Running to You | Park Han + JL + Steven | Haneulz + Stejay AU

Chapter 69: One Man's Treasure

It was a little past midnight, and the dorm looked like the aftermath of a sports-themed clearance sale. Duffel bags unzipped, sneakers flung under chairs, socks draped across radiator bars like they were airing out the last shred of dignity. The overhead lights were too bright for this much disorder. Nobody seemed to notice.

Juwon stood in the middle of it all holding up a suspiciously light duffel. "Who packed four bottles of hair gel and no underwear?"

Jeongwoo didn't even flinch. "That's classified," he said, taking it back like a man retrieving state secrets.

Someone's printed visa confirmation was curled into the corner of the microwave. A tangle of cords sat beside it -- charging cables, maybe, or someone's attempt at a plug converter. The refrigerator door had receipts taped to it in place of any actual food.

In the far corner, Shuaibo was using his boarding pass to fold a paper frog. Kyungho stood nearby in full warmup gear, arms crossed over his chest like a giant stone statue that occasionally furrowed its eyebrows.

Woongki squatted in front of his open duffel, which contained one pair of joggers, a single neon windbreaker, and what looked like an unopened family pack of fish crackers.

"I cannot believe we're going to Australia," he said, awe in his voice.

"We are not going for vacation," Han called sharply from the hallway. Clipboard in hand, frown already set into place. He was dressed in a black dry-fit shirt and running tights, like he was ready to lunge into a tactical situation.

"This is a national campaign. You're representing the school. Pack like you've been outside your hometown before."

"Define appropriate," Kyungho said calmly. "Like... do I need linen shirts?"

Han made a sound that meant he was dangerously close to banning someone from boarding. "You need a passport," he said flatly. "Do you even know where yours is?"

"I thought Shuaibo was keeping our documents," Kyungho replied without irony.

Shuaibo looked up from the frog, confused. "What."

The dorm spiraled. Jeongwoo tried to organize people by departure time. Someone was still googling "how to look hot but wholesome in airport photos." Chih En, meanwhile, was calmly folding his clothes into compact, perfect squares. He wore a pale gray fleece and ankle socks with tidy stripes.

Shuaibo sat beside him, legs splayed, his own duffel a black hole of snacks, chargers, and possibly a video game console.

"You're really organized," he said, eyes flicking between the rows of folded shirts and his own personal disaster zone.

Chih En glanced sideways. "You're really... not."

Shuaibo grinned. "I like to think of it as living with commitment to the unknown."

There was a moment where neither of them looked directly at the other. Then Chih En said, low and not quite casual, "Why'd you agree to this shoot? I thought you hated doing what your family tells you."

"It's not about them," Shuaibo said, his voice lower now, more certain. "It's for the team."

Chih En paused, like something in him had caught. His hands stilled over the fabric he'd been folding, eyes flicking up -- not with shock, but with a quiet, searching kind of attention.

Shuaibo held his gaze, gentler this time. "If this campaign meant I couldn't run with you all anymore," he said, "I wouldn't even board the flight. No cameras, no sponsorship, no title's worth more than that."