I laughed despite myself, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly, my fingers loosening their death grip on the cup. "Speaking from experience?"
"Hwan's stubbornness has only gotten worse since our pack bonds formed." Jin-ho said dryly, but there was warmth underneath the words, affection he didn't bother to hide, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "But that's my point. He didn't become someone else. He became more himself. More Hwan than he'd ever been."
"You really believe that?" I asked, searching his face for any sign of uncertainty, my heart beating faster as I waited for his answer.
"I know it." Jin-ho set down his tea, leaning forward with unusual intensity, his amber-honey eyes burning with quiet conviction, his elbows braced on his knees. "The bond won't erase you, Keira. It won't make you into someone you're not. It'll just give you... more of us. And we'll get more of you. The real you. The you that you're already becoming, here, with us."
The bond pulsed warmly, resonating with the truth of his words. I could feel it — the way the bond didn't demand or reshape, just... connected.
"Thank you." I said softly, meaning it more than I could express, my eyes stinging with emotion, my voice thick with gratitude. Jin-ho nodded, picking up his tea again, the moment settling into comfortable quiet, but his eyes stayed on me — watchful, protective, patient.
I found Tae-min in the practice room after lunch. He was alone, which was unusual — normally he practiced withthe others or not at all. But today he was running through choreography by himself, his movements sharp and precise, his vivid cherry-red hair bright against the mirror-lined walls.
He stopped when he saw me in the doorway, breathing hard, sweat gleaming on his forehead, his chest heaving from exertion.
"Hey." Tae-min grabbed a towel, wiping his face as he crossed toward me, his ocean-breeze-and-mint scent cutting through the air, his expression shifting from focus to warmth. "Didn't expect company."
"Am I interrupting?" I asked, hovering at the threshold, uncertain if I was welcome, my fingers curling around the doorframe.
"Never." Tae-min tossed the towel aside and gestured me in, his grin easy despite the exertion, his dark chocolate eyes bright with warmth, his body language open and inviting. "What's on your mind? And don't say nothing, because I can literally feel you thinking from across the room."
I stepped inside, the door closing behind me with a soft click. The practice room felt different empty — larger, more intimate somehow.
"I have a question." I said, wrapping my arms around myself, my voice small in the open space, my eyes meeting his nervously. "About the heat."
Tae-min's expression softened, the playful energy dimming to something more serious, his jaw tightening slightly with concern. He moved closer, not crowding, just present, his attention fully focused on me.
"Ask." Tae-min said simply, his voice gentle, his wide brown eyes patient on my face, his hands hanging loose at his sides.
"What if I panic?" The words came out in a rush wanting to see how he would answer me like the others, my hands clenching at my sides. "During the heat. What if I freeze up or freak outor ruin everything? What if I can't... what if it's too much and I just... break?"
Tae-min was quiet for a moment, his dark chocolate eyes studying my face, something soft flickering in his expression. Then he laughed — soft, gentle, not mocking at all, his shoulders relaxing.
"Keira." Tae-min reached out, his hand finding mine, his fingers threading through mine with easy familiarity, his grip warm and grounding. "If you panic, we stop. If you freeze, we wait. If you freak out, we calm you down. That's not ruining everything. That's just... being human."
"But the heat—" I started, my voice cracking with anxiety, my fingers tightening around his.
"Is something we navigate together." Tae-min squeezed my hand, his grip firm and grounding, his ocean-breeze scent wrapping around me, his voice steady and certain. "That's what pack means, remember? You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to know all the answers or have everything figured out. You just have to let us be there."
"What if I mess it all up?" I asked, smaller now, my biggest fear laid bare between us, my eyes searching his face desperately.
"Then we figure it out together." Tae-min said, his voice warm and certain, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of my hand, his puppy-like brown eyes soft with understanding. "That's what I keep saying. That's what we all keep saying. There's no messing up that we can't handle together. There's no panic or fear or freak-out that will make us leave."
I stared at him — the youngest of the pack, his red hair vivid under the practice room lights, but speaking with a certainty that made him seem older than his twenty-three years.
"How are you so calm about all of this?" I asked, genuine wonder coloring my voice, my head tilting as I studied him.
"I'm not." Tae-min admitted, his grin turning slightly sheepish, vulnerability flickering in his expressive eyes, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm terrified, honestly. But I'm more terrified of not having you than of anything that might go wrong. And I think that's what love is, right? Being scared but choosing to jump anyway."
Love. He'd said love, so casually, like it was obvious. Like it was simple.
"Tae-min..." I started, not sure what I wanted to say, my voice catching on his name.
"You don't have to say it back." Tae-min said quickly, echoing Hwan, echoing Min-jun, all of them so careful with me, his expression earnest and open. "I just wanted you to know. Whatever happens, whatever you decide — we're not going anywhere. Not ever."
Min-jun found me in the nest.
I'd retreated there after my conversation with Tae-min, overwhelmed by the weight of everything I was feeling. The scent-soaked blankets and pillows helped, grounding me in something physical when my thoughts threatened to spiral.
