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Chapter 61: ✦Things That Don’t Get Fixed✦

The first thing Kang-Joon noticed was that Do-Hyun stopped oversleeping.

He used to be the last one out of bed. Not excessively so; just enough that someone would knock on his door once, sometimes twice. He’d answer groggily, hair sticking up, voice thick with sleep.

Now he was already dressed when Kang-Joon woke up.

The dorm was quiet. Too quiet. Kang-Joon checked the time and frowned. It was earlier than their call time by almost an hour.

Do-Hyun sat at the small kitchen table with a notebook open in front of him.

He wasn’t writing.

His eyes moved across the page slowly, as if rereading the same line again and again.

"You’re up early," Kang-Joon said.

Do-Hyun looked up at once. "Good morning, hyung."

His voice was clear. Awake. Alert.

Kang-Joon glanced at the notebook. It was filled with practice notes—formations, counts, reminders written in neat handwriting.

"You didn’t sleep?" Kang-Joon asked.

"I slept," Do-Hyun answered. "Enough."

"How much is enough?"

Do-Hyun paused. "Four hours."

"That’s not enough."

"It’s fine," he said. "I don’t need more."

Need.

Not want.

Kang-Joon poured himself water, watching him from the corner of his eye.

"You’ll burn out," Kang-Joon said.

Do-Hyun smiled faintly. "I won’t."

The certainty in his voice unsettled him.

---

The schedule that day was brutal.

Radio recording in the morning. A variety show appearance after lunch. Dance practice squeezed in between. An interview at night.

They moved from one location to another without pause.

At the radio station, the host asked the usual questions.

"How does it feel to win a Daesang so early in your career?"

Gun-woo laughed. Han-bin answered earnestly. Jae-hyun spoke with practiced clarity.

"And what about you, Do-Hyun?" the host asked. "You always look so bright. Are you happy these days?"

Do-Hyun smiled into the mic.

"Yes," he said.

No hesitation. No emphasis.

Just a single word.

The fans in the booth cooed.

Kang-Joon felt his jaw tighten.

---

At lunch, Do-Hyun picked at his food.

Kang-Joon watched him move rice around his plate without lifting it to his mouth.

"You’re not eating," Kang-Joon said.

"I am," Do-Hyun replied, lifting his chopsticks and taking a small bite.

He chewed carefully. Slowly.

Then stopped.

"I’ll finish later," he said.

There was no later.

---

Practice that afternoon ran long.

The choreographer pushed them harder than usual, tweaking details now that their status had changed.

"Your standard is higher now," she said. "You can’t afford to look tired."

Do-Hyun nodded.

When his foot slipped during a turn, it barely registered.

Still, he froze.

"I’m sorry," he said immediately.

"No need to apologize," the choreographer replied. "Just reset."

Do-Hyun bowed anyway.

Again.

And again.

After practice ended, the others collapsed onto the floor.

Do-Hyun didn’t.

He stayed standing, breathing shallowly, eyes fixed on the mirror.

"Go rest," Kang-Joon said.

"I want to run it again."

"You nailed it."

"I can do better."

Kang-Joon stepped closer. "You’re exhausted."

Do-Hyun finally looked at him.

"I can’t be," he said.

The words were flat.

Kang-Joon searched his face for something—anger, frustration, anything.

There was nothing.

---

The interview that night took place in a quiet studio.

The questions turned more personal.

"What keeps you going when things get hard?"

Jae-hyun spoke about ambition. Han-bin talked about gratitude.

When it was Do-Hyun’s turn, he hesitated.

Kang-Joon’s heart skipped.

"I don’t think about it," Do-Hyun said finally. "I just keep going."

The interviewer smiled. "That’s admirable."

Do-Hyun nodded.

The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

---

Back at the dorm, Gun-woo joked about collapsing for twelve hours straight. Han-bin disappeared into his room without a word. Jae-hyun stayed up, checking messages.

Kang-Joon knocked on Do-Hyun’s door.

No answer.

He knocked again.

"Do-Hyun."

Silence.

Kang-Joon opened the door.

The lights were on.

Do-Hyun sat on the bed, phone in his hands, staring at the screen.

He didn’t look up.

"Why aren’t you sleeping?" Kang-Joon asked.

"I will," Do-Hyun said.

"When?"

"Soon."

Kang-Joon crossed the room and sat beside him.

"What are you looking at?"

Do-Hyun hesitated. Then turned the screen slightly.

It was a forum post.

A compilation of comments praising him.

He’s always smiling.

He never complains.

He works so hard even though he’s the youngest.

Kang-Joon felt sick.

"You don’t need to read that," he said.

"I should," Do-Hyun replied. "It’s important."

"Why?"

"So I know what to do."

Kang-Joon frowned. "What you’re supposed to be?"

Do-Hyun’s grip tightened around the phone.

"So I don’t disappoint anyone."

There it was.

Not fear of failure.

Fear of deviation.

"You’re allowed to rest," Kang-Joon said quietly.

"If I rest," Do-Hyun replied, "someone else could take my place."

"No one’s replacing you."

"That’s not true."

He finally looked up.

His eyes were sharp. Focused. Awake in a way that hurt to see.

"I’ve seen trainees disappear for less," Do-Hyun said. "I know how this works."

"You debuted."

"That doesn’t mean anything."

The room felt smaller.

"You think winning a Daesang means we’re safe?" Do-Hyun continued. "People fall from higher places all the time."

Kang-Joon didn’t argue.

Because he knew that was true.

---

Two days later, the first article appeared.

A harmless one.

STEL-R’s maknae looks exhausted amid packed schedule.

Fans defended him. The company brushed it off.

Do-Hyun didn’t react.

He practiced longer.

Slept less.

Smiled wider.

Kang-Joon caught him washing his hands late at night, scrubbing until his skin turned red.

"Stop," Kang-Joon said, grabbing his wrist.

Do-Hyun flinched.

"I’m dirty," he said.

"From what?"

"I don’t know."

His breathing quickened.

Kang-Joon released him slowly.

"You’re not dirty."

Do-Hyun stared at the sink.

"I don’t want to mess this up," he said.

Kang-Joon’s throat tightened.

"Mess what up?"

"Everything."

---

The manager called Kang-Joon aside the next morning.

"We’re keeping an eye on Do-Hyun," he said. "He’s valuable. Fans love him."

Kang-Joon waited.

"But," the manager continued, "he needs to hold it together. No mistakes. Not now."

"What if he needs rest?" Kang-Joon asked.

The manager smiled thinly. "Everyone needs rest. That doesn’t mean everyone gets it."

Kang-Joon walked away without replying.

---

That night, Do-Hyun collapsed during practice.

It wasn’t dramatic.

He simply sat down and didn’t get back up.

"I’m okay," he said immediately when they rushed over.

His hands were shaking.

The choreographer frowned. "You’re done for today."

"I can continue."

"No."

Do-Hyun nodded and stood up too quickly, swaying.

Kang-Joon caught him.

Their eyes met.

For the first time, Do-Hyun looked afraid.

Not of failing.

Of stopping.

---

Later, as Kang-Joon lay awake, listening to the quiet hum of the dorm, a thought settled in his mind with terrible clarity.

This wasn’t exhaustion.

This wasn’t pressure.

This was someone erasing themselves one correct decision at a time.

And Kang-Joon didn’t know how to stop it.

Yet.

But he knew one thing.

If this continued, it wouldn’t matter how many awards they won.

They would lose him.

And something told Kang-Joon that this time—

There would be no coming back.