:ㅤ(⌖)ㅤ𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒  ⸻

• CHARACTERS 𓈒 ࣪ ִ   Kian Ahn, The Luzrs
•TIMESTAMP 𓈒 ࣪ ִ   March 18, 2025 [ pre comeback ]
•W/C 𓈒 ࣪ ִ   1.2K words
•WARNINGS 𓈒 ࣪ ִ  Kian is in pain, just a whole lot of shit going on
• SYNOPSIS𓈒  ࣪  ִ He was tired. With the new comeback coming up and everything else going on in his life he was tired and wanting to just take a break from it all. But would a break really do him any justice? After all everything that was happening, wasn't his fault... Was it?

—

The mirrors in the practice room reflected too much.

Kian couldn't look at them without flinching. He didn't want to see the tired slant of his eyes, the lag in his movements, the way he barely looked like himself anymore. His body was going through the motions, but his mind... it was somewhere else entirely.

Music pounded from the speakers—sharp, rhythmic, relentless. The others moved like a unit, sweat-slicked and focused. They counted out beats between breaths, pushed through each eight-count like they always did. Kian tried to keep up. He really did.

But everything felt just a little out of reach.

Every step was half a second late. His turns lacked precision. His body was slow to respond, like it no longer wanted to perform the way it used to. He messed up a transition in the chorus. Noa bumped into him by accident, too caught up in the rhythm to dodge in time. "Sorry," Kian mumbled, even though it wasn't Noa's fault.

He didn't expect anyone to say anything. And they didn't. That was the worst part.

Jaewon had nudged him with an elbow earlier, whispered, "Hang in there," like he was trying not to draw attention to it. Kian had managed a twitch of a smile in return—just enough to pass as okay. But he wasn't. Not even close.

Lorien's voice haunted him, looping like a broken record in the back of his mind. "Maybe you should go on a hiatus, Kian."

That was three nights ago, standing on a quiet beach under a cold, starry sky. He hadn't said anything back. Just stared at the waves like they could drown the ache in his chest.

—

Sometime past noon, the choreographer called for a break. Noa, Seonghwa, and Harin volunteered to run out and grab lunch for the group. The others lingered for a while, chatting in low voices, stretching out tired muscles. Jaewon and Seonghwan eventually wandered out to the hallway, saying something about needing air.

Kian stayed behind. The silence felt strange without the usual noise. Still. Too still.

He sat against the mirror, legs sprawled in front of him, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. Nothing stuck—just blurred images, words that didn't mean much. Until one post caught his eye. It was from his mother.

The photo was sweet—carefully posed, brightly lit. She stood beside her Nathaniel, holding a slice of cake with bright blue frosting in the middle. The caption read: "It's a boy! We're so blessed. Can't wait to meet our little prince."

Kian's stomach turned. She looked so happy. Radiant, even. As if this new chapter of her life was perfect. As if she hadn't already had two sons. Two she'd left behind.

She hadn't looked like that when she was pregnant with him. Or with Lorien. She hadn't called him since the last fallout. She hadn't even bothered to check in after he was diagnosed. But now she had a new baby. A new boy. A new son.

His throat burned.

He dropped the phone into his lap and leaned back against the mirror, eyes stinging. He blinked fast, like it would stop the tears before they came. He was so tired of crying in private. The door opened.

Kian sat up quickly, wiping at his eyes like nothing had happened. It was their manager.

"Hey," he said gently, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "You got a minute?"

Kian nodded, too tired to pretend otherwise. He stood up and followed him quietly into the hallway, back to that same spot near the stairwell where they always had private conversations—the kind you didn't want others to overhear.

They stood in silence for a moment. Then the manager exhaled. "Look, Kian... we've been watching how you're doing lately. And we think it's time you took a break."

Kian blinked. There it was again. That word. "A hiatus," the manager clarified. "Effective immediately."

Kian's heart dropped. "What? No. I can keep going. I'm just tired, that's all—"

"This isn't just about today. Or yesterday," the manager said gently. "We know about the diagnosis. Your brother told us a little. And... your father called."

That made Kian freeze. "What?"

"He called the day after your diagnosis," the manager continued carefully. "He said he wants you to come back to the U.S. for a while. Rest. Get away from the pressure."

Kian's head spun. He hadn't even told his father. Of course—Lorien. He must've reached out after that night on the beach. That's how his dad found out. And his dad—without even speaking to him—had just made the call.

They were deciding everything for him again. "I didn't ask him to do that," Kian muttered, voice hoarse.

"I know," the manager said. "But... he's worried about you. We all are." Kian looked away, jaw tight. His hands were trembling at his sides again.

"You're not being punished," the manager said, softer now. "You're being given space to breathe. To figure things out. To heal." It sounded kind. But it didn't feel kind. It felt like being sidelined.

Like being forgotten. Still, Kian didn't argue. He didn't have the strength. He just nodded—barely a motion at all—and turned back toward the practice room.

⸻

When he stepped inside, most of the group was back. They were spread out along the mirror wall, lunch boxes unopened, drinks sitting beside them. The room was quiet, like they'd all been waiting. Noa looked up first. "Hey," he said, cautiously.

Kian didn't look at anyone directly. He just walked to his bag and bent down to zip it up.

"I'm heading out early," he mumbled. "Got something to handle." He turned to leave before they could stop him. But a hand reached out—Jaewon again—gently wrapping around his wrist.

"You okay?" Jaewon asked. Kian froze. He stared at the hand, at the softness of the grip. He tried to lie.

But he couldn't.

The lump in his throat had grown too thick. His vision blurred again. "No," he whispered.

And then, without another word, Jaewon stood and pulled him in. Kian didn't resist. Noa was next, wrapping an arm around both of them. Then Seonghwa. Seonghwan. Harin. One by one, they joined in, forming a quiet circle around him—arms tight, bodies warm, hearts beating in sync with his breaking one.

It was too much. Kian buried his face in Jaewon's shoulder and broke down completely.

The sobs came without warning—raw and painful, ripped from somewhere deep inside. His body shook as the tears poured out, heavy and relentless. All the pressure, all the silence, all the pain he'd been carrying alone—it finally had somewhere to go. No one said anything. They didn't need to.

Their arms didn't let go. They held him through the storm, anchored him in it. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Kian let himself be held. Let himself be seen.

Let himself fall apart. Because maybe this—right here—was the first step toward putting himself back together.