The practice room lights hummed, casting a stark glow on the six members of AURORA, their synchronized movements a testament to countless hours of sweat and dedication. Their comeback was just weeks away, and the pressure was a palpable thing, thick in the air. As the music finally cut, a collective sigh of exhaustion filled the room.

"Alright, one more run-through of the chorus!" their leader, Minjun, called out, ever the taskmaster.

But a chorus of groans met him. "Hyung, my legs are going to detach!" Jiwon, the group's usually energetic maknae, flopped onto the floor dramatically.

Minjun just sighed, but even he looked ready to collapse. "Fine. Ten-minute break. Don't wander off too far."

As the others dispersed, grabbing water bottles or collapsing against the mirrored walls, Yoonhyeok found himself drawn to the small, dark corner where Seojun usually retreated. Seojun, the group's main vocalist, was often quiet, a calming presence amidst the group's boisterous energy.

He had a habit of finding solace in music, even after hours of practice.

Sure enough, Seojun was there, headphones on, humming softly to himself. He wasn't listening to their latest track instead, a gentle, unfamiliar melody drifted from his lips, accompanied by the quiet strumming of an acoustic guitar he'd somehow conjured from behind a stack of speakers.

It was a sweet, melancholic tune, something intensely personal.

Yoonhyeok leaned against the wall, just listening, a peaceful calm settling over him.

He watched Seojun's fingers dance on the fretboard, his eyes closed in concentration. Seojun's usually reserved face held a softness Yoonhyeok rarely saw, etched with a raw emotion that tugged at something in his chest.

After a minute, Seojun's humming stopped, and he softly sang a few lines in English, barely a whisper

"And darling, when you smile, the stars all lose their light... "

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if embarrassed by his own creation. He strummed a final, lingering chord, then slowly opened his eyes. They widened slightly when he saw Yoonhyeok.

"Oh! Yoonhyeok-ah," Seojun said, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He quickly took off his headphones and placed the guitar beside him. "How long have you been there?"

Yoonhyeok pushed off the wall, a genuine smile playing on his lips. "Long enough to hear that. It's beautiful, Seojun-ah. Is it new?"

Seojun's blush deepened. "Just… something I've been messing with. Nothing special." He averted his gaze, fiddling with a loose string on his guitar. "It's just… it's really personal. Like, embarrassingly so."

Yoonhyeok felt a sudden urge to make him comfortable. "Not at all. It sounds like something from a dream. The lyrics too. 'Stars all lose their light'… who's it about?" The question slipped out before he could properly filter it, born more from genuine curiosity than any conscious thought.

Seojun froze. He slowly turned his head back to Yoonhyeok, his hazel eyes wide and searching. For a long moment, the only sound was the distant murmur of the other members. Then, a ghost of a smile touched Seojun's lips, and his gaze seemed to soften, almost melt, as he looked directly into Yoonhyeok's eyes.

"You," Seojun whispered, so quietly Yoonhyeok almost didn't hear it over the sudden pounding of his own heart. The word hung in the air between them, fragile and profound, an accidental confession disguised as a casual answer.

Yoonhyeok's breath hitched. He stared at Seojun, who suddenly looked incredibly vulnerable, his eyes shining with an unspoken truth. The practice room lights seemed to dim, the sounds of his groupmates fading into the background. All that mattered was the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the silent, electrifying space between him and Seojun.

The ten-minute break was definitely over.....

The silence in the practice room stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the distant thump of the bass from another group's rehearsal down the hall.

Yoonhyeok stared at Seojun, his mind racing, trying to process the weight of that single, whispered word: “You.”

Was he hearing things?

Had the exhaustion finally caught up to him, conjuring fantasies in the dimly lit corner? Seojun’s gaze was still locked on his, filled with an intensity that made Yoonhyeok’s palms sweat.

There was a vulnerability there he’d never witnessed before, a stark contrast to the composed and charismatic performer the world saw.

Seojun, as if realizing the bomb he’d just dropped, suddenly shifted, his cheeks flushing a deeper crimson.

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the worn wooden floor. He nervously ran a hand through his dark hair, a gesture that betrayed his usual calm demeanor.

“I… I didn’t mean…” Seojun mumbled, his voice barely audible. “It just… the feeling of the song, I guess… it just slipped out.” He avoided Yoonhyeok’s eyes, his embarrassment almost palpable.

Yoonhyeok finally found his voice, though it came out a little breathier than he intended. “The song… it’s about me?”

Seojun nodded slowly, still looking down. “It… it started a while ago. Little things, I guess. Your laugh after we nail a difficult choreo, the way you always make sure the younger members eat enough, even just the way you focus during recordings…

they just… stuck with me.” He finally looked up, his eyes flicking to Yoonhyeok’s and then away again, as if afraid of what he might find there. “It’s probably stupid. You probably don’t feel anything like that.”

A whirlwind of emotions crashed through Yoonhyeok.

Surprise, definitely....

A strange, fluttering warmth in his chest.

something akin to… relief?

He’d always felt a certain pull towards Seojun, a quiet admiration for his talent and his gentle nature.

He’d noticed the way Seojun sometimes lingered near him, the fleeting touches during group photos that seemed to last a fraction too long.

But he’d always dismissed it as just camaraderie, the closeness of their shared life as idols.

“Stupid?” Yoonhyeok echoed softly.

taking a step closer.

Seojun flinched slightly, but didn’t move away. “Seojun-ah…”

Before Yoonhyeok could gather his thoughts, the practice room door swung open, and Minjun’s voice boomed, shattering the fragile intimacy of the moment.

“Alright, break time’s over! Let’s go, team! We need to perfect that formation before dinner.”

The other members started to filter back in, stretching and joking, oblivious to the charged atmosphere in the corner.

Seojun visibly tensed, his earlier vulnerability replaced by a familiar guardedness.

He stood up quickly, picking up his guitar and tucking it away with practiced ease.

“We should… we should probably just forget I said anything,” Seojun said quickly, his voice back to its usual quiet tone, though a hint of nervousness still lingered. He avoided Yoonhyeok’s gaze and headed towards the rest of the group.

Yoonhyeok watched him go, a knot forming in his stomach. Forget? How could he forget something like that? The raw honesty in Seojun’s voice, the vulnerability in his eyes… it was all swirling in his mind.

As they launched back into the choreography, Yoonhyeok found it difficult to focus. Every glance he stole at Seojun, every accidental brush of their arms during a synchronized move, sent a jolt through him. Seojun, for his part, kept his eyes strictly on the mirror, his expression carefully neutral.

The rest of the practice went by in a blur. Yoonhyeok’s mind was a chaotic mess of lyrics about starlight and the weight of a whispered confession. He kept replaying Seojun’s hesitant words, the way his cheeks had flushed, the fleeting intensity in his eyes.

Finally, Minjun called it a night, and the members began to gather their things, the earlier exhaustion returning with full force. As Yoonhyeok reached for his bag, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Seojun standing there, his eyes downcast.

“Yoonhyeok-ah,” Seojun began, his voice low, “about what I said earlier… I really didn’t mean to make things weird. It’s just… please don’t feel like you have to say anything or… reciprocate. I just needed to… get it out, I guess.”

He looked up briefly, a hint of sadness in his eyes. Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked towards the door with the others.

Yoonhyeok stood there, his bag heavy in his hand, the weight of Seojun’s words even heavier on his heart.

Things were definitely weird now. But not necessarily in a bad way. In a… complicated, potentially exciting, and definitely life-altering way.

As he walked back to the dorm with the rest of AURORA, the city lights blurring past the window of their van,

Yoonhyeok couldn't shake the image of Seojun's vulnerable gaze and the melody that had poured from his heart.

He had a feeling that quiet corner of the practice room had just become the most important place in their world.

And he knew, with a certainty that surprised even himself, that he couldn't just forget what had happened there.

Not at all.