Chapter: 1
The air in the Pledis Entertainment meeting room was thick with unspoken tension. Usually, these full-group meetings, especially those involving the higher-ups, meant either significant milestones being announced or difficult conversations needing to happen. Given the weary slump in the shoulders of some of their younger members seated around the large, polished table, Seungcheol knew instinctively it wasn’t the good kind of meeting.
Six years. It had been six years since SEVENTEEN had burst onto the scene, a vibrant, self-producing group of thirteen hopefuls. Now, they were global stars. Their popularity had skyrocketed in the last couple of years, far exceeding the most ambitious initial projections. Albums sold millions, tours sold out stadiums worldwide, their faces were everywhere. It was a dream come true, the culmination of years of relentless hard work, sweat, and sacrifice.
But with the blinding light of unprecedented success came shadows. The pressure was immense, a constant, suffocating presence. Every move was scrutinized, every performance had to surpass the last, every moment in the public eye demanded perfection. For thirteen distinct personalities, thirteen nervous systems wired differently, this level of sustained, high-stakes pressure took a toll.
Seungcheol, as the leader, felt the weight of it on his shoulders constantly. He tried to shield his members, to be a steady anchor, but he could see the cracks forming. He looked around the table. To his left, Jeonghan sat with his usual serene expression, but his eyes held a quiet concern. Joshua beside him looked calm but was gripping his hands together under the table. Junhui was unusually still, his vibrant energy muted.
And then there were the others. The ones the company had referred to, gently but with underlying seriousness, as the “more sensitive” members. Hoshi, whose boundless energy could sometimes turn inward into frantic anxiety. Woozi, whose intense focus and perfectionism often left him emotionally drained and susceptible to panic when things felt out of his control. Seungkwan, the group’s mood maker, whose genuine emotions, both high and low, were amplified by the pressure. Seokmin, the perpetual ray of sunshine, whose deep empathy meant he absorbed the stress of those around him, sometimes buckling under the collective weight. And Chan, their maknae, weathering the storms of growing up under the harshest possible spotlight, his moments of youthful exuberance increasingly punctuated by periods of withdrawal or anxiety.
Seungcheol felt a familiar pang of worry constriction in his chest as he looked at them. They were his members, his family. Seeing them struggle, despite all their achievements, was the hardest part of his job.
Mr. Han, one of the senior directors, cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the low hum of anticipation. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. As you know, SEVENTEEN’s success over the past six years has been... phenomenal. Truly historic. The company is immensely proud, and we know how hard you’ve all worked to achieve this.”
He paused, his expression shifting from congratulatory pride to grave concern. “However, we are also acutely aware of the cost. The pace of your growth, the demands placed upon you, they have exceeded what any of us, perhaps even yourselves, were fully prepared for. We’ve invested heavily in physical health, ensuring you have the best medical care, nutrition, training... But the psychological toll is becoming increasingly significant.”
Another pause, heavier this time. “We’ve observed... worrying trends. Increased reports of anxiety, difficulty sleeping, moments of... distress that go beyond normal stress reactions. We’ve provided access to therapy, relaxation techniques, adjusted schedules where possible, but frankly, it hasn’t been enough.” He looked directly at Seungcheol, then swept his gaze across the table, lingering briefly on Hoshi, Woozi, Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Chan. The mentioned members avoided his gaze, looking down at their hands or the table surface. The air grew colder.
“Specifically,” Mr. Han continued, “the frequency and severity of panic and anxiety attacks among certain members – Hoshi, Woozi, Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Chan – have become a primary concern for their well-being and, inevitably, for the group’s stability.”
Seungcheol nodded slowly. It wasn’t news, but hearing it stated so plainly, so formally, in front of everyone, felt stark and painful. He glanced at the five ‘kids’. Hoshi was picking at the seam of his trousers, Woozi was staring intently at the grain of the wood table, Seungkwan had pressed his lips into a thin line, Seokmin had gone pale, and Chan had his arms wrapped tightly around his own torso. His heart ached for them.
“The company has been exploring every possible avenue to provide more effective support,” Mr. Han stated, his voice dropping slightly, becoming softer, almost... preparatory. “Traditional methods are proving insufficient against this level of sustained pressure. We needed to think... outside the box. We consulted with leading medical professionals, psychologists, and specialists in stress-related conditions.”
He gestured to a woman seated beside him, who looked like a researcher or a doctor. “Dr. Lena Hanson has been advising us. She’s part of a research team that has been exploring novel physiological interventions for severe, chronic stress and anxiety. What she is about to present is... unconventional. It’s a method that has shown significant promise in clinical trials for patients with severe, treatment-resistant anxiety and PTSD, by tapping into the body’s own biological calming mechanisms.”
Dr. Hanson spoke next, her voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere. “Thank you. Gentlemen. We understand that the environment you operate in is unique, and the stress is profound. Our research has focused on the body’s innate responses to comfort and safety, specifically the neurohormonal pathways associated with early life experiences that promote bonding, security, and profound relaxation.”
She paused, looking at their bewildered faces. “One of the most powerful biological mechanisms for inducing a deep state of calm, reducing cortisol levels, and promoting the release of oxytocin – the ‘bonding’ or ‘love’ hormone – is lactation and the process of nursing or being nursed. This is a fundamental biological response, hardwired into mammals.”
A ripple of confusion went through the members. Lactation? Nursing? Where was this going? Seungcheol saw Mingyu exchanging a wide-eyed look with Wonwoo. Joshua raised an eyebrow slightly.
Dr. Hanson continued, unfazed. “Our team has developed a protocol involving a short-term, reversible hormonal treatment. Administered via a simple injection, this treatment stimulates the pituitary gland to produce prolactin, the hormone responsible for milk genesis. It also increases sensitivity in the nipple area. Within a relatively short period, typically 14-16 hours after administration, the individual can begin to produce milk. This state can be maintained with follow-up treatments for as long as deemed necessary and is fully reversible once treatment stops.”
She let that sink in. The silence was absolute. Every member was staring at her, shock etched on their faces. Seungcheol felt his mind reel. Lactation? In... in them?
“The application in your specific context,” Dr. Hanson said, addressing the elephant in the room directly, “is based on the premise that the act of providing or receiving milk, leveraging these powerful hormonal responses, can act as a profound physiological intervention for severe anxiety and panic. For the members experiencing these attacks, being nursed could provide an immediate, biological anchor of safety and calm that other therapies haven’t achieved. For the members providing the milk, the act of lactation and nursing also releases oxytocin, which can foster feelings of tenderness and connection, potentially further strengthening group bonds and providing a constructive outlet for stress.”
Mr. Han took over again, trying to bridge the gap between the clinical explanation and the human reality in the room. “We understand how... extraordinary this sounds. It is revolutionary treatment. But we wouldn’t be proposing this if we didn’t believe, based on Dr. Hanson’s research and our consultations, that it offers a genuine, potentially highly effective path to alleviating the severe distress some of you are experiencing.”
He looked at the five ‘kids’ again, his expression pleading. “Your health, your happiness, your ability to continue pursuing your passion without this constant, debilitating struggle – that is our absolute priority. This isn’t about performance; it’s about well-being.”
He then turned his attention to the rest of the members, particularly those who weren’t explicitly named as struggling with severe attacks, though none of them were untouched by the stress. “This protocol requires volunteers. Members who are willing to undergo the treatment to lactate and provide this support for their brothers.”
The air was thick with unspoken questions, with disbelief warring with concern for their friends. Seungcheol swallowed hard. This was... unprecedented. But he looked at Woozi, his gaze unfocused, at Seungkwan, tears welling in his eyes, at Chan, trembling slightly, and a fierce protectiveness surged through him. Whatever it took to help them...
Mr. Han continued, laying out the proposed structure. “To manage this process, to ensure consistency, privacy, and dedicated support, we believe establishing a clear dynamic will be most effective. We are proposing a ‘family unit’ structure within the group, specifically for the purpose of implementing this treatment and providing ongoing care.”
He projected a slide onto the screen. It was simple, just text, listing the proposed groupings.
DADS OF THE GROUP: Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Vernon
MOMS OF THE GROUP: Jeonghan, Joshua, Junhui, Minghao
Seungcheol felt a jolt of surprise as he saw his name listed alongside Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Vernon. ‘Dads’? He looked at Jeonghan, whose name was listed right next to his under ‘Moms’. Jeonghan met his gaze, a flicker of surprise and something unreadable in his eyes.
Mr. Han explained the pairings and responsibilities. “Based on observed dynamics, complementary personalities, and discussions with the members involved who we’ve consulted with on the initial concept...” (Seungcheol realized this meeting was the formal proposal, after some initial, perhaps vague, discussions with certain members). “...we propose the following care units:”
Seungcheol and Jeonghan will be in charge of Chan. Jeonghan will be the member receiving the treatment to lactate and will primarily breastfeed Chan when needed.Wonwoo and Junhui will be in charge of Woozi and Hoshi. Junhui will receive the treatment and breastfeed both Woozi and Hoshi.Vernon and Joshua will be in charge of Seungkwan. Joshua will receive the treatment and breastfeed Seungkwan.Mingyu and Minghao will be in charge of Seokmin. Minghao will receive the treatment and breastfeed Seokmin.As Mr. Han read out the groupings, a stunned silence fell over the room again. The sheer intimacy implied by the assignment, the reversal of typical roles, the explicit detailing of who would nurse whom... it was overwhelming.
Seungcheol’s mind reeled. Him and Jeonghan... together, caring for Chan? And Jeonghan... Jeonghan would be the one... The thought was so foreign, so unexpected, it short-circuited his usual logical processes. He looked at Jeonghan again. Jeonghan was staring at the slide, a mixture of shock and apprehension clouding his face.
He glanced at the others designated as ‘Moms’. Joshua looked okey, but his knuckles were white where he gripped under the table. Junhui had blinked slowly, his eyes wide, absorbing the information. Minghao’s eyes were fixed on Mingyu, who was looking equally stunned.
“This structure,” Mr. Han continued, trying to regain momentum, “provides a clear support system. The ‘Dad’ members will provide emotional support, logistical management, and be a point of contact. The ‘Mom’ members will provide the direct physiological intervention as needed. This isn’t about reinforcing traditional gender roles, obviously,” he added quickly, “it’s about creating dedicated care units using a framework that, while unusual in this context, can leverage existing bonds and provide clarity. The ‘kids’ will have consistent caregivers they trust.”
Seungcheol finally found his voice, though it was raspy. “Mr. Han... This is... a lot to take in. The injection... the lactation... It’s... unexpected.”
“We know, Seungcheol,” Mr. Han said gently. “It’s a drastic measure. But tell me, what alternatives are truly working for the level of anxiety we are seeing? We’ve exhausted conventional methods. This is a frontier treatment, yes, but one with a solid scientific basis in calming physiological responses.”
Wonwoo spoke up. “The injection... are there side effects? Is it painful? How long does it last?”
Dr. Hanson answered. “The injection itself is a simple intramuscular injection, no more painful than a flu shot. The primary physical sensation experienced by the ‘Mom’ members will be chest sensitivity and fullness as milk production begins. This can range from mild discomfort to tenderness. These sensations subside over time as the body adjusts. Milk production can be stimulated by pumping or nursing, or suppressed partially if not needed, though full cessation requires stopping the treatment. The hormonal effects are temporary; reproductive function is not impacted long-term. We would, of course, provide comprehensive medical monitoring and support throughout the process.”
Hoshi finally spoke, his voice small. “So... I would... be nursed?” He looked bewildered, vulnerable.
Junhui immediately looked at him, his expression softening with concern despite his own shock. “Hoshi-yah...”
Seungkwan bit his lip, looking away, clearly distressed by the thought.
Mingyu addressed Mr. Han directly. “And the privacy? How is this managed? This is... incredibly private.”
“Absolute discretion is paramount,” Mr. Han assured him. “This protocol, the treatment, the care units – none of this leaves this room or is documented outside of confidential medical files. Designated safe spaces will be created at the company building for nursing sessions. Schedules will be managed sensitively. The ‘Dad’ members in each unit will assist in ensuring privacy and creating a supportive environment.”
Seungcheol felt a knot in his stomach. Managing this logistics, protecting his members’ privacy and dignity in the face of such an unconventional treatment... it would be a monumental task. But the image of Chan looking lost and scared, or Woozi retreating into himself, or Seungkwan struggling to breathe during a panic attack flashed in his mind. Was this... the only way?
“Why... why us for the treatment?” Joshua asked with a tremor of apprehension. He was looking at Jeonghan, Junhui, and Minghao.
Mr. Han looked at them. “As Dr. Hanson mentioned, this relies on volunteers. We discussed this possibility, in preliminary terms, with the four of you individually a few weeks ago, gauging your potential willingness to explore unconventional methods to support the group. You all expressed a desire to help, even if the specifics weren’t initially clear. You were selected for this role because you are perceived, both by the company and perhaps yourselves, as having strong emotional resilience, nurturing qualities, and deep bonds with the members who are struggling. This is not a burden, but a significant responsibility based on your capacity for empathy and care.”
Seungcheol remembered Jeonghan mentioning a strange, vague meeting about ‘new support strategies’. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time.
“So... we just... agree to this?” Woozi asked, his voice barely above a whisper, looking up for the first time. He looked tired and clouded with anxiety. “We just... accept this... very strange thing?”
Seungcheol’s heart twisted. Woozi, the fiercely independent, incredibly talented producer, reduced to this quiet vulnerability. It cemented his resolve.
“Woozi-yah,” Seungcheol said, leaning forward. “Nobody is forcing anyone. This is… this is a radical solution, I know. It’s overwhelming. It’s strange. Mr. Han,” he looked towards the company representative, “Dr. Hanson,” then to the medical professional, “they presented this because… because we are struggling, Woozi. Because you are struggling. Hoshi is struggling. Chan is struggling. Seungkwan, Seokmin. Our family is hurting.”
He gestured to the younger members who had been identified as needing the specific support. “And we, the hyungs, the company… we’ve tried everything else. Therapy, medication, adjusted schedules, time off… and it helps, yes, but it’s not enough to cut through the level of anxiety you’re facing right now. Your dreams are being impacted, your health is suffering. Your ability to just… be yourselves without this weight on your chests is diminishing.”
His gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of each member. “This proposal… it’s not an order. It’s an option. A deeply unconventional one, I won’t pretend it’s not. But it’s born out of desperation, out of a desperate need to find something that can truly help you calm down, feel safe, feel grounded again when the world feels like it’s crashing in.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “The ‘Moms’ – Jeonghan, Joshua, Junhui, Minghao – they weren’t told they were doing this. They were approached, tentatively, weeks ago, about potentially being open to unconventional support roles. They agreed to hear the specifics. They are volunteering for this, because they love you, and they want to help alleviate your suffering.”
He looked back at Woozi, whose eyes were still wide held a flicker of understanding now. “So, no, Woozi. You don’t have to accept this. But we are asking you, the members who are struggling the most, to consider it. To consider if, in a moment of extreme panic, having a source of physical comfort and connection like this might be something you’d be willing to try.” He turned to the room again. “And for us, the ‘Dads’ and ‘Moms’… this is a commitment to providing that support, if it’s what’s needed. To create a safe space. To protect your privacy. To navigate this… together.”
A heavy silence fell again, different from the stunned silence before. This one was filled with contemplation, the murmur of unspoken fears and cautious hope.
Hoshi now seemed to be processing Seungcheol’s words, his expression shifting towards a complex mix of apprehension and tentative curiosity. He glanced towards Junhui, who was looking at him with unwavering softness.
Seungkwan lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed but meeting Vernon’s gaze steadily for a moment before looking away again, still clearly uncomfortable but maybe listening more intently now.
Seokmin fiddled with his fingers in his lap, but he leaned slightly towards Minghao, who was watching Seungcheol intently, a resigned expression on his face.
Chan, the maknae, looked smaller, nestled slightly behind Seungcheol, his gaze fixed on Jeonghan. Jeonghan met his eyes, offering a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his own anxious eyes.
Wonwoo observed the scene from the side. His eyes moved from Woozi, his concern palpable, to Junhui, a strange mixture of respect and something unreadable beginning to stir within him. Junhui, feeling his gaze, offered a faint, hesitant smile back before looking away.
Joshua spoke again. “It’s… a lot to take in. It’s… unexpected.” He paused, then added, “But if it can truly help… if it’s a path towards finding peace for our members… then I understand why we were asked. Why we… volunteered.” He looked at Jeonghan, Junhui, and Minghao, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.
Woozi finally broke the silence again, his voice gaining a little strength. “It’s just… so weird. So… intimate.”
“It is,” Seungcheol agreed immediately, not trying to minimize the strangeness. “It’s incredibly intimate. And that’s why the privacy aspect, the safe spaces, the sensitivity… that’s paramount. It’s not about making this… normal. It’s about using a biological response as a therapeutic tool, within a context of absolute trust and care between members who are already family.”
“Think of it like this,” Dr. Hanson interjected, sensing the need to reframe the medical aspect outside of the initial shock. “In different cultures and historical contexts, the act of nursing has held profound significance beyond mere nutrition – it’s a symbol of comfort, security, and bonding. While this is an induced biological response, its therapeutic potential in this context lies in leveraging that innate human connection, the calming physiological effects of nursing – the hormonal release of oxytocin in both the ‘giver’ and the ‘receiver’ – to counteract the severe effects of stress and anxiety. It’s not about reducing anyone to a state of infancy; it’s about accessing a deeply ingrained biological pathway for comfort and regulation that might be uniquely effective when other methods are failing in your specific situation.”
Mr. Han stood up, signaling the meeting was drawing to a close. “This is a pilot program. It will be intensely monitored by Dr. Hanson and his team. There will be regular psychological evaluations for all members involved, as well as the physical monitoring for the ‘Mom’ members. Your dorm layouts will be adjusted to create these private care spaces. Schedules will be managed to allow for this, potentially reducing overall loads slightly in other areas if necessary, though we are still in a peak period of popularity.” He looked at the four designated ‘Moms’. “Jeonghan, Joshua, Junhui, Minghao. If you are still willing, the medical team is ready to administer the injection now. The rest of you can wait outside. We will reconvene afterwards to discuss the initial adjustments and scheduling.”
The air crackled with tension. Seungcheol watched Jeonghan take a deep breath, his eyes briefly flickering towards Chan before nodding slowly. Joshua gave a small, resolute nod. Junhui exchanged a quick, nervous glance with Wonwoo and Hoshi, then nodded with determination. Minghao’s expression remained calm, almost serene, as he also nodded.
They rose from the table, the four ‘Mom’ members gathering their things quietly. As Jeonghan passed Seungcheol’s chair, Seungcheol reached out instinctively, his hand briefly touching Jeonghan’s arm. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low, for his ears only.
Jeonghan met his gaze, a complex mix of anxiety, resolve, and something else Seungcheol couldn’t quite decipher swirling in his beautiful eyes. “I… I don’t know, Cheol-ah,” he admitted softly. “It’s… it’s a lot. But… Chan… and the others…” He squeezed Seungcheol’s arm briefly before pulling away. “We’ll be okay. We have to be.”
Seungcheol watched him walk towards the door with the others, a swell of protectiveness and admiration rising in his chest. Jeonghan’s willingness to embrace such a bizarre, uncomfortable role for the sake of their members solidified something Seungcheol had been slowly realizing – that this angelic façade hid a core of immense strength, empathy, and sacrificial love. Caring for Jeonghan, supporting him through this… the desire felt suddenly incredibly important, more than just a leader’s duty.
The remaining members filed out into the sterile hallway. The tension didn’t dissipate; it merely shifted, settling into the quiet space outside the meeting room. Seungcheol stood near the door, eyes fixed on it as if trying to project support through the wood. The others clustered awkwardly, talking in hushed tones or simply lost in thought.
Within minutes, the first sign of renewed anxiety appeared. Woozi began to fidget, his foot tapping rapidly against the floor. His breathing grew shallower, his eyes darting nervously around the empty hallway. His hands clenched and unfurled repeatedly.
Wonwoo was the first to notice, his face etched with concern. He moved subtly closer to Woozi. “Jihoon-ah?” he said softly. “Are you okay?”
Woozi didn’t respond immediately, his focus seemingly narrowed to an internal struggle. He hugged himself tighter.
Then, across the hallway, Chan let out a small, choked gasp, his eyes wide with panic. He backed away from the wall, shaking his head. “Hyung… I don’t…”
Seungcheol was instantly by Chan’s side, pulling him into a gentle hug. “Hey, hey, Chan-ah, breathe. Just breathe with me.” He held the maknae close, murmuring reassurances, feeling the rapid beat of Chan’s heart against his chest. This was it. The reality of the anxiety they were trying to combat. It wasn’t theoretical; it was here, now, raw and terrifying.
Wonwoo was trying to soothe Woozi, his deep voice a low rumble of comfort. “Jihoon-ah, look at me. It’s okay. You’re safe. Just focus on my voice.”
The hallway, moments ago quiet with anticipation, was suddenly thick with distress. Hoshi looked torn between wanting to help Woozi and processing his own feelings. Seungkwan wrapped his arms around himself, looking pale. Seokmin just watched, wide-eyed.
Mingyu moved towards Seokmin, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Dokyeom-ah. We’re here. Just take deep breaths.” He looked towards the door where Minghao was. A silent plea. Hurry.
Vernon, seeing Seungkwan’s struggle, moved to his side. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood close, a grounding presence. He wished Joshua were here already. He didn’t know how to fix this, how to make Seungkwan less scared.
Seungcheol held Chan tighter, his own heart aching. He wanted Jeonghan back. He wanted the calm, steady presence of the person who had just volunteered for something so difficult. He needed that partnership, that shared burden, now more than ever. The idea of facing this level of panic with Chan without Jeonghan felt suddenly daunting. The family unit, bizarre as it was, already felt like a necessity. He looked towards the closed door, a desperate hope building that this strange, uncomfortable solution might actually work.
Meanwhile, inside the clinical room, Jeonghan, Joshua, Junhui, and Minghao sat on separate chairs, quiet anticipation mixing with professional efficiency. Dr. Hanson and a nurse prepared the injections.
Jeonghan swallowed, his throat feeling dry. He remembered the meeting, the explanation, the logical arguments. He remembered seeing Chan’s fear, hearing Woozi’s quiet desperation, the visible stress on the others. He had agreed. Fully and wholeheartedly. But the reality of it… the physical intrusion, the biological change… it was surreal. He thought of Chan, his maknae, vulnerable and scared. The thought fueled his resolve. If this could help Chan feel safe, feel loved, feel calm… then it was worth any discomfort, any awkwardness. He felt a strange sense of purpose, a deep, maternal instinct he hadn’t known he possessed rising to the surface.
Joshua watched the nurse fill the syringe, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He thought of Seungkwan, so easily overwhelmed by anxiety. Seungkwan’s distress was palpable even through his attempts to hide it. Joshua’s heart went out to him. He had always tried to be a steady presence, a listening ear. Now he would be… this. A source of physical comfort. The thought was bewildering, slightly embarrassing, yet also filled with a quiet determination. He trusted the doctors; he trusted Mr. Han that this was medically sound. And he trusted in the bond he shared with Seungkwan. He just hoped he could do this, could provide the comfort Seungkwan needed. He briefly thought of Vernon outside. He hoped Vernon would be able to navigate this strange new dynamic with him.
Junhui’s mind was a whirlwind. Woozi. Hoshi. Woozi’s vulnerability was heartbreaking. Hoshi’s bewildered question – So… I would… be nursed? – echoed in his ears. His heart ached for them. He had always felt a responsibility for the younger members, a desire to protect them, especially the ones who seemed most affected by the pressures of their job. The concept of nursing felt so alien, so far removed from his image of himself. But the image of Woozi’s clouded eyes, of Hoshi’s lost look… He would do anything to bring back their sparkle, their passion, their peace of mind. He looked at the syringe, his breath catching slightly. It was happening. He wondered how Woozi and Hoshi were reacting outside right now. He hoped Wonwoo was with Woozi, grounding him. Wonwoo… who had been assigned as his partner in this bizarre endeavor. He felt a strange mix of nerves and anticipation about working so closely with Wonwoo.
Minghao sat calmly but his mind was racing. Seokmin, sometimes dimmed by overwhelming anxiety. Minghao often found himself in a supporting role for the more outwardly distressed members. This was a new level of support. Nursing Seokmin… The image felt strangely tender and awkward at the same time. He felt a quiet surge of resolve. He wanted to help Seokmin laugh freely again, sing without a catch in his throat, just be himself without the fear. He trusted the process, trusted the intention. He just needed to be strong enough, open enough, to fulfill this role. He thought of Mingyu, his assigned partner. He felt a quiet gratitude for Mingyu’s protective presence.
Dr. Hanson spoke gently. “Alright. We’ll start with…” She indicated Jeonghan’s chair.
Jeonghan nodded, squaring his shoulders. The nurse cleaned the area on his arm, and the needle went in, a brief sting. He focused on breathing, on thinking of Chan. For Chan.
Then it was Joshua. He flinched slightly but held still. For Seungkwan.
Junhui was next. He closed his eyes for a moment as the needle pricked his skin. For Woozi and Hoshi.
Finally, Minghao. He watched the process calmly, a faint, unreadable expression on his face. For Seokmin.
It was over quickly. A small piece of gauze taped to their arms.
Dr. Hanson looked at them. “Okay. The initial effects will likely start within the next hour or two. You may feel a tingling sensation, a fullness in your breasts, and potentially some soreness or tenderness. This is normal as the mammary glands activate. It will likely be most noticeable tonight or tomorrow morning. We’ll provide you with pads and information on managing any discomfort. Remember, milk production is stimulated by demand – nursing or pumping. If there IS demand, production will increase. If not, it will remain minimal until stimulated. Don’t be alarmed by any sensations. Contact us immediately if you have concerns or unexpected symptoms.”
They nodded, absorbing the information. The reality felt heavier now that the injection had been given.
They stood up, feeling slightly unsteady, a strange new awareness of their own bodies settling in. They thanked the medical staff and Mrs. Han, then walked back towards the door.
As the door opened, the sounds of distress from the hallway immediately reached them. Chan’s choked breathing, Woozi’s quiet whimpers. The four ‘Moms’ exchanged a look, their earlier apprehension replaced by a sharp pang of concern and a renewed sense of urgency. This wasn’t just a strange experiment; it was a potential lifeline for their struggling members, and the struggle was happening right outside their door.
Seungcheol looked up as the door opened, his eyes locking onto Jeonghan. Relief washed over him, quickly followed by a fresh wave of anxiety as he registered the sounds of panic escalating behind him. He had wanted Jeonghan back, but not like this – not to immediately face this.
“Jeonghan-ah!” he called out, leaving Chan for a moment in Vernon’s supportive presence, and rushing towards him. “Are you okay? How was it?” He lowered his voice as he reached him.
Jeonghan gave a weak smile. “It was… fine. Just a shot.” He glanced past Seungcheol, his eyes wide with concern as he saw Chan clutching Vernon, and Woozi curled slightly against the wall with Wonwoo kneeling beside him. “Oh no… It’s getting worse.”
Joshua went straight towards Seungkwan, his hand instinctively reaching out to touch his arm. “Seungkwan-ah? It’s okay. We’re back.”
Junhui moved towards Woozi and Hoshi, his face full of worry. “Jihoon-ah? Soonyoung-ah?”
Minghao walked calmly towards Seokmin, offering a small, gentle smile. “Seokmin-ah.”
The return of the four members shifted the dynamic in the hallway. Their presence, even before any physical effects of the injection were present, seemed to have a stabilizing effect, a reminder that the ‘family units’ were now formed, that help was here, even if it was help of a bizarre nature.
Seungcheol guided Jeonghan closer to Chan, who was now starting to hyperventilate slightly. “Chan-ah, look, Jeonghan hyung is back. Your hyung is here.”
Chan peeled himself away from Vernon slightly, his tear-filled eyes finding Jeonghan. He looked lost and scared, a stark contrast to his usual confident stage persona.
Jeonghan’s heart clenched. He crouched down slowly, getting closer to Chan’s level. He didn’t know what to do yet, how to start. The medical effects hadn’t begun. All he had was his presence, his voice, his love for his maknae. He reached out, taking Chan’s shaking hands in his. “Chan-ah. It’s okay. I’m here now. We’re all here. Deep breaths, okay? Copy hyung.” He demonstrated, taking in a slow, deep breath, holding it, and exhaling.
Chan tried to follow, his breath still hitched.
Wonwoo was speaking softly to Woozi, his voice barely audible, a deep, comforting rumble against the sounds of the maknae line’s distress. “Just listen. My voice. Focus on my voice. You’re not alone. Junhui is here too. We’re both here.” He glanced up at Junhui, who was kneeling beside him, his hand hovering uncertainty near Woozi’s back. Wonwoo gave him a small, encouraging nod.
Junhui tentatively reached out, placing his hand gently on Woozi’s shoulder. Woozi flinched initially but didn’t pull away. Junhui began to rub small, slow circles there, a simple gesture of presence and comfort. It felt awkward, this new physical dynamic starting. He looked at Wonwoo, whose focus was entirely on Woozi, his expression one of gentle strength and unwavering patience. A silent understanding passed between them – they were in this together, for Woozi, for Hoshi. The earlier awkwardness of their ‘Dad’ and ‘Mom’ pairing in the meeting room felt less significant now, replaced by the immediate, shared responsibility.
Joshua sat on the floor next to Seungkwan, not touching him yet, just being close. “Seungkwan-ah,” he said softly. “It’s alright to be scared. We’re all a little scared right now. But we’re going to figure this out. Together. Vernon is here, I’m here. Whenever you feel overwhelmed, just find one of us, okay?”
Vernon nodded, his gaze on Seungkwan. He felt a sense of relief having Joshua back. He knew Joshua would navigate this with grace and kindness. He trusted him completely.
Mingyu didn’t kneel or sit; he stood beside Seokmin. He kept his hand on Seokmin’s shoulder. He looked at Minghao, who was now standing close by. Mingyu felt a surge of warmth for Minghao’s quiet courage. This was so strange, Mingyu thought, yet, looking at Minghao, standing there ready, Mingyu felt something settle within him. It wasn’t just about taking care of Seokmin; it was about navigating this impossible situation together. The warmth he felt wasn’t just for Minghao’s courage, but a deeper, unfamiliar pull towards him, a nascent feeling blooming amidst the chaos.
Slowly, painstakingly, the waves of panic began to recede.
Jeonghan’s steady repetitions of breathing exercises, paired with Seungcheol’s grounded presence, helped Chan’s hyperventilation ease into shaky, ragged breaths. Wonwoo’s low, constant murmur, combined with Junhui’s gentle, rhythmic circles on his shoulder, drew Woozi back from the edge of his internal storm, his whimpers fading into silent shudders. Joshua’s quiet empathy and Vernon’s solid reassurance allowed Seungkwan to unfurl from his tight ball of anxiety, his tear-streaked face now just looking utterly drained. And Mingyu’s support, along with Minghao’s calm proximity, seemed to draw the frantic energy out of Seokmin, leaving him slumped but no longer frantic. Hoshi had thankfully not spiralled this time, perhaps catching himself on the initial tension, but he looked visibly shaken, sticking close to Woozi and Junhui. Dino, though primarily in Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s care, had been swept up in the general anxiety of the hallway, clinging to Vernon earlier, but was now leaning against Jeonghan’s side, quiet and exhausted.
The hallway slowly emptied of screams and gasps, replaced by the sounds of sniffles, tired sighs, and the quiet rustle of fabric as members shifted positions. The air, thick moments ago with palpable fear, now only held the heavy scent of lingering anxiety and exhaustion.
“Are you guys… okay?” Seungcheol asked, his voice rough with concern, looking collectively at the five ‘kids’ now huddled close to their designated ‘Moms’.
Woozi lifted his head from where it had been resting against Wonwoo’s side. His eyes, usually sharp and overflowing with creative fire, looked dull and weary. “Yeah, hyung. Just… tired.”
“Same,” Seungkwan mumbled, burrowing closer to where Joshua was now sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Chan nodded, not trusting his voice yet, his hand still tightly holding Jeonghan’s. Seokmin gave a weak thumbs-up. Hoshi just leaned his head against Woozi’s shoulder, eyes closed. Dino rubbed his eyes.
The four ‘Moms’ looked equally exhausted, but a different kind of tension held them. The injection. The strange, unprecedented implications of it. They had just faced the immediate impact of the stress they were meant to alleviate, but the method itself felt surreal.
Jeonghan gently squeezed Chan’s hand. “Let’s go back to the dorms, okay? Get some rest, eat something.”
Getting up was a slow and deliberate process. The kids were unsteady on their feet, leaning heavily on their dads and moms. And the usual boisterous energy of SEVENTEEN was noticeably absent, replaced by a somber quiet.
