"Okay," I heard myself say. "Something real."
Tae-min's smile was like the sun breaking through clouds — bright and warm and genuinely happy in a way that made something flutter in my chest. He leaned back against the shelving unit across the aisle, maintaining the distance I'd demanded but settling in like he had all the time in the world.
"I hate being the youngest," he said simply, and the admission clearly caught me off guard because I felt my eyebrows shoot up. "Not being in the group — I love that. But being the maknae means everyone treats me like I'm fragile. Like I need protection. Like I can't handle hard things." He shrugged, his casual posture belied by the intensity in his eyes. "I was nineteen when we debuted. I've been an adult for years. Jae-won-hyung still checks that I've eaten, and Min-jun-hyung still worries when I stay up too late, and even Hwan-hyung — who's only two years older than me — acts like I need to be shielded from anything difficult."
"That sounds frustrating," I offered carefully, not sure what else to say.
"It is," Tae-min agreed, nodding emphatically. "I know they do it because they love me. I know they can't help their alpha instincts. But sometimes I just want to be trusted to handle things on my own." He paused, something flickering in his expression. "That's part of why I'm glad I found you instead of one of my hyungs."
"Why?" I asked, genuinely curious despite myself.
"Because they would have tried to fix everything immediately," Tae-min said honestly. "Jae-won-hyung would have gone into full pack alpha mode. Min-jun-hyung would havetried to take care of you whether you wanted it or not. Even Hwan-hyung..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "They mean well. But they're not always good at listening. Not when their instincts are screaming at them to act."
"And you are?" I couldn't keep the skepticism out of my voice. "Good at listening?"
Tae-min's smile turned rueful. "I'm trying to be," he admitted. "I've had a lot of practice being talked over. Being the youngest means you learn to pay attention to what people need, because no one thinks to ask you. You learn to read between the lines."
Something about that resonated with me — the experience of being overlooked, of having to carve out space for yourself in a world that had already decided who you should be.
"I'm not ready," I said quietly, the words feeling less like a wall and more like an honest admission. "I know I keep saying that. I know the soul sickness is getting worse and I can't keep avoiding this forever. But I'm not ready to have a real conversation with all five of you. Not yet. I thought I would have more time to actually prepare instead of just... hiding and calling it something else."
Tae-min nodded slowly, something shifting in his expression — understanding, maybe, or acceptance. "Okay," he said quietly. "That's fair."
"That's it?" I asked, surprised by the lack of argument. "You're not going to try to convince me I'm wrong? Tell me the soul sickness will kill me if I don't let you help?"
"Would it work?" Tae-min asked simply, raising an eyebrow.
"...No," I admitted.
"Then what's the point?" He shrugged, his casual demeanor at odds with the intensity still simmering in his dark eyes. "You know the stakes. You're not stupid — you're scared. Those aredifferent things. And trying to logic someone out of fear doesn't work. Trust me, I've tried."
"With who?"
"Myself, mostly," Tae-min admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. "Before our debut, I was terrified. Convinced I wasn't good enough, that I'd let the hyungs down, that everyone would see through me and realize I didn't deserve to be there. And every time someone tried to tell me I was being irrational, it just made me feel worse. Like there was something wrong with me for being afraid."
I stared at him, this idol that millions of people adored, and tried to reconcile the image of the confident performer with the scared teenager he was describing.
"What helped?" I asked. "If logic didn't work?"
Tae-min was quiet for a moment, considering the question. "Time," he said finally. "And... experiencing things that contradicted my fear. I was afraid I'd mess up on stage, so I performed on stage and didn't mess up. I was afraid the hyungs would reject me, so I let them get close and they... didn't." He met my eyes, his gaze steady. "My fear was based on things I imagined might happen. The only cure was finding out what actually would."
Stop running long enough to find out who they actually are, Jeni's voice echoed again.Not who you're afraid they might be.
"That's what my friend said," I whispered. "That I'm killing myself to avoid a future I invented based on my mother's experience."
"Smart friend," Tae-min repeated, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe you should listen to her."
"I'm trying," I said, and this time the words felt less like an excuse and more like a genuine effort. "I really am trying. It's just... twelve years is a long time. I've built my whole life around this fear. I don't know how to be any other way."
"You don't have to figure it out all at once," Tae-min said gently. "No one's asking you to tear down twelve years of walls in a single day. We just..." He paused, swallowing hard, his mask of calm cracking slightly to show the desperate hope underneath. "We just want a chance. That's all. A chance to show you that we're not what you're afraid of."
My legs chose that moment to buckle. One second I was standing, gripping the shelving unit with white-knuckled desperation. The next, my knees gave out and I was falling, the world tilting sickeningly around me, the fluorescent lights streaking across my vision like shooting stars.
Tae-min moved.
He was fast — faster than I'd expected, alpha reflexes carrying him across the distance between us in a heartbeat. But he didn't touch me. At the last second, he dropped to his knees beside me, his hands hovering inches from my body, close enough to catch me if I fell further but not quite making contact.
"Easy," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, his scent wrapping around me like a blanket despite the distance he maintained. Ocean spray and mint and that dark undertone of alpha need, but tempered now with concern, with care, with a tenderness that made my chest ache. "Easy, I've got you. I mean — I'm here. I won't touch you if you don't want me to. But I'm here."
