The old house creaked under the weight of its secrets. It wasn’t much—peeling paint, a rusted gate, and rooms that barely held their heat—but it stood stubbornly at the edge of the city’s forgotten district. At just 25, Seonghwa hadn’t planned for this life, but it had found him anyway.

It began with Hongjoong, his oldest friend, who moved in after his parents vanished without a word, leaving behind debts and broken promises. Sharp-eyed and restless, Hongjoong was the brain behind every repair, every desperate plan to stretch their money further.

Yunho came next, a quiet nineteen-year-old who moved like he was dodging unseen fists. He carried a duffel bag and a shy smile, but Seonghwa saw the haunted look in his eyes. Yeosang followed, also nineteen, with a silence that weighed heavier than words. He never spoke of the years in a foster home where love was scarce, but his faraway stares told their own story.

Seventeen-year-old San arrived on a stormy night, drenched and shivering on the porch. He’d run from something he refused to name, his energy barely hiding the fear beneath. Mingi showed up not long after, a giant with the heart of a child. Years of bouncing between uncaring homes left him carrying memories too heavy to share, his dreams chained to a past he couldn’t escape.

Wooyoung, fifteen, was all fire and fury. He hid his fear behind sharp words, too proud to admit his family had given up on him long ago. Jongho, thirteen, was the quietest, his eyes far too old. He flinched at loud sounds, clutching a stuffed bear hidden in his bag—a fragment of a stolen childhood.

And then there was you. Seven, the youngest, with wounds too fresh to name. You clung to Seonghwa’s sleeve like a lifeline, darting glances as though danger lurked in every shadow.

The house wasn’t meant for so many lives tangled together. Yet somehow, it held. In this house, broken pieces didn’t stay broken forever—they couldn’t afford to.