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There was nothing new about Joshua and Jeonghan fighting. It wasn’t loud, or cruel, or even particularly interesting anymore. It was just the same pattern, repeating itself like muscle memory, over and over again. A small spark of irritation, a dry remark from Jeonghan, a snarky reply from Joshua and that was all it took for them to spiral. People thought they were alike, but it was much more true than they realized.
This time, it was something about the laundry, or maybe it was about dinner, or maybe the fact that Joshua had forgotten to text Jeonghan that he’d be late. Whatever it was, it escalated quickly, the way it always did when they were both tired and too proud to concede to each other.
“Fine,” Jeonghan had said, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “If you don’t care, I won’t either.”
Joshua had sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s not what I said.”
“Sure feels like it.”
And that was how it started, just like other hundreds of spats that they’ve had since being in each other's orbits. By the time Seungcheol wandered into the kitchen, hair still damp from a shower, Jeonghan’s voice had gone sharp with frustration. Seungcheol looked between them, and—in what Joshua knew was instinct, not malice—went straight to Jeonghan, as he had always done.
“Hey, hey,” he murmured, hands warm on Jeonghan’s shoulders. “What’s going on?”
Jeonghan’s voice softened immediately, dissolving into whines and complaints against Seungcheol’s chest. Joshua had watched the scene, familiar to him as his own reflection, noting the comfort, the easy reassurance, the way Seungcheol’s hands smoothed over Jeonghan’s back, and felt that old, familiar ache lodge itself deeply in between his ribs.
Joshua wasn’t even angry, not really. He set his mug down, said quietly, “I’m going to bed,” and left before either of them thought to stop him.
Like every other petty spat that they had, Jeonghan and Joshua didn’t talk to each other for the next few days.
Joshua moved around the dorm with polite quietness, determined not to make it awkward for anyone else in the dorm, keeping his distance during meals, laughing at jokes when necessary. Jeonghan, stubborn as always, acted like Joshua was invisible, refusing to look at him or even speak a word to him. Seungcheol, ever the peacekeeper, tried not to take sides, but without realizing it, always did.
He’d stay close to Jeonghan when things were tense, checking in on him, making sure he’d eaten, teasing him until his mood lifted. Joshua didn’t mind, or at least, he told himself he didn’t. Seungcheol had always been like that with Jeonghan.
Joshua, meanwhile, had gotten used to patching up his own quiet feelings in private, soothing his own hurt. Growing up as an only child taught him a lot about mending his own feelings.
— —
A few days after their fight, everyone was in the dance studio, practicing for an upcoming show. The studio was loud, full of energy and music and the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor. Joshua was focused on his part, head down, gaze glued to the floor. Jeonghan and Seungcheol were a few meters away, practicing together, laughing between takes, while Joshua pointedly tried not to notice them.
When the choreographer called for a break, most of the members sat down, happy to catch their breath. Mingyu continued to go over a small solo dance break, and Joshua stayed with him too, counting beats quietly under his breath.
It all happened so fast, Joshua’s head was spinning before he even realized what happened. Mingyu turned too wide, his arm swinging out, and Joshua stepped aside a second too late. Mingyu’s elbow clipped his side, sending Joshua stumbling backward until his left shoulder collided with the wall, hard. The sound of impact made both of them freeze.
Joshua inhaled sharply, pain shooting through his shoulder like fire.
“Hyung!” Mingyu’s face went pale. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
Joshua straightened immediately, forcing a smile. “Hey, shush. Yeah. I’m fine, Gyu.”
Mingyu frowned, guilt etched across his face. “You hit the wall really hard, hyung—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Joshua interrupted, voice steady even though the pain hadn’t faded. “Seriously, I’m fine. You just surprised me a bit, that’s all.”
He rolled his shoulder once. Pain flared sharp and deep, but he bit it back, nodding reassuringly until Mingyu looked like he wasn't going to burst into tears anymore. “See? No problem.”
Joshua glanced over at Seungcheol and Jeonghan, but they hadn't noticed anything at all, still caught up in each other. Soon after, they went back to practice and Joshua kept his movements small and deliberate. He focused on the mirror, making sure his posture looked the same as everyone else’s, that his stance didn’t reveal the small, careful way he was holding himself. By the time they were dismissed, the dull ache had settled in, radiating up his neck. He let his bag strap slide over his right shoulder instead of the left, subtly adjusting so it wouldn’t press into the sore spot. He told himself it wasn’t worth mentioning to anyone, lest Mingyu get his feelings hurt.
The next morning, he studied himself in the bathroom mirror, noting the way the bruise had begun to bloom, spreading down to his collarbone in shades of purple. He pulled on a loose hoodie and left it at that, ignoring it.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan were already in the kitchen when he came out, sharing a plate of toast and something that sounded like inside jokes. Jeonghan’s laughter filled the space easily. Joshua smiled politely, grabbed a water bottle, and left without interrupting. Neither of them looked up.
Practice got harder. Every arm movement made his shoulder throb, as pain radiated from his shoulder. He adjusted his choreography when he could, shifting angles, using momentum to mask stiffness, making sure that no one would notice.
When Jeonghan absentmindedly brushed past him in the kitchen one night, shoulder grazing his injured side, Joshua flinched before he could stop himself. Jeonghan paused for a second, scrutinizing him, but said nothing, just continuing to the fridge. And if Seungcheol noticed his discomfort at all, he didn't bring it up.
Joshua exhaled, pressing a palm over the bruise once Jeonghan was gone, telling himself that the ache that he felt was only from the injury. He’d gotten so used to minimizing himself that it barely even hurt the way it used to.
— —
The soreness hadn’t faded with time. If anything, it had deepened—the muscle no longer just aching when he moved, but pulling insistently with each breath, reminding him that rest was not something he’d allowed himself. He tried to keep his left shoulder as still as possible, telling himself that if he moved carefully enough, it would be fine.
“Morning,” he murmured to no one in particular, setting his coffee down and stretching his right arm, careful not to mirror the motion on the left.
Seungcheol was already at the center, flipping through a clipboard. “Positions!” he called, without looking up.
The others filed into place. Joshua moved last, adjusting himself into the back corner of the formation. He was still settling his stance, trying not to jostle his shoulder too much, when Seungcheol’s gaze swept over him.
“Shua, closer to the center,” Seungcheol said. “You’re too far left.”
Joshua gave a small nod and inched sideways, but the move was slight. He didn’t want to take the long step it would require to fully align; the shift would force his shoulder to twist, and he knew what that would do to the throbbing ache that made itself known.
“Not enough,” Seungcheol said, already striding toward him. He reached out without hesitation, placing both hands on Joshua’s shoulders to pivot him into place.
The contact was so sudden, Joshua’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. A sharp, involuntary gasp broke from his throat, jagged and too loud for the sleepy morning air. His knees bent slightly as if his body wanted to curl away from the source, and his right hand shot up instinctively to grab Seungcheol’s wrist, halting the movement.
The room stilled as all the noise faded to nothing.
Seungcheol froze, his fingers still hovering near Joshua’s shoulder. “What—?”
Joshua swallowed hard, straightening as much as he could. “I’m fine,” he said quickly, but the words were thinner than usual, lacking their usual soft steadiness.
Mingyu’s face paled. “Hyung, you... It’s my fault—he hit the wall a few days ago when I messed up—”
Seungcheol turned, voice rising with disbelief. “A few days ago?”
Jeonghan’s head snapped up, properly looking at Joshua for the first time in what felt like forever. “He’s been hurt this whole time?”
Joshua looked at the floor. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Jeonghan’s tone softened but he left no room for argument. “Take off the hoodie.”
When Joshua hesitated, Jeonghan’s voice dropped, quiet but firm. “Now, Shua.”
Resigned, Joshua slowly peeled his hoodie off, wincing as the fabric tugged across his shoulder.
The collective sound that filled the room was a mix of quiet curses, sharp inhales, and stunned silence. The bruise had spread farther in the past few days, darkening into deep purples and sickly greens that bled down toward his chest. The edges were mottled, the center a heavy blotch on his shoulder where the impact had been sharpest. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, it looked worse than it had in his bathroom mirror—angrier, almost swollen.
“Oh my god,” Seungcheol breathed, face draining of color.
Jeonghan pressed a hand to his mouth. “How did we not see that?”
Minghao shook his head, unwilling to take part in their squabbles, prioritizing Joshua first. “That doesn’t matter right now. Hospital first.”
The doctor was calm and professional. “It’s a deep muscle bruise,” he explained, his tone steady. “No fracture, but the muscle tissue has taken significant impact. He needs rest. No heavy movement, no strain, no dancing for at least two weeks. If there’s sharp pain or trouble breathing, you come back immediately.”
Joshua thanked him quietly, and Minghao and Mingyu walked him out of the clinic, both subdued. Mingyu kept apologizing until Joshua broke into an amused laugh, his voice soft. “Hey. It was an accident. No one is mad at you.”
“But if you’d told us earlier—” Minghao started.
Joshua cut in gently. “I didn’t want you to see me like that, so please don’t worry. I’m okay.”
Neither of them argued any further.
When they got back to the dorm, Jeonghan and Seungcheol were waiting by the door.
Joshua had seen them in various states before. They’d been angry, happy, and sad but nothing like this. Jeonghan’s eyes were red and Seungcheol fiddled with his watch restlessly.
Minghao guided Joshua to the couch before going to his room, taking Mingyu with him, leaving the three of them alone.
The silence stretched until Jeonghan knelt down in front of him, reaching for his hand. His voice trembled when he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Joshua looked down. “We were fighting.”
“That doesn’t—” Jeonghan’s voice cracked. “That doesn’t matter.”
Joshua smiled faintly, trying to reassure him. “You weren’t even talking to me, Jeonghannie. And Cheol was busy making sure you were okay. I didn’t want to make things worse while we were in that state.”
Seungcheol sat beside him, his hand hovering near Joshua’s arm, hesitant. “You think we wouldn’t have cared?”
Joshua’s answer was quiet, but honest. “I don’t think that really matters, does it? Aren’t I the one who doesn’t need anything?”
Jeonghan’s voice came out small and broken. “That’s not fair, Shua. You always take care of us, even when we don’t deserve it.”
Joshua shrugged slightly, gaze fixed on his hands. “Have you guys ever noticed that whenever me and Jeonghan fight, Cheol always comforts Jeonghan first?”
Jeonghan looked lost. “What do you mean—?”
Joshua raised his gaze to meet Jeonghan’s, effectively cutting off whatever else he wanted to say. “I’m not saying it’s wrong. You should always be comforted. It’s just, he always goes to you first. Even if we both said something harsh to each other, even if I’m the one that's hurt too.”
The next words came slowly, like he’d been holding them in for a long time and had to be careful not to drop them too fast. “You hold him, you calm him down, and I watch from across the room, and by the time it’s over, it looks like I’m fine and over it, like I didn’t need you to be by my side, so I don’t say anything.”
He moved his gaze to Seungcheol, eyes calm but tired. “But I do need you, Cheol. I just got used to the fact that you’ll always choose him first.”
Seungcheol's breath caught in his throat. “Shua…”
Joshua’s voice stayed soft, but there was a lingering hurt underneath. “You both forget sometimes that I wasn’t always part of this, that you had years together before you loved me too. You have this rhythm, one that I feel like I’m not a part of sometimes. After so many times, I learned to stay out of the way.” He paused, giving them a small, almost apologetic smile. “It’s just lonely sometimes, that’s all.”
Jeonghan’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He looked at Seungcheol, then back at Joshua, realization dawning on him slowly. “I never thought—” He swallowed. “I never thought it looked like that to you.”
Joshua nodded faintly. “I know, Jeonghannie. You didn’t mean it like that.”
Seungcheol sat forward, elbows on his knees, the blood completely drained from his face, leaving him pale. “Shua.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t—God, I never wanted you to feel like that.”
The acceptance and sadness in Joshua’s eyes made Seungcheol flinch. “I know you didn’t. That’s what makes it hard to bring up, why I didn’t want to bring it up in the first place. But I don’t know. You were both too busy looking at each other to even realize that I’d gotten hurt that day, and we were all in the same room. I don’t blame you, I don’t, but it just hurts a little.” He took a slow breath. “When you go to him first, I tell myself it’s fine, that Jeonghan needs you more in the moment. But then when it happens again, and again, it’s like you’re proving that I can handle myself, that I don’t need the same comfort that Jeonghan does.”
He smiled again, brittle around the edges. “I didn’t want to tell you I got hurt because I learned how to take care of myself quietly.”
Seungcheol dragged a hand over his face, exhaling shakily. “I thought I was helping. I thought if I calmed Hannie down first, it’d make things easier on all of us.” He looked at Joshua, voice trembling. “But I’ve been taking care of one of you while leaving the other alone to deal with it quietly.”
Joshua didn’t move, but his eyes softened. “How could you have known? I didn’t want you to know.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.” Seungcheol’s voice broke. “You should’ve never felt like you were on your own, not when we’re both here, and especially not because of something as stupid as a petty fight. I’m so sorry, Shua. I swear, I didn’t mean it. I just—I got used to you being strong. I forgot that maybe you needed to be held too.”
Joshua blinked rapidly, trying to stop his tears from falling. “I didn’t want to need it.”
“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol whispered. “I’m so sorry, Shua.”
Joshua’s fingers trembled before reaching out for Seungcheol’s hand and intertwining their fingers together, his other hand still holding Jeonghan's.
Seungcheol moved closer, settling beside Joshua this time. He rested a tentative hand on Joshua’s back, thumb tracing small, apologetic circles. “It won’t happen again,” he said quietly. “You’re in this as much as we are. I won’t let you forget that.”
Joshua exhaled shakily, tension leaving his shoulders bit by bit.
Jeonghan pressed his forehead to Joshua’s knee, voice muffled but raw. “I’m sorry too, Shua.”
When Joshua leaned sideways into Seungcheol’s touch—small, tired, but willing—Seungcheol wrapped his arm around him without hesitation. Joshua held onto Jeonghan’s hand a little tighter, keeping him close as well.
“We’ll do better,” Seungcheol vowed firmly.
Joshua looked up at him—at the guilt, the tenderness, the love in his eyes—and finally let himself believe it, just a little, the ache between his ribs slowly starting to dislodge itself.
— —
Seungcheol and Jeonghan overcompensated. Badly.
The next few weeks were a blur of constant hovering. Jeonghan wouldn’t let him lift anything heavier than a spoon and Seungcheol refused to let him open doors, carry bags, or even make tea by himself.
The gesture was sweet, until it wasn't. Joshua felt like he was going to rip his own hair out.
“Guys,” Joshua complained one morning as Jeonghan rewrapped his shoulder for the third time. “I can do things by myself.”
“Sure,” Jeonghan said, readily agreeing, frowning slightly as he made sure the wrap wasn’t too tight on Joshua’s shoulder. “Tell that to your bruised ego and your fragile shoulder.”
Seungcheol leaned against the doorway, grinning. “He’s just mad he can’t do anything to keep busy.”
Joshua glared at him half-heartedly. “You try sitting on this stupid bed with nothing to do.”
Seungcheol threw his head back and laughed as Joshua groaned, falling back onto his mountain of pillows and blankets, courtesy of Jeonghan. “I swear, you guys are suffocating me.”
“That’s kind of the point,” Jeonghan said, nudging his knee.
Seungcheol laughed, coming over to press a kiss to his temple. “Let us make it up to you.”
Joshua wanted to say something sarcastic and snarky, but the earnest warmth in their voices made it hard. So he just smiled, a little shy, a little tired. “You already have.”
It took weeks for the bruise to fade completely, but it did.
By then, things had changed in small, quiet ways. Jeonghan didn’t shut down during fights anymore, Seungcheol didn’t automatically default to one side, and Joshua didn’t stay quiet when something hurt. They were learning with each other, slow and tentative and fragile, like they were just starting to learn how to be in a relationship with three people all over again.
One morning, Joshua found Jeonghan in the kitchen, half-asleep and messy-haired, making coffee. He slid a mug across the counter toward Joshua without a word. “Two sugars, right?”
Joshua blinked sleepily, smiling slowly. “Yes, that’s right. You remembered?”
Jeonghan grinned. “It’s filed away in my encyclopedia of Joshua.”
Seungcheol came in a few minutes later, pressing a kiss to Joshua’s cheek and then Jeonghan’s cheek as he passed.
One night, Seungcheol found Joshua sitting on the couch after practice, stretching carefully. He came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Still sore?” he murmured.
Joshua shook his head, smiling. “Not anymore.”
Jeonghan flopped down beside them, grinning. “That’s a shame. I’m going to miss treating you like you’re my giant baby.”
Joshua pouted, tilting his head back against Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Leave me alone, you monster.”
Jeonghan smirked. “Oh, please. I know you loved it.”
Seungcheol kissed the top of Joshua’s head. “You deserved to be taken care of for once.”
Joshua looked between them—Jeonghan’s teasing smile, Seungcheol’s quiet warmth—and felt something akin to contentness settle inside him. And when Jeonghan tugged him down so that the three of them ended up tangled together on the couch, laughter spilling over the sound of the TV, Joshua realized that he no longer felt any ache at all.