sat in front of an empty chair. It smelled good—warm, rich, and definitely something Woozi had made. Joshua pulled out the chair for him. “Eat as much as you can, okay?” Vernon sat down, trying not to slump against the table. He picked up the spoon, stirring absently. Seungcheol sat across from him, arms crossed. “Try a few bites.” Vernon sighed, but he obeyed. The first spoonful was hesitant, but the warmth was soothing against his throat. His stomach, despite its earlier protests, seemed to welcome it. Seungkwan watched him like a hawk. “Better?” Vernon nodded. “Yeah.” The tension in the room eased slightly. DK, clearly deciding that the mood needed a shift, leaned forward with a grin. “So, do we tell him?” Vernon frowned. “Tell me what?” Hoshi perked up. “Oh! The group bet?” Minghao smirked. “We may or may not have placed bets on how long you’d last before finally admitting you were sick.” Vernon groaned. “Are you serious?” Dino grinned. “Seungkwan hyung won.” Vernon turned to Seungkwan, who was looking extremely pleased with himself. “What did you bet?” Seungkwan smirked. “That you’d last until exactly after schedules, then collapse.” Vernon sighed. “Unbelievable.” Seungcheol chuckled. “I lost. I thought you’d cave at lunch.” Jun grinned. “And I thought you’d pass out mid-rehearsal.” Vernon shook his head, but… he wasn’t actually mad. The teasing, the jokes, the way they still treated him like himself despite everything—it made the weight on his chest feel a little lighter. Seungkwan nudged him. “Hey.” Vernon looked up. Seungkwan’s voice softened. “Just… let us take care of you, okay?” Vernon exhaled slowly. Then, he nodded. “…Okay.” Seungkwan huffed, clearly satisfied. “Good. Now eat your soup before it gets cold.” Vernon rolled his eyes but did as he was told. And for the first time since this fever started, he let himself relax. ____________________ The soup was warm, the quiet hum of conversation around him oddly comforting. Vernon didn’t realize how much he’d missed simply sitting with everyone like this, without the pressure of practice, schedules, or expectations pressing down on him. The teasing had died down now, replaced with casual chatter. Hoshi was explaining some bizarre new choreography idea, Mingyu was listening intently while stealing bites from Seokmin’s plate, and Jeonghan was leaning against Joshua, eyes half-lidded as if he might fall asleep mid-meal. It was… nice. But Vernon also knew this moment was fragile. If he wasn’t careful, if he let his guard slip too much, they’d start hovering again. He took another careful spoonful of soup, ignoring the way Seungkwan’s eyes flickered toward him every few seconds. “I’m eating,” he said, not even looking up. Seungkwan huffed. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were thinking it really loudly.” Joshua chuckled. “He’s got you there.” Seungkwan rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. Vernon had almost convinced himself that he could finish his meal in peace—until Seungcheol spoke up. “You’re going back to bed after this.” Vernon stiffened. “I can sit out here for a little while longer.” “No.” Seungcheol’s tone left no room for argument. “You still look like you’re about to pass out.” Vernon frowned. “I feel better.” “Better doesn’t mean recovered.” “I’m not a kid, hyung.” “No, but you are still sick,” Seungcheol countered, unbothered by the sharp edge in Vernon’s voice. “And you have nothing to prove by pushing yourself right now.” Vernon clenched his jaw. He knew Seungcheol was right. He knew that resting was the logical choice. But there was something about being forced back to bed that rubbed him the wrong way—like he was being treated as fragile, incapable. And Vernon had never wanted to be a burden. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Minghao was the one to break it. “Fighting Seungcheol when he’s in Leader Mode is a losing battle, you know.” Jun nodded solemnly. “He’s worse than a stubborn grandma.” Seungcheol shot them both a look. “I can hear you.” Jun grinned. “That was the point.” Vernon sighed, dragging a hand down his face. The slight movement made his vision swim, exhaustion creeping back in like an unavoidable tide. Damn it. Seungcheol’s voice softened. “Just for a little longer, okay? You can come back out later if you’re up for it.” Vernon hesitated. The compromise was reasonable, and—if he was being honest—he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay upright anyway. “…Fine,” he muttered. Seungkwan clapped his hands together. “Finally, some common sense.” Vernon rolled his eyes, but before he could stand, Seungcheol was already moving to help him up. He wanted to protest. Say he could do it himself. But when he shifted his weight, his body disagreed—legs wobbling, balance tipping. Seungcheol caught him effortlessly. Vernon sighed. “This is embarrassing.” Seungcheol smirked. “This is what happens when you try to act tougher than you are.” “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” “A little.” Vernon groaned, but he didn’t push Seungcheol away. Seungkwan, trailing beside them, shot him a knowing look. “See? This is why you should listen to us more often.” Vernon exhaled through his nose. “Noted.” The walk back to his room was slower this time. The few steps it had taken to get to the kitchen felt twice as long on the way back, his energy fading fast. By the time he reached his bed, he didn’t even argue when Seungcheol guided him down. The second his head hit the pillow, his muscles relaxed, relief washing over him. Seungkwan pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. “Sleep.” Vernon hummed, eyes already slipping shut. Just before he drifted off, he heard Seungcheol murmur, “Next time, don’t wait until you collapse to let us help, alright?” Vernon was too tired to answer. But somewhere in the haze of sleep, he made a quiet promise to himself: Maybe—just maybe—he’d try. ____________________ Vernon woke with a start, his head spinning in an all-too-familiar fog. The dim light filtering through the curtains barely did anything to soothe the ache in his temples, and his body felt heavy in a way that made his bones feel like they were slowly sinking into the mattress. He tried to push himself up but stopped when his arms trembled, betraying the exhaustion he had hoped had passed overnight. He glanced over at the clock. The rest of the dorm was quiet. Vernon stared at the ceiling for a moment, the stillness in the room oddly suffocating. His throat was sore again, and the fever seemed to have a way of creeping back into his system whenever he thought it was gone. The usual hum of activity, the laughter and chatter, had vanished from the house. The only sound was the soft rustling of blankets as someone moved in the hallway—probably Seungkwan, again, no doubt checking to see if he was awake. The thought of his group’s concern weighed heavily on him, but it wasn’t the worry itself that made him feel guilty. It was the fact that he hadn’t been able to pull his weight in so long. It gnawed at him, deeper than the physical discomfort. Vernon closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts aside. He had never been one to show weakness. His pride, always an ever-present force, had kept him in check, driven him forward. But now… now, he felt as though everything was slipping through his fingers. There was a knock at the door. “Vernon?” Seungkwan’s voice was soft but familiar. “Are you up?” Vernon sighed, rubbing his face. He forced himself to sit up a little straighter. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m awake.” The door creaked open, and Seungkwan stepped inside with a tray of water, medicine, and a few snacks. He didn’t say anything at first, just set the tray down on the nightstand and pulled a chair closer. His gaze was steady, but there was concern in the way his lips pressed together. “Are you feeling any better?” Vernon managed a weak smile. “Better than last night, I guess.” He glanced at the half-eaten bowl of soup on the tray. “I don’t need that.” “Uh-huh,” Seungkwan replied, arching an eyebrow. “You don’t need to eat, but I think your body might disagree.” “I’ll eat later.” Vernon shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his temples again. He felt too hot, too sick to even care about food right now. “It’s just… it’s stupid. I’m fine.” “Clearly.” Seungkwan’s tone was dry, but there was no malice in it—just the quiet frustration that came from knowing Vernon wasn’t listening. “I said I’m fine,” Vernon repeated, but the words felt hollow even to him. He didn’t believe them, and Seungkwan didn’t, either. Seungkwan let out a sigh. “You know… you’re probably the worst patient in the history of patients.” Vernon chuckled softly despite himself, his throat tight. “I’m not that bad.” “You’re worse,” Seungkwan teased gently, but his expression softened when he noticed Vernon’s wince at the sharpness in his throat. “Alright, maybe I’m a little bad,” Vernon admitted. “But you guys are treating me like I’m about to collapse or something.” “Because you are,” Seungkwan replied without missing a beat. “Look, I get it. You’re trying to be strong. But there’s no shame in letting people help you.” Vernon stared at him for a moment, his chest tightening with something that wasn’t quite emotion—more like frustration, guilt. “I’m not weak,” he said quietly, as if saying it would make it true. Seungkwan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and his voice became softer. “I never said you were. But you’re allowed to lean on us when you need it. We’re a team, Vernon. You don’t always have to carry the weight on your own.” The words hit harder than Vernon expected. He looked away, focusing on the half-filled glass of water in front of him. It felt too much like a reminder of everything he’d been trying to ignore. “I don’t want to slow you guys down,” he muttered. “You’re not slowing us down.” Seungkwan’s words were firm now, his gaze unwavering. “You’re part of the group. We’re all here to pick up the slack when someone’s struggling.” Vernon shook his head, refusing to meet Seungkwan’s eyes. “I just hate being the one that needs help all the time.” Seungkwan sighed, his voice gentle but insistent. “You’re not alone, okay? You never have been. And it’s okay to let us take care of you sometimes.” Vernon bit his lip. It was hard to admit, even to himself, that he wasn’t okay. But maybe… just maybe… it was okay to let them help him this time. “Drink some water,” Seungkwan said, pushing the glass closer. “Then take the medicine.” Vernon hesitated but picked up the glass, drinking slowly, savoring the simple action of quenching his thirst. He didn’t realize how much he had needed it until the cool water slid down his throat, easing the tightness there. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. Seungkwan smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Rest. We’ve got everything covered out there. NoThere is noeed to worry about a thing.” Vernon nodded, but the knot in his chest didn’t loosen. He lay back down, staring at the ceiling again, trying to quiet the noise in his mind. As Seungkwan left the room, he paused at the door. “Remember, Vernon. It’s okay to lean on us. We’re your family.” Vernon squeezed his eyes shut, the weight of Seungkwan’s words sinking in deeper than he cared to admit. ____________________ Later, when Seungcheol popped his head in to check on him, Vernon had already fallen back into a restless sleep. His fever had spiked again, and his body was shivering despite the warmth of the blankets wrapped around him. Seungcheol walked to the bed quietly, watching him for a moment before gently adjusting the blankets and pulling the curtains a little tighter. “I told you to rest,” he murmured to Vernon’s sleeping form, a hint of amusement in his voice, but it was laced with concern. Vernon had always been stubborn, and Seungcheol had come to expect it. But this—this was different. Vernon’s need to prove he was okay, to pretend he didn’t need help, was something the leader couldn’t fix with a simple order. He couldn’t force Vernon to let go. But he could stand by him, quietly, without demanding anything in return. “Get some sleep,” Seungcheol whispered. “We’ve got you, Vernon.” Vernon didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. But the warmth of Seungcheol’s words seeped into his subconscious, a small, subtle promise of unconditional support. And in that moment, as the fever began to consume him once more, Vernon allowed himself to believe it. He was not alone. ____________________ The next morning, Vernon felt a little lighter. His fever had gone down, but the weakness in his limbs lingered, and his throat was still sore. However, the tiredness wasn’t the thing he was battling most anymore. It was the quiet realization that perhaps he had been too stubborn, too wrapped up in the idea of maintaining his image as the strong one. The realization was slow to settle in, but it had found its place in his heart now. He lay in bed, half-heartedly scrolling through his phone, waiting for the sound of footsteps or the door creaking open. He wasn’t sure why he was afraid to face the rest of the group—afraid of their pity, perhaps? Or maybe just of being a burden. Still, a part of him yearned for the usual camaraderie, the way things used to feel. A knock on the door startled him, and it creaked open before he had a chance to answer. Seungkwan peeked his head inside, his expression as bright as ever, but with that unmistakable warmth in his eyes. “Morning!” Seungkwan chirped, holding a small tray with a cup of tea and a piece of toast. “Thought you might want something to eat. I know you’ve been dodging food, so I thought I’d make it impossible for you to refuse.” He smiled, but it was gentle, like he understood the hesitation behind Vernon’s eyes. Vernon couldn’t help but smile back, though it was more weary than usual. “I’m not dodging it on purpose, just… not hungry,” he murmured. “Sure, sure,” Seungkwan said with a knowing grin. “I get it, but you need the energy to kick this thing out of your system.” He placed the tray gently on Vernon’s lap, his hands lingering for a moment before he straightened up. “Come on, just a bite. I won’t tell anyone.” Vernon chuckled, reaching for the toast. He didn’t want to admit it, but the idea of a little comfort from someone who cared so much made it easier to let down his guard, even if only for a moment. “Okay, okay. You win.” He bit into the toast, his stomach protesting a little, but he powered through. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Seungkwan sat on the edge of the bed, watching him with a soft, amused expression. “I’m glad you’re not being too stubborn today,” he said with a wink. “You know, we all miss you, you know? You being… you know, ‘Vernon the Energizer Bunny.’” Vernon rolled his eyes, a half-hearted attempt to push the comment aside. “I’ll be back to my energetic self soon. Just… need some time.” “Take all the time you need.” Seungkwan leaned back a little, his voice turning quieter. “You’ve done so much for all of us, Vernon. We’re here for you, no matter what.” It was simple, but it was exactly what Vernon needed to hear. The words settled around him, not in a way that was overwhelming, but as a gentle reminder that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as alone as he felt in this moment. “I’ll try not to disappoint,” Vernon replied softly, his words tinged with more vulnerability than he cared to admit. Seungkwan smiled warmly. “You won’t. But if you ever do, I’m pretty sure the rest of us will forgive you.” Vernon chuckled softly, the sound hoarse but genuine. He wasn’t sure how to respond, but the pressure in his chest— that feeling of suffocation he hadn’t been able to shake for days— began to ease. Maybe letting go wasn’t so bad after all. He didn’t have to carry everything by himself. Not anymore. ____________________ Later that afternoon, Seungcheol found Vernon in the living room, staring out the window. The rest of the group was scattered around, keeping things light, but Seungcheol had noticed Vernon’s quiet, introspective mood. He approached him slowly, mindful of the exhaustion still evident on his face. “You okay?” Seungcheol asked, his voice soft but still firm, as if he needed to hear the words directly from Vernon’s lips. Vernon looked over at him, surprised by the question, but his expression softened almost instantly. “Yeah,” he said quietly, though the answer felt incomplete. “Just thinking.” Seungcheol nodded, stepping closer and sitting down beside him. “You don’t need to explain everything to me, Vernon. I know how you are.” His tone was gentle, but it carried that protective warmth that Vernon had grown used to over the years. It was the kind of leadership that wasn’t about making decisions, but about creating a safe space for everyone. Vernon shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the silence that stretched between them. He wanted to say something, wanted to explain how he felt, but the words weren’t coming out right. Instead, he just nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry,” Vernon blurted out suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been acting like this whole thing is nothing. Like I don’t need help, like I’m not... scared. I don’t know why I’m like this.” Seungcheol didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he reached over and placed a hand on Vernon’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling like this. Everyone has their own way of dealing with stuff. But I need you to remember something, okay?” His voice was steady, full of understanding. “We’re a team. If you’re struggling, we’re all struggling. We’ll always have your back, even when you don’t think you need it.” Vernon swallowed, his eyes welling with emotion, though he quickly blinked the tears away. “I just don’t want to be a burden. I hate feeling like I’m holding everyone back.” “You’re not holding anyone back,” Seungcheol said firmly, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the tension in the room. “You’re part of this team, Vernon. And that means when you fall behind, we’re here to pick you up. That’s how this works. It’s never one person doing everything.” Vernon looked at Seungcheol, the weight of his words finally sinking in. Slowly, he nodded, a quiet understanding settling in his chest. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with gratitude. “Anytime,” Seungcheol replied with a small smile, rubbing his back lightly before standing up. “Now, go rest. We’ve got everything under control. I promise.” ____________________ As the day wore on, Vernon found himself sinking further into the comfort of the group’s presence. No longer fighting them off, no longer trying to keep up a façade of strength. The fever had passed, but it was the emotional release—the letting go of the guilt and the self-imposed pressure—that had started to heal him. It wasn’t just the medicine or the rest. It was the realization that he didn’t have to carry everything by himself anymore. The weight wasn’t gone, but with his members around him, it felt a little lighter. Vernon let himself sleep that night, surrounded by the warmth of his group, not the cold isolation of self-reliance. He finally let go—of his pride, of his guilt, of the burden he had been carrying alone. And in its place, he felt something new: peace. And for the first time in days, Vernon allowed himself to truly rest. ____________________ The days after Vernon’s fever had broken felt strangely quiet, but in the best way possible. There was a tenderness in the air, a shift in how the group moved around him—like they were more attuned to his needs, without it ever feeling overbearing. It wasn’t just that Vernon felt physically better, though that was certainly a relief; it was the emotional shift, the realization that he didn’t have to carry everything on his own anymore. He woke up on the fourth morning of his recovery to the sound of soft chatter from the living room. The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting gentle stripes of light across his bed. He blinked a few times, the sleep still lingering in his eyes as he stretched slowly, testing the ache in his muscles. They still felt weak, but it was nothing like before. Vernon hesitated before getting up, glancing at the clock on his phone. It was still early, but he could already tell that the others were up and moving around, their energy filling the dorm in a way that made it feel like everything was back to normal. Just as he was about to pull himself out of bed, a knock on the door echoed through the room. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Are you awake?” Seungkwan’s voice called out, the teasing note unmistakable. Vernon chuckled softly, dragging himself out of bed with a groan. “Barely,” he called back, rubbing his face to clear the lingering fog of sleep. “Give me a few minutes.” There was a pause, followed by Seungkwan’s voice, a little softer this time. “We’re all waiting for you. You don’t have to stay in your room today, you know.” Vernon’s chest tightened slightly at the offer, and he felt his gaze flicker toward the door as if to say something. But he swallowed the words, not quite ready yet. Not quite ready to step fully back into the chaos and noise of the group. “I’ll be there in a bit,” Vernon replied, his voice steady but still carrying a hint of uncertainty. He wasn’t quite sure what he was afraid of anymore—he just knew that the world outside his room still felt a little too big, a little too heavy. Seungkwan didn’t push him. Instead, he just nodded through the door. “Take your time, but don’t stay in there forever, okay?” Vernon smiled softly at the door, even though Seungkwan couldn’t see it. He didn’t need to say it, but his gratitude was clear. ____________________ A few hours later, after a long shower and a few more rounds of gingerly testing his strength, Vernon finally ventured out of his room. The air in the dorm was warm with the sound of laughter and casual chatter. The members had gathered in the living room, some sprawled on the couch, others perched on the armrests or on the floor, and they all looked up when he walked in. "Look who decided to join us!" Hoshi said with a wide grin, his voice light but still welcoming. “I was starting to think you’d make us come drag you out of that room.” Vernon gave him a half-smile, though it was more genuine than he realized. “I needed some time to adjust,” he explained quietly, feeling the weight of the group’s gaze. But it wasn’t heavy. It was... gentle. “Right,” Mingyu added, the playful tone in his voice shifting into something more thoughtful. “You’ve got us all worried, you know? I think we all missed our Vernon energy.” He grinned, though there was a sincerity behind his words. Vernon felt his heart flutter with the quiet sense of belonging that had been missing before, his throat tightening as the gratitude he had been keeping at bay slowly crept up on him. "Don’t worry about me," he said, his voice hoarse, but there was something calming in his tone that everyone responded to. “I’m alright. Just need a little more time to get back to my usual self.” Seungcheol, who had been silently observing from the corner, nodded slowly. “You take all the time you need,” he said softly, crossing the room to where Vernon was standing. “We’ve got everything covered here. You don’t need to rush.” It was a simple statement, but it was one that struck Vernon more deeply than he had anticipated. He met Seungcheol’s eyes and saw the concern and care reflected there—something he had never doubted, but now felt with a clarity he hadn’t before. “I’ll be fine,” Vernon said again, a little quieter this time. “But thanks, all of you. I... didn’t realize how much I needed this.” Seungkwan shot him a teasing grin, but there was no judgment behind it. “You’re just lucky we’re all so patient with you,” he teased lightly, though his eyes softened as he added, “We know it’s not easy for you.” Vernon nodded, grateful for the gentle teasing, for the familiarity of it. It was a reminder that he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Not ever again. Later that afternoon, when Vernon had regained his strength enough to sit with the others on the couch, the room buzzed with the usual mix of lighthearted bickering and laughter. It was a rhythm he had missed, a comfortable noise that felt like home. Every now and then, someone would ask him if he needed anything, or if he was doing okay, but there was a new understanding between them all—one that didn’t require constant checking in, but just a quiet acknowledgment that Vernon was still part of the group, no matter what. And in those moments, Vernon let himself relax. Let himself breathe without the constant weight of guilt pressing down on his chest. He let go of the fear that his illness had made him weak, and instead embraced the truth that it had only made the bond between him and the others stronger. The group wasn’t just about performances, about schedules, about tasks. It was about trust. About understanding. About being there for each other, even in the quiet moments when nothing else was said. By the end of the day, Vernon found himself sitting next to Seungkwan again, this time without the hesitation he had felt before. It was easy to let the exhaustion wash over him as the evening wore on, to lean against his friend and share the familiar sense of belonging that only came from being surrounded by the people who cared about him the most.
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The wind hit differently at this height. Vernon barely registered it at first, too caught up in the familiar chaos that came with filming GOING SEVENTEEN. Cameras rolled, members talked over each other, and the production crew bustled around, making final checks. A bungee jumping challenge. Classic GOSE—equal parts competition and chaos, designed to push them outside their comfort zones while giving Carats something to laugh about. Vernon had expected the usual mix of over-the-top reactions, playful bets, and at least one member dramatically declaring their impending doom before even stepping up to the edge. It was supposed to be just another episode. Fun, ridiculous, maybe a little nerve-wracking—but nothing he couldn't handle. Then, he glanced at the platform. It was taller than he’d imagined. The drop stretched below them, dizzying and vast, the distant ground so far away that it almost didn’t feel real. Vernon had never given much thought to heights before—he wasn’t the type to get rattled by things like roller coasters or climbing walls. But this? This was different. A subtle but undeniable knot tightened in his stomach. “Alright, everyone, listen up!” Seungcheol’s voice rang out, cutting through the chatter. As always, their leader had effortlessly taken charge, standing in front of them with a mix of authority and enthusiasm. “Today’s challenge is simple: bungee jump off that platform, scream dramatically on the way down, and give the editors something funny to work with. Easy, right?” A few chuckles rippled through the group, but there was an underlying energy in the air—equal parts excitement and nervous anticipation. “Anyone who hesitates too long,” Jeonghan added smoothly, an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes, “should prepare for some… extra consequences.” Mingyu groaned. “That sounds like a threat.” “It is,” Seungkwan confirmed. The staff signaled that they were ready to begin, and the members instinctively clustered closer together, some hyping themselves up, others sizing up the situation with wary expressions. “So,” Joshua said, stretching his arms as if warming up for a casual workout, “who’s going first?” “Shouldn’t we decide based on rock-paper-scissors?” Hoshi suggested, always eager to turn anything into a game. Vernon forced a small grin at that. Just another game, right? Just another challenge. He could handle this. Except, as the first member prepared to step up, he felt it again—that strange, creeping unease curling in his chest. It wasn’t just about the height. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he could just brush it off. ____________________ “Alright, let’s make this fair,” Seungcheol said, cracking his knuckles as he glanced around at the group. “We’ll do rock-paper-scissors. Winner picks the first jumper.” A collective groan rose from the members, but no one objected. This was standard GOING SEVENTEEN logic—random chance deciding their fates. “Wait, wait,” DK interrupted, holding up his hands. “Can we take a second to just… process how high up we are?” He turned to Mingyu for support. “You feel me, right?” Mingyu, standing slightly behind him, nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah, I was trying not to look down.” “Oh my god, why did you even say that?” DK clutched his own shoulders as if shielding himself from reality. “Now I have to look.” Jeonghan, ever the instigator, leaned in just enough to whisper, “It’s really far down.” DK whirled on him. “I know!” The rest of the group burst into laughter, the tension momentarily lightened. But as they prepared for the game, Vernon felt an odd sense of detachment settle in. He knew he should be engaged, joking along with the others, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the platform edge. The fear—because that’s what it was, no use sugarcoating it—wasn’t just about the height. It was something deeper, something that had its claws in him before he even realized it was there. “Okay, okay, let’s just get this over with,” Seungkwan clapped his hands, snapping Vernon out of his thoughts. “Rock, paper, scissors, on three.” They played the game, hands shooting out in rapid succession. Hoshi won first. His face immediately lit up. “Oh, this is great.” “Not for whoever you’re picking,” Woozi pointed out dryly. Hoshi hummed, drawing out the suspense. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he pointed. “Joshua hyung, you’re up.” Joshua raised a brow but took it in stride. “Alright,” he said, rolling his shoulders like an athlete about to perform. “Let’s do this.” The crew gestured for him to step toward the platform while the rest of them moved back to give him space. The energy shifted—playful, but with a noticeable undercurrent of anticipation. Vernon watched as Joshua approached the edge, listened as the staff gave him final instructions. His heart thumped a little harder against his ribs. Joshua looked down once, nodded, then turned back to the group with a confident grin. “See you on the other side.” Then, without hesitation, he stepped forward and dropped. The second his feet left the platform, time seemed to warp. The members erupted in cheers and dramatic shouts, but Vernon barely heard them. His eyes were glued to Joshua as he plummeted—arms outstretched, body weightless in midair. And then the cord snapped taut, bouncing him back up. Just like that, it was over. Joshua’s laughter echoed from below as the staff prepared to pull him back up. “That was amazing!” The others clapped and whistled, but Vernon just swallowed hard. He suddenly felt lightheaded. The challenge had begun. And his turn was coming. ____________________ The excitement in the air was infectious. Joshua had barely touched solid ground before the other members began clamoring about who would go next. The usual mix of competitiveness and playful chaos took over—some boasting about how easy it looked, others dramatically questioning their life choices. “Okay, but did anyone else feel like that happened too fast?” DK asked, his expression still caught between awe and horror. Mingyu nodded, arms crossed. “Way too fast. Like… blink and you’re already falling.” “Yeah, that’s how gravity works,” Jeonghan deadpanned. Seungkwan laughed, clapping DK on the back. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to process it when it’s your turn.” The teasing and banter continued, but Vernon barely absorbed it. His gaze kept flickering toward the edge of the platform, where Joshua had so easily stepped off. It had looked fast. Too fast. And now that the reality of the challenge was sinking in, the discomfort he’d brushed off earlier was growing into something heavier. “Who’s next?” The question came from Seungcheol, who was scanning the group with a knowing glint in his eyes. Before anyone could volunteer—or attempt to disappear behind someone taller—he grinned. “Let’s do another rock-paper-scissors.” The process repeated, hands shooting out in varying states of betrayal. Jun won this round. With a flourish, he turned to Hoshi. “Since you picked the first one, I think it’s only fair you go next.” Hoshi gasped. “What? That’s not how this works!” “Hyung, I believe in you,” Dino chimed in with a thumbs-up. Woozi smirked. “Yeah, you were so confident before. What happened?” Hoshi huffed, but he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “Fine. I’ll make it look cool.” With exaggerated bravado, he strutted toward the platform, pausing only to give an impromptu body roll, which sent the others into another fit of laughter. The mood remained lighthearted as Hoshi took his jump, flailing dramatically halfway down just for the comedic effect. The members cheered as he bounced back up, laughing at his own antics. “That was insane!” he called up. One by one, the jumps continued. With each member that took the plunge, the initial tension of the challenge started to fade. Their reactions varied—some screamed their heads off, others kept their cool—but each one landed safely, exhilarated by the experience. Vernon tried to focus on their laughter, on the easy way they seemed to shake off their nerves. But the knot in his chest only tightened. By the time six members had gone, he realized he was in trouble. This wasn’t just nerves. This wasn’t just a simple hesitation before a leap. This was something else. And it wasn’t going away. ____________________ Vernon shifted his weight from one foot to the other, arms loosely crossed as he tried to keep his expression neutral. He wasn’t sure when it started—maybe when Joshua first jumped, or maybe when Hoshi flailed mid-air—but the creeping discomfort was now impossible to ignore. He shouldn’t feel this way. It was just bungee jumping. It wasn’t like he was scared of heights. He had done plenty of things before that required being up high—zip-lining, stage lifts, drone shots, standing on precarious props for performances. He had never once hesitated. But this—this was different. This was falling. He clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly as he glanced around. Most of the members were still caught up in the excitement, reacting to the latest jump. Mingyu and DK were shifting uneasily near the back, clearly in their own heads about the upcoming moment, but Vernon could tell their nerves were more about anticipation than the deeper dread crawling under his skin. Someone else, however, was watching him. Seungcheol. Vernon didn’t even need to make eye contact to know it. He could feel the leader’s gaze—steady, assessing, just a little too knowing. And then— “Hey.” Vernon turned his head slightly as Jeonghan stepped up beside him. Unlike Seungcheol’s sharper observation, Jeonghan’s presence was more casual, effortless, like he had simply ended up here by coincidence. But Vernon knew better. He braced himself for teasing, some sly remark about how quiet he was being. Instead, Jeonghan just nudged him lightly with his elbow. “You good?” The question was simple, yet layered. Vernon hesitated, his usual response—Yeah, I’m fine—sitting on the tip of his tongue. He could say it. He could keep playing it cool. But when he opened his mouth, something in Jeonghan’s calm, knowing expression made him pause. “…I don’t know,” Vernon admitted. Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Wow. An honest answer. I’m honored.” Vernon huffed a quiet laugh, but it faded quickly. His fingers tapped against his bicep, restless. “I thought I’d be fine, but…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know why this is freaking me out.” Jeonghan didn’t immediately reply. Instead, he glanced toward the edge of the platform, watching as Jun hyped himself up for his jump. The other members were cheering him on, their voices overlapping in a chaotic mix of encouragement and teasing. Then, Jeonghan turned back to Vernon. “You ever done something like this before?” “No.” “Maybe that’s why,” Jeonghan mused. “It’s a new feeling. Doesn’t matter if you’re usually fine with heights—this is different.” Vernon frowned, his gaze flickering back to the ledge. “Yeah. It really is.” “Then don’t force yourself to understand it yet,” Jeonghan said simply. “Just let yourself feel it first.” That wasn’t exactly comforting, but it was… grounding in a way. Vernon let out a slow breath, nodding once. Before either of them could say anything else, a loud cheer erupted as Jun finally took the leap, his yell echoing as he plummeted toward the ground. The moment he bounced back up, arms flailing like he was still trying to dance mid-air, the members erupted into laughter. Hoshi nearly doubled over. “I told you to pose before you jumped!” Jun, still hanging upside down, shouted back, “I WAS TRYING!” The playful chaos pulled attention away from Vernon for the time being, and he took the opportunity to step back slightly, trying to collect himself. But even as he refocused on the group, Jeonghan’s words stayed with him. Just let yourself feel it first. ____________________ Vernon didn’t know exactly when his discomfort had become obvious to the others, but by the time he noticed, it was already too late. Seungcheol, of course, had been watching him for a while, his observant gaze tracking every subtle shift in Vernon’s demeanor. But now, it wasn’t just Seungcheol. Woozi, standing a few feet away, had his arms crossed, eyes flickering toward Vernon between conversations. Wonwoo, quiet as ever, didn’t say anything outright, but his glances held a quiet sort of understanding. And then there was Seungkwan, who—despite being caught up in his usual antics—kept looking over with a slightly different kind of concern. Vernon sighed. He wasn’t going to get through this unnoticed, was he? The realization fully solidified when Hoshi and Jun suddenly appeared on either side of him, their presence loud and unapologetic. “Hey, hey,” Hoshi grinned, throwing an arm around Vernon’s shoulders. “How are we feeling? Excited? Nervous? On the verge of enlightenment?” Jun leaned in from the other side, wiggling his eyebrows. “Or on the verge of running?” Vernon huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not running.” “Good,” Hoshi said, patting his back. “Because that would be a long way down.” Vernon turned to look at him, unimpressed. “Really?” Jun chuckled. “Not helping, Hoshi.” “Okay, okay, fine.” Hoshi waved his hands dramatically. “Let’s take a different approach. You ever think about how cool you’ll look in the slow-motion replay?” Vernon gave him a look. “You think I’m going to look cool while screaming mid-fall?” “Yes,” Hoshi answered immediately. “You could pose,” Jun added, nodding. “Strike a hero landing. Or pretend you’re in an action movie.” Vernon smirked slightly. “What, like a superhero?” “Yes! Exactly!” Hoshi brightened. “You can be the next big Marvel star.” Before Vernon could respond, Seungcheol walked over, clapping his hands once to gather attention. “Alright, who’s up next?” The members looked around, waiting for someone to volunteer. A pause. Then Seungkwan’s voice cut through the noise. “I think it should be Vernon.” Vernon’s stomach dropped. All eyes turned to him. Seungkwan, standing a few feet away, wasn’t teasing. His expression was serious—but not forceful. Just… knowing. Vernon opened his mouth, but no words came out. Seungkwan stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re overthinking it, aren’t you?” Vernon hesitated. “…Maybe.” Seungkwan exhaled, giving him a small smile. “It’s okay to be scared, you know.” Vernon blinked. “I know you don’t like showing it,” Seungkwan continued, “but fear doesn’t mean you’re weak. And it definitely doesn’t mean you can’t do this.” Vernon swallowed. He knew Seungkwan meant well, but having his emotions laid out so clearly made it harder to ignore. He let out a slow breath. Then, without fully thinking, he took a step forward. Seungcheol, who had been watching silently, gave him a nod. “You ready?” Vernon glanced toward the edge. His heart pounded. He wasn’t sure if he was ready, but… maybe that didn’t matter. “…Yeah.” ____________________ A ripple of surprise passed through the group. Vernon wasn’t the type to make dramatic announcements about his feelings, and he certainly wasn’t the type to force himself into the spotlight. But as he stepped forward, something in the air shifted. The teasing quieted, the laughter softened. Even the staff members exchanged glances, sensing the moment was different from the usual GOING SEVENTEEN chaos. Seungcheol, ever the leader, nodded once in quiet approval. “Alright. Let’s get you harnessed up.” Vernon took another step forward but paused when he felt a hand squeeze his arm. It was Mingyu. “You sure?” Mingyu asked, his voice low. The usual playful confidence in his tone was absent, replaced by something more sincere. Vernon understood what he meant without needing an explanation. Mingyu, like DK, had his own hesitation about heights. He knew how it felt. Vernon forced a small smile. “Not really.” Mingyu huffed out a short laugh, then patted his back. “That makes two of us.” Woozi, who had been standing nearby, gave a small nod of acknowledgment. He didn’t say anything, but that was Woozi’s way—silent support, steady and unwavering. Wonwoo, too, offered a glance, something unreadable but reassuring in his gaze. Vernon turned toward the ledge, taking in the height, the way the wind moved through the open air. His stomach twisted. “Wait!” Hoshi called out, jogging up with Jun right behind him. “One last thing before you go.” Vernon blinked. “What?” Jun grinned, holding up a tiny handheld camera. “We need a before-and-after interview.” Vernon groaned. “Seriously?” “Yes, seriously!” Hoshi said, practically bouncing on his feet. “Think about it—if you survive, this is going to be legendary.” “If?” Vernon repeated dryly. Jun waved a hand. “You know what we mean.” Despite himself, Vernon exhaled a quiet laugh. The tension in his shoulders loosened just a little. Seungkwan, watching the exchange, crossed his arms. “Look at that. You’re already relaxing.” Vernon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” Seungkwan stepped closer, his expression softening. “Just remember—you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” Vernon hesitated. For some reason, that was the thing that settled something in him. Maybe he’d been caught up in his own head, worried about how this would look on camera, how he’d seem compared to the others. Maybe he’d been afraid of more than just falling—maybe it was the loss of control, the vulnerability of fear being captured for everyone to see. But standing here, surrounded by his members, he realized something: They weren’t pushing him. They were with him. And that made all the difference. With a deep breath, he turned to the staff. “Okay.” “Okay?” Seungcheol repeated, searching his face. Vernon nodded. “Okay.” ____________________ Vernon stepped forward, the platform beneath his feet feeling both impossibly solid and terrifyingly unstable. The harness was snug around his torso, the weight of the bungee cord a tangible presence at his back. The staff member beside him double-checked his gear, giving the straps a final tug before stepping aside. “Ready?” the instructor asked. Vernon let out a slow breath. Not really. The members were gathered just behind him, a chaotic mix of encouragement and last-minute teasing. “You’re going to feel like a superhero!” Jun grinned, making exaggerated flying motions with his arms. “Or like you made the worst decision of your life,” Mingyu added unhelpfully. Seungcheol clapped his hands together. “Come on, let’s hype him up. Vernon! Vernon! Vernon!” A chorus of cheers followed, the energy infectious. Even the staff members joined in, adding to the overwhelming noise of support. Vernon curled his fingers into fists, willing his body to move. Just one step. He swallowed hard, heart hammering against his ribs. The ground below looked impossibly far, the space between him and it a vast unknown. And yet… “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” Seungkwan’s words echoed in his mind. Vernon exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders back. Maybe this wasn’t about proving something. Maybe it was just about trusting—trusting himself, trusting the harness, trusting that whatever happened next, he wasn’t alone. The instructor counted down. “Three…” The wind rushed past his ears. “Two…” His heart leapt into his throat. “One!” And then— He jumped. The world fell away in an instant. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but weightlessness. The feeling was surreal—pure, unfiltered adrenaline shooting through his veins as the air roared past him. His breath caught, his body tensed, and then— Freedom. The fear that had gripped him before was gone, replaced by an overwhelming rush of sensation. The sky stretched wide around him, the world flipped upside down and right-side up again as he plummeted. His stomach flipped, his arms instinctively spread out, and for the first time in what felt like forever— He let go. A breathless laugh escaped his lips. The cord reached its limit, snapping him back up with a force that sent another shock of exhilaration through his system. He bounced, weightless again, the sheer absurdity of it hitting him all at once. The members' cheers echoed distantly from the platform. “VERNON-AAAAH!” “HE DID IT! HE ACTUALLY DID IT!” Seungkwan’s voice rang the loudest. “Are you ALIVE?!” Dangling in midair, Vernon huffed out a breathless, giddy laugh. “Yeah,” he called back, voice shaking with adrenaline. “I think so.” The controlled descent was slower, allowing him to take in the world from this new perspective. The once-terrifying height now seemed… different. Not safe, exactly. But not impossible either. When he finally touched solid ground again, his legs wobbled slightly. Staff members helped unclip his harness, but before he could fully register anything, the members descended on him. Seungcheol clapped him on the back with enough force to nearly send him back to the floor. “That was INSANE.” Hoshi was practically bouncing in place. “You looked SO COOL! You were like—” He mimicked a dramatic swan dive, complete with unnecessary sound effects. Mingyu, laughing, grabbed him in a half-hug. “Dude, I almost cried watching you go.” “You almost cried?” Seungkwan huffed. “I almost passed out!” Vernon, still catching his breath, just let them swarm him, their energy a chaotic mix of relief, pride, and leftover nerves. Somewhere in the chaos, Woozi gave him a small nod. Wonwoo, standing next to him, patted his shoulder once. No words were needed. He knew. As the group finally settled, the staff called for the last few jumps to continue filming. Vernon took a step back, still processing the whirlwind of emotions in his chest. He had been scared. He had hesitated. But he had jumped anyway. And that was enough.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The dorm was unusually quiet for a SEVENTEEN evening. It was rare, almost unsettling, given the usual chaos that accompanied thirteen grown men living under the same roof. But Vernon didn’t mind. If anything, it meant he could finally have some downtime to indulge in his guilty pleasure—one that, under no circumstances, should be witnessed by anyone else. He double-checked the lock on his bedroom door. Secure. Then, he grabbed his phone, connected it to his speaker, and scrolled through his playlist until he found exactly what he was looking for. A beat dropped. Vernon cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders like a professional about to take the stage. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him, serious and determined. Then, he moved. His body twisted fluidly to the rhythm, arms snapping into precise angles, footwork light and practiced. The song—a K-pop girl group’s latest hit—was fast-paced, intricate, and required absolute precision. Vernon had mastered it. Every hip sway, every wrist flick, every dramatic hair toss. What made it even better? The lip-syncing. He mouthed the lyrics with near-perfect enunciation, brows furrowing with intense emotion, then softening in a playful smirk. He embodied every part of the song, from the fierce choreography to the effortless charisma. This wasn’t just dancing. This was performance. And it was going flawlessly—until a knock rattled the door. “Yo, Vernon, what are you doing?” His soul nearly left his body. He scrambled to pause the music, heart pounding against his ribs. The voice was unmistakable. Seungkwan. Of all people. “N-nothing,” Vernon called back, voice almost steady. He tried to catch his breath, smoothing down his shirt like that would erase any evidence of his performance. “Nothing?” Seungkwan repeated, unimpressed. A beat of silence. Then—“Your speaker’s still connected to the living room Bluetooth.” Vernon froze. A deep, horrifying realization settled in his gut. The music—his music—had been playing in the dorm's shared space the entire time. Which meant... He could hear them laughing. Seungkwan. DK. Mingyu. Probably Jeonghan too, because wherever there was potential for mischief, Jeonghan was never far behind. This was it. His life was over. ____________________ Vernon stared at his reflection in the mirror, his wide-eyed panic mirroring his soul leaving his body. The silence outside his door was deceptive—he knew they were plotting something. Then came a second, more ominous knock. “Vernon-ah,” Seungkwan sing-songed, the exact tone that signaled he was up to no good. “Open the door~” “No,” Vernon shot back immediately, scrambling to turn off his speaker before any more evidence leaked into the dorm. A snort from Mingyu. “Dude, we heard everything.” Vernon’s head dropped forward. Fantastic. The betrayal of technology was something he could never have prepared for. He had been so careful. He had double-checked the lock on his door, but apparently, he should’ve double-checked which Bluetooth device his speaker was connected to instead. “Listen,” he tried, voice as calm as possible, “we can all pretend this never happened. It’s better for everyone this way.” Seungkwan gasped dramatically. “Pretend? Pretend?! After what we just witnessed?” “You witnessed nothing,” Vernon corrected, as if sheer willpower could erase their memories. “Oh, but we did, my friend,” DK chimed in, the laughter barely concealed in his voice. “Not only did we hear you, but Jeonghan-hyung came to investigate why girl group music was suddenly blasting in the dorm.” Vernon squeezed his eyes shut. If Jeonghan knew, it was over. “Come on, at least let us see it live,” Mingyu prodded. “You’re honestly kinda good at it.” Vernon groaned, running a hand down his face. “I’m not putting on a show for you guys.” “Then we’ll force you out,” Seungkwan declared. “Mingyu, on three—” “Okay, okay!” Vernon shouted, pressing his back against the door like his life depended on it. Silence. “…Okay?” DK asked, cautiously optimistic. Vernon sighed, defeated. “If I let you in, will you promise not to tell the others?” More silence. Then, a loud and very unconvincing, “Of course.” Vernon groaned again. He was so doomed. But he knew there was no escaping this. He reluctantly unlocked the door and barely had a second to step back before Seungkwan, Mingyu, and DK all burst in like a SWAT team. “Show us what you got, rapper-dancer-lip-syncing king,” Seungkwan teased, already reaching for Vernon’s phone. Mingyu flopped onto Vernon’s bed like he lived there. “I’m serious. You were nailing that routine.” Vernon, arms crossed, narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” “Ah, but we did,” DK said brightly. “And now, we must witness it again.” Vernon hesitated. Letting them see was different than getting caught. It was like owning up to it, like giving them free ammunition for the future. But… a small part of him also kind of wanted to. Seungkwan must have sensed the crack in his resolve. “Come on, man. No one’s gonna judge you. I mean, okay, we will, but in a loving way.” “That’s… not comforting,” Vernon deadpanned. DK clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Think of it this way—you’ve already been exposed. Might as well own it.” Vernon stared at them. Three pairs of eager, expectant eyes. And… yeah. Maybe they were right. He exhaled. “Fine. But only once.” Seungkwan cheered. DK immediately hit play on Vernon’s phone, and before he could second-guess himself, the familiar beat filled the room again. This time, Vernon didn’t hide it. He hit every move, sharp and fluid, his footwork light, his arms precise. He exaggerated some moments just for fun, smirking as he fully embodied the performance. The lip-syncing was flawless—he delivered each lyric like he was center stage at an award show. And his audience? They lost it. Mingyu was cackling on the bed, clutching his stomach. Seungkwan was recording, yelling something about “CARATs need to see this,” while DK was genuinely attempting to follow along, but failing spectacularly. Vernon finished with a dramatic pose, panting slightly. “Happy now?” Seungkwan wiped a fake tear. “That was beautiful.” Mingyu gave a slow, approving clap. “Honestly? Kind of iconic.” DK nodded seriously. “We need to make this a regular thing.” Vernon blinked. “We do not.” “Oh, but we do,” Seungkwan grinned. “And don’t worry—we won’t tell everyone.” Vernon squinted. “That sounded fake.” DK just patted his back. “Don’t worry about it.” He absolutely needed to worry about it. ____________________ Vernon should have known something was up the moment Seungkwan texted him: [12:04 PM] Seungkwan: Hey, you free? Come to the practice room. We need you. First of all, we need you was a suspicious phrase when it came from Boo Seungkwan. It either meant actual work (rare) or elaborate mischief disguised as work (frequent). Second, he wasn’t even supposed to be at the practice room today. It was an off-day for him, and he had every intention of spending it not being bullied by his own members. But against his better judgment, here he was, standing in the doorway, staring at the absolute trap set before him. Inside the practice room, the mirrors reflected his three awaiting doom-bringers: Seungkwan, DK, and Mingyu, all grinning like they had just won the lottery. And in the middle of the floor? A portable speaker, ominously ready. “Why do I feel like I’ve walked into an ambush?” Vernon muttered, eyeing them warily. Mingyu stretched his arms, way too casual. “What? No ambush here.” “Just a friendly dance session,” DK added, far too cheerful. Seungkwan clapped his hands together. “We’ve come to a decision, Vernon. We’ve seen your skills, and we think you’re hiding your true calling.” “…My what?” Seungkwan gestured dramatically at the speaker. “We, the people of SEVENTEEN, believe it’s time for you to show the world what you can do.” Vernon sighed. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you in my room.” DK nudged the speaker with his foot. “Come on, man. One performance. That’s all we ask.” Vernon exhaled slowly. “I literally already danced for you guys.” “Yes,” Seungkwan agreed, nodding. “But that was a private viewing. Now, we’re upping the stakes.” Vernon crossed his arms. “Define ‘upping the stakes.’” Mingyu smirked. “A dance battle.” Vernon blinked. “Against who?” Seungkwan, DK, and Mingyu all pointed at themselves. He burst out laughing. “No way. You guys planned this?” DK wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, we prepared.” Seungkwan hit play on the speaker, and the room exploded with sound—an absolute banger of a girl group track. The energy was immediate, infectious, the kind of beat that made it impossible not to move. Mingyu was the first to jump in, throwing out a ridiculous but shockingly smooth body roll. DK followed with an exaggerated dramatic hair flip, and Seungkwan? He went full main character, eyes locked on Vernon like this was a revenge arc. Vernon tried—he really tried—to keep a straight face. But the sheer absurdity of it was too much. Seungkwan pointed at him, challenging. “Your turn.” Vernon should have said no. He should have walked out. Instead, he rolled his shoulders, stepped forward, and absolutely annihilated them. His footwork was sharp, fluid, a mix of precision and effortless groove. He threw in a spin, hit the beat perfectly, and ended with a casual smirk, arms crossed. DK gasped. “Yo.” Mingyu staggered back dramatically. “Bro, I felt that.” Seungkwan narrowed his eyes. “Alright. Now we’re serious.” The battle was on. For the next ten minutes, it was absolute chaos—Mingyu attempting a move too advanced for his height and almost falling, DK twirling so enthusiastically that he nearly smacked Seungkwan in the face, and Seungkwan… well, Seungkwan was fighting for his life to keep up with Vernon’s unexpected power. By the end of it, they were all breathless, sweaty, and slightly delirious. Vernon wiped his forehead with his sleeve, grinning. “Satisfied?” Seungkwan, lying dramatically on the floor, panted. “I have seen… the face of true dance.” Mingyu groaned. “I think I pulled something.” DK, sprawled out next to him, just laughed. “Worth it.” Vernon shook his head. Maybe they were absolute menaces, but… this was actually kind of fun. And he had a feeling they weren’t going to let him stop anytime soon. ____________________ Seungkwan was the first to recover—of course he was. He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes twinkling with mischief despite his exhausted state. “So, Vernon,” he panted, a slow grin creeping onto his face. “How does it feel… to be SEVENTEEN’s new dance legend?” Vernon scoffed, nudging him lightly with his foot. “You mean SEVENTEEN’s secret weapon? I don’t think the world is ready.” DK let out a dramatic groan from the floor. “I wasn’t ready either, man. I thought we were just goofing off, and then you actually hit those moves.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Vernon. “You’ve been hiding this power.” Mingyu, still sprawled out, lifted his head just enough to add, “And we will be exposing it.” Vernon narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?” Seungkwan clapped his hands together. “Oh, nothing. Just that the world deserves to witness your greatness.” Vernon frowned. “I don’t like the way you said that.” “Hyungs,” DK suddenly called out, looking toward the practice room doors. “You saw that, right?” Vernon turned just in time to see Woozi, Hoshi, and Jun standing at the entrance. Oh. Oh no. Hoshi, arms crossed, had the biggest, most dangerous grin on his face. “You guys are having a dance battle,” he observed. “And no one invited me?” Jun tilted his head. “You mean no one invited us?” Woozi, on the other hand, was just staring at Vernon with the expression of a producer who had just discovered his artist was hiding elite-level skills. “…Vernon.” Vernon gulped. “Uh. Yes, hyung?” Woozi slowly smirked. “I think we need to talk.” Seungkwan clapped a hand on Vernon’s shoulder. “Congrats, buddy. You just unlocked the final boss fight.” Hoshi strode into the room, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, Vernon. Show me what you got.” Mingyu gasped from the floor. “He’s being challenged by the tiger himself!” DK’s jaw dropped. “Hoshi never challenges unless he sees potential.” Vernon stared at Hoshi, eyes wide. “Hyung, you do know I’m just doing this for fun, right?” Hoshi smiled in that way. The way that made people fear for their legs the next day. “Oh, I know. That’s why this is gonna be so much fun.” Jun stepped beside him. “And I’m joining in, obviously.” Vernon ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, but—” Woozi, who had been silent up until now, casually leaned against the wall and pulled out his phone. “I’m just gonna record this for research purposes.” Vernon’s stomach dropped. “No, no, no, wait—” Too late. Hoshi hit play on the speaker. The unmistakable intro of Girls’ Generation’s “Genie” filled the room. Seungkwan gasped. “This is happening.” DK shook his head in awe. “Vernon versus Hoshi and Jun. A historic moment.” Mingyu whispered, “I’m so proud of him.” Vernon? He was too busy internally screaming. ____________________ Vernon was doomed. He knew this from the moment Woozi casually slid his phone back into his pocket, humming in satisfaction. Whatever footage he’d captured was now a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate. Hoshi, on the other hand, was grinning like a madman, still hyped from their impromptu showdown. “Vernon,” he said, throwing an arm around his shoulder, “I don’t know why you’ve been hiding this raw talent, but I’m telling you now—this needs to be shared.” Jun nodded solemnly. “It’s your duty as a member of SEVENTEEN.” Vernon rubbed a hand down his face. “Guys… it’s not that deep.” “Not that deep?” Seungkwan echoed, looking personally offended. “You just went toe-to-toe with Hoshi and survived. That’s legendary behavior.” Mingyu, still hyping him up from the side, added, “And the fans would lose it if they saw this.” At that, Vernon froze. The fans? “Oh no.” He turned sharply to Woozi, suddenly filled with genuine terror. “You’re not actually going to—” Woozi, utterly calm, tapped his pocket. “Like I said. Research purposes.” That meant one thing and one thing only. This was going public. Vernon groaned, already dreading the chaos. “I’m gonna have to change my name and go into hiding.” Seungkwan snorted. “Too late, buddy. You’re about to be a meme.” And so, the plan was set. The infamous clip—Vernon flawlessly executing girl group choreography with a mix of dead seriousness and comedic flair—would make its grand debut at their upcoming fan meeting. The betrayal was swift. The consequences? Unstoppable. ____________________ The fan meeting was packed, a sea of CARATs buzzing with excitement. Vernon had been hoping, praying, that somehow Woozi would have forgotten about the video. He was a fool. Because the moment the event started, Seungkwan took the mic with a devious smile and announced, “CARATs, we have something very special to show you today.” Vernon knew. He knew what was coming before the giant screen behind them flickered to life. And then— There he was. His own recorded self, hitting every move of Genie like his life depended on it, face completely serious, arms perfectly in sync. The crowd exploded. Screams. Laughter. Pure, unfiltered joy. Vernon, face buried in his hands, felt actual secondhand embarrassment from himself. Seungkwan gleefully narrated, “As you can see, our very own Vernon has been hiding his skills from us. How could he do this to us, CARATs?” DK fanned himself dramatically. “He even lip-syncs like a true performer.” Hoshi? He was just proud. “Look at that execution. Flawless.” The fans were eating it up. Comments flashed across the live chat on the big screen: “VERNON OMG WHAT IS THIS???”“WHY IS HE SO GOOD????”“THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.”“SEVENTEEN NEVER FAILS TO BLESS US.” Vernon finally peeked out from between his fingers. And that was his mistake. Because the moment he did, the crowd started chanting. “DO IT LIVE! DO IT LIVE! DO IT LIVE!” Mingyu immediately joined in, clapping. “Yeah, Vernon! The people have spoken!” Hoshi had already cued up the song. Vernon exhaled, resigned to his fate. If he was going down, he was going down as a legend. He stepped forward, rolled his shoulders, and— The music hit. And the practice room champion was officially revealed to the world. ____________________ The opening notes of Genie blasted through the speakers, and the crowd lost their minds. Vernon, staring out at the sea of screaming CARATs, could physically feel his soul attempting to leave his body. Every single one of his members was grinning like they had just won the ultimate prank war. Seungcheol had his arms crossed, nodding approvingly like a proud parent. Jeonghan? Absolutely smug, mouthing "Good luck, buddy" from the sidelines. And Hoshi? Hoshi was living for this moment. “You got this, Vernon!” he shouted, hyping him up like a coach about to send his star player onto the field. “Show them what we saw in the practice room!” Vernon took a deep breath. The fans were chanting. The members were watching. The music was playing. There was no way out. So, he did the only thing he could do. He committed. With a dramatic flourish, he struck the opening pose. The fans erupted. And then—he danced. Somewhere deep in his mind, Vernon was aware of how ridiculous this was. He was a rapper, not a girl group cover specialist. And yet, here he was—executing every move with almost alarming precision, blending perfect synchronization with his own brand of exaggerated comedic flair. It shouldn’t have worked. But it did. The moment he started lip-syncing with absolute seriousness, DK collapsed to the floor, howling with laughter. Seungkwan was screaming, clutching onto Woozi, who was actually recording the entire thing on his phone. Hoshi, of course, was analyzing every move with pure joy. “YES, VERNON! KEEP THAT ENERGY UP!” The crowd? Completely feral. The chants turned into pure chaos: "KING OF PERFORMANCE!""VERNON FOR PERFORMANCE LINE!""WHO NEEDS HOSHI WHEN WE HAVE THIS???" At this point, the other members had completely given up pretending to be professional. Jun and Minghao were now mimicking his moves from the sidelines, while Mingyu had resorted to holding onto Joshua for stability. Vernon, now fully unleashed, decided to elevate the performance. He flipped his hair dramatically. Winked at the camera. And— Did the final pose like he was center-stage at an Mnet finale. For three whole seconds, there was silence. And then— Absolute pandemonium. The members collapsed in laughter. The CARATs were screaming. Seungkwan was face down on the stage, wheezing. Woozi, still filming, muttered, “This is going viral immediately.” Vernon, catching his breath, turned to his members, waiting for someone to say something. Jeonghan was the first to recover, looking genuinely impressed. “Honestly? That was iconic.” Joshua grinned. “So, how does it feel to be SEVENTEEN’s newest performance unit member?” Hoshi, too excited, practically tackled Vernon in a hug. “Vernon, this is your true calling! We need to get you on stage doing this for real.” Vernon sighed dramatically. “You guys planned this, didn’t you?” Seungcheol laughed, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Let’s just say… we had faith in your hidden talents.” Vernon groaned, but he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips. He had lost—completely, utterly, and publicly. But, as he looked out at the fans—still cheering, still celebrating his performance—he realized something. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. ____________________ The moment they returned to the dorm, Vernon knew he was doomed. His phone had been vibrating non-stop from the second they left the venue. The moment he checked it, the full horror of the situation hit him. VERNON GOING FULL SNSD AT FANMEETING (WITH EMOTION)→ 4.3M views
HOSHI, YOUR JOB IS IN DANGER
→ 2.8M views
VERNON’S GENIE ERA??? ICONIC???
→ #1 trending topic on K-pop Twitter Vernon stared at the screen. Then at his members. Then back at the screen. "...oh god," he whispered. Jeonghan, scrolling through his own phone, grinned. "You’ve officially entered legend territory." Woozi, not looking up from his laptop, muttered, "I already started working on the remix." "THE WHAT?" Vernon snapped his head toward him. "Don’t worry," Woozi waved him off. "It’s tasteful." Vernon collapsed onto the couch, groaning into his hands. "This is my villain origin story." "No, no," Seungkwan corrected, barely holding back laughter. "This is your main character arc." At that moment, DK sprinted into the room, phone in hand. "Vernon. Man. Have you checked Weverse?" Vernon’s stomach dropped. "Why?" DK shoved the phone in his face. [Top Weverse Comments:] CARAT101: "This is literally the best thing to happen in 2025. Vernon’s expressions? The commitment? The fact that his members were dying?? Iconic." HOSHI_FANCLUB: "Petition for Vernon to join Performance line. Hoshi is shaking." VERNON4LIFE: "The way he was SERIOUS about it too. This wasn’t just for fun. This was a PERFORMANCE." SEUNGKWANISM: "This is going in the SEVENTEEN hall of fame." And then— PLEDIS OFFICIAL ACCOUNT: "Due to overwhelming demand, Vernon will be leading the special ‘Girl Group Medley’ for the next concert. Stay tuned!" Vernon screamed. Mingyu choked on his drink. Seungcheol burst out laughing. Jeonghan collapsed onto the floor, clutching his stomach. Meanwhile, Hoshi was clapping like a madman. "IT’S HAPPENING. OH, IT’S HAPPENING." Vernon shot up. "I did not agree to this!" Seungkwan wiped away tears of laughter. "Buddy. I don’t think you have a choice anymore." And just like that, Vernon realized something even worse than his dance cover going viral. He had just become SEVENTEEN’s official girl group dance specialist. …And there was no escape.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The fluorescent lights of the practice room flickered faintly, casting long shadows across the floor as Vernon wiped his hand against his forehead, feeling the sweat drip down the back of his neck. The other members had long since gone home, leaving the room quiet and empty, save for the thumping of his own heartbeat. There was something about being alone in here, with only the hum of the air conditioner and the soft click of the door behind him, that made everything feel more intense. It was just him and the space, his mind racing faster than his movements could follow. For weeks now, Vernon had been toying with an idea. It wasn’t something concrete yet—just a vague feeling, a burst of something fleeting he couldn’t put into words. It had started as a whisper, an impression from a dream or maybe just a passing thought. The more he thought about it, the more persistent it became. But it wasn’t like any other idea he’d had for a performance or a piece of choreography. This one felt different. It had come to him during a rehearsal, in the middle of another routine that, for all its precision and sharpness, felt... too clean. Too polished. Vernon wasn’t new to the performance unit’s demand for perfection, but something in him began to itch, a need to express something raw, something that wasn’t all controlled. He wanted to move beyond the steps—beyond just hitting marks and synchronizing with the beat. He wanted to feel it. "Maybe it's time," he whispered to himself, his voice barely more than a breath. It was the first time he’d said it out loud. The thought had been simmering for days now. Maybe it’s time to choreograph something of my own. But the hesitation came swiftly, just as quickly as the urge. Who was he to create something like that? The thought of stepping out of the shadow of the others—the others who lived for choreography, who thrived in its complexity—felt intimidating. Seungcheol had the unwavering confidence of a leader. Hoshi had the dynamic flair, his movements sharp and calculated. Joshua’s grace was effortless, and Woozi, despite his quiet demeanor, could create something with a single note that felt like an entire world. What if this didn’t measure up? What if they laughed? What if they couldn’t feel it? Vernon ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. He had never been one to dwell too long on doubts. He liked to keep his thoughts to himself, to remain the quiet observer, but this—this felt like something he couldn’t ignore. With a soft thud, his phone vibrated on the floor where he’d set it down earlier. Glancing at the screen, he saw a message from Seungkwan: “Don’t stay up too late, you know I’ll hear you practicing in the morning if you do!” Vernon smirked at the message, shaking his head. Seungkwan always seemed to have an uncanny ability to know when he was working too hard. He typed back quickly, “I’ll try, but no promises.” The silence settled back around him as he looked at the space once more, the empty floor that would soon be filled with his movements. Inspiration came slowly, almost painfully so, and yet, as his mind began to clear, the vague feeling transformed. The beat. The rhythm. It was there. It was building inside him. He stepped forward, the floor cool beneath his sneakers. The song he had in mind began to hum faintly in his head, an old track he had heard years ago but always felt a connection to. It wasn’t a fast, catchy beat; it was slow and deliberate, the kind that built with a tension that threatened to explode if left unchecked. Vernon let the rhythm flow through him, his feet shifting in place, as if trying to find where his body could fit into it. For the first time in days, he felt something stir deep inside him, something beyond the surface-level movements. It was something more personal, more raw. A seed had been planted. The music in his head was soft at first, just a suggestion of a melody, but as his body followed the invisible beats, the first tentative movements began to form. A sharp, sudden shift of weight. A slow, deliberate extension of his arm, the smooth fluidity of it a sharp contrast to the intensity of his legs. The steps weren’t perfect. He could feel it—his limbs didn’t quite fall into the right angles, and he stumbled a little, adjusting the placement of his foot, but something about it felt... right. Vernon paused for a moment, his breath catching. The feeling he had been chasing had a name now. The movements would take time, but that didn’t matter. He needed to finish this—not for anyone else, but for himself. The song began to hum louder in his mind as he repeated the steps, slowly, almost mechanically, working them over and over, until each transition felt smoother, more natural. But as the night wore on, the doubts crept in again. Would the others understand this? Would they see what he was trying to create? His body ached as he continued to practice, sweat rolling down his face. The exhaustion weighed on him, but it wasn’t the physical toll that made him hesitate—it was the fear. What if this idea, this expression of his, wasn’t enough? What if the group didn’t feel the way he did? He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the exhaustion of the night press into him. A quiet voice in the back of his mind urged him to keep going. Don’t stop now. There was no going back now. He would finish this—no matter how long it took. The practice room, now filled with the faint echo of his movement, became more than just a space to rehearse. It became a sanctuary for him, a place where his doubts could live alongside his determination. It wasn’t just the choreography that mattered. It was the process. And as he stepped back into position, the first real movement of his dance now flowing through him, Vernon realized something. This wasn’t just about the choreography. It was about him, about finding something he could claim for himself. ____________________ Vernon’s mind raced as he continued to move, the sweat dripping down his back now mingling with the cool air of the practice room. He couldn’t stop. Each movement felt like a piece of something larger, something he needed to understand fully. His arms sliced through the air, his body twisting and shifting, testing out the movements, adjusting as he went. The sharpness in some parts of the dance contrasted beautifully with the fluidity in others, like an unfinished puzzle slowly starting to take shape. He had no clear vision yet—only that he had to keep going, one step after another. His breath was heavy, uneven, but there was an almost addictive quality to it. The challenge of building something from nothing, of finding the perfect balance between technique and emotion, was pulling him in deeper. It wasn’t the first time he’d choreographed something—he’d worked on bits and pieces for their group performances, but nothing like this. This was different. This felt personal. The music continued to loop in his head, a soundtrack that echoed the swirling emotions in his chest. A familiar sense of insecurity followed, like a whisper in the back of his mind, reminding him that there was a chance this could fail. What if the others didn’t get it? What if it was too much, too complicated, too different? What if it didn’t work at all? He stopped mid-step, feeling the exhaustion in his limbs, his muscles trembling slightly from the effort. Vernon wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, standing still for a moment as he breathed in deeply. The room was quiet, but inside his head, there was a clash of emotions. Doubt. Determination. A quiet, gnawing fear that his idea wouldn’t resonate with the others. They would see right through it, maybe even laugh at it, and he’d be left standing there, exposed. Alone in his vulnerability. A few minutes passed, and Vernon let his thoughts simmer in the silence. As much as the fear clawed at him, he knew he had to push through it. This wasn’t about being perfect. It wasn’t about meeting the standards of others. It was about finding his own voice within this art form. If he didn’t try, if he didn’t put his heart into it, it would never be something real. Slowly, he began moving again, this time without thinking too hard. His body knew the rhythm now. It felt like the space had opened up just a little more, the invisible weight of the room lightening with every fluid step he took. A hand reached out, fingers brushing the air as if tracing the edges of his thoughts. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, the song playing louder in his mind now. In that fleeting instant, Vernon had a vision—a sense of where he wanted the choreography to go, how it could tell a story. The way his body moved, how each moment shifted the energy of the piece—this could be something beyond the usual structure of dance. The sharpness in his movements represented the tension, the drive, while the fluidity was the release, the letting go. There was something about that balance that felt right. He could almost see it in his head: a performance that began with restraint and ended in a raw, overwhelming release of emotion. A sudden noise startled him from his reverie—his phone buzzed once more, this time with a message from Woozi: “You’re still at the practice room?” The tiny text screen lit up with a string of other messages: “It’s getting late, aren’t you tired?” “Don’t wear yourself out too much.” Vernon smiled at the messages. He could always count on Woozi to check in on him, even when he was wrapped up in his own world. He sent a quick reply: “Almost done. Just need a few more hours.” The truth was, Vernon wasn’t sure when he’d be done. He wasn’t done yet—not with the choreography, not with himself. There was still more to explore in every move, more to uncover in the way he wanted to express it. He needed to push further, let the dance evolve into something meaningful. His foot slid to the floor, the motion smooth and effortless as he slipped into another series of steps. Each movement felt more like a question than an answer. Every turn, every extension of his body, felt like it was probing deeper into something more personal than he had imagined. His body ached as he executed a sharp pivot into a fluid, sweeping motion, his arms flowing out like they were reaching toward something just out of his grasp. The physicality of it made him dizzy, but it was the feeling of release, the freedom, that kept him moving. There was something beautiful in how messy it was. How imperfect it felt in the best way possible. The uncertainty, the doubt that clouded his thoughts—it was all part of the dance. He wasn’t just choreographing movements. He was choreographing himself. The hours passed in a blur. Vernon lost track of time as the choreography took on a life of its own. It was nothing like he had planned for, but that was what made it perfect. It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t neat. It was raw and visceral. It was him. At some point, the music faded into the background as Vernon stood still, looking at the space around him. The lights above were harsh and sterile, but to him, they felt like a spotlight illuminating his path forward. Vernon couldn’t help but smile, just a little, as he realized the significance of the moment. This was his first serious attempt at something all his own. And it felt right. It felt like the beginning of something bigger. ____________________ Vernon stumbled out of the practice room and into the hallway, the soft hum of the building’s lights buzzing overhead. The cool air hit him like a wave, but it did little to ease the weight settling in his shoulders. He was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. The choreography had taken so much out of him, but it was far from finished. He couldn’t let himself rest yet, couldn’t allow the doubts creeping into his mind to win. His feet moved automatically, carrying him back toward the practice room without much thought. His body was stiff, sore from the repeated motions, but the quiet hum of the building seemed to lull him back into the world he had been so absorbed in hours before. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Vernon’s gaze fell to the floor, where the tape marks on the floor remained, guiding his every step. The room was silent now. The music that had looped in his ears for hours was gone, replaced by the quiet rustle of his own breath. He stood still for a moment, his chest rising and falling as the familiar self-doubt bubbled up again. Was this really something he could be proud of? What if the others didn’t understand it? What if they didn’t feel the story he was trying to tell? What if it fell flat, all his effort wasted? With a heavy sigh, Vernon shook his head and pushed the thoughts away. The fear was a constant companion now, but so was the drive to finish it—to make something that was truly his. He couldn’t stop now, not when he had come this far. He reached for his water bottle and took a long gulp, his eyes flicking over to the speakers in the corner. He needed something to focus on, something to push him forward. His phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Hoshi: “Are you still up? How’s the choreography coming along?” Vernon hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t want to admit how much he was struggling. But he couldn’t lie. Not to Hoshi. “I’m close, but I’m not sure. There’s something missing.” He stared at the screen, waiting for a response. It came after a few seconds: “Take your time. Don’t rush it. We’ll be here to help when you need us.” The words should have been comforting, but they felt like a challenge. Vernon wasn’t sure if he had time to take his time. The deadline for the next stage of their schedule was looming, and he couldn’t let the members down. This was his chance to prove himself—to prove he could take something he had envisioned and turn it into something real, something they could all be proud of. The phone screen dimmed as Vernon dropped it onto the table, pushing aside his doubts once more. He needed to focus. He needed to create. He pressed play, the first few notes of the song filling the room again, this time with an almost haunting stillness. The track felt different now—he was hearing it in a new way, as though it had shifted beneath his skin. He closed his eyes and let the beat settle deep in his chest, feeling the pulse of it move through his bones. He knew he needed to refine the transitions between sharp and fluid movements—something about the flow still felt disjointed. But the feeling was there, that undercurrent of raw emotion, and he couldn’t let go of it. He began moving again, the steps more measured now, more deliberate. He had to refine every little detail, every flick of his wrist, every slight tilt of his head. He wanted it to speak, to move, to connect. But as the minutes passed, his body began to protest. His legs ached from the sharp turns and pivots. His arms felt heavier, his movements becoming sluggish. He paused again, bending forward with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. It was frustrating, so frustrating. Why couldn’t it just flow? He could see the image in his mind, the emotion, the power he wanted to convey—but making it happen was proving harder than he had imagined. His fingers ran through his hair, and he stood still for a moment, the quiet stretching out like a weight. It was in that silence, in the midst of his frustration, that he realized something important: he had been trying to force it. The story wasn’t about the sharpness or the fluidity. It wasn’t about what he thought it should be—it was about what it wanted to be. His body had to feel it, not dictate it. The realization struck him like a spark, and suddenly, he felt a renewed sense of focus. He dropped his shoulders and took a deep breath, letting the tension slip from his muscles. He started moving again, slower this time, not focusing on the sharp lines but on the breath of the movement, the way it could stretch into something more organic. A few steps in, his foot caught the edge of one of the tape marks, and he stumbled, barely catching himself. The fall was minor, but the jolt of it reverberated through him. He couldn’t ignore the physical toll this was taking. The late nights, the fatigue—it was all piling up. But Vernon refused to stop. He had come too far. He pushed through the stumble, deciding not to reset. He would work with it, make the imperfection a part of the dance. And with that, something clicked. The fluidity came easier, the sharpness more impactful. The moves began to align with the raw emotion he was feeling, the balance between the two forces becoming clearer. His breath evened out as he continued, his limbs moving with purpose but also with a sense of release. He wasn’t thinking about it anymore. He wasn’t forcing it. It was just him, moving with the music, telling the story the way he felt it. For the first time that night, the choreography felt right. But even with that breakthrough, Vernon knew he wasn’t done. He had to refine the ending, the final release, the last move that would pull everything together. He wasn’t there yet, but for the first time in hours, he felt the faintest glimmer of hope. As he paused to take another drink of water, he couldn’t help but smile. He had made progress. That was something. ____________________ Vernon wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as he sat on the floor, his legs spread out in front of him. The room felt suffocating now, even with the faint hum of the air conditioning in the corner. His body was screaming at him to stop, but his mind wouldn’t let him. The choreography wasn’t finished. Not yet. He stretched his arms above his head, trying to ease the stiffness in his shoulders, and glanced at the clock. It was past 3 a.m., and the practice room, once full of energy and anticipation, was now silent except for the occasional creak of the building settling into the night. It was always like this when Vernon stayed too late. The quiet that used to feel peaceful now felt oppressive, a reminder of the weight on his chest. His phone buzzed again, a message from Seungkwan this time: “Are you still going at it? Get some rest, you’re going to burn yourself out!” Vernon stared at the message for a long time. The concern in Seungkwan’s words felt warm, but there was a sharpness to his exhaustion that made him want to shove the phone away. He wasn’t tired. He was just... stuck. He couldn’t stop. Not when he had come this far. Not when he knew he could finish it, could make something worth showing to the others. The realization of how much he was pushing himself hit him harder in that moment, but he pushed it aside. This wasn’t about exhaustion. It wasn’t about the physical toll. It was about creating something real—something that spoke to him, something that could be seen and felt by the people who mattered the most. Vernon exhaled heavily, running his hand through his hair before standing again, the air now thick with anticipation. He pressed play once more, and the music poured out, filling the room with its familiar hum. This time, he closed his eyes and let it wash over him. The emotion he was trying to convey felt more palpable now. He could almost see the shapes in the air, the way the movements could carve out something meaningful. He tried again. The sharp turns, the fluid slides—each move felt like a question, a whisper in the silence of his mind. And yet, as he went through it again and again, there was something off. Something wasn’t clicking with the last section, the final burst of energy he had imagined to tie everything together. Vernon stood still, panting, eyes closed as he tried to picture it. He could see it in his head, but his body wouldn’t follow. It was frustrating, and the fatigue that had been building in his muscles now reached his mind. The doubts were back again, louder now, suffocating him with the same fears. What if it wasn’t enough? What if they saw how incomplete it felt? What if all of this was for nothing? He collapsed back onto the floor, leaning against the mirrored wall, his legs spread out before him as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. This was stupid. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe he had pushed too hard, tried to do something he wasn’t ready for. His stomach twisted as the idea settled into him. A sudden knock at the door broke his thoughts, and he blinked, looking up to see a figure standing in the doorway. It was Hoshi, his face bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light. “You good?” Hoshi asked quietly, stepping inside without waiting for a response. Vernon shook his head and laughed bitterly, trying to smile but feeling the weight of his exhaustion pressing down harder with every breath. “Yeah, just... I can’t seem to get it right.” Hoshi tilted his head, clearly sensing the deeper frustration Vernon wasn’t saying out loud. He sat down next to Vernon, looking at the floor where the tape lines remained, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself, Vern,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “You know you don’t have to be perfect, right? You’re doing this for you, not for anyone else.” Vernon exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as Hoshi’s words sank in. He wanted to argue, wanted to say that if it wasn’t perfect, if it didn’t make an impact, he’d let everyone down. But somehow, Hoshi’s quiet presence made him pause, reconsider. “It just feels like it has to be perfect. Like it has to mean something,” Vernon murmured, his voice almost a whisper. Hoshi smiled softly. “And it will mean something, no matter what. Just remember, it’s yours. You’ve got your own story to tell, and that’s what makes it matter. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but it’s real. And that’s all that matters.” Vernon blinked, feeling his chest tighten as the words sank deeper. Hoshi’s reassurance washed over him like a wave of calm, and for a moment, he felt the weight of the night ease just a little. “Thanks, hyung,” Vernon said quietly, finally meeting his eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Hoshi chuckled softly and nudged him with his shoulder. “You’d probably still be stuck here at 5 a.m., trying to figure it out,” he teased, lightening the mood. “But seriously, you don’t need to do this alone. We’re all here, and we believe in you. Just take it one step at a time. You’ll get there.” Vernon nodded slowly, his fingers tapping the floor as he absorbed Hoshi’s words. They lingered in the room, heavy with a kind of quiet understanding. Vernon didn’t know if he could finish the choreography tonight, but he didn’t have to. The pressure he had been carrying, the need to prove something to everyone and himself, started to feel less suffocating. Maybe he could take a breath. Maybe he could let go of some of the weight. Hoshi stood up, brushing his pants off and offering a smile. “I’m gonna head back. But don’t forget—we’re all here for you, okay? Take care of yourself.” Vernon watched him go, and for the first time in hours, he felt a small flicker of hope. The choreography was still far from perfect, but maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to bear the burden alone. He stood again, feeling the tiredness in his limbs but also something else, a quiet determination. He would finish this. He would give it everything he had, and even if it wasn’t perfect, it would be enough. Vernon pressed play again, stepping back onto the floor. The music filled the room once more, the beat steady and constant, and for the first time that night, he moved with it—not because he had to, but because he wanted to. The tension eased just a little more with every step, every turn. The dance wasn’t finished yet, but Vernon knew, deep down, that it would be. It had to be. ____________________ The soft hum of voices echoed in the practice room, a quiet murmur of anticipation as the members of SEVENTEEN filed in one by one. Vernon stood in the center of the floor, his palms pressed against his thighs as he bent slightly forward, trying to ground himself before the final moment. The room was just barely bright enough, casting a golden hue across the polished floors and mirrored walls, but Vernon could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze despite the low light. He wiped his hands on his pants, his heart hammering in his chest. This was it. The moment when the choreography he’d been working on for weeks would be revealed. It wasn’t perfect, not yet, but it was the best he could give. And he was proud of it—at least, he hoped he could be. “Alright, guys, are you ready?” Seungcheol’ voice broke through the murmur, and Vernon straightened up, trying to steady his breath. There was no backing out now. The others nodded, all of them gathered in a loose circle around the practice space. Some were still stretching, others chatting quietly, but Vernon could see the curiosity in their eyes. They had been waiting for this moment, for the final piece of the puzzle to come together. “Let’s go, Vernon,” Hoshi said with a smile, the words casual but full of support. The rest of the members followed suit with murmurs of encouragement, and Vernon felt a strange calm settle over him. They believed in him. Vernon pressed play on the speaker, the soft intro of the track beginning to pulse through the room. He took his first step, feeling the familiar rhythm enter his body as he moved into the opening pose. The choreography unfolded, each movement natural yet precise, a balance of raw energy and fluidity. His feet slid across the floor, his arms tracing the patterns he had practiced, the steps becoming more instinctive as the seconds ticked by. The music seemed to resonate through his chest, his body flowing with it in a way that felt effortless. Vernon lost himself in the beat, the weight of the past few weeks, the doubts, the frustrations, all of it melting away. This was the moment. His body moved without hesitation now, his muscles working in perfect synchronization. The earlier sense of pressure and uncertainty was replaced by a quiet confidence. He wasn’t just dancing. He was telling a story, his body an instrument, his emotions conveyed through every flick of his wrist, every controlled turn. The choreography wasn’t just a sequence of movements anymore—it was an expression of him. He could feel the others watching closely, their gazes fixed on him, but there was no fear now. It wasn’t about impressing them. It was about sharing something personal, something that had been simmering inside of him for weeks. As the music reached the final section, Vernon’s heart raced again. This was where he had struggled the most—the big finish, the final burst of energy. It was meant to be bold, to leave an impression, to bring everything together. But the movements felt heavy under the weight of his doubt. His body hesitated for a split second. Then, he moved. A leap, a powerful turn, a flash of sudden fluidity that caught the rhythm perfectly. Vernon landed with grace, finishing in a strong, grounded pose. The music came to a close with a sharp, satisfying beat. For a moment, there was silence. Vernon stood in place, chest heaving, eyes closed as he listened to the fading echoes of the track. The room was still. His heartbeat was the only sound he could hear. Then, it was as if the dam broke. Seungkwan was the first to clap, the sound breaking the silence, followed by a cascade of applause from the others. It wasn’t just polite applause; it was genuine, filled with admiration and respect. Vernon opened his eyes, his breath still shallow, and saw the others grinning, their faces alight with excitement. “That was—!” Joshua began, his voice full of awe. “That was incredible, Vernon! You really brought something new to it.” Seungkwan was jumping up and down, his usual exuberance on full display. “I swear, I’ve never seen you move like that before! You were on fire!” Hoshi laughed, clapping his hands in excitement. “That last part, you nailed it! I was so worried about that part, but you made it look effortless!” Vernon felt a surge of warmth spread through him at the praise. It had been a struggle, but the relief of knowing he had pulled it off, that it had worked, was overwhelming. His chest swelled with pride. The choreography, his creation, had come to life. Seungcheol, who had been watching intently from the corner, approached him, his usual stern expression softened into a proud smile. “You did great, Vernon,” he said, clapping him on the back. “I could see the passion in it. That’s what really counts.” Vernon smiled, his throat tight. “Thanks, everyone. I really… I really didn’t think I could do it.” Jeonghan, who had been quietly observing, gave a small chuckle. “You were never going to quit, were you?” Vernon laughed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and elation wash over him. “No. I guess not.” The room settled back into a comfortable hum of chatter, the members discussing the choreography, offering suggestions and comments as they often did after a performance. But for Vernon, it was different this time. The feeling of accomplishment didn’t fade. It hung in the air, bright and untouchable, and he knew—deep down—that this was only the beginning. This moment, this feeling, was what he had worked for. And it was worth every ounce of doubt, every long night, every moment of frustration. As the others began to move toward the corners of the room, still buzzing with energy, Vernon stayed in place for a moment longer. He closed his eyes again, letting the sound of his breath fill the space. He had done it. He had finally done it. ____________________ Vernon stood there for a moment, eyes closed, his chest still rising and falling from the intensity of the performance. The voices of his members were gradually fading into a comforting hum, the distant clink of shoes tapping against the floor as they began to move around the practice room. But none of it reached him immediately. His mind was still caught in the whirlwind of the dance, the rhythm, the emotions he had poured into every move. He had done it. But now, his thoughts began to settle into clarity, allowing the tension that had built in his body over the past weeks to unwind. A wave of fatigue rolled through him, but alongside it was an undeniable sense of fulfillment. He had shared something deeply personal. It wasn’t perfect—he still saw areas where the transitions could be smoother, where the movements could be sharper. But it was his. His creation, his message, and that was more than enough. Wonwoo walked up to him, his smile unwavering as he patted Vernon’s shoulder. “You should be proud of yourself, Hansol. That was something special.” Vernon met his eyes, a flicker of gratitude passing between them. It wasn’t just about the choreography anymore. It was about the trust, the respect, the validation he felt in that moment. “Thanks, hyung,” he replied, his voice low but sincere. Joshua joined the two, grinning widely. “I’m honestly blown away,” he said. “I didn’t know you had it in you. But you just proved me wrong in the best way possible.” Vernon chuckled, trying to downplay the nervous excitement still buzzing inside him. “You all were here, so… it wasn’t just me.” “Well,” Joshua said with a playful tilt of his head, “it kind of was. You did all the work.” The others began to gather around, the quiet murmur of voices turning into full-blown conversation as they started discussing the choreography in more detail. Vernon stood back, taking in their reactions. It wasn’t just the enthusiasm or the praise—it was the way they were all responding to something he had built from scratch. There was a weight in their words, in their excitement. It was as though they saw him in a different light now. Hoshi, always the loudest and most expressive, jumped in with a laugh. “I have to admit, I was worried about the structure at first,” he said, shaking his head. “But you really brought it together. That last part? Unbelievable. Seriously.” Vernon gave a small, grateful smile, his heart swelling. He had worried so much about that part—the final transition, the way he wanted to wrap everything up—and hearing Hoshi’s praise for it made all the effort feel worth it. “I’m glad it worked out.” Seungkwan, who had been a little quieter during the reveal, suddenly piped up. “You had me at the first step. It wasn’t just about the moves—it was about the feeling. I could tell right away it was coming from somewhere real.” That comment struck a chord deep within Vernon. He wasn’t used to hearing that kind of feedback—something that acknowledged the emotional weight behind the movements, rather than just the technicality. It was what he had been hoping for, the connection he had been aiming to forge with his choreography. His eyes softened as he nodded, the lump in his throat growing. As the conversations continued, he found himself stepping back into the shadows, quietly observing his members basking in the afterglow of his work. He wasn’t sure if they could tell just how much their words meant to him, but they felt like a balm for his lingering insecurities. When the chatter settled, Woozi came up to him. His usual stoic expression softened as he studied Vernon for a moment. “I knew you had something like this in you,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But the way you pulled it off—it’s different.” Vernon met Woozi’s gaze, unsure how to respond. Woozi’s words weren’t just casual praise—they carried a weight that made Vernon feel both validated and vulnerable at once. “I guess I surprised myself,” he said with a sheepish laugh. Woozi tilted his head, his lips curling into a small smile. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve always had it in you.” Vernon felt his chest tighten, but it was the good kind of tightness. The kind that came with knowing that the people who mattered most were starting to see him for who he was. Not just as Vernon, the rapper and the quiet guy with a dry sense of humor, but as someone capable of creating, of moving them with his art. Then, there was a soft chuckle from behind him. Dino stepped forward, the youngest member of the group, with his usual playful grin. “Hyung,” he said, his voice teasing, but with a note of admiration, “I think you just proved you’re more than just the quiet guy who is always lost in his own world.” Vernon laughed, a genuine, relieved laugh. “Maybe I am,” he said, his voice more confident than it had been in days. Dino gave him a mischievous wink, then joined the others, leaving Vernon to stand there, his thoughts finally quieting. He hadn’t expected to feel this kind of relief. This wasn’t about a “perfect” dance—it was about something deeper. Something that connected him to his members and to his own creative spirit in a way he had never experienced before. As the group slowly moved back into their usual practice routines, Seungcheol clapped Vernon on the shoulder once again, his expression unusually soft. “You’ve really grown, Vernon. You’ve got more to show than any of us realized.” And just like that, Vernon realized something. He wasn’t just part of the group. He wasn’t just another member of SEVENTEEN. He was a vital, indispensable piece. As the laughter and discussions of the choreography filled the room again, Vernon felt a quiet contentment settle over him. He had faced his fears, his doubts—and now, he was standing here, seen and heard. That was success. And in this quiet, profound moment, he knew he had earned it. ____________________ Vernon lingered in the corner of the practice room, the steady hum of his members’ voices gradually fading into a low background buzz as the group fell back into their usual rhythm. His eyes were fixed on the floor, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he watched the familiar scene unfold. The sounds of sneakers squeaking, the rustling of water bottles being opened, the occasional bursts of laughter—all of it was as it always had been, but something had shifted. It wasn’t the loud congratulations, the playful teasing, or the excited chatter about the choreography. It wasn’t the physical exhaustion from the late-night sessions or the relief of finally seeing the hard work come to fruition. It wasn’t any one specific thing. It was the feeling of being at peace with himself, with his place in the group. It was the quiet realization that he belonged. Vernon had spent so much time worrying about whether he was enough—whether his voice, his creativity, and his presence in the group could stand out in the way he had always wanted. But now, as he stood there, watching his members move with an ease that only came with years of knowing each other, he no longer felt like an outsider in his own thoughts. He had made something his own, something that spoke of him. And the members saw that. His fingers brushed lightly against the smooth surface of the practice room wall, a gesture so small, but it held meaning in the silence that followed. It was like a quiet symbol of how far he had come—how, in all his late-night sessions, all his doubts, and all the uncertainty he’d faced, he had still managed to pour his heart into the movements, the music, and the moments they had shared together. “Hey,” a voice interrupted his thoughts, breaking the stillness in the room. He turned, finding DK standing there, watching him with a soft expression. His usual bright energy was tempered now, a quiet calm taking over his features as he approached. “You good Hansolie?” DK asked, his voice low but filled with genuine concern. Vernon nodded, his lips curving into a tired but sincere smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly, the weight of the night lifting off his shoulders. “I’m just… taking it all in, I guess.” DK chuckled softly, stepping closer. “You should. That was a huge step, Vernon. I could see how much you poured into it.” He paused, glancing back at the group before meeting Vernon’s eyes again. “I’m proud of you. We all are.” Vernon felt something tighten in his chest, but it was a good kind of tightness. It wasn’t the nervous anxiety of his earlier doubts, but something deeper. A sense of connection. Of being seen. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words felt too small to express what he was feeling. So, instead, he simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared. DK grinned and gave his shoulder a gentle nudge. “I think that’s exactly what you needed, huh? To show us what you’re capable of, not just with your words, but with your heart.” Vernon’s gaze lingered on DK for a moment before he nodded again. He didn’t have the words to explain it—this quiet, almost reverential feeling that filled him when he thought about what he had done. It wasn’t just about the choreography. It wasn’t just about being seen as a dancer, or as a creator. It was about the connection he had forged through his art. Through his vulnerability. Through the parts of himself he had been too afraid to show before. The room felt different now. It wasn’t just a practice space anymore; it was a place where his fears had been confronted, where he had shared pieces of himself that he had kept locked away. The floor beneath his feet was no longer a battleground for his doubts. It was a stage for something real. As the night wore on and the rest of the members continued their casual conversations, Vernon stepped toward the center of the room, his feet moving without thinking, guided by the quiet rhythm inside him. His body felt light, as though all the tension that had plagued him for weeks had finally melted away. He wasn’t sure what had changed exactly. Maybe it was the way his members had responded. Or maybe it was the way he had finally allowed himself to accept that it was okay not to be perfect. That his journey, like anyone’s, was a series of steps forward, some stumbles, but ultimately, the whole process was what made it worthwhile. The soft echo of footsteps approached him once more, and this time, it was Seungkwan who stood at his side, his usual bright, teasing grin replaced with a more contemplative expression. “So,” Seungkwan began, his tone lighter than usual, “we’re all still going to tease you about this, right? But I think it’s safe to say you’ve earned it.” Vernon chuckled, a warmth spreading in his chest at Seungkwan’s playful words. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, his voice steady now, free of the uncertainty that had once gripped him. “I’m glad you guys liked it.” Seungkwan gave him a playful shove, but there was an unmistakable pride in his eyes. “Of course we liked it. It was… you, Hansol. And that’s what makes it special.” Vernon didn’t need any more words. He knew exactly what Seungkwan meant. It wasn’t just about the choreography. It wasn’t about the applause or the acknowledgment. It was about the piece of himself he had given—something personal, something raw, and something that had resonated with the group. And that was enough. He finally took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he stood among his members, feeling the weight of the night settle into a quiet contentment. The room, with all its chaos and energy, felt peaceful now. Like a new chapter had started. And for the first time in a long while, Vernon felt truly at home within it. Not just as a rapper, not just as the quiet guy in the corner, but as an artist. As someone who had something to offer—something important. The group continued to talk, to laugh, to joke around. But in the midst of it all, Vernon found his own quiet moment. One that didn’t need words, one that didn’t need applause. It was a moment of personal fulfillment. A moment of knowing that he had found a new way to express himself, and that in this group, in this family, he was exactly where he needed to be.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The roar of the crowd reverberated through the arena, a deafening wall of sound that seemed to vibrate in Vernon’s chest. The sheer energy was intoxicating, a mix of adrenaline and something deeper—something that settled heavy in his bones but kept him standing all the same. Madison Square Garden. The final stop of their U.S. tour, the last stage before they flew back to Korea. A full-circle moment for him, in a way. His birthplace, the city that had cradled his earliest memories, now the backdrop for one of the biggest performances of his career. The significance of it hadn’t been lost on him. If anything, it made him push harder. Vernon rolled his shoulders, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he listened to the faint echoes of the fans screaming just beyond the stage. He could feel the heat of the lights already, the way they cut through the dark wings of the stage and cast long shadows against the walls. His heart pounded, not from nerves but from the anticipation of the performance ahead. “Alright, let’s do this,” Seungcheol called out, voice firm with the weight of leadership. Around him, the other members shifted into place. Their last-minute routine before stepping onto the stage—deep breaths, stretches, the occasional playful nudge to shake off tension. Vernon could feel the weight of their gazes flicking toward him every so often. He knew why. The exhaustion wasn’t easy to hide anymore. Weeks of relentless travel, rehearsals, and performances had left their mark. The aches in his muscles lingered longer. His movements felt slower, heavier, even when he forced himself to keep pace. But it wasn’t just the physical toll—it was the expectation, the responsibility of holding himself together when millions were watching. He could still hear the echoes of that moment. The one that had been replaying in his mind ever since the tour started taking its toll. A fan call in Seoul, months ago. A young fan, maybe sixteen, gripping the album she’d just gotten signed. "I admire you a lot, Vernon. You never seem to let anything bring you down." That had stuck with him. You never seem to let anything bring you down. Was that how people saw him? Effortless. Untouchable. Like he never struggled? It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the exhaustion—it was that he refused to let it show. Not when people looked up to him. Not when the members had their own burdens to carry. “Vernon.” He turned his head slightly to find Mingyu staring at him, arms crossed, brows drawn together. “You good?” Vernon flashed a quick smile, the kind that had gotten him through hundreds of moments like this. “Yeah. Just focused.” Mingyu didn’t look convinced. Neither did Jeonghan, who had sidled up next to them with his usual air of amusement, except this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t overdo it, superstar,” Jeonghan teased, but there was an undercurrent to his tone—something Vernon didn’t want to pick apart. Before he could respond, the cue came. The stage was waiting. The crowd was chanting. There was no time to dwell on it now. With a deep breath, Vernon stepped forward. And the lights swallowed him whole. ____________________ The moment they hit the stage, the exhaustion blurred into something distant. The cheers of the fans, the pounding bass of the opening song—it all drowned out the heaviness clinging to his limbs. Vernon moved instinctively, his body falling into the choreography like second nature. The weight in his chest, the burn in his muscles—it didn’t matter as long as he could keep moving. But the signs were there. A slight hesitation in his footwork. The fraction of a second it took him to recover when his balance wavered. The way his vision swam if he turned his head too fast under the heat of the spotlights. The members noticed. Seungcheol’s gaze flicked to him every chance he got, subtle but sharp. Hoshi adjusted their spacing on stage more than once, almost as if compensating for Vernon’s slight delay in movement. And Mingyu—Mingyu kept looking at him, his worry bleeding through despite the performance. Vernon ignored it. He had to. This was their final show, their last chance to leave everything on the stage before the tour came to an end. He wasn’t going to be the reason it faltered. As they transitioned into the next set, he felt the air in his lungs burn just a little more than before. Just a little longer. He could push through. He always had. ____________________ Backstage, the green room was unusually quiet. The concert was only halfway through, but the staff moved with the kind of efficiency that came from routine. Costumes laid out for the next quick-change, bottles of water lined neatly on the counter. A towel was draped over one of the chairs, the fabric still damp from the sweat of the previous set. A small, seemingly insignificant detail—but Vernon would notice it later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the stage. And the fact that his body was reaching its limit. He just hadn’t realized how close it was yet. Not until it was too late. ____________________ The second half of the concert surged forward with an unrelenting intensity, the kind that demanded everything from them. The members were locked into the rhythm of the performance, pushing past exhaustion the way they always did—with muscle memory, adrenaline, and sheer willpower. Vernon had always been good at that. Pushing. Ignoring the way his chest tightened, how his muscles screamed for rest. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t unbearable. But tonight was different. His vision blurred at the edges as the stage lights pulsed in his periphery, too bright, too sharp. His breaths were coming faster, but he couldn’t tell if it was from exertion or something deeper, something pressing down on him. The voices of the fans—so loud, so consuming—warped for a moment before snapping back into clarity. Just one more song. Just one more transition. Just a little longer. He forced a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he fell into place for the next song. His solo moment was coming up—his verse, his center time. He could handle this. The music shifted. The stage lights adjusted. And then— Vernon stepped forward, body moving before his mind could fully register the weight pressing down on his limbs. The world tilted. His foot landed half a second too late. A stumble. Barely perceptible, but enough. Enough for the members to notice. Enough for Mingyu, who was positioned just behind him, to jerk forward instinctively. Vernon caught himself. Recovered. His heart pounded, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he pushed through the movement. He forced his expression to stay neutral, to not betray the sheer effort it took to stay upright. The stage was alive around him—blinding lights, deafening cheers, the synchronized chaos of thirteen bodies moving in perfect harmony. It was overwhelming. And then it wasn’t. Because suddenly, it felt like he wasn’t there at all. His vision tunneled. The music—once pounding in his chest—sounded distant, like it was coming from another room. He blinked, but the stage wouldn’t stay still. Then, the floor wasn’t where it was supposed to be. A sharp inhale. A misstep. And then— The world gave out beneath him. ____________________ The moment Vernon collapsed, time splintered. The crowd reacted first—a sharp intake of breath, a ripple of confusion and concern spreading through the arena. The collective energy of thousands wavered, shifting from exhilaration to alarm in a single heartbeat. But the members—they moved before the realization could fully settle. Mingyu was the first. One second, he was mid-choreography. The next, he was pushing forward, breaking formation entirely. His hand barely brushed against Vernon’s shoulder before his body fully went limp, crumbling like the last thread of his strength had been cut. “Vernon—!” Jeonghan was already moving too, his usual playfulness replaced by something sharp, urgent. Hoshi and Seungcheol barely exchanged a glance before instinct took over—leaders who had seen exhaustion before, but never like this. The performance faltered. The music continued, the backing track and instruments filling the space where voices should’ve been. The fans didn’t know whether to scream, to call out his name, to wait for him to get back up. Except Vernon wasn’t moving. ____________________ Backstage was chaos. The second they got Vernon off the stage, staff rushed in—medical personnel on standby, water bottles shoved into waiting hands. Mingyu was pacing. His fingers twitched like he wanted to do something—fix something—but there was nothing he could do except watch. Jeonghan crouched beside Vernon, his teasing facade completely dropped. He pressed a cool water bottle against Vernon’s temple, murmuring something low, something meant to ground him. “Vernon, you with us?” Jeonghan’s voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. A kind of concern that wasn’t loud or panicked—but serious. A shaky inhale. Vernon’s eyelids fluttered, his breathing ragged. His head felt disconnected from his body, limbs leaden, but he was conscious. Barely. Someone exhaled in relief. But then— Mingyu stepped forward, voice low but sharp. “What the hell were you thinking?” ____________________ Vernon had always known that exhaustion was part of the job. It came with the endless rehearsals, the long-haul flights, the sleepless nights spent fine-tuning performances. It came with pushing past limits that weren’t meant to be pushed, with forcing his body to comply even when it begged him to stop. But sitting here, slumped against the cool leather of the green room couch, body drained and mind sluggish, he was starting to think he had taken it too far. The spotlight had never felt this heavy before. His head throbbed. The noise from the stage still rang in his ears, muffled voices bleeding together—staff members moving around, the faint echo of cheers from the arena. And then there were the members. Mingyu stood stiffly in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight with barely restrained frustration. "You could’ve told us," he said, voice strained. Vernon swallowed, throat dry. “I—” “You what?” Mingyu cut in. His usual warmth was buried under something else—something raw. "You thought we wouldn’t notice? That we wouldn’t care?" The air in the room was tense, thick with emotions no one knew how to properly untangle. Jeonghan, crouched beside Vernon with a water bottle still in hand, shot Mingyu a look. “Let him breathe first, Gyu.” Mingyu exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He was frustrated, but not just at Vernon—at the situation, at the helplessness of watching someone he cared about drop mid-performance. “Just… why didn’t you say anything?” Seungcheol’s voice broke through, quieter than Mingyu’s but just as firm. His concern was quieter, more restrained, but Vernon could feel the weight of it pressing down on him. The words sat heavy on his tongue. Because I didn’t want to slow anyone down. Because we were almost done with the tour. Because I thought I could handle it. Instead, all he said was, “I’m fine.” A scoff. Mingyu took a step closer, shaking his head. "You're not." His voice wasn’t sharp anymore, but defeated. "You passed out, Vernon. Right there, in front of thousands of people." A silence stretched between them. In the corner, Seungkwan shifted, his usual energy dimmed. “Do you even know how scared we were?” Vernon did. He could see it in their faces, hear it in the way their voices wavered between anger and concern. He could feel it in the way Jeonghan’s hand stayed steady on his arm, in the way Mingyu couldn’t stop fidgeting, in the way Seungcheol hadn’t taken his eyes off him since they got backstage. His chest ached. Not just from exhaustion, but from guilt. "I didn’t mean to worry you," he muttered. "Then don't do this again," Mingyu shot back immediately. Jeonghan sighed, shaking his head. “We get it, you want to be strong. But pushing yourself until you collapse isn’t strength, Hansol.” The words stung more than he wanted to admit. He knew they were right. But knowing and accepting were two different things. The tension in the room lingered, heavy, unspoken. But in between all of it—beneath the frustration, the worry, the exhaustion—was something else. They were here. Despite everything. And that realization settled deep in Vernon’s chest, impossible to ignore. ____________________ The green room felt smaller than it was, the weight of everyone's concern pressing against Vernon like an invisible force. He wanted to shrink under it, to disappear into the couch and avoid their gazes, but that wasn’t an option. His hands curled into fists on his lap, knuckles taut, his mind still struggling to piece together the last few minutes on stage. One moment he had been standing under the blinding lights, chest heaving as the music thrummed in his veins. The next, the floor had tilted beneath him, the cheers of the crowd twisting into a distant hum before everything went black. His stomach twisted at the thought. He had collapsed. In the middle of a performance. In front of everyone. "Drink some water, at least." Jeonghan's voice was gentler now, though there was no missing the edge of worry beneath it. He nudged the bottle against Vernon's hand until he took it, his fingers trembling just slightly as he twisted off the cap. He took a sip, the coolness settling uncomfortably in his stomach. Mingyu was still standing, arms crossed so tightly it looked like he was holding himself together. He wasn’t pacing anymore, but his knee bounced slightly, restless. "I don’t get it," he said, voice quieter than before. "You knew you weren’t okay. Why didn’t you just say something?" Vernon exhaled slowly, gripping the bottle a little too tightly. "I didn’t think it was that bad," he admitted. A beat of silence. Then, Hoshi let out a breathy laugh—one that held no amusement. "That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard." Vernon flinched. It wasn’t that he had meant to be reckless. He had just… pushed through. Like always. The way they all did when schedules got overwhelming, when rest was a luxury they couldn’t afford. It was just one more performance. One more night. Except this time, his body had given out first. "You scared us," Seungkwan murmured, voice smaller than usual. His hands were clenched into his hoodie sleeves, eyes darting between the members. Woozi, who had been sitting quietly on the armrest of the couch, finally spoke up. "We’re not mad at you," he said, measured and calm. "But we need to know what happened. Why did it get to this point?" Vernon swallowed. He could feel the unspoken words hovering in the air. Was it the pressure? Was it the tour? Was it something else? He wasn’t sure how to explain it. How the exhaustion had settled into his bones so gradually that he stopped noticing it. How the expectations—both external and his own—had kept him pushing forward even when his body begged him to stop. "I just..." He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his damp hair. "I didn’t want to slow anyone down." Minghao, who had been leaning against the wall, frowned. "Vernon." "You wouldn’t have," Joshua said firmly, his usual softness tinged with frustration. "That’s not how this works. We’re a team. You don’t have to do this alone." Vernon knew that. He did. But knowing it and truly believing it were two different things. "Did anyone else notice?" Dino asked suddenly, eyes flickering between them. "Like, on stage?" Vernon hesitated. He had barely been able to process what happened, but he remembered the shift—the crowd’s energy changing, the moment they realized something was wrong. "Some did," he admitted. "I could hear it, kind of. Right before I fell." Seungcheol sighed, rubbing his temple. "We need to be careful. The fans… they’re going to be worried too." The thought made Vernon’s stomach turn. It wasn’t just the members. It was everyone. The entire arena had witnessed him fall. The flood of concern, the confusion, the unease—it was inevitable. "And rightfully so," Jun added, his usual easy-going nature subdued. "Because you weren’t okay." The words settled in the air, heavy and undeniable. Vernon let out a shaky breath. His muscles still ached, his head still swam, but the guilt lingered more than anything. "I'm sorry," he said, voice barely above a whisper. Another silence. Then, unexpectedly, Jeonghan ruffled his hair. "You're still an idiot," he mused, though his tone lacked any real bite. "But we’ll get over it." It was such a Jeonghan thing to say—offering comfort in his own way, lightening the tension just enough. Mingyu, though still visibly stressed, exhaled heavily and muttered, "Just don’t ever do this again." Vernon managed a small, tired nod. There was still a conversation to be had. There were still things to process. But for now, they were here. And that was enough. ____________________ The exhaustion didn’t fade easily. Even after the initial rush of adrenaline wore off, even after he had downed half a bottle of water and let the others fuss over him, Vernon still felt it—the ache in his limbs, the dull throb behind his eyes, the weight of everything pressing in from all sides. The green room was quieter now, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was filled with unspoken concerns, quiet glances exchanged between the members, and the occasional rustle of movement as someone shifted or sighed. Seungcheol stood near the door, arms crossed, his brows furrowed in deep thought. Joshua and Jun sat on the couch across from Vernon, their expressions unreadable but present—steady in a way that made it clear they weren’t leaving his side anytime soon. Mingyu had finally sat down, though he was still tense, one knee bouncing in restless agitation. It was Hoshi who broke the silence first. "We should have seen it sooner." His voice was quiet but firm, laced with something that sounded a lot like guilt. "You did," Vernon admitted, swallowing past the dryness in his throat. "I just… didn’t let you." Hoshi’s frown deepened. "That’s not really better." Vernon exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the water bottle in his lap. "I wasn’t trying to hide it on purpose. I just thought I could handle it." "But that’s the problem, isn’t it?" Minghao spoke from where he leaned against the table, arms folded. "You thought you could, even when you shouldn’t have." Vernon looked down, his grip tightening. The weight of their words wasn’t unfair. And the truth of it sat heavy in his chest. Woozi sighed. "We’ve all pushed through exhaustion before. But this was different. This wasn’t just being tired—this was you collapsing, on stage, in front of thousands of people." The words made his stomach churn. He still remembered the moment—the feeling of his body giving out beneath him, the blinding lights overhead flickering before the world tilted sideways. The sound of the music warping, the murmur of the crowd shifting from cheers to something else entirely. And then nothing. "How long?" Seungcheol’s voice was quiet but firm. "How long have you been feeling like this?" Vernon hesitated. How long? When had it started? The exhaustion that seeped into his bones, the weight of pushing forward despite the growing strain? It hadn’t happened overnight. It had crept in slowly—one rehearsal, one performance, one restless night at a time. "I don’t know," he admitted honestly. "It… just built up." Jeonghan exhaled, rubbing at his temple. "And you thought just ignoring it would work?" Vernon let out a small, humorless laugh. "It usually does." A pause. Mingyu made a sound of disbelief, shaking his head. "That’s not funny." "I know," Vernon muttered. "I just… I didn’t want to be the one slowing everyone down." "You're not," Joshua said instantly, the certainty in his voice unwavering. "You never were." Vernon bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to look away. Woozi’s voice was quieter this time, but no less firm. "And what about now? Are you still going to try and handle this alone?" Vernon didn’t answer right away. His fingers curled, his thoughts racing. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to be reliable. He didn’t want to be a burden. But looking around—seeing the concern in their eyes, hearing the quiet frustration in their voices—he realized something else. They weren’t angry because he collapsed.They were angry because he didn’t let them help. He exhaled, slow and steady, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, he let his shoulders relax just a little. "I’m still figuring that out," he admitted, voice softer. "But… I’ll try." A moment of quiet. Then Jeonghan sighed, shaking his head. "We’ll take it for now." Seungcheol nodded, his expression easing just slightly. "That’s all we ask." And for the first time since stepping off that stage, Vernon felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t carrying the weight alone. ____________________ The tension didn’t dissolve immediately, but it shifted. It settled into something quieter, less charged—an unspoken understanding passing between them all. Vernon still felt the exhaustion pressing against his skin, thick and unrelenting, but now it wasn’t just his weight to bear. Seungkwan, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the conversation, finally moved from where he had been standing near the table. He crouched down in front of Vernon, studying him with a sharpness that felt impossible to ignore. "You scared the hell out of us, you know that, right?" His voice wavered slightly, like he had been holding onto those words for too long. Vernon swallowed. "I know." Seungkwan exhaled sharply through his nose, his lips pressing together like he was fighting against saying something more. Then, after a long moment, he reached out and flicked Vernon’s forehead. It wasn’t hard. Barely more than a tap. But the meaning behind it was clear. "Don’t do that again," Seungkwan muttered. Vernon blinked, surprised, then huffed out a small laugh. "I’ll try." "Not try," Mingyu cut in, voice still tight. He was watching Vernon like he expected him to collapse all over again. "You won’t. End of discussion." Vernon sighed. He knew they weren’t going to let this go, and honestly, maybe they shouldn’t. The others had all started moving around now, a natural shift in energy taking over as the worst of the panic settled. Joshua and Jun were murmuring to each other, Woozi was checking something on his phone, and Hoshi was finally sitting down, rubbing at his temples like the whole situation had drained him just as much. But Jeonghan—Jeonghan, of course—had a glint in his eye that spelled nothing but trouble. "So," he drawled, stretching out his legs in front of him, "does this mean we’re all in agreement that Vernon is now banned from saying he’s ‘fine’ without actual proof?" Vernon groaned. "That’s—" "Yes," Seungcheol cut in immediately, not even letting him finish. "One hundred percent, absolutely yes." Vernon turned to Joshua, looking for some kind of support. "Hyung—" Joshua just smiled, far too kind. "You did this to yourself, buddy." Vernon sighed again, dragging a hand down his face. They weren’t going to let him live this down. And that was okay. He leaned back into the couch, letting his head rest against the cushions. His body still felt heavy, like it had finally stopped fighting against the weight of its own limits. But for the first time in weeks, there was no edge of dread clawing at the back of his mind. He was still exhausted. Still drained. But he wasn’t alone. And that made all the difference. ____________________ The green room had quieted, the frantic energy of earlier simmering down into something steadier, something almost grounding. The weight of Vernon’s exhaustion still pressed against him, but it no longer felt like something he had to carry alone. Seungcheol was still hovering, arms crossed but no longer tense, his shoulders finally losing some of their rigidness. Mingyu had stopped pacing, though he remained close, arms loosely folded as if he wasn’t ready to fully let go of his concern just yet. The others were scattered around the room, some leaning against walls, others perched on chairs, their presence an unspoken reassurance. Vernon exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. "So, what now?" "You rest," Woozi said simply, not even looking up from his phone. "And if you try to argue, I will find a way to physically tie you to that couch." Hoshi let out a soft laugh. "I’d pay to see that." Vernon groaned, but it lacked any real protest. He knew when he was outnumbered. "I get it, okay? I’ll take it easy." Mingyu shot him a pointed look. "We’ll be holding you to that." Jeonghan, who had been watching with his usual unreadable expression, tilted his head. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?" Vernon rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. "I don’t need a lecture." "You don’t," Joshua agreed, his voice warm. "But you needed this." And maybe… maybe that was true. Vernon had spent so much time pushing, so much time convincing himself that he could handle everything on his own, that he hadn’t realized how much he had been chipping away at himself in the process. But tonight had forced him to see it. Strength wasn’t just about endurance. It wasn’t just about how much he could take before his body gave out. It was knowing when to stop. When to lean on the people who had always been there, waiting for him to let them in. The members weren’t just watching over him. They were with him. Always. Seungcheol let out a breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "We’ve got one more show left," he said, voice quieter now. "But you’re not doing it alone. None of us are." The weight in Vernon’s chest eased, something inside him clicking into place. "Yeah," he murmured, letting his eyes drift closed for just a moment. "I know." And for the first time in weeks, he truly, finally believed it.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The room was dim, bathed in the soft blue glow of his phone screen. The city outside was alive with flickering streetlights and the occasional sound of cars passing by, but inside his bedroom, it was quiet—too quiet. Vernon lay on his back, one arm resting over his forehead, the other loosely holding his phone. He had promised himself he wouldn’t do this again. Scrolling. Reading. Letting himself fall into the endless pit of faceless words. He should have been asleep. He should have just closed his phone the second his mind started wandering. But something about tonight made it harder to resist. Maybe it was the restless energy in his bones, the way exhaustion clung to him but refused to pull him under. Maybe it was the way self-doubt had been lurking at the edges of his thoughts lately, whispering, nudging—louder than he wanted it to be. His thumb hovered over a post on a forum he had stumbled upon before. He wasn’t new to this. He knew what kind of things were said in places like this, but knowing and experiencing were two different things. Against his better judgment, he clicked. And there they were. The words. “Vernon has no stage presence.” “He always looks bored. Like, does he even want to be there?” “I don’t get why he’s in SEVENTEEN. He barely contributes.” His chest tightened, fingers curling slightly around his phone. It wasn’t the first time he had seen comments like this, but that didn’t mean they didn’t hurt. There was more. “He’s awkward in interviews. He never says anything interesting.” “Does he even have real friendships with the members? He always seems so distant.” His throat felt dry. It was ridiculous. He knew that. These were just random people hiding behind screens, typing out thoughts with no care about who they hurt. It wasn’t personal. It shouldn’t feel personal. But it did. Because every word felt like it was reaching into the deepest corners of his mind, pulling out insecurities he had tried to ignore. The doubts he had buried. The fear that maybe—just maybe—there was some truth in what they were saying. His free hand clenched the fabric of his hoodie, heart beating a little too fast, stomach twisting in a way he hated. He swallowed, shaking his head slightly, as if that could dispel the unease creeping up his spine. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. I don’t care. I don’t care. But the words were already there, settling in like shadows, refusing to be ignored. He locked his phone and turned it face down on his nightstand, staring up at the ceiling. The silence around him felt heavier now. The city outside kept moving, the world kept turning, but inside this room, inside his head, everything had slowed, the weight of those words pressing down on him. Hansol closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Tomorrow, he would wake up and act like everything was fine. Like always. ____________________ The next morning, Vernon did exactly what he told himself he would do—he got up, got dressed, and acted like everything was fine. He went through the motions with practiced ease, slipping into the routine of the day as if nothing had shifted inside him. But even as he stood in the practice room, surrounded by the familiar buzz of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter, he felt… off. His movements were a little slower. His smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes. And worst of all, the words from the night before still clung to him, buried just beneath the surface. “You okay, Hansol?” The voice came from his right, quiet but pointed. Vernon turned slightly to see Joshua watching him, brow furrowed in concern. He hadn’t even realized he had been staring at the floor, lost in thought. “Yeah,” he said quickly, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.” Joshua studied him for a second longer, as if he didn’t quite believe him, but he didn’t push. Instead, he patted Vernon’s shoulder before moving away to grab his water bottle. Vernon let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening around the hem of his hoodie. It was fine. He was fine. The rest of practice went by in a blur. Choreography drills, vocal warm-ups, running through setlists—everything felt routine, muscle memory taking over even as his mind wandered. But then, during a break, Seungkwan threw an arm around him, laughing about something Jun had said, and Vernon barely reacted. Normally, he would have at least chuckled, maybe nudged Seungkwan back. Instead, he just offered a faint smile before shifting away under the pretense of grabbing his water bottle. It was subtle. Barely noticeable. But the members were used to Vernon’s usual energy—his dry humor, his quiet but steady presence. And little things like this? They didn’t go unnoticed for long. Later that night, back in the dorms, Vernon found himself retreating to his room earlier than usual. He told himself it was just to rest, that he was just tired from practice. But really, he just didn’t want to risk anyone noticing the way his mind was still tangled up in thoughts he didn’t want to have. Lying in bed, he reached for his phone out of habit—then hesitated. For a long moment, he just stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the power button. He knew if he looked, if he searched his name again, he’d only find more of the same. More words that cut a little too deep. More comments that echoed the insecurities he was trying to push away. But the temptation was there. He clenched his jaw, exhaled, and set his phone down. Not tonight. He turned onto his side, pulling the blankets up over his head as if that could shut everything out. But even in the quiet of his room, even as exhaustion pulled at him, the words still lingered. He barely contributes. He always looks bored. Does he even have real friendships with the members? Vernon squeezed his eyes shut. Tomorrow, he would act like everything was fine. Like always. ____________________ The change in Vernon wasn’t obvious at first. He still showed up to practice, still laughed when someone said something funny, still contributed when they brainstormed ideas for performances. But there were cracks forming beneath the surface, subtle shifts in the way he carried himself. He hesitated a little longer before speaking. His usual sarcastic remarks were slower, less sharp. He spaced out more often, his gaze distant, thoughts somewhere none of them could reach. And when he smiled, it didn’t quite look like him. It was Minghao who noticed first. They were in the dance studio, running through the latest routine, when Minghao caught sight of Vernon in the mirror. His movements were precise, technically correct—but something was missing. The usual fluidity, the relaxed confidence that made his dancing uniquely his own, had dulled. And then, during a short break, Vernon sat on the floor, head resting against the mirror, eyes unfocused as if he wasn’t really there at all. Minghao didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he grabbed two water bottles, walked over, and dropped one beside Vernon. Vernon blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “Oh—thanks.” Minghao just nodded, taking a slow sip from his own bottle. For a while, neither of them spoke. The others were scattered around the room, chatting and stretching, giving them a rare pocket of quiet. Eventually, Minghao leaned back on his hands, tilting his head slightly. “You seem off lately.” Vernon stiffened for just a second. “Huh?” “You’ve been quiet. More than usual.” Minghao’s tone wasn’t accusatory, just observant. “Something wrong?” Vernon forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m good. Just tired.” Minghao hummed, unconvinced. “You sure?” “Yeah. Just the usual schedule catching up to me.” Vernon flashed an easygoing smile, hoping it would be enough to end the conversation. Minghao didn’t push. He just gave him a long, knowing look before turning back to his water bottle. “Okay,” he said, but there was something in his voice that made it clear he didn’t buy it. Vernon exhaled as soon as Minghao looked away, fingers gripping the water bottle a little too tightly. He noticed. He shouldn’t be surprised—Minghao was the type to pick up on things even when no one else did. But Vernon had been trying so hard to act normal, to pretend nothing was wrong. If Minghao was already suspicious, how long before the others started to notice too? He needed to be more careful. The rest of practice went by without incident, but by the time they returned to the dorms, Vernon’s energy was drained. Normally, he would stick around in the living room, maybe play video games with Mingyu or listen to music with Woozi. Tonight, he went straight to his room. And, once again, he found himself staring at his phone, fingers itching to check the comments. Don’t do it. He swallowed, setting the phone face-down on his nightstand. The words were already in his head anyway. He didn’t need to read them again to feel their weight. ____________________ For the next few days, Vernon convinced himself that everything was fine. Or at least, he tried to. He still laughed when the others cracked jokes, still went to practice and did what was expected of him. But it felt like he was moving through everything on autopilot. The words from the comment section echoed in his head at random moments—during rehearsals, during meals, even in the middle of conversations. "He always looks so disinterested, like he doesn’t even want to be there." "His performances are so lifeless. SEVENTEEN would be fine without him." "I never understood his appeal. He barely even talks." Vernon had told himself that these people didn’t know him. That their words were just noise. But the way they clung to him, twisting his perception of himself, made him wonder if maybe—just maybe—they had a point. ____________________ The first real crack appeared a few nights later. They were gathered in the living room, a rare free evening where no one had schedules. Jeonghan had started a game of cards, which quickly spiraled into a chaotic mess of shouting and laughter as the members got competitive. Vernon sat on the couch, watching, but not really participating. He smiled at the right moments, nodded when someone spoke to him, but his mind felt distant. "Vernon," Seungkwan called suddenly. "You in?" Vernon blinked. "Huh?" "The game. We need one more player," Seungkwan said, waving a deck of cards at him. "Oh," Vernon hesitated. He didn’t want to play. He didn’t have the energy to match their enthusiasm. But saying no would just invite questions. "Uh, sure." He reached for the cards, but as he did, someone made a joke he didn’t quite catch. Everyone burst into laughter. Even him. It was automatic—just a reaction to the others laughing. But then Seungkwan turned to him, grinning. "You don’t even know what we’re laughing about, do you?" Vernon froze. It wasn’t an accusation, just an offhanded comment, but suddenly, he felt exposed. He scrambled for a response, something to make it seem like he wasn’t zoning out, but his mind was blank. Seungkwan nudged him. "Hey, you good?" Vernon forced a smirk. "Yeah. Just tired." Again with the tired excuse. He wondered if they’d start keeping track of how many times he said it. "Maybe you should go to bed early," Seungkwan suggested, sounding genuinely concerned now. "You seem kinda out of it lately." Vernon waved him off. "Nah, I’m fine." He picked up his cards, pretending to focus on the game. But the shift in atmosphere was unmistakable. Seungkwan was still watching him, and from the corner of his eye, he noticed Jeonghan glancing his way too. They were starting to notice. And Vernon hated that. ____________________ The next morning, he woke up feeling even worse. His body felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish. He spent too long staring at the ceiling before finally dragging himself out of bed. In the kitchen, Joshua and Mingyu were making breakfast while Woozi scrolled through his phone at the table. "Morning," Joshua greeted with a warm smile. "You want something to eat?" Vernon shook his head. "I’m good." Mingyu frowned. "You sure? You barely ate last night." He hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he had and just didn’t care. "I’m not that hungry," Vernon said, opening the fridge just to have something to do. Woozi looked up from his phone. "You sick?" "Nah," Vernon muttered. "You look kinda pale," Joshua added. Vernon exhaled through his nose, grabbing a water bottle and shutting the fridge. "I’m fine," he said, voice sharper than intended. There was a brief silence. He could feel their eyes on him, feel the tension creeping into the air. He didn’t want this. Didn’t want them watching him like he was something fragile. Mingyu clapped him on the back lightly, breaking the moment. "Alright, but if you pass out or something, don’t say we didn’t warn you." Vernon let out a small, forced chuckle. "Noted." He left the kitchen before anyone could say anything else. ____________________ By the time practice rolled around, Vernon felt like he was running on fumes. The choreography wasn’t even particularly difficult, but his body felt sluggish, like he was moving through water. He knew the steps. Knew how his limbs were supposed to move, how his weight should shift. But today, everything felt off. And apparently, he wasn’t the only one who noticed. "Vernon," Hoshi called out, stopping the music. "What’s up, buddy?" Vernon blinked, breathing hard. "What?" "You’re late on some of the beats," Hoshi said, not unkindly, but with the sharpness of someone who knew the routine inside and out. "You okay?" "I’m fine," Vernon said quickly. Hoshi’s eyes narrowed slightly. He looked like he wanted to say more but hesitated. Instead, he just clapped his hands. "Alright, let’s run it again. Everyone, focus." Vernon exhaled, shaking out his limbs, forcing himself to concentrate. But as the music started again, all he could think about was how much effort it took just to keep up. ____________________ Vernon lasted longer than he thought he would. Days passed, each one feeling heavier than the last. He kept his head down, went through the motions, told himself that if he just pushed forward, it would pass. The exhaustion. The numbness. The endless loop of self-doubt fed by words he should’ve ignored. But cracks kept forming. And eventually, the weight became too much. ____________________ It happened during another long day of practice. They had been rehearsing non-stop for hours, preparing for their upcoming performance. The room was thick with heat, the air heavy with the sound of synchronized footsteps and sharp breaths. Vernon could feel himself slipping. His limbs ached, his movements sluggish no matter how hard he pushed himself. He knew he wasn’t hitting the beats like he should, knew his performance was lacking. "He always looks like he doesn’t want to be there." The words clawed at the back of his mind. "SEVENTEEN would be fine without him." His muscles tightened, his breath unsteady. "Lifeless. Forgettable. Barely even trying." "Vernon," Hoshi called, stopping the music. He turned, chest heaving, hands curled into fists at his sides. Hoshi studied him for a moment, brows furrowed. "You’re behind again." "I know," Vernon muttered. Hoshi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I don’t want to call you out, but this is the third time today. What’s going on?" Vernon gritted his teeth. "Nothing." Hoshi’s expression shifted. "It’s obviously not nothing—" "I said I’m fine." The words came out sharper than he intended, cutting through the space between them. A heavy silence settled over the room. The other members exchanged glances, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of them. Vernon’s chest felt tight. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, too fast, too loud. He could feel the exhaustion pressing in, dragging him under. Someone—maybe Mingyu, maybe Seungcheol—took a step toward him, concern etched into their face. And suddenly, it was too much. The exhaustion. The pressure. The constant battle against the voice in his head telling him he wasn’t enough. "Just drop it," Vernon muttered, pushing past them, heading straight for the door. "Vernon, wait—" He didn’t. He shoved the door open and walked out, leaving behind the sound of his name hanging in the air. ____________________ Vernon didn’t know where he was going. He just needed to breathe. His footsteps echoed down the hall, his hands shaking as he shoved them into his pockets. His head was pounding. His chest felt tight. Why couldn’t he just shake this off? Why couldn’t he just be better? A door creaked open behind him. He didn’t turn around. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Then— "Vernon." The voice was quiet. Steady. Vernon exhaled through his nose, staring at the floor. "I don’t wanna talk." "I know," Jeonghan said. Silence stretched between them. Vernon expected Jeonghan to push. To ask questions. To pry. But instead, Jeonghan just stood there. Waiting. Not demanding answers. Not pressing for explanations. Just there. And for some reason, that made something in Vernon’s chest tighten. His fingers curled into his sleeves. His jaw clenched. And before he could stop himself, the words slipped out— "I don’t think I belong here." The confession barely made a sound, but it felt deafening. Jeonghan didn’t react immediately. He didn’t gasp or rush to contradict him. He just tilted his head slightly, considering. Then—soft, steady— "Why?" Vernon swallowed hard. "I just…" His throat felt tight. "I’ve been thinking. Maybe those people online are right." Jeonghan didn’t move. Vernon exhaled shakily, forcing the words out. "Maybe I don’t add anything to the group. Maybe I’ve just been dragging everyone down." Jeonghan’s eyes darkened, but his voice stayed calm. "You really believe that?" Vernon let out a bitter laugh. "I don’t know. I don’t want to. But it keeps getting harder to ignore." Jeonghan was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he sighed. "You know," he said, voice softer now, "there was a time I thought about leaving too." Vernon looked up, startled. Jeonghan’s gaze was distant, lost in memory. "Back when we were trainees. There were days I didn’t think I was cut out for this. Thought maybe I wasn’t what the group needed." He smiled faintly. "Guess I was wrong." Vernon stared at him, something in his chest twisting. Jeonghan turned to meet his gaze, his expression unreadable. "Vernon, if you weren’t here, SEVENTEEN wouldn’t be SEVENTEEN." Vernon’s breath hitched. "You’re not just filling a space," Jeonghan said. "You are the space. You’re part of this group because you belong here. Because we need you here." Vernon’s throat felt tight. He wanted to believe that. But the weight of self-doubt wasn’t so easily lifted. Jeonghan must’ve seen it in his face, because he sighed and took a step closer, resting a hand on Vernon’s shoulder. "Look," he said, voice softer now, "I know it’s hard to ignore the noise. But those people online? They don’t know you. They don’t know how much effort you put in. How much you care." His grip on Vernon’s shoulder tightened. "But we do." Vernon swallowed, his vision blurring slightly. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that. Jeonghan gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Come back inside when you’re ready. No rush." Then, just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving Vernon standing alone in the empty hallway. Vernon exhaled shakily, staring after him. And for the first time in weeks— He didn’t feel completely alone. ____________________ Vernon stood there long after Jeonghan had left. The hallway was silent, save for the faint hum of voices filtering from the practice room. His heartbeat had settled, but his mind was still tangled in the weight of everything. He let Jeonghan’s words sink in. "You’re not just filling a space. You are the space." His fingers twitched at his sides. His shoulders, still tense, trembled slightly from the weight they had been carrying for so long. He didn’t know if he believed it yet. But maybe—he wanted to try. ____________________ When Vernon finally pushed open the door to the practice room, all eyes turned to him. The members were scattered across the room, some stretching, others refilling their water bottles. The tension from earlier hadn’t fully faded, but it had settled into something quieter. Seungcheol was the first to move. He stepped forward, expression unreadable, but his voice was steady when he spoke. "You okay?" Vernon hesitated. No. Not entirely. But he didn’t want to lie, either. "...Getting there." Seungcheol studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Good," he said, and then, after a beat—softer—"I was worried about you." Vernon’s fingers curled into his sleeves. He didn’t know what to say to that, but the warmth in Seungcheol’s voice made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t ready to unpack. He barely had time to process before Mingyu stepped up next to him, a bottle of water in his hand. "You should drink something," Mingyu said, holding it out. His voice was casual, but his eyes searched Vernon’s face like he was still trying to figure out if he was okay. Vernon hesitated, then reached for the bottle. "Thanks." Mingyu just gave him a small nod before stepping back. The tension in the room wasn’t gone, but something had shifted. Hoshi, standing near the mirror, clapped his hands together. "Alright," he said, his voice intentionally light, "should we run it again?" There was no pressure in the way he said it—no expectation, no demand. Vernon exhaled slowly. Then, after a moment, he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Let’s do it." And this time, when the music started— He felt it. ____________________ Vernon hadn’t noticed how much he’d missed feeling light until now. It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t like flipping a switch, where one deep conversation and a few moments of warmth erased the weeks of doubt and exhaustion that had settled into his bones. But something had shifted. He felt it in the small things—the way his chest didn’t feel quite as heavy when he woke up in the morning, the way his own reflection didn’t seem as unfamiliar when he caught glimpses of himself in the mirror. He wasn’t there yet. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe he could get there. ____________________ It started with music. Woozi had been the one to suggest it. “You don’t have to write anything if you don’t want to,” he’d said casually, leaning against the studio desk, scrolling through his phone. “But sometimes, putting things into music helps. Even if no one hears it.” Vernon had hesitated. He hadn’t touched his own lyrics in weeks. Not since the night he let those words dig into him, poisoning the way he saw himself. But the idea lingered. So one night, when the dorm was quiet and the only light in the living room was the soft glow of his laptop screen, he opened a blank document. At first, it was just words. Fragments of thoughts, scattered feelings, unfinished lines that didn’t quite rhyme. Pieces of him that he hadn’t found the right way to say out loud. And then, slowly, it became something more. A melody. A rhythm. Something real. ____________________ The next time he stepped into the practice room, it felt different. Not normal, exactly. He wasn’t sure what normal even was anymore. But it felt better. Seungkwan noticed first. Vernon caught the way his eyes lingered, assessing him in that careful way Seungkwan always did when he was worried. And then, after a beat, Seungkwan just grinned and nudged him in the side. "You look less like you want to crawl into a hole and disappear," he teased. Vernon let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Wow. Thanks." Seungkwan shrugged. "Hey, I call it like I see it." And then, softer—"It’s good to see you like this again." Vernon swallowed, looking down at his hands. "Yeah," he murmured. "Feels good, too." ____________________ Healing wasn’t linear. He knew that. There were still moments when doubt crept in, when he caught himself thinking too much about the words he’d read late at night, when the weight of expectations made his chest feel tight. But the difference now was that he wasn’t carrying it alone. Because when the shadows started creeping back in, there was always something— Minghao passing him a book with a quiet “thought you might like this.” Joshua knocking on his door and saying, “Come on, let’s go for a drive,” without needing a reason. Jun tossing an arm around his shoulders after practice and saying, “Let’s get something good to eat, my treat.” Dino pulling him into a game just to make sure he wasn’t spending too much time in his own head. Jeonghan ruffling his hair and saying, “Told you we wouldn’t let you go anywhere, didn’t I?” Seungcheol, watching him with that steady, unwavering gaze, nodding at him like he knew Vernon was going to be okay before Vernon even knew it himself. And maybe that was the thing. The online voices would never fully go away. There would always be noise, always be negativity, always be people who tried to make him doubt himself. But in the end, they didn’t matter. Because the voices that truly mattered—the ones that told him he was loved, that he belonged, that he was more than enough— Those were the ones he would always hear the loudest.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The moment SEVENTEEN steps into the ice rink, chaos is already brewing. "Alright, everyone, gather around!" Seungcheol claps his hands together, his leader mode fully activated. "Let’s go over the rules—" "Rules?" Jeonghan scoffs, arms crossed. "We don’t follow rules on GOING SEVENTEEN." Mingyu, who has been eyeing the ice warily, grimaces. "Can we at least follow the rule of not dying?" Woozi lets out a breath, already predicting the disaster to come. "No guarantees." The filming crew moves into position, cameras rolling as the members scatter across the ice. Well, some of them attempt to scatter—others immediately cling to the rink's railing for dear life. Seungkwan is the first casualty, his feet slipping out from under him before he even properly steps on the ice. "I CAN’T DO THIS," he screeches, grabbing onto DK’s jacket like a lifeline. "Yah, get off me!" DK yelps, but Seungkwan refuses to let go, dragging both of them down in a tangled heap. Laughter erupts across the rink as the rest of the members take their first shaky steps. Hoshi, ever the energetic performer, tries to push off dramatically—only to wobble like a newborn deer. "Hoshi-hyung, you look like you’re malfunctioning," Dino teases, gliding past him with surprisingly decent balance. Hoshi gapes at him. "Ya! Why are you good at this?" Dino shrugs, smirking. "Maknae powers." Meanwhile, Jun and Minghao are effortlessly gliding, completely unfazed. Jun even throws in a little twirl, making it look easy. "Why do you look so natural?" Joshua eyes them suspiciously. Jun grins. "Grace and elegance, my friend." Minghao, calm as ever, nods. "Balance. Awareness. Harmony with the ice." "Sounds fake," Wonwoo deadpans as he shuffles forward, clearly trying his best to stay upright. In contrast, Mingyu is not doing well. His tall frame wobbles dangerously as he flails his arms. "Help. HELP." Woozi skates past him effortlessly. "You have too much height, that’s your problem." "That’s not how physics works!" Seungcheol, still trying to maintain order, attempts to bring everyone into a circle at the center of the rink. "Okay, okay, let’s at least do an introduction before we—" His sentence is cut short by Jeonghan gently pushing him forward. Seungcheol yelps, his feet slipping out as he crashes onto the ice. The rink echoes with laughter as Jeonghan smirks, completely unfazed. "Oops." Vernon watches it all unfold from a distance, standing near the edge of the rink. Unlike the others, he isn’t flailing, slipping, or causing chaos—he’s simply observing, quiet amusement in his eyes. "Not gonna join them?" Joshua skates up beside him, slightly unsteady but managing to stay upright. Vernon tilts his head, shrugging. "I’m just enjoying the show." Joshua chuckles, nudging him playfully. "Let me guess. You’re one of those people who are weirdly good at skating, huh?" Vernon just gives a small, unreadable smile. The answer? He’s about to let them find out. ____________________ The rink is alive with the sounds of chaos—yells, laughter, the occasional dramatic scream as another member hits the ice. The GOING SEVENTEEN filming crew struggles to keep up, cameras swinging wildly between disasters unfolding left and right. Seungcheol, still sprawled on the ice from Jeonghan’s not-so-innocent shove, groans. "This is mutiny. I’ve lost control." Jeonghan skates past him effortlessly, looking smug. "You never had control, Cheol." Woozi, standing just a few feet away, sighs. "We’re supposed to be filming an episode, not an Olympic blooper reel." "Why not both?" Hoshi pipes up, still wobbling as he tries to gain momentum. At the other end of the rink, Mingyu is locked in an intense battle—against himself. He lurches forward, arms flailing as if fighting against gravity itself. "I’m too tall for this sport," he complains. "Your problem isn’t height," Wonwoo corrects, skating next to him with surprising ease. "It’s coordination." Mingyu glares. "I have great coordination!" As if to prove his point, he attempts to pick up speed. It lasts approximately three seconds before his feet betray him, sending him crashing down onto the ice with a dramatic "Oof!" A chorus of cheers and laughter erupts. "That’s going in the highlight reel," DK announces gleefully. Seungkwan, still clinging to DK’s arm like his life depends on it, yells, "Someone get me off this cursed surface!" "Hyung, just let go and balance—" "BALANCE? WHAT IS BALANCE?" Seungkwan screeches as his feet slip again, dragging DK down in the process. From the sidelines, Vernon watches, amused. His skates rest lightly against the ice, his balance instinctive. He hasn’t even attempted to move yet, content to witness the disaster unfolding before him. Joshua, who has managed to stay upright through sheer force of will, skates up to him. "You’re suspiciously stable. Do you actually know how to skate?" Vernon shrugs, an easy grin playing on his lips. "I mean… I know a little." Joshua narrows his eyes. "Define a little." Before Vernon can respond, Jeonghan swoops in like a seasoned professional, stopping just short of them with a graceful turn. "Yah, Vernon. You’ve been standing there like some mysterious ice prince. Come suffer with the rest of us." Vernon chuckles but doesn’t move. "I think I’m good." Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "No, you’re not. You are skating." Vernon just smirks. The realization seems to dawn on Joshua at the same time. "Wait—hold on. You are skating. Without moving. Without struggling. Comfortably." Jeonghan’s eyes narrow. "You’re hiding something." Vernon, playing it cool, shrugs. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." Suspicious, Jeonghan turns to the rest of the group. "GUYS. I THINK VERNON KNOWS HOW TO SKATE." Several heads whip around at once. "What?" Seungkwan, still tangled with DK, cranes his neck to look. "Vernon?" Mingyu, who has just finished dramatically flopping onto the ice for the third time, squints at him. Hoshi, still wobbling but managing to stay on his feet, points an accusing finger. "CONFESS!" Vernon blinks, holding back a laugh. "Confess to what?" "TO BEING A SECRET ICE SKATING PRODIGY!" Vernon shakes his head, lifting his hands in surrender. "I never said that." Woozi, who has been observing quietly, tilts his head. "You never denied it, either." Seungcheol, who has finally managed to get back on his feet, crosses his arms. "Vernon. Show us." The rest of SEVENTEEN immediately erupts into cheers and demands. "Yeah! Show us!" "Do a trick!" "Do the Titanic scene!" "The what?" Vernon asks, laughing now. Seungkwan, looking way too excited, waves his arms. "You know, I’M FLYING, JACK!" DK throws an arm dramatically around Seungkwan’s waist. "Don’t let go, Seungkwan." "I’LL NEVER LET GO, DOKYEOM!" The moment is immediately ruined when DK loses balance and sends them both crashing to the ice again. Vernon shakes his head, grinning. "You guys are ridiculous." "But are we wrong?" Jeonghan smirks. Vernon considers this for a moment. Then, with a small exhale, he finally pushes off from his spot. The shift is immediate. Unlike the others, who are flailing, scrambling, or barely moving, Vernon glides across the ice with an ease that’s almost unnatural. His movements are smooth, controlled, completely unlike the hesitant stumbling the others have been doing. The rink falls silent. Mingyu’s jaw drops. Seungcheol stares. Dino, who had been steadily skating on his own, nearly crashes into the railing in shock. "Wait," Wonwoo says slowly. "What the hell." Even the camera crew hesitates, adjusting their focus as Vernon effortlessly weaves through the members with practiced control. Jeonghan’s smirk fades into a look of genuine disbelief. "No way." Vernon glances back at them, grinning. "I might have skated before." The rink erupts. "YOU LIAR!" "TRAITOR!" "VERNON, EXPLAIN YOURSELF!" Minghao, still completely composed, nods approvingly. "Nice technique." Vernon just laughs, the sudden attention making him slightly bashful. He hadn’t planned on showing off—but, well, this is hilarious. Woozi exhales, shaking his head. "I should’ve known. He’s too chill about everything." Seungcheol, looking equal parts impressed and betrayed, throws up his hands. "Okay. Fine. Since you’re actually good, we’re making you teach us." Vernon blinks. "Wait, what?" "It’s only fair," Jeonghan smirks. The others immediately jump in. "Yeah!" "You’re our coach now!" "Teach us your ways!" Vernon groans, rubbing his forehead. "Hyung-deul…" The camera crew catches everything—the pure disbelief on SEVENTEEN’s faces, the chaos of their reactions, the absolute contrast between Vernon’s smooth skating and the disaster surrounding him. It’s the kind of moment that GOING SEVENTEEN lives for. And it’s only going to get worse. Or better. Depending on perspective. ____________________ Vernon sighs, rubbing his temples as the rest of SEVENTEEN surrounds him like a pack of overexcited, uncoordinated wolves. "Let me get this straight," he says, voice laced with amusement. "You guys want me to teach you how to skate?" "Yes," Seungcheol says, crossing his arms like an exasperated father. "Since you conveniently forgot to mention you already know how." Jeonghan smirks. "Lying by omission is still lying, Vernon." Vernon rolls his eyes. "I never lied." "You just watched us suffer," Mingyu accuses, pointing a finger at him. "You watched me fall seven times and said nothing." Vernon shrugs, suppressing a laugh. "It was entertaining." The group erupts again. "You evil, evil man," Seungkwan huffs, arms crossed as he still clings to DK for support. "So you’re saying you won’t teach us?" Hoshi asks dramatically, wobbling dangerously before barely catching himself. Vernon eyes the growing disaster in front of him. Most of them are still barely holding on. Mingyu and Seungkwan are one bad move away from a wipeout. Seungcheol is trying so hard to act like he has control, but the tension in his stance betrays him. Jun, Minghao, and Dino seem to be the only ones who have figured things out on their own, standing at the side, watching with mild amusement. Joshua, ever the peacemaker, claps a hand on Vernon’s shoulder. "C’mon, man. You have to." Vernon groans. "Why?" "Because we’re your brothers," DK says dramatically. "Because we need you," Seungkwan adds, clutching his chest. "Because if you don’t, I’m going to make sure the next GOING SEVENTEEN episode is just you suffering alone in a haunted house," Woozi threatens, smiling sweetly. Vernon blinks. "…Okay, that’s low." "Are you saying no?" Woozi tilts his head. Vernon sighs, looking around at the hopeful—and somewhat desperate—faces staring back at him. Even Wonwoo, who usually doesn’t get involved in chaos, looks mildly interested. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Fine." The group explodes into cheers. "YES!" "You’re the best, Vern!" "Coach Vernon, let’s go!" "Coach who?" Vernon squints. Seungcheol claps his hands together. "Alright, class! Listen to your coach!" Vernon exhales. "This is going to be a nightmare." ____________________
Lesson One: "How to Not Die on the Ice"
"Okay," Vernon begins, looking at his team of clowns. "Step one: Find your balance." Mingyu immediately falls. Vernon sighs. "Bro, we haven’t even started." "Why is this so hard?" Mingyu groans, sprawled out on the ice like a crime scene victim. "You’re too stiff," Vernon says. "You gotta loosen up." "Loosen up?" Mingyu deadpans. "I’m fighting for my life." Seungkwan nods. "Same." Vernon rolls his eyes. "Okay, listen. Breathe. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Bend your knees slightly. Don’t lock them." Woozi squints at him. "You sound like a yoga instructor." "Yeah, well, maybe if you all listened, you wouldn’t be falling every five seconds," Vernon retorts. They grumble, but start adjusting their stances. Seungcheol nods. "Okay. What next?" "Step two: Shift your weight gently. Don’t push too hard, or you’ll—" Mingyu tries to push off. His legs betray him immediately. "—fall," Vernon finishes as Mingyu crashes down again. Mingyu groans, rolling onto his back. "I hate physics." DK laughs so hard that he loses his balance and collapses right next to him. Vernon just shakes his head. "Okay, next step: Glide, don’t stomp. You guys keep trying to walk on the ice. That’s not how it works." "Glide?" Hoshi blinks. "Yeah, like this." Vernon demonstrates, pushing off with ease and sliding smoothly across the rink. The others attempt to copy him. Seungcheol manages a decent start before stumbling. Joshua glides a little before losing momentum. Jeonghan makes a dramatic show of it, arms spread wide like he’s in a music video. And then there’s Mingyu. "Oh no," he mutters as his feet refuse to cooperate. He picks up speed—too much speed. "Uh, Mingyu—" Vernon starts. "HOW DO I STOP?!" Mingyu yells, panic rising. "USE THE WALL!" It’s too late. Mingyu crashes into the barrier with a loud THUD. Everyone winces. Seungkwan claps. "A+ for effort." Minghao leans against the railing, unimpressed. "He looks like a bug hitting a windshield." Mingyu groans, sliding down onto the ice. "I hate this." ____________________ After thirty minutes of mild improvement (and many bruises), Vernon calls for a break. The members gather at the side of the rink, panting. "I think I’m getting better," Seungcheol says. "You fell like ten times," Wonwoo points out. "Yeah, but the eleventh time? Flawless," Seungcheol insists. Vernon sighs, sitting down on the bench. "You guys are hopeless." "Wrong," Jeonghan smirks, sitting next to him. "We’re entertaining." Vernon chuckles. "You mean a disaster?" "Same thing." Mingyu, still recovering from his crash, groans. "Vernon, be honest. Are we the worst students ever?" Vernon thinks for a moment. "…I mean. I wasn’t going to say it." Seungkwan huffs. "I demand better teaching methods!" Vernon leans back. "Oh? You wanna learn faster?" "Yes!" Vernon smirks. "Okay. Next round: Tag." Seungkwan blinks. "Excuse me?" Vernon stands, stretching. "If you guys wanna improve, you gotta move. So we’re playing tag. And I’m it." The group erupts into protest. "NO." "Vernon, wait—" "YOU CAN’T JUST—" "TOO LATE!" Vernon pushes off, skating smoothly toward the middle of the rink. "Better start running!" Pure chaos ensues. Jun, Minghao, and Dino immediately scatter, having enough control to actually escape. Mingyu, still very much bad at this, yells, "I REFUSE TO PLAY THIS GAME." "Then you’re gonna get tagged first," Vernon grins, skating directly toward him. Mingyu’s eyes widen in panic. "WAIT—" The rink is filled with screams, laughter, and the sound of people definitely falling. The filming crew can barely keep up. And Vernon? Vernon has never had more fun. ____________________ "VERNON, HAVE MERCY!" Mingyu screeches as Vernon skates after him with alarming speed, weaving through the chaos like a predator while Mingyu stumbles like a baby deer learning how to walk. "Run faster!" Joshua yells from the sidelines, watching with way too much enjoyment. "YOU THINK I’M NOT TRYING?" Mingyu yells back. Seungcheol, who had been trying to sneak away unnoticed, realizes his mistake too late. Vernon switches targets mid-chase, pivoting smoothly toward him. "Oh no," Seungcheol mutters. "Oh yes," Vernon smirks. Seungcheol makes a break for it—only to instantly regret everything when his momentum carries him way too fast toward the barrier. "Nononononono—" CRASH. Seungcheol slams into the boards, arms splayed dramatically, groaning. Jeonghan skates by effortlessly, barely breaking a sweat. "That was beautiful. Do it again." "Shut up." Vernon, meanwhile, barely even breathes hard as he effortlessly weaves around the rink, tagging Mingyu, DK, and Hoshi within seconds. "This is unfair!" Hoshi whines. "You’re literally too good at this!" Vernon shrugs. "Not my fault you guys suck." Woozi, standing safely on the sidelines, smirks. "I say we all gang up on him." Everyone turns to stare at him. Vernon squints. "Excuse me?" "You heard me," Woozi says, crossing his arms. "There are twelve of us. We can take him down." The group exchanges looks. Then, one by one, evil grins spread across their faces. "Hold on—" Vernon starts. "GET HIM!" Vernon barely dodges Minghao’s attempt to grab him, slipping just out of reach as Jun tries to cut him off from the other side. "Y’all are ridiculous," he laughs, skating backward with ease. "Oh, we’re serious," Seungkwan declares, nearly tripping over his own feet. Vernon smirks. "Bet you can’t catch me." "Oh, it’s on," Dino yells, lunging forward. For a while, Vernon holds his own. His footwork is too smooth, dodging and maneuvering around the chaos like a pro. But then— "Coups, now!" Jeonghan shouts. And suddenly— Vernon finds himself cornered. Mingyu blocks his left. Hoshi and DK close in on the right. Dino and Minghao guard the back. And Seungcheol—who had definitely been playing possum earlier—smirks as he skates forward, cracking his knuckles. "You’re trapped," he says smugly. Vernon tilts his head. "Am I?" Jeonghan narrows his eyes. "You’re not about to—" Vernon grins. And then— He jumps. The group collectively gasps as Vernon does a full spin in the air, landing cleanly behind them with ease. The rink is silent. Mingyu’s jaw drops. "WHAT KIND OF ANIME MOVE WAS THAT?" Vernon smirks. "Skill." Jeonghan groans. "I hate you." "Love you too," Vernon says, already skating away again. Seungkwan throws his hands up. "I QUIT. I’M JUST GONNA LIE HERE AND ACCEPT DEFEAT." And honestly? Same. ____________________ By the end of the session, the members collapse onto the rink, sweaty and exhausted. "I have never," Seungcheol breathes, "felt more pain in my life." "My back hurts," DK whines. "My pride hurts," Mingyu mutters. "Mine too," Seungkwan sighs dramatically. Vernon, meanwhile, sits comfortably with his skates still on, completely fine. "You guys did great," he says, barely holding back a laugh. Jeonghan glares. "Shut up, Vernon." Minghao, sipping his water, smirks. "I had fun." "You don’t count," Seungkwan groans. "You and Jun and Dino are freaks of nature." Dino shrugs. "We just have balance." Woozi sighs. "Okay, but real talk… are we actually improving?" Vernon thinks about it for a second. Then he smirks. "I mean…" He shrugs. "You guys still suck." "HANSOL VERNON CHWE, I SWEAR—" ____________________ The sound of shuffling boots and scraping skates fills the rink as the members slowly, dramatically, and with the most exaggerated motions possible, make their way to the benches to catch their breath. Vernon, who has barely broken a sweat despite the chaos of the last hour, is sitting with his arms casually draped over the edge of the seat, looking like he just woke up from a nap. The others, on the other hand, look like they've been through an actual war. Seungcheol is sprawled out on the floor, legs splayed in an unflattering way that could only be described as defeated. Jun is hunched over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily, while DK lies on his back, his arms spread out in all directions. Seungkwan is trying his best to keep it together, but his face says it all. He’s done. "Okay," Wonwoo starts, wiping sweat from his brow, "We need to talk." Vernon tilts his head. "About what? How amazing I am at skating?" Everyone groans in unison. "Yes, and how you're making us all look bad," Seungkwan grumbles, sitting up straight and glaring at Vernon. "I thought this was supposed to be fun, not destructive to our dignity." Vernon raises an eyebrow. "What can I say? Talent's a burden." "Tell me about it," Mingyu mutters. He’s still holding his ribs like he got hit by a truck. Joshua claps his hands together. "Alright, alright, let’s focus. Vernon, how did you… how did you do that?" "Do what?" Vernon asks, clearly enjoying the attention. "You know," Hoshi says, waving his hand dramatically. "The flying thing. The twisty, jumpy, gravity-defying move you pulled out of nowhere." Vernon grins, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, that? A little thing I like to call the prince move." The group collectively groans again. "Are you serious?" Minghao laughs. "The prince move?" "Yeah, it's like my secret weapon," Vernon continues, clearly enjoying the spotlight. "You have to build up your momentum, find the right angle, and then just—" "Right," Jeonghan cuts him off. "No one cares about your fancy moves. What we want to know is how you learned this." Vernon shrugs nonchalantly. "I’ve been practicing for a while. I have a natural gift for skating. It's a vibe." "Natural gift?" Jun raises an eyebrow. "You’re telling me you didn't even fall?" "Nope," Vernon responds smugly, "Not once. Well, except that one time." The members exchange a look. "What do you mean, ‘that one time’?" Mingyu asks, narrowing his eyes. Vernon suddenly looks very uncomfortable. "Uh, nothing. Just a little incident when I first started." "You can’t just say that and leave it!" DK exclaims, sitting up now. Vernon’s face reddens slightly. "Okay, fine. I fell once. But it was just a small fall—I mean, it was basically nothing. Practically invisible." "No one noticed except you," Joshua teases, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was very graceful, alright?" Vernon insists, looking defensive. The rest of the members burst into laughter. Seungkwan shakes his head. "You can’t just skip over something like that! We need details! Was it a faceplant? Was it slow-motion? What happened?" Vernon covers his face with his hands. "It was just—fine! I slipped, okay? But that was like, a long time ago." "How long?" Jun asks with a mischievous grin. Vernon hesitates. "A few years?" "More like a few minutes," Hoshi teases, nudging Mingyu with his elbow. Vernon rolls his eyes. "You guys are impossible." Jeonghan, still grinning, leans back in his seat. "Alright, alright. Let’s just admit it. We’re never going to be as good as you. You’re like… the skating king or whatever." "Skating prince," Vernon corrects. "I’m not old enough to be a king yet." Seungkwan leans forward dramatically. "I swear, if you mention this ‘prince’ thing one more time, I’m going to start calling you ‘The Prince of Darkness’ because I’m starting to get really annoyed." "That's a good title, actually," Vernon says, nodding seriously. "I might start using that." The group collectively sighs. "Okay, so what now?" Joshua asks, trying to change the subject before Vernon can derail the conversation any further. "We all agree that Vernon is a skating genius, and now we can never show our faces in public again. What’s next?" "Group photo!" DK suggests enthusiastically. "Let’s take a picture to remember this disaster." "I’m not smiling," Seungkwan grumbles, still pouting. Vernon stands up and takes a dramatic bow, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Thanks, everyone. I’m here all week. Don’t forget to tip your skates." "Goodbye, Vernon," Jeonghan mutters, already walking away. "Don’t let your prince move get in the way of your humility." Mingyu raises a hand. "Just don’t ever make us do this again." "I can’t make any promises," Vernon smirks. The group huddles together for a quick photo, with Vernon front and center, grinning proudly while the others look exhausted but still somehow fond of him. As the picture flashes, the chaos of the day finally starts to wind down, and Vernon, his skate skills still a mystery to most of them, is left with a sense of satisfaction. He’s the prince of the rink, after all. And no one—no one—could deny it now. ____________________ The rink, now emptying as most of the members finish gathering their things, carries the faint sound of squeaky skates as they shuffle toward the exit. But Vernon? He's still there, lingering in the middle of the rink as if he were awaiting an encore for his stellar performance. "Vernon, seriously," Seungkwan calls from the doorway, his voice half exasperated, half amused. "We get it. You're good at skating. Can we please just leave now? I don't think I can handle much more of your 'prince' routine." He grins, unable to resist the pull of Vernon’s natural charisma. Vernon, of course, takes his time to leisurely stroll over to join the group. “A little humility never hurt anyone, Kwannie. You should try it sometime.” Seungkwan sticks his tongue out at him, but it’s all in good fun. The group huddles near the exit, several members still trying to catch their breath, a few others clearly nursing sore muscles. The whole ordeal may have been a disaster, but it wasn’t one without its own strange enjoyment. Seungcheol, still limping slightly from his less-than-graceful attempts at skating, looks Vernon up and down with a raised brow. “I have to ask,” he starts, voice dripping with the sarcasm only he can pull off. “How long have you been holding back on us? You’ve had this skill all along and never shared it?” Vernon, taking his time to adjust his jacket, shoots him an innocent grin. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t want to overshadow you guys? I mean, I’m pretty great at everything, you know?” He pauses and then adds for good measure, “But I didn't want to make it too obvious.” The group groans in unison. Mingyu, rubbing his lower back, shakes his head. “You know, the way you’re talking, it sounds like you’ve secretly been training for this moment your whole life.” “Dude, the whole time we were there?” Jun chimes in, “You looked like a professional ice skater. When did you even have the chance to get that good?” “I mean, it’s not like I skate all the time,” Vernon says with a smirk. “But I have plenty of time to practice when I’m not busy being awesome at everything else.” Joshua tilts his head and smiles. "Okay, but for real, where did you even learn? You never said anything about skating lessons." Vernon shrugs. “It's more of an instinct thing. I watched a few tutorials, practiced a bit in my free time, and boom—I was basically ready for the Olympics.” “That’s not how it works,” Woozi mutters, looking at him with a half-amused, half-baffled expression. "Well, now you know," Vernon says, clearly still basking in the glory of the moment. "I’m the prince of the rink, after all." "You're too much," Hoshi shakes his head, laughing. "I swear, I’ve never met anyone who can be this extra about a simple ice skating session." Vernon feigns hurt. "What? I was gracious about it. I could have been worse." He winks, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. “Right,” DK says, still struggling to maintain his sense of humor, “because you weren’t already unbearable in the first place.” He glances at Mingyu, then turns his attention back to Vernon. “You know, I think the worst part is that we all saw you do a double axle, and I can’t even do a regular spin without almost falling.” “Now that’s just sad,” Seungkwan adds. "I don't even know what a double axle is—and I'm definitely never going to try it now, thanks to Vernon.” Vernon gives them all a cheeky smile. “Hey, someone’s got to do it. Might as well be me. But I guess you could say you all learned something today, right? About skating. About believing in yourselves. And mostly about me being the best.” He grins, clearly proud of himself. “Who are you trying to convince here, Vernon?” Minghao teases, unable to keep a straight face. “Because, frankly, none of us are buying it. We’re all just trying to recover from the humiliation.” At that, the group bursts into laughter, their tiredness momentarily forgotten in the joy of their easy camaraderie. It’s moments like this, Vernon realizes, that make all the awkwardness of the day worth it. Seungcheol, taking a deep breath as he rests a hand on the doorframe, finally decides to break the silence. “Alright, no more messing around. We’re heading out now. But Vernon?” Vernon looks up, his playful smirk still in place. “If you ever pull something like that again," Seungcheol says, his voice taking on a mock-serious tone, "we’re going to have to make you the official ice skating coach for the group. Because, at this point, I think it’s safe to say we all need help.” Vernon tilts his head dramatically. “So you want me to train you all, huh? That’s generous of you.” “Yeah, well,” Seungcheol chuckles. “You owe us one for humiliating us like that.” Vernon just winks and steps out the door, glancing back over his shoulder. “Fine, fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. You guys are going to need it.” And with that, the day’s disastrous yet strangely uplifting skating experience comes to a close, with Vernon, the self-proclaimed “prince of the rink,” still enjoying the glow of his ‘victory.’ The members may never fully forgive him for making them look like amateurs, but deep down, they all know—he earned the title. ____________________ The day had already been chaotic enough, and yet, the final act was just about to begin. The members of SEVENTEEN trudged through the snow-covered streets outside the rink, the winter air biting at their cheeks, their exhaustion now mixing with the chilly wind. No one said much, mostly because they all secretly wanted to forget the absurdity that was Vernon’s ice-skating performance. It wasn’t the skating that stung—no, it was the bragging. “I can’t believe this is still happening,” Seungkwan muttered, dragging his feet through the snow. “I’ve officially been outdone in every aspect of life by Vernon. Every. Single. Thing.” DK snickered beside him. “You’re just mad because your back hurts and you can’t keep up with the skating king. I told you not to try and spin like that. You’re not built for that level of grace.” “Excuse me?” Seungkwan shot DK a look, but before he could fire back, Hoshi, already several steps ahead, turned around with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Don’t listen to him, Seungkwan,” Hoshi called. “You looked amazing. Like a true dancer. Especially when you fell. It was a performance in itself. Very... dramatic.” Seungkwan groaned. “You're all awful.” “Can we please get to the car?” Joshua interjected, breaking up the mock bickering. He was already starting to tire of the relentless teasing. “I think we've all had enough of this outdoor winter adventure.” But just as the group began to shuffle toward the parked car, an all-too-familiar voice rang out, and the world seemed to pause for a split second. "Hey! Wait up!" Vernon. The others, already deep into their sarcastic commentary about the day’s events, groaned collectively. Of course, it wouldn’t be over until Vernon got the last word. He was never one to leave things unfinished, especially when there was more to be bragged about. Vernon came jogging over, still in his skating clothes, looking ridiculous with his jacket flapping behind him like a flag. As he caught up to the group, he pulled out his phone dramatically. “Wait, you guys need to see this,” he said, holding the phone up as if it were some priceless artifact. “Look at this—our little rink moment? It’s viral.” The group froze as he unlocked the phone and turned the screen toward them. Seungkwan squinted. “Is that... a video of you skating?” “Yep!” Vernon grinned. “And not just any video. The caption? ‘Prince of the Rink Shows Off His Moves.’” He smirked, savoring their reactions. “It already has like, a million views.” “A million?” Seungkwan exclaimed, his jaw dropping. “How do you even do that? We were only on the ice for like, what? A couple of hours?” “I have charisma, Seungkwan,” Vernon said with an exaggerated wink. “People are drawn to it.” “Isn’t that... embarrassing?” Woozi piped up, crossing his arms. “You’re out here making a spectacle of us. How are we supposed to look at you the same now?” “Don’t worry, hyung,” Vernon said, still grinning. “I’m not making you look bad. You make me look good. It’s called a team effort.” Mingyu shook his head, half-exasperated, half-amused. “I swear, you live for this attention.” “Of course I do!” Vernon said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “How else would you expect me to survive? I mean, look at me,” he gestured dramatically to his outfit, “I’m basically royalty now.” “I cannot believe this is happening,” Hoshi said, laughing. “This is just... chaos. Chaos until the end. Is it too late to go home?” “Are we really going to let him get away with this?” Seungkwan asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked around at the others. “Honestly?” Joshua said with a shrug. “I’m not even mad. At this point, it’s just hilarious.” “And besides,” Hoshi added, “He’s got the whole internet’s attention. Who are we to steal his spotlight?” The group laughed, though there was an undeniable sense of grudging admiration mixed in. Vernon, for all his ridiculousness, had somehow turned a simple afternoon of ice skating into something memorable—and not necessarily for the reasons any of them had intended. The ride back to the dorm was quieter, filled with more laughter and teasing. Seungkwan tried to put up a front about how much he hated the attention Vernon was getting, but even he had to admit that it was entertaining. They were all tired, their muscles sore from hours of skating, but that didn’t stop the jokes from coming. It was one of those rare days when nothing seemed quite as serious as it usually was. No rehearsals, no schedules. Just them, together, a bit of chaos, and a lot of laughter. Once back at the dorm, the members split off into their rooms, but Vernon lingered for a moment, scrolling through the comments on his now-viral video. He wasn’t quite ready to let the chaos die. “Prince of the rink, huh?” he muttered to himself, reading through the increasingly ridiculous captions fans had come up with. “I really nailed it, didn’t I?” Just then, Seungkwan walked by, rolling his eyes as he passed. “As long as you’re not skating around the dorm with that ridiculous title, you’re good. We can’t handle another one of your performances.” Vernon smirked. “Oh, trust me. The best is yet to come.” Seungkwan groaned but couldn't help the small laugh that escaped his lips. As chaos settled into an easy routine of teasing and laughter, the day drew to a close. The members may never fully recover from the unforgettable experience that was Vernon on the ice, but one thing was certain—they would never, ever let him live it down. And in the end, they wouldn’t want to.