The morning crept in slowly, slipping through the half-closed curtains in thin ribbons of gold. The city beyond their windows stirred with the sounds of distant traffic, birdsong, and the low hum of waking life — but inside the apartment, time moved slower, softer.

Nut blinked awake first. His body ached in unfamiliar ways, but it was a good ache — one that hummed of trust, of being seen. His limbs were heavy, tangled loosely with Hong’s, who was still sound asleep, his breath warm against Nut’s collarbone.

He looked down at the boy curled into him, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, face relaxed in a kind of peace Nut rarely saw on him. There was something different about him this morning. Lighter, maybe. Freer.

Nut lifted a hand and brushed a few strands of hair from Hong’s face, his touch featherlight. He didn’t want to wake him — not yet. He just wanted to look. To stay in this moment where everything was still, and nothing needed to be said.

Last night… The memory drifted in slowly, like steam curling off tea. He took care of me.

Not just physically — but in the way he had looked at him, kissed him, asked without words and listened without hesitation. In the way he’d made space for Nut to fall apart, and held him gently while he did.

Hong stirred, eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he looked unsure, as if he didn’t know whether to speak or pretend to still be asleep. But then Nut smiled at him — soft, sleepy, utterly unguarded — and Hong exhaled.

“Hey,” Nut said, voice rough with morning.

“Hey,” Hong replied, barely louder than a breath.

They stayed like that for a while — faces inches apart, the space between them warm, full of something too quiet and whole to name.

“You okay?” Hong asked eventually, his brows creasing just a little.

Nut didn’t answer right away. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Hong’s forehead, lingering there for a heartbeat. Then he murmured, “More than okay.”

Hong’s shoulders relaxed. A small smile found its way to his lips — relieved, proud, maybe even a little shy.

They didn’t rush to get up. There were no schedules in that hour, no world outside the shared silence. They talked a little — whispered things they’d been too afraid to say in the dark. Teased each other gently, laughed in that quiet way that doesn’t disturb peace but adds to it. And when they finally got out of bed, they moved around each other in the kitchen like they'd always lived like this.

Like something between them had finally clicked into place.

The calm of the morning lasted exactly until the first knock at the door.

Nut had just pulled on a hoodie and was watching Hong fumble with the coffee machine when the sound came — a sharp, enthusiastic triple-knock, followed by the unmistakable voice of Lego, muffled but far too loud for the hallway.

“Nut! Hong! I know you’re awake! Don’t make me use my key!”

Hong groaned, burying his face in his hands. “He’s worse than an alarm clock.”

Nut laughed, already crossing the room to unlock the door. “Let him in before he breaks something.”

As the door swung open, Lego barreled in with the energy of a golden retriever who hadn’t seen his humans in weeks — even though it had only been two days. “Why do you guys look like you just woke up from a coma?” he said, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “Wait — ” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you two finally — ”

“No,” Nut cut in quickly, too quickly, shooting Hong a warning glance.

Hong, for his part, was red in the face and very, very focused on pouring the coffee.

Before Lego could pry further, the door opened again — this time without knocking — and William walked in with his usual composed air, followed closely by Tui, who was munching on something from a convenience store bag.

And behind them came Est.

He was a quiet contrast to the chaos, tall and slightly shy, with a kind smile that softened the edges of the room the moment he entered. William reached back to take Est’s hand casually as they stepped inside, like it was second nature.

“Morning,” William said, setting down a small pastry box. “I brought food. Est made the coffee but I told him not to compete with Hong’s weird barista complex.”

Est smiled, stepping in and offering a wave. “Hi, everyone. Sorry for the invasion.”

“You’re always welcome,” Nut said, genuinely meaning it.

Tui threw himself into a bean bag with a sigh. “I swear, I saw fans taking pictures of us just outside the elevator. We need disguises.”

“You’re literally wearing our group hoodie,” Lego said.

“It’s comfortable!” Tui shot back.

As everyone settled in, the room filled with the familiar banter of people who had learned how to belong to each other. Hong finally emerged from the kitchen with mugs, passing them out as if nothing at all had changed — though Nut noticed how his hand lingered a little too long when it passed him his.

Only Est caught it. His eyes flicked briefly from their joined fingers to Nut’s face, then to Hong’s. And then he smiled — small, knowing, and entirely gentle.

Nut looked away, suddenly shy, but not unhappy.

The apartment buzzed with warmth, laughter, and the clink of mugs and food wrappers. And in the midst of it all, Nut sat quietly beside Hong, the hum of the morning still in his skin, and thought —

This feels like a beginning.

Scene:Living room

The afternoon sun drifted in through the windows, casting golden shapes across the floor. The five of them were scattered around the living room — no music, no talking, just the sound of someone occasionally shifting, the faint ticking of the wall clock, and the low hum of the outside world.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t ask anything from anyone.

Just… quiet.

Nut’s thoughts:

This is nice.

He was sprawled on the couch, one arm behind his head, the other resting lazily across his chest. He wasn’t thinking about the schedule, or the next performance, or what the fans were saying.

He was thinking about how warm the light felt on his legs. About how Hong was sitting on the floor nearby, back resting against the couch.

I could live in this moment forever. Just us, just this.

Hong’s thoughts:

I like how everyone is just… here.

He had a pillow hugged to his chest, legs tucked up as he sat on the rug, close to Nut without touching. He liked hearing his friends breathe. It was grounding in a way that no crowd or spotlight ever could be.

Nut’s quiet. I wonder if he’s falling asleep.

He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to disturb anything. He looks peaceful. He’s always beautiful like that.

Lego’s thoughts:

I should get a new guitar strap. The one I have is kind of fraying.

He was lying on his stomach, idly scrolling on his phone, not really reading anything. Just thinking.

I could write something about this feeling. Like… sunlight and slow breaths. Would that be too cheesy?

He smiled to himself. Doesn’t matter. I’ll write it anyway.

Tui’s thoughts:

I think I’m hungry, but also… I don’t want to move.

Tui was half-asleep, nestled into a beanbag chair like a cat in a sunspot. One shoe had fallen off. His arm dangled toward an empty snack bag he’d been too lazy to toss.

This is the good kind of nothing. Not bored. Just… still.

He yawned quietly. Maybe I’ll nap. Maybe I’ll dream about ramen.

William’s thoughts:

It’s rare that we’re all quiet like this.

He sat with his back against the wall, legs stretched out, a book open in his lap — but he hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes.

I used to hate silence like this. I used to think it meant I wasn’t doing enough. But now... it feels earned.

He glanced across the room at Est’s hoodie draped over the back of a chair.

Maybe I’ll make tea for him.

The room stayed like that for a while — no words, just thoughts and light and the soft rhythm of five people who didn’t need to speak to feel close.

Sometimes, the silence said everything.