Archive of Our Own ^beta

The lunch courtyard of Dragon Hall is its usual brand of beautifully miserable: a cracked concrete square surrounded by iron-barred windows, rusty gutters dripping a slow and steady rhythm, and the overwhelming smell of fried grease and old magic clinging to the air like smoke.

Chaos churns around Hyunjin in waves: kids’ shouts, chairs scraping across stone, and the occasional flash of a knife. For most people, it’s overwhelming.

For them? It’s their playground.

Hyunjin sits on the uneven ledge of the courtyard steps, arms draped loosely over his knees, letting his gaze sweep across the scene with lazy confidence. His crown-prince-of-pettiness aura is on full display, hair somehow flawless despite the Isle’s humidity.

Around him, the boys move through the courtyard like it belongs to them.

Changbin is the loudest, obviously. He’d planted himself in front of two scrawny sophomores whose villain parents weren’t even important enough to earn a chapter in the old fairy tales. Changbin grins widely, broad shoulders blocking out the weak sunlight.

“You two know the drill,” he says, voice firm. “Lunch tax.”

They cave instantly, handing over their trays with trembling hands, and Changbin rewards them instantly with a satisfied pat on the back that nearly knocks Piper over.

“See. That was easy, and now you don’t have to eat this mystery slop. You’re welcome.”

Minho, meanwhile, doesn’t even need to speak. He’s leaning against the railing with the effortless menace of someone who could kill you with a raised eyebrow. Three students approach him like frightened birds, clutching their snack vouchers in sweaty fists.

Minho taps two fingers against rusted metal.

That’s all it takes. They drop the vouchers and run.

He scoops them up with a faint smirk and pockets them for later.

Jisung is off to the left, arms flailing enthusiastically as he spins an elaborate story for a freshman and his friends.

“…and then the east wing ghost—big guy, huge—crawled right out of the locker vents and ate all of last year’s seniors in one bite.”

The younger boys pale visibly. Jisung leans closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Unless you pay your hallway protection fee, of course. We can negotiate.”

They leave their lunches behind so fast that Hyunjin’s hair almost blows back.

Jeongin strolls past carrying a stack of at least four sandwiches, smug as a cat who’s learned how to open the fridge. A junior appears behind him, looking thoroughly shaken.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Jeongin calls out to the group, biting into a sandwich. “She just handed it to me and ran.”

Seungmin stands near the courtyard’s cracked fountain, back straight, hair perfectly combed despite the Isle’s humidity. In front of him are three freshmen, all shaking and trembling. He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t make a move. He simply studies them with that piercingTremaine gaze, sharp enough to skin you emotionally.

“We—we didn’t mean to—we didn’t say anything about you—”

Seungmin tilts his head slightly. “If you didn’t say anything,” he says calmly, “why are you apologizing?”

They freeze.

He lets the silence stretch just long enough for their souls to leave their bodies.

Then he offers a small, polite smile that somehow feels like a threat. “Lunch. All of it.”

They hand over their food like people confessing their sins, and Seungmin gives a sweet little bow of thanks before strolling back toward the group with a tray balanced effortlessly on one hand.

Hyunjin watches him approach with a low whistle. “You scare them more than Minho does.”

Seungmin shrugs. “Fear is efficient.”

Chan stands a few feet behind Hyunjin, casually supervising the chaos with all the authority of a future king and none of the enthusiasm. His arms are crossed, his expression unimpressed as he stares down a senior, who visibly wilts under the weight of that glare.

The kid hands over his lunch and three dessert tokens, mumbling something like “please don’t curse me” under his breath.

Chan doesn’t even blink. “Good choice,” he murmurs, tucking the tokens into Hyunjin’s jacket pocket like payment for babysitting duty.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, about to tease him for scaring literal infants, when—

Something prickles across his skin. A wrongness, almost. A quiet, creeping cold.

He scans the courtyard more intentionally now, heart ticking faster.

And it hits him like a punch:

Felix isn’t here.

No black-and-white Cruella jacket. No bright grin. No excited chatter or tiny thieving hands reaching for snacks. No spark of mischief lighting up the courtyard.

It’s like a color is missing from the world.

Hyunjin straightens, pulse skipping. He turns to Chan first, because if anyone knows Felix’s whereabouts, it’s him.

“Hey,” Hyunjin says quietly, nudging Chan’s arm. “Where’s Lix?”

Chan’s brows lift slightly, the faintest crease forming between them. “He’s not here?” He looks around, scanning the crowd again like he must’ve missed the boy somehow.

“He left early last night. He said he was going home. I… I haven’t seen him since.” That lands wrong. Horribly wrong.

Felix always sends a message. He always finds at least one of them in the morning, always shows up to take whatever scraps of affection they sneak him before Cruella can spoil it.

Minho drifts closer, catching the tension in Hyunjin’s posture.

“Felix didn’t come to first period,” he says, voice sharper than he intends. “I thought he was with you two.”

Jisung climbs onto the ledge beside Hyunjin, eyes wide. “He wasn’t at breakfast either. He didn’t even even steal my toast.” His voice wobbles on the last word, betraying something raw.

Seungmin exhales through his nose, calm but tense. “He didn’t show up to our study group either. He said Cruella had him running errands.” A flicker of guilt. “I should’ve checked on him.”

Changbin steps in, shoulders tense, his earlier confidence gone.“He never skips food,” he mutters. “Never. Not unless—”

Jeongin finishes the sentence without emotion, which somehow makes it worse. “—unless something made him.”

For a moment, the courtyard around them fades into background noise.

Hyunjin feels the wrongness sink deeper, curling cold fingers around his spine.

Felix missing isn’t just a problem. On the Isle, it’s a threat.

He pushes off the ledge abruptly, boots hitting the ground with a sharp thud.

“I’m not waiting around,” he says, voice low, fierce. “We’re skipping. All of us. We’re going to find him.”

Chan doesn’t even hesitate. “Agreed.”

Minho tightens his grip on his dagger, slipping it into his sleeve. “Let’s go.”

Jisung scrambles to his feet, grabbing his backpack even though he forgets to zip it. “We check the alleys near his place first,” he says. “Then the thrift blocks.”

Changbin cracks his knuckles, expression darkening in a way that promises violence. “If someone touched him, I’ll—”

Jeongin interrupts, voice steady but eyes burning. “Punch later. Find him first.”

Together, they move, a wave breaking quietly but violently across the courtyard.

Hyunjin feels his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

“Hold on, Lix,” he whispers as they slip out the back gate. “We’re coming.”

-

Winter on the Isle is not like winter anywhere else. It doesn’t drift in quietly with soft snowflakes or cozy frost. No, winter here arrives like a punishment.

The seven of them push into the narrow, crooked street that cuts behind Bargain Square, their breaths rising in pale, trembling puffs.

Hyunjin shoves his hands in his pockets, fingers stinging with the cold despite the leather gloves. His boots crunch through thin sheets of frozen muck, each step sounding too loud, too lonely.

They’ve searched three blocks already.

Three blocks, and nothing.

Chan’s breath fogs beside him, shoulders shaking faintly with shivers he tries, and fails, to hide. Even the future king of the Underworld isn't immune to winter's bite.

Behind them, Jisung lets out a pitiful whine that echoes off the brick. “Why are my toes numb? Someone tell my toes they’re not allowed to fall off.”

Changbin grumbles, “You’re fine.” Then, louder: “Keep moving.”

Jisung wraps his arms around himself and mutters, “I’m literally dying,” as he hops forward miserably.

Minho rolls his eyes but his lips are blue. Jeongin tugs his scarf higher. Seungmin huffs into gloved hands, fingers stiff.

Hyunjin wants to snap at them all, scream at them to stop wasting energy complaining, but the words won’t come, because each time one of them whimpers about the cold, Hyunjin feels his stomach clench painfully.

If they are freezing…

What about Felix?

Felix, whose wrists are small enough to wrap Hyunjin’s fingers around. Felix, whose shoulders jut out when he forgets to wear layers. Felix, who always runs his hands along the space heaters in their hideout and sighs like warmth is something he’s borrowing, not something he deserves.

Felix, who Cruella starves to punish him. Felix, who sometimes pretends he ate dinner so Chan won’t give him his own portion. Felix, whose bones chill fast, who curls into a ball even under three blankets, who sniffles in autumn like it’s midwinter.

Hyunjin feels the thought hit him like a fist to the throat:

If Felix spent the night outside, he could’ve gotten sick. He could’ve gotten hypothermia. He could be—

Hyunjin stops walking for a second because something sharp and terrified inside him threatens to crack wide open.

The wind catches his coat and whips it back around his legs, slicing right through the thin warmth he’s holding onto. His eyes sting—from the cold, he tells himself, from the cold—but he knows it’s more than that.

He growls low under his breath, furious at himself.

He shouldn’t feel this. Not here. Not on the Isle, where affection is a liability, where care is weakness, and where soft things get eaten alive.

He was raised—trained—to be sharp edges and cold eyes. Untouchable and untamable.

But when it comes to Felix? His walls might as well be made of wet paper.

It infuriates him. It terrifies him. And yet… he can’t extinguish that instinctive pull, that protective thrum that has lived in his chest since the first time he ever found Felix shivering behind the junkyard, trying to hide the fact he’d been crying.

Hyunjin forces himself to breathe, to move, to stay present, even as dread coils around his throat like a tightening hand.

The group spreads out across the alley, checking every doorway, every dumpster, every patch of shadow where a small boy might curl up to escape the night wind.

Minho stomps snow off his shoes near a half-collapsed fire escape. “Not here.”

Chan pushes aside a torn curtain hanging from a broken window. “Not inside either.”

Seungmin kicks at a pile of crates, voice tight. “Nothing.”

Jisung ducks beneath a rusted staircase. “Hyunjin… it’s getting colder. Like… a lot colder.”

And it is. Even the air feels heavier, crueler, like the Isle itself is pressing down on them.

Hyunjin’s pulse hammers. He knows Felix hates the cold. He knows Felix’s body doesn’t handle it well. He knows Felix shakes even in mild weather sometimes.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and the freezing air burns on the way down. This is wrong. This is bad. This is—

Then, out of nowhere, a memory punches through him.

A rickety ladder, scratched wood, and a small, hidden clearing behind the junkyard.

Felix, smiling shyly as he said, “It’s not much… but it’s mine.”

The tree house.

A place Felix only went when he wanted to disappear, when he wanted to hide his bruises, or when he didn’t want them to see him hurting.

Hyunjin’s whole body goes rigid.

“I know where he is,” he whispers, voice almost cracking.

Chan turns instantly. “Where?”

Hyunjin licks his lips, heart racing so hard it hurts.

“The tree house,” he says, louder now, certain.

All seven boys still, and go pale at once.

And before any of them can speak, Hyunjin is already running—boots skidding across frozen pavement, breath slicing the air—

Because if Felix is up there alone, in this cold…

He doesn’t finish the thought.

He just runs.

-

Hyunjin barely registers the cold anymore. Not the bite of the wind against his cheeks, not the way his fingers burn from gripping the frozen ladder rungs. His breath tears out of him in harsh, uneven bursts as he climbs, but he doesn’t slow. The world has shrunk into a single frantic heartbeat, thundering in his ears as he pulls himself up toward the crooked platform of the old tree house.

The boards creak mournfully when he swings himself inside. The air up here is colder than outside, trapped and unmoving, biting at his skin. For a moment, his vision blurs from the sudden shift in temperature and adrenaline. Then it sharpens—

And he sees him.

Felix is curled in the far corner, wedged between two warped planks of the wall as if he was trying to disappear into the wood itself. Felix had dragged a handful of threadbare blankets around himself, but they’re too thin to fight winter. Frost clings to the edges of the fabric, sparkling faintly in the dim light seeping through the slats.

Hyunjin’s breath catches painfully in his throat.

Felix isn’t just asleep. He’s motionless in a way that sends pure terror scraping down Hyunjin’s spine.

His face is pale, unnaturally pale, except for the angry flush across the bridge of his nose, where the skin is raw from cold. His lips are tinged blue. Frost has gathered in the soft lashes resting against his cheeks, turning them stiff and white. His breaths are shallow, barely enough to lift the thin blankets covering his chest.

Worse, his hands.

Hyunjin crawls forward on instinct, reaching out before he can think. Felix’s fingers are rigid, curled loosely as if his body tried to shiver but didn’t have the strength. When Hyunjin touches them, a bolt of horror shoots through him, they’re icy to the point of numbness. For a moment, he can’t even feel Felix’s pulse beneath his thumb, and the fear that strikes him is so raw he almost can’t breathe.

“Felix,” he whispers, the name nearly breaking on his tongue. “Please…”

Felix doesn’t stir.

Hyunjin swallows hard and forces himself forward, kneeling beside him. When he pulls back the blankets to wrap his coat around the younger boy, he sucks in a sharp breath. The bruises bloom across Felix’s ribs like violent shadows, deep purples and sickly greens smearing across fragile-looking skin. A long scrape cuts diagonally across his shoulder, swollen and red, the edges still raw.

Cruella. It’s unmistakable.

Hyunjin’s vision darkens at the edges, a low, rumbling sound rising in his chest before he can stop it. Rage curls through him, hot and fierce, but helplessly tangled with grief. He wraps his coat around Felix with trembling hands, tucking it close, trying to give him even a fraction of warmth.

“You should’ve come to me,” he murmurs, the words rough with pain. “I told you. I told you my mother would take you in. I told you you’d be safe with us. We live in a castle, Felix. A real castle. Why did you stay here… why did you let her…?”

His voice cracks before he can finish. He presses a hand to Felix’s cheek again, desperate for even a flicker of warmth, some sign that the boy he knows—bright, warm, stubborn Felix—is still somewhere beneath this frightening stillness.

Footsteps thud on the ladder below. Voices came from below, ragged, breathless, and afraid.

Chan appears first, climbing the last rungs so fast he nearly slips. His hair is dusted with frost, and the cold has brought a flushed burn across his cheeks. His eyes go straight to Felix and widen, horror washing over his face so suddenly he chokes on his own breath.

“Hyunjin—” he gasps, stumbling the last step inside. “Is he—?”

Minho pushes in right behind him, face pale beneath the dark of his hair. His gaze drops to Felix, taking in the bruises, the shallow breaths, and the unnatural stillness. His lips part, but no sound comes out at first, like the shock momentarily stole the air from his lungs.

Hyunjin shakes his head, the movement small and helpless. “He hasn’t woken up.”

Chan drops to his knees beside them so fast the wood groans under the force. He presses the back of his hand to Felix’s cheek, then his forehead, his expression tightening with each second. His fingers tremble as he moves to check Felix’s pulse, barely brushing his frozen skin.

“He’s freezing,” Chan breathes, voice shaking. “He’s ice-cold. His body’s—he’s not… he’s not even shivering anymore.”

The words hit Hyunjin like a strike to the chest. He knows what that means. Not the word, not the medical explanation, but the danger. The fear. The instinctive dread.

Minho leans forward, brushing Felix’s hair back gently, almost reverently. “We can’t leave him here,” he says, voice breaking on the edges. “He won’t last out in this cold.”

Chan nods sharply, pulling himself together with visible effort. “We need to get him inside. Somewhere warm. The hideout, now. Right now.”

Hyunjin doesn’t wait for confirmation. He slides his arms beneath Felix, lifting him with a gentleness at odds with the furious pounding of his heart. Felix is limp in his arms, far too light, far too cold. His head falls against Hyunjin’s collarbone, and the contact nearly undoes him.

Chan steadies Felix’s legs. Minho hovers behind them, hands braced as they maneuver through the hatch. The climb down the ladder feels endless—every step a prayer, every shift of weight a nightmare—but they get him to the ground, surrounded instantly by the others.

Their faces all mirror the same expression: fear, guilt, anger, and desperation.

“Go,” Chan orders, voice firm but thin with panic. “Run.”

And so they do.

Hyunjin clutches Felix against his chest, shielding him from the wind as they tear through the junkyard, their breath tearing through the freezing air, their footsteps pounding against the frozen earth.

The hideout isn’t far. But to Hyunjin, it feels a lifetime away.

He holds Felix tighter, as if he can will warmth into him, as if he can anchor him to the world through sheer force of will.

“Stay with me,” he whispers into Felix’s hair, the wind swallowing the words. “Please, Lix… don’t leave us.”

He runs faster.

By the time they reach the hideout, Hyunjin’s lungs feel raw, each breath scraping like ice down his throat. The others burst in behind him, boots slamming the floor, doors thrown shut with a force that rattles the hinges. The place is dim, cluttered, smelling faintly of dust and the dying ember of last night’s fire, but it’s home. It’s safe. And right now, it’s all they have.

Hyunjin doesn’t stop moving. He carries Felix straight toward the back wall where their ancient, half-functional space heater sits plugged into an outlet that sparks on the best of days.

Changbin rushes ahead to flip it on, slamming the knob past the faded numbers until it clicks and sputters, coughing out a weak stream of heat that grows steadier, louder, like a heartbeat.

“Move those blankets!” he barks, voice cracking under the strain. Jisung dives for the pile of old quilts and knitted throws, tossing them aside until the floor is clear.

Hyunjin sinks down against the wall, pulling Felix into his lap, forming a curl of protection around the younger’s tiny frame. The boy is still far too cold, even through Hyunjin’s jacket, even with Hyunjin’s body pressed along his back and chest. His skin feels like winter metal, his breaths thin and trembling, each one accompanied by a faint hitch that sends fear knifing through Hyunjin’s ribs.

Chan kneels beside them, panting, shaking, his eyes scanning Felix’s face like he’s terrified to look away. “Keep him against you,” he urges quietly, though Hyunjin was never going to let go in the first place. “Your body heat will help. Minho, find more blankets. Jisung, hot water, anything warm, hurry.”

Chaos erupts, the boys tearing through the hideout, grabbing anything that could help. Blankets, jackets, scarves, old pillows, even a half-ripped comforter from the couch. Minho throws the softest ones over Felix, covering him from shoulder to toe, layering them until the younger is swaddled like a fragile thing needing protection from the world.

Hyunjin tightens his arms around him, pulling Felix closer, pressing Felix’s cheek against the heat of his neck. The space heater hums louder now, radiating a wave of warmth that mixes with Hyunjin’s own rising heat, creating a little pocket of safety in the middle of their crumbling hideout.

“Come on,” Hyunjin whispers, rubbing Felix’s arms in slow, steady strokes. “Come on, baby. You need to wake up. Just a little.”

Felix makes a faint sound—a thin, broken whimper—and Hyunjin’s breath stutters. The boy shifts against him, barely an inch, but it’s movement. It’s life. His body twitches with the smallest shiver now, like an engine trying to restart.

Jisung rushes over with a steaming mug, hands shaking. “I don’t know if he can drink yet—I don’t know—what do we do?”

Chan takes the mug carefully and sets it aside. “Not yet. He’s too out of it. Let him warm more first.”

Hyunjin barely hears them. All his focus is on the boy in his arms.

Felix’s lashes flutter. His lips part, and a weak gasp trembles out of him, his cold breath brushing Hyunjin’s collarbone.

Then his eyes open—barely more than slits, unfocused and glassy—but they’re open.

“Felix?” Hyunjin breathes, the word trembling.

Felix blinks slowly, pupils sluggish, eyes darting around before they finally land on Hyunjin’s face. Recognition flickers there, faint and fragile, but real.

“H-Hyunnie…?” The voice is cracked, slurred, small. “It’s… cold.” His fingers twitch weakly against Hyunjin’s chest, trying to curl in, trying to get closer. “Hurts…”

Hyunjin’s heart shatters. He pulls Felix tighter, cupping the back of his head, pressing their foreheads together. “I know. I know, baby. You’re safe now. I’ve got you. Just stay with me.” His voice turns softer, steadier, grounding. “You’re warm here. You’re okay here.”

Felix’s eyes drift closed again, his breathing slowing but losing some of that horrible shallow panic. His head tucks beneath Hyunjin’s chin, and the younger lets out a fragile sigh, edging closer into the warmth like he’s instinctively burrowing toward the one place he feels safe.

“Hyunjin…?” he murmurs again, voice drifting.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin whispers, brushing a thumb across Felix’s cheek. “I’m right here.”

Felix relaxes in his arms, fingers going limp, body slowly, subtly warming against Hyunjin’s chest. Exhaustion pulls at him, dragging him back under, but this time he falls asleep gently, not desperately, wrapped in blankets, surrounded by warmth, cocooned in Hyunjin’s hold.

Hyunjin holds him tighter as his breathing evens out, as the others sit around them in a wide protective circle, eyes on Felix, the fear still lingering but softened now with relief.

“I’ve got you,” Hyunjin whispers into Felix’s hair, voice low and fierce. “I’m not letting you go.”

Felix doesn’t answer, but his cheek presses deeper against Hyunjin’s chest, as if acknowledging it.

And Hyunjin stays right where he is.

-

The hideout stays dim and warm, lit only by the rattling space heater and the scattered lamps that flicker whenever the wind outside pushes against the walls. The boys linger in a loose circle around Felix and Hyunjin, none of them able to drift far, all of them still wired with cold adrenaline and protective fury.

Hyunjin sits with his back pressed against the wall, Felix wrapped securely in his arms and layers of blankets draped over both of them. Even now that Felix’s body holds warmth again, Hyunjin refuses to ease his hold. His arms form a protective cage around the younger boy, one hand cupped behind Felix’s head, the other resting against his ribs as if Hyunjin can shield him from the bruises, from the wind, from everything that ever hurt him.

Chan sits closest, elbows braced on his knees, running a trembling hand through his hair. His eyes flick constantly to Felix, watching each rise and fall of his chest with a fear he’s trying very hard not to show.

Minho, usually sharp and sarcastic, is half-collapsed against one of the battered couches, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles are white. Every so often he mutters curses under his breath—dark, vicious ones—directed at Cruella, at the Isle, at everything that put Felix in danger.

Changbin paces the cramped space back and forth, fists constantly tightening. “We should burn her damn place down,” he growls under his breath for what must be the sixth time. “Or at least scare her so bad she won’t even look at Felix again.”

Jisung, curled into one of the blankets near Felix’s feet, nods feverishly. “We could get the pirates in on it,” he says, voice strained. “Hongjoong owes us, like, five favors. And Seongwha hates Cruella anyway. We could, I dunno, steal all her coats and throw them into the ocean.”

Jeongin snorts, though the humor is thin. “That wouldn’t teach her enough of a lesson.”

Seungmin, ever the calmest, sits with his back to the wall. He’s been quiet, but when he finally speaks, his voice is cold enough to frost the air. “We don’t need to scare her. We need to make sure she can’t touch him again.” A beat. “And I’m not opposed to calling the pirates.”

That earns a chorus of agreement.

Minho looks at Chan. “We should handle this carefully. If we’re sloppy, she’ll take it out on him.”

Chan nods grimly. “We’ll plan it. Map it out. Track her movements. And we’ll loop in Hongjoong’s crew. Cruella won’t know what hit her.”

They keep talking—plotting, coordinating, and sharpening plans—but Hyunjin barely listens. His world is reduced to the warm weight in his arms, to the soft breaths brushing his collarbone, to the faint shivers that have slowly, blessedly faded.

He doesn’t move. Not once.

The hours slip by like melting ice. The heater hums on. The boys settle around him, some drifting in and out of exhausted half-sleep. But Hyunjin stays awake, stiff and aching, holding Felix as if letting go would unravel him.

Only when a soft rustle vibrates against his chest does he realize Felix is stirring again.

Felix blinks, eyes heavy with sleep, pupils slow to focus. His hair is damp with sweat from warming up, his cheeks tinged pink now, alive with color again. He shivers—not with cold this time, but with the remnants of fear—and looks around in confusion.

Seungmin rises quietly, bringing a cup of warm tea he prepared earlier. He kneels beside Hyunjin, voice gentle as he holds it out. “Felix. Sip this. Slowly.”

Felix struggles to sit upright, wincing as his ribs protest. Hyunjin helps him, adjusting his hold, supporting his back, moving as if Felix might break under the wrong touch.

The first sip sends a visible tremor down Felix’s body. “It’s warm…” he whispers, voice raw, cracked at the edges.

Seungmin nods, watching carefully. “Good. Drink.”

Felix takes a few more tiny sips, then lowers the cup, breath shaking. His eyes drift downward, guilt creeping into his features. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to scare everyone.”

Minho snaps before he can help himself. “Scare us? Felix, what happened?”

Felix hesitates. His fingers tighten around the mug. “I… didn’t finish one of my chores,” he says softly. “Cruella said the collars needed polishing, but I forgot because I was working on my homework. She… she got really mad.”

The understatement knocks the air from the room.

Felix swallows hard, gaze dropping. “She hit me. More than usual. I didn’t want to stay there afterward, so I went to the tree house. I thought it would be warmer. I didn’t know how cold it would get.”

“Felix,” Minho says, voice breaking on the edges, “next time, you go to the hideout. Always. No excuses.”

“I couldn’t,” Felix whispers. “My back hurt too much to walk that far.”

Hyunjin goes rigid.

His hold on Felix tightens just enough to draw the younger’s attention. Felix blinks up at him, confused, cheeks flushing faintly at the intensity in Hyunjin’s eyes.

Hyunjin swallows, then speaks with a soft fierceness that feels like it comes from somewhere deeper than his ribs. “If you can’t get to the hideout, you come to my house. You know that. I told you a thousand times.” He brushes a strand of Felix’s hair back behind his ear. “My mother loves you. She’d feed you, warm you, tuck you into the biggest bed in the castle. You don’t ever have to stay with her. Not ever.”

Felix looks stunned, eyes wide, a tiny trembling blush blooming across his cheeks. “Hyunnie…” he breathes, voice small.

There’s no time to linger in the sweetness. Seungmin moves closer, rolling up Felix’s sleeve to check the bruises along his arm. Jisung kneels on his other side, gently lifting Felix’s shirt to assess the damage on his ribs and back.

Felix winces, flinching at the cold air, and Hyunjin immediately pulls the blankets closer around him.

“We’re just checking,” Seungmin murmurs. “We need to know what needs cleaning.”

The bruises are terrible. Angry purple blossoms and swollen marks, abrasions where skin broke, and scratches that still look raw. Minho brings over the first-aid box—their old, mismatched supplies—and they begin patching Felix up: antiseptic on the cuts, salve on the swelling, and gauze taped carefully over the worst spots.

Felix keeps his face half-hidden against Hyunjin’s shoulder the whole time, shoulders trembling, breaths tight with the effort not to cry.

Hyunjin can feel every tremor. Every quiet gasp. Every moment of pain, and he hates it. He hates all of it.

Once the last bandage is in place, Hyunjin lifts his head and looks at the others. His eyes are dark, dangerous.

“Enough,” he says quietly. “Give him space. I’ve got him.”

They exchange glances—worried, exhausted, and reluctant to leave Felix—but they understand. They trust Hyunjin. They trust Felix is safest in his arms.

One by one, they stand and step away, settling further back in the hideout, giving the two of them a pocket of quiet warmth in the dim, humming room.

Felix stays curled against Hyunjin’s chest, slowed breaths brushing the older boy’s skin.

The hideout grows quiet after the others settle back, a distant murmuring of whispered plans, anger simmering in low voices, and the soft hum of the space heater working overtime. But in the small cocoon of blankets surrounding Hyunjin and Felix, everything feels still. Almost suspended.

Felix’s breathing has evened out, though not fully steady. He’s tucked into Hyunjin’s chest, fists curled weakly in the fabric of Hyunjin’s shirt. His body, finally warm, feels smaller in a way that breaks something in Hyunjin’s ribs.

For a few minutes, Hyunjin thinks he’s fallen asleep again, until he feels Felix shift. Just a slight movement, a soft exhale brushing Hyunjin’s collarbone. Then a tiny whisper:

“…Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin lowers his head. “Yeah. I’m right here.”

Felix hesitates, fingers clutching just a little tighter. His voice is quiet, thready, trembling with something scared and fragile.

“Are you… mad at me?”

Hyunjin freezes.

Then he closes his eyes, pulls Felix impossibly closer, and lets out a slow, shaking breath against the younger boy’s hair. “No,” he murmurs. “God, no. Not mad.”

Felix shifts again, looking up. His eyes, still a little glazed from exhaustion, glimmer with uncertainty, hurt, and confusion. “You looked so upset. I thought maybe you were angry.”

The words slice through Hyunjin like ice.

He cups Felix’s cheek with one warm hand, thumb brushing gently under his eye. “Felix… I wasn’t angry at you.” His voice cracks. “I was terrified.”

Felix’s breath catches. “Terrified?”

Hyunjin nods, jaw tightening as the truth claws its way up. “When I found you up there, you were so cold. You weren’t waking up. And I—” He swallows hard. “I thought I was too late. I thought you wouldn’t open your eyes again. I’ve never… I’ve never been that scared in my life.”

Felix’s lashes flutter, his lips parting in a soft, stunned sound.

Hyunjin is quiet for a long moment. The kind of quiet that buzzes with emotion. Then, finally, he lets the words come.

“I care about you,” he whispers, voice trembling. “More than I’m supposed to. More than is safe for either of us on this island. I try not to. I really try. But every time you smile, I… I lose another piece of myself. And when you hurt, it feels like someone is squeezing my lungs.”

Felix stares at him, eyes wide, softening into something warm and aching.

Hyunjin exhales shakily. “I didn’t know how deep it went until tonight. Until I thought I was going to lose you.”

Felix’s whole face goes gentle—flushed, emotional, and overwhelmed—and he lifts a weak hand, resting it against Hyunjin’s chest. “Hyunnie…”

Hyunjin forces a smile. “Yeah?”

Felix blushes, the color blooming slowly across his cheekbones, and whispers, “I feel the same.”

Hyunjin goes still.

Felix’s voice wavers, but the honesty in it is unmistakable. “I like you. So much. Too much. It’s scary for me too. But when I saw you at the tree house… even barely-conscious, I knew it was you. I always feel safer with you. I always want to be with you.” A tiny pause. “I think I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

Hyunjin’s breath leaves him in a shudder.

He leans in, forehead resting against Felix’s, arms tightening gently around him. “Felix… can I—?”

Felix doesn’t even let him finish.

He lifts his chin the smallest bit—barely a tilt, barely a movement—but it’s enough.

Hyunjin closes the distance.

The kiss is soft. Barely pressure at first, warm and careful, a question folded into the gentlest touch. Felix’s lips tremble against his, cold still lingering on them, but he kisses back with a small, sleepy sigh that makes Hyunjin’s entire world tilt.

It’s not long, it’s not deep, just a soft, sweet press of warmth and truth.

But it’s everything.

Felix pulls back first, breath brushing Hyunjin’s mouth. “Hyunnie…”

Hyunjin cups his cheek again, brushing his thumb along Felix’s lower lip with a tenderness he didn’t know he could feel. “Rest,” he whispers. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Felix tucks himself back into Hyunjin’s chest, curling into him with quiet trust. “Stay with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hyunjin murmurs, pressing a kiss into Felix’s hair. “Not ever.”

Felix lets out a soft, relieved breath and drifts into sleep, protected and warm in Hyunjin’s embrace.

And Hyunjin holds him, heart full, refusing to let even an inch of space come between them.