Characters: Fuma, EJ, Taki

Vibe: Soft fluff with a warm, emotional coreSetting: A snowed-in dorm, one rare day with no schedulesTheme: Rest, reflection, and chosen family

*****"I didn't realize how much I needed this until now."*****

10:37 AM — The Dorm, Wrapped in Snow

The city outside had vanished into white.

Snowflakes drifted lazily past the dorm windows, blanketing the streets, muting every sound.

Inside, it was still. Peaceful.

Until Fuma padded into the kitchen in fuzzy socks and a hoodie four sizes too big and declared:

"We are not leaving this dorm today. It's illegal now."

EJ looked up from his tea. "I second that."

Taki, wrapped in two blankets and chewing a Pocky stick like a cigarette, raised a hand from the couch. "Motion passed."

And that's how the Cold Weather Pact began.

Rule One: No work talk.
No dance practice. No rehearsals. No promotions. They were idols 24/7... except for today.

Rule Two: No social media.
No checking likes, no curated captions. Just analog life for a change.

Rule Three: Do nothing that doesn't spark joy.
They were going full Marie Kondo on this snow day.

11:12 AM — Cookie Chaos

Baking was Fuma's idea.

It was also a mistake.

They had no cookie cutters, only one usable baking tray, and three wildly different interpretations of "a pinch of salt."

Taki accidentally used cornstarch instead of flour ("It's white and powdery, how was I supposed to know?"), Fuma got powdered sugar on the ceiling somehow, and EJ kept making the dough into perfect circles like he was sculpting clay.

"Why are you so neat?" Taki whined.

"Why are you so sticky?" EJ replied.

They burned the first batch.

The second came out oddly shaped but delicious.

The third was eaten before it hit the pan.

"We're not bakers," Fuma said, licking frosting from his fingers.

"We're survivors," EJ nodded.

"We're legends," Taki grinned.

1:20 PM — Blanket Fort Diplomacy

The living room became a construction zone.

Every couch cushion, comforter, hoodie, and bean bag was repurposed.

Fuma became the lead engineer.
Taki, the creative director.
EJ handled stability tests by lightly body-slamming walls "just to check."

By the end, they'd built a cozy fort with fairy lights, two heaters nearby, and just enough space for three grown humans and five stuffed animals.

Taki threw himself into the pile with a dramatic sigh. "This is the peak of civilization."

Fuma set down mugs of cocoa. "I could live here."

EJ added quietly, "We kind of already do."

They clinked mugs in a toast.

To warm spaces.
And warmer company.

3:03 PM — Card Games & Quiet Confessions

EJ dealt the cards with the precision of a Vegas dealer.

Taki cheated immediately. "Oops, did I draw four again? Guess I win!"

Fuma stole cookies between rounds and claimed it was strategy.

But slowly, the conversation shifted.
Softened.
Stretched.

Talk turned from who had the best poker face...
To who they used to be before all of this.

"You know," EJ said, staring at his cards, "I used to think I had to carry everything on my own. Like... if I ever stopped being composed, everything would fall apart."

Taki leaned back, eyes soft. "You're still composed. But now you let us carry it with you."

Fuma nodded. "That's not weakness. That's trust."

Silence settled for a moment — not heavy, just full.

Then Fuma said, "I used to be scared of letting people in."

"You let us in," EJ said.

"And you guys didn't leave," Fuma smiled.

"I didn't realize how much I needed this until now," EJ murmured.

Taki, halfway through stealing another cookie, paused.
Then crawled into EJ's side and hugged him tight.

"Me neither," he whispered. "Me neither."

5:15 PM — The Snow Still Falls

Outside, the world remained frozen.

But inside the fort, laughter bubbled again as they told stories from pre-debut days — terrible haircuts, sleepless nights, audition nerves, the time Fuma accidentally drank two protein shakes and crashed mid-choreo.

"You were twitching in your sleep!" Taki cackled.

"I was dreaming of abs," Fuma retorted.

They shared old trainee nicknames, favorite late-night snacks, songs they hated but danced to anyway.
It was nostalgic. Soft. Comforting in a way no award or chart ever could be.

At one point, EJ caught Fuma humming quietly — a melody they hadn't used in years.

"You still remember that?" he asked.

Fuma nodded. "I remember everything that mattered."

7:07 PM — The Pact, Sealed in Frosting

Dinner was instant noodles. Because of course.

The cookies from earlier were now stacked like a tower on the table. Taki named it "Mt. Sugary Goodness" and demanded they sign it with icing.

They did.

Each wrote a tiny message with frosting:

EJ: "For the quiet days that remind us who we are."
Fuma: "Home is here."
Taki: "I claim this fort in the name of chaos and cuddles."

Later, they curled back into the fort — lights glowing softly, warmth shared between layered blankets and linked limbs.

No cameras.
No rehearsals.
Just them.

"We should do this every winter," Fuma whispered.

"Every snowfall," EJ agreed.

"Every Tuesday if I'm in charge," Taki yawned.

They all laughed.

Outside, the world remained white.

Inside, they drifted off slowly — together.

The End.
(Because sometimes, what you need isn't a stage. It's a fort, a cookie, and the people who never left.)