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The practice room was sweltering, the air thick with the scent of ozone from the speakers and the sharp, metallic tang of sweat. ATEEZ had been running the choreography for their latest comeback for six hours straight, and the tension was beginning to fray the edges of their collective patience.

Hongjoong, standing at the front of the formation, wiped his brow with the back of his hand. His chest heaved, his small frame vibrating with the effort of keeping his breathing steady. He was the captain; he was the anchor. If he wavered, the rest of them would drift.

"Again," Hongjoong croaked, his voice rasping against the dry air. "From the second chorus. San, you’re a half-beat behind on the pivot. Wooyoung, keep your arms higher."

Wooyoung groaned, flopping onto the floor like a landed fish. "Hyung, please. My legs feel like they’re made of overcooked noodles. If I do that pivot one more time, I’m going to dissolve into a puddle."

"We have to get it right," Hongjoong insisted, though his own knees were shaking. "The showcase is in three days. Do you want to be 'good enough' or do you want to be perfect?"

Seonghwa stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. "Joong, we’re all exhausted. Maybe a ten-minute break? We can’t be perfect if we’re tripping over our own feet."

Hongjoong looked up at Seonghwa, and that was when the room went silent.

Usually, Hongjoong’s gaze was sharp—intense enough to pierce through a camera lens or command a stadium of thousands. But right now, his eyes looked different. They were wide, the dark irises seemingly expanding until they swallowed the whites. Because he was tired, stressed, and feeling the heavy weight of leadership, his eyelids had lost their usual fierce squint. They were perfectly round, shimmering with a thin veil of exhaustion-induced moisture.

Mingi, who had been complaining about his back, blinked twice. "Hyung… are you okay?"

Hongjoong blinked back, a single tear—purely a physiological response to the dry air and lack of sleep—clinging to his lower lash line. "I’m fine. I just want us to be our best."

The sight was devastating. It was as if a tiny, distressed owl had suddenly taken over their captain’s body. The sheer scale of his eyes, coupled with the wobbling shine of that unshed tear, sent a collective shiver of "must protect" through the other seven members.

"Oh no," Jongho whispered, dropping his water bottle. "He’s doing it."

"Doing what?" Hongjoong asked, his voice tilting upward in confusion. The movement made his eyes seem even larger, the glassy surface reflecting the harsh overhead lights.

"The thing," Yunho said, stepping closer, his expression shifting from exhaustion to pure adoration. "The thing where you look like a protagonist in a tragic 90s anime. Hyung, your eyes are literally half of your face right now."

Hongjoong scowled, or at least he tried to. On anyone else, it would have been a look of authority. On Hongjoong, with his pupils blown wide and his face flushed from the heat, it looked like a kitten trying to roar. "I am not doing a thing. I am trying to conduct a rehearsal."

"You look like you’re about to cry because someone dropped your favorite Lego set," Wooyoung said, leaping up from the floor, his fatigue forgotten. He lunged forward, pinching Hongjoong’s cheeks. "How are they so big? How is there so much room for sadness in there?"

"Let go of me!" Hongjoong protested, though his voice lacked any real bite. He batted Wooyoung’s hands away, but as he did, the tear finally escaped, trailing a slow, shimmering path down his cheek.

The room gasped in unison.

"Abort mission!" San cried out, throwing his hands up. "Practice is over! We have broken the captain! Look at him! He’s leaking!"

"I am not leaking!" Hongjoong yelled, wiping the stray tear away frantically. "It’s the air conditioning! It’s dry in here!"

"Sure it is, Joongie," Seonghwa said, his voice dropping into that specific tone he used for soothing agitated toddlers. He grabbed a towel and began gently dabbing at Hongjoong’s face. "Let’s go back to the dorm. We’ll order that expensive brisket you like. The one with the extra side dishes."

Hongjoong looked up at Seonghwa, his expression a mix of indignation and genuine longing for brisket. The wide-eyed look intensified. "But the choreography…"

"The choreography will be there tomorrow," Yeosang said firmly, joining the circle. He peered closely at Hongjoong’s eyes. "It’s actually scientifically fascinating. When your cortisol levels spike, your ocular muscles must relax in a specific way. You’re currently eighty percent eyeball."

"I hate all of you," Hongjoong muttered, though he allowed Seonghwa to lead him toward the door.

***

The phenomenon did not end at the practice room. Once the members realized that "Sad Hongjoong" was the most effective weapon in their arsenal, they became hyper-aware of it.

Two days later, during a grueling photo shoot, the stylist suggested a wardrobe change that included a particularly itchy, high-collared wool sweater. Hongjoong, already running on four hours of sleep, looked at the sweater with genuine despair.

"It’s going to give me a rash," he whispered to the members in the waiting area.

When the stylist approached, Hongjoong turned to her. He didn't even have to speak. He just looked up, his eyes wide and shimmering with the anticipation of the discomfort. The stylist froze, her hand hovering over the wool.

"Oh, heavens," she murmured, clutching the sweater to her chest. "You know what? We have a silk alternative. It’s much softer. Let me go get it."

She scurried away, and Hongjoong blinked, confused.

"It’s the eyes, Hyung," Mingi whispered, leaning over. "You’ve got the 'Puss in Boots' thing going on. No one can say no to a face that looks like it’s about to experience its first heartbreak."

Hongjoong puffed out his cheeks. "I am a fierce rapper. I am the King of Pirates. I don't do 'cute.'"

"You don't do it on purpose," Jongho pointed out, not looking up from his phone. "That’s why it’s so dangerous. It’s a passive ability. Your 'Cuteness Stat' is maxed out whenever you’re inconvenienced."

As the days went on, the "Wide-Eyed Captain" became a running joke within the group—and a source of constant distraction. During a live stream, Hongjoong accidentally dropped a piece of strawberry from his cake. He didn't cry, but the momentary look of sheer, tragic disappointment that crossed his face caused the live chat to explode.

*DID YOU SEE HIS EYES?* one comment read.

*HONGJOONG LOOKS LIKE A SAD BUTTON,* read another.

*GIVE HIM THE STRAWBERRY BACK RIGHT NOW OR I’M CALLING THE POLICE.*

Hongjoong stared at the screen, his eyes widening in surprise at the influx of comments.

"See?" Wooyoung chirped, leaning into the frame. "The fans know! Look at those boba pearls you call eyes, Hyung. Give us a wink."

Hongjoong tried to wink, but because he was still feeling a bit pouty about the strawberry, it came across as more of a slow, mournful blink. The chat went into a frenzy.

"I'm ending the live," Hongjoong announced, though his ears were burning red.

***

The true test of the "Sad Eye Power" came during the final week of promotions. They were exhausted, the kind of deep-boned fatigue that made every movement feel like swimming through molasses. They had one more variety show recording to get through, and the producers were pushing for a high-energy dance challenge that none of them felt capable of performing safely.

In the dressing room, the mood was somber. San was icing his ankle, and Yunho was staring blankly at a wall.

"I'll go talk to the PD," Hongjoong said, standing up. He looked haggard. His hair was messy, and his skin was pale, making his dark, massive eyes stand out even more. He looked like a Victorian orphan who had just been told the soup kitchen was closed.

He walked out of the room and returned ten minutes later.

"They changed the segment," Hongjoong said, sounding surprised. "We’re doing a sit-down talk show portion instead. They said we looked like we needed the rest."

"Did you tell them about San’s ankle?" Seonghwa asked.

"I didn't even get a chance," Hongjoong replied. "I just started to say, 'About the dance challenge...' and the PD looked at me, gasped, and told me to sit down before I fainted. He said my eyes looked 'too heavy for my face' and that he felt like a villain for making us work."

The members looked at each other.

"The power is absolute," Mingi said solemnly.

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or grateful," Hongjoong sighed, sinking into a chair. He rubbed his temples, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When he opened them again, they were still wide, still impossibly round, and still shimmering with that faint, teary sheen of exhaustion.

"Hyung," Wooyoung said, his voice unusually soft.

"What now?"

Wooyoung walked over and draped a blanket over Hongjoong’s shoulders. "Nothing. Just… stay like that. It makes us want to work harder so you don't have to."

Hongjoong looked up at his team, his gaze softening. The sadness wasn't there anymore, replaced by a quiet, overwhelming affection for the seven chaotic men who followed him into every battle. But because the affection was so strong, it brought that familiar moisture back to his eyes, making them glisten like polished obsidian.

"I'm lucky to have you guys," Hongjoong whispered.

"Oh, god," San groaned, burying his face in his hands. "He’s doing the 'Grateful Eyes' now. It’s even worse than the 'Sad Eyes.' I would literally walk into fire for him right now."

"Group hug!" Yunho shouted, and before Hongjoong could protest, he was buried under a mountain of limbs and oversized hoodies.

In the center of the huddle, Hongjoong let out a small, muffled laugh. His eyes were squeezed shut now, but as he felt the warmth of his members surrounding him, he knew that even if he couldn't see them, they were looking out for him.

And if he had to use his "protagonist eyes" to get them a few extra minutes of sleep or a better meal every now and then, he supposed he could live with being the group’s resident "sad kitten."

Just as long as they didn't make him wear that wool sweater ever again.