Juhoon

The digital clock on your nightstand glows a faint, harsh green: 2:34 AM.

Right on cue, the quiet click of your apartment door unlocking breaks the silence. A moment later, a tall, hooded figure slips inside, carefully locking the door behind him as if the entire paparazzi corps is waiting in the hallway.

It’s Juhoon.

The public knows him as the effortless, cool, and unbothered visual/ all rounder (i lowkey don’t like when people ONLY say a member is JUST a visual, so i made him an all rounder + visual :3) of his group. But as he pulls down his black face mask and kicks off his shoes, that pristine idol mask completely shatters. His shoulders slump. His eyes, usually bright for the cameras, are heavy with a bone-deep exhaustion from a grueling 15-hour schedule of nonstop choreo rehearsals and filming.

He doesn't say a word. He doesn't even drop his heavy gym bag on the floor properly. Instead, he follows the faint light from your bedroom like a moth to a flame.

The moment his eyes land on you sitting up in bed, a soft, pathetic little sigh escapes his lips. He crosses the room in three long, sluggish strides and completely collapses onto you. His heavy, warm frame presses you down into the mattress as he buries his face straight into the crook of your neck, his long arms wrapping around your waist in a tight, desperate lock. He breathes you in deeply, a shuddering breath leaving his chest as his entire body finally relaxes.

"Don't move," Juhoon mumbles, his voice incredibly low, rough, and raspy against your skin. He tightens his grip on your waist, anchoring himself to you as if you're the only real thing left in his world. "Please... just let me hold you. I'm so tired."