S

The world was losing its edges, and Kim Hongjoong was the only one who hadn't been invited to the funeral of his clarity.

It had started small—a slight squinting at the lyric sheets during late-night recording sessions, a subtle tilt of the head when trying to read the teleprompter during music shows. He had brushed it off as fatigue. After all, being the captain of Ateez meant that sleep was a luxury he often traded for a perfect bridge or a sharper choreography. He thought his eyes were just tired of looking at blue-light screens and neon stage lights.

But today, sitting in the dim glow of his studio, the truth was becoming impossible to ignore. The lines of the digital audio workstation (DAW) on his monitor weren't just vibrating; they were melting.

Hongjoong leaned forward, his nose nearly touching the screen. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze, but the waveforms remained a chaotic smear of neon green and yellow. He reached out to adjust a slider, his fingers fumbling as he overshot the mark.

"Damn it," he whispered, his voice raspy from a lack of water and too much caffeine.

He sat back, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands until white sparks danced behind his eyelids. When he opened them again, the clock on the wall was a white circle with twelve black smudges. He couldn't tell if it was 2:00 AM or 3:00 AM.

A sharp knock on the door made him flinch. He didn't have time to pull his "leader mask" on before the door swung open, spilling the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway into his private sanctuary.

"Hyung? Are you still in here?"

It was Wooyoung. Hongjoong knew the voice, of course, but the figure standing in the doorway was nothing more than a soft-edged silhouette. He couldn't see the expression on Wooyoung’s face, only the general tilt of his head.

"Just finishing up," Hongjoong said, his voice sounding more confident than he felt. He began closing windows on his computer by memory, clicking where he knew the 'X' should be.

Wooyoung stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "You’ve been in here for ten hours. Seonghwa-hyung is starting to get that look in his eye. The one where he starts cleaning things aggressively because he’s worried about you."

Hongjoong let out a small, forced chuckle. "Tell him I’m fine. I’m coming back to the dorms now."

He stood up, but the sudden movement made the room tilt. The floor seemed further away than it should have been. He reached out, his hand grazing the edge of the desk to steady himself, but his depth perception betrayed him. He missed the solid wood by an inch and stumbled.

"Whoa!" Wooyoung was at his side in a second, catching his elbow. "Easy there, Captain. When was the last time you ate?"

"I had a granola bar," Hongjoong lied, his heart hammering against his ribs. He stayed frozen for a moment, terrified that if he moved, he’d reveal just how little he could actually see of the younger boy’s face.

"A granola bar is not a meal," Wooyoung scolded, but his tone shifted from playful to suspicious. He peered closer at Hongjoong. "Hyung, your eyes are really red. And why are you squinting at me like I’m a ghost?"

Hongjoong immediately widened his eyes, trying to look natural. "I’m just tired, Wooyoung. The lights are bright."

"The lights are off," Wooyoung pointed out flatly.

Hongjoong felt a cold sweat break out at the nape of his neck. "I meant the monitor. Come on, let’s go before Seonghwa decides to bleach the entire kitchen."

He tried to lead the way out, but the doorway seemed to shift. He overcompensated, walking too far to the left, and his shoulder clipped the doorframe with a dull thud.

"Ow," he muttered, clutching his arm.

Wooyoung didn't laugh this time. The silence in the room became heavy, thick with a realization that Hongjoong wasn't ready to face. He felt Wooyoung’s hand move from his elbow to his shoulder, turning him around.

"Hongjoong-ah," Wooyoung said softly, dropping the honorifics. "Look at me."

Hongjoong tried. He really did. He focused on where he knew Wooyoung’s eyes were, but all he saw was a beige blur of skin and the dark smudge of his hair. He couldn't see the mole under his eye. He couldn't see the spark of mischief or concern.

"I am looking at you," Hongjoong insisted, his voice trembling despite his best efforts.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

The cliché question felt like a slap. Hongjoong's breath hitched. "Don't be ridiculous. We aren't in a movie."

"How many, hyung?" Wooyoung’s voice was firm now.

Hongjoong peered into the middle distance. He saw a pale shape held up between them. It looked like a fork... no, a fan. He squinted until his head throbbed.

"Three?" he guessed.

There was a long, horrifying pause.

"I’m not holding up any fingers, hyung," Wooyoung whispered. "My hand is on your shoulder."

The silence that followed was deafening. Hongjoong felt the secret he had been carefully guarding shatter into a thousand jagged pieces. His knees felt weak, and he sank back into his ergonomic chair, burying his face in his hands.

"It’s just... it’s just the strain," Hongjoong said into his palms, his voice muffled. "It’ll get better if I sleep."

"How long has it been like this?" Wooyoung asked. He sounded scared, which was worse than him being angry. "During dance practice yesterday, you kept bumping into San. We thought you were just distracted by the comeback prep."

"A few weeks," Hongjoong admitted, the truth spilling out now that the dam had broken. "At first, things were just a bit fuzzy at a distance. I thought I needed a higher resolution monitor. But then... the lyrics started dancing. And today, I couldn't even see the buttons on the soundboard."

"We’re going to the doctor," Wooyoung said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Right now."

"We can't," Hongjoong snapped, finally looking up. Even though he couldn't see Wooyoung clearly, he projected his authority. "We have the comeback showcase in three days. The choreography is centered around me for the intro. If the company finds out I can't see the edge of the stage, they'll pull me. Or worse, they'll delay everything."

"You could fall off the stage!" Wooyoung yelled, his frustration boiling over. "Do you think we care about a showcase more than your life? You’re the Captain! We don't have a ship if the navigator is blind!"

"I am not blind!" Hongjoong stood up, his voice cracking. "I just... I just need a minute. I can memorize the steps. I know the stage dimensions. I’ve done it a thousand times."

"You’re being stubborn and stupid," Wooyoung said, but he stepped closer, his voice softening again. "Please. Let me tell Seonghwa-hyung. He’ll know what to do."

"No," Hongjoong pleaded, reaching out and grabbing Wooyoung’s sleeve. "Don't tell the others yet. I don't want them worrying. They have enough pressure with the new choreo. Just... help me get home. I'll see an eye doctor tomorrow morning, privately. I promise."

Wooyoung hesitated. Hongjoong could feel the tension in the younger boy’s arm. Finally, Wooyoung let out a long, shaky breath.

"Fine. But I’m going with you. And if the doctor says it’s serious, you tell everyone. No more lying."

"Deal," Hongjoong said, relief washing over him so strongly he felt lightheaded.

The walk to the van was a nightmare of navigating shadows. Wooyoung stayed glued to his side, subtly guiding him by the elbow, making it look like they were just walking close as they often did. Every curb felt like a cliff; every passing car’s headlights were a blinding supernova that left Hongjoong’s vision swimming in purple ink.

When they reached the dorms, the smell of roasted chicken and disinfectant greeted them.

"You’re late," Seonghwa called out from the kitchen. "I was about to send a search party or call the police."

Hongjoong kept his eyes on the floor, following the familiar pattern of the hardwood. "Sorry, Hwa. Got caught up in a mix."

"You look pale," Seonghwa said, his voice getting closer.

Hongjoong felt a surge of panic. If Seonghwa got too close, he’d see the way Hongjoong’s eyes weren't focusing.

"He’s just starving," Wooyoung intervened, sliding between them with practiced ease. "I’m going to shove some food down his throat and then put him to bed. Don't worry about us."

Seonghwa paused, his maternal instincts clearly tingling. "Is everything okay?"

"Just tired, hyung," Hongjoong said, heading toward his room. He walked with his hand trailing along the wall, disguised as a casual gesture. "See you in the morning."

Inside his room, the darkness was a relief. In the dark, everyone was blind; in the dark, he was normal. He sat on the edge of his bed, listening to the muffled sounds of his members laughing in the living room. Jongho was probably hitting a high note to annoy Mingi, and Yeosang was likely making a dry joke that would take a second to land.

They were his world. And that world was becoming a smudge.

The next morning, the reality of the situation hit him like a physical blow. When Hongjoong woke up, the sunlight streaming through the window didn't bring clarity. It brought a bright, painful glare that obscured everything. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen. He had to hold it two inches from his face to recognize the icons.

A knock on the door signaled Wooyoung’s arrival.

"Ready?" Wooyoung whispered.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Hongjoong replied.

The clinic was a blur of white walls and the smell of antiseptic. Wooyoung did all the talking at the front desk, claiming Hongjoong had a "severe migraine" to explain why he was wearing sunglasses and a deep hoodie.

When they were finally called into the exam room, the doctor—a middle-aged man with a soft voice—began the tests.

"Read the smallest line you can see on the chart, please," the doctor said.

Hongjoong looked at the wall. "What chart?"

He heard the scratch of a pen on paper. The sound felt like a nail in a coffin.

After an hour of lights being shone into his pupils and looking through various lenses, the doctor sat back.

"Mr. Kim, you have severe corneal edema caused by extreme strain and a pre-existing condition that has been exacerbated by lack of rest and environmental factors," the doctor explained. "Your eyes are essentially swollen from the inside. It’s not permanent, but if you don't treat it immediately, you’re looking at long-term damage."

"Can I perform in three days?" Hongjoong asked immediately.

"Absolutely not," the doctor said firmly. "You need to be in a dark room for at least forty-eight hours with medicated drops every four hours. No screens, no stage lights, no dancing. Your depth perception is currently non-existent. You’d be a danger to yourself."

Hongjoong felt the air leave his lungs. "There has to be another way. A temporary fix?"

"The temporary fix is rest," the doctor said, his voice softening. "If you push through this, you might not be able to see those stage lights at all in a year's time. Is one showcase worth your career?"

Wooyoung gripped Hongjoong’s hand under the table. His grip was tight, a silent support that Hongjoong desperately needed.

"We’ll take the drops," Wooyoung said for him. "And he’ll rest."

The car ride back was silent. Hongjoong stared out the window at the passing streaks of color that he knew were trees and buildings. He felt like a failure. A leader was supposed to guide his team, not be a burden.

"How am I going to tell them?" Hongjoong whispered.

"You tell them the truth," Wooyoung said. "They’re going to be worried, yeah. But they’d be more upset if you got hurt because you didn't trust us."

When they entered the dorm, the entire group was in the living room. The atmosphere was unusually somber. Seonghwa was standing in the center of the room, arms crossed, flanked by San and Yunho.

"Sit down," Seonghwa said. It wasn't a request.

Hongjoong fumbled for the edge of the sofa, and Yunho immediately reached out to help him sit.

"We know," San said quietly, sitting on the floor at Hongjoong’s feet. "Wooyoung is a terrible liar, hyung. We saw you two sneaking out this morning. And we’ve noticed... we’ve noticed for a while."

"You have?" Hongjoong asked, his voice small.

"You’ve been dancing half a beat behind because you’re watching our feet to know where to go," Yunho said, his voice thick with emotion. "And you missed the high-five in 'Bouncy' three times this week."

"I thought I was being careful," Hongjoong sighed, leaning his head back against the cushions.

"You were being a martyr," Seonghwa scolded, though he sat down next to Hongjoong and pulled him into a side-hug. "The doctor? What did he say?"

Hongjoong relayed the news—the edema, the dark room, the cancelled showcase. He expected disappointment. He expected stress about the choreography changes.

Instead, he felt a hand on his knee. It was Mingi.

"We can do the showcase as a seven-member performance for the choreo, and you can sit on a throne in the center for the vocals," Mingi suggested. "Like a king. You don't even have to move. We’ll be your eyes."

"The company won't like it," Hongjoong murmured.

"The company doesn't have a choice," Yeosang’s voice came from the kitchen, where he was already heard clinking glass—probably getting water for Hongjoong’s medicine. "We already talked to the manager while you were out. He was more worried about you than the schedule."

"Really?"

"Really," Seonghwa confirmed. "Now, glasses off. Eyes closed. I’m putting the first round of drops in."

Hongjoong did as he was told. He felt the cool liquid hit his irritated eyes, and for the first time in weeks, the burning sensation began to fade. He sat there in the darkness of his own eyelids, surrounded by the voices of his brothers.

He couldn't see them, but as Jongho started humming a melody and Yunho described the sunset they could see through the window, Hongjoong realized he had never seen them more clearly.

"I’m sorry I didn't tell you," Hongjoong said.

"Don't be sorry," Wooyoung’s voice came from his left. "Just get better. We have a lot more stages to see together."

Hongjoong smiled, leaning into Seonghwa’s shoulder. The world was still a blur, but for the first time, he wasn't afraid of the fog. He had seven anchors holding him to the ground, and he knew that soon enough, the light would return. Until then, he was happy to just listen to the music of his family.