Chapter Text
The week before the spring musical opened was the most exhausting of Seonghwa’s life.
Between technical rehearsals that ran past midnight, costume fittings that required standing perfectly still for hours, and vocal warm-ups that left his throat raw, he barely had time to sleep. His phone buzzed constantly — Wooyoung sending memes, San asking about ticket codes, Yunho offering to bring snacks.
And Hongjoong.
Hongjoong texted him every morning at 6 a.m., before practice: “Good luck today. You’re the most talented person I know. Drink water.”
And every night, after Seonghwa finally crawled into bed: “I miss you. Can’t wait to watch you shine.”
They hadn’t seen each other in five days. The paparazzi had mostly moved on after the “love triangle” article faded, but the damage was done. Seonghwa’s face was out there. A few people on campus recognized him now — whispered behind his back, pointed at their phones. He ignored it.
Minjun had been quietly removed as guest director after the theater department received an anonymous complaint about “unprofessional conduct.” (Wooyoung denied everything with a smile that said otherwise.)
But the biggest news came three days before opening night.
Hongjoong’s team had made it to the national collegiate championship. The final game would be played on the same night as Seonghwa’s opening performance.
“I can’t be there,” Hongjoong said over the phone, voice heavy. “The game starts at 7. Your show starts at 7:30. Even if I could teleport —”
“I know.” Seonghwa curled up on his bed, hugging a pillow. “It’s okay. We’ll both be doing what we love. We’ll celebrate after.”
“I’ll be thinking about you every second.”
“Same.”
A pause. Then Hongjoong’s voice dropped lower. “When I win — and I will win — I’m going to dedicate that game to you. The whole world is going to know why.”
Seonghwa’s heart stuttered. “Hongjoong…”
“No more hiding, remember? After tonight, everyone will know. If you still want that.”
“I want that,” Seonghwa whispered. “More than anything.”
---
The backstage of Briar University’s Main Stage Theater was controlled chaos.
Costume racks rolled past like fleeing animals. Stagehands whispered into headsets. The smell of hairspray, sweat, and nervous energy filled every corner. Seonghwa stood in the wings, dressed in his Act One costume — a deep blue velvet jacket that caught the light, his dark hair styled perfectly, stage makeup emphasizing his cheekbones.
His hands were shaking.
Not from fear. From everything.
“You’ve got this.” Wooyoung appeared beside him, already in his own costume — a shimmering gold number that made him look like a disco ball. “You’ve been rehearsing for months. The role is yours. And Hongjoong is probably scoring his third goal right now.”
Seonghwa smiled weakly. “You think?”
“I know. San texted me. It’s 2–1 at the second intermission. Hongjoong has both goals.” Wooyoung squeezed his arm. “Now go out there and break some hearts.”
The overture began. The curtain rose.
And Seonghwa stepped into the light.
---
Fifteen miles away, the arena was deafening.
Twenty thousand fans roared as the puck dropped for the third period. The scoreboard read 3–3. The national championship hung in the balance. Every shift felt like a war.
Hongjoong’s body screamed with exhaustion. His legs burned. His hands ached from clenching his stick. But his mind was clear — focused on one image.
"Seonghwa. On that stage. Singing his heart out."
He thought about the first night on the rooftop. The way Seonghwa had laughed at his stupid jokes. The way those dark eyes had softened when Hongjoong said, “You’re not alone.”
He thought about the greenhouse. The fairy lights. The whispered "I love you" among the orchids.
He thought about the paparazzi photo, the fake love triangle, the way Seonghwa had looked at him in the empty arena and said, “Let’s stop hiding.”
With two minutes left in the third period, the puck came to Hongjoong at the blue line.
He didn’t think. He just shot.
The slap shot ripped through the air — past the defenseman’s outstretched stick, past the goalie’s desperate glove — and into the top corner of the net.
The arena exploded.
4–3.
His teammates mobbed him. Yunho lifted him off the ice. San screamed something unintelligible into his ear.
Hongjoong looked up at the clock. One minute left. They held the lead.
When the final buzzer sounded, he fell to his knees on the ice, tears streaming down his face.
"National champions."
The trophy ceremony was a blur. The captain’s platform. The confetti. The flash of cameras. But when they handed him the microphone for the post-game interview, Hongjoong knew exactly what he had to do.
“This game,” he said, voice shaking, “I dedicated it to someone. Someone who’s been my reason to fight, on and off the ice. Someone who’s taught me that being brave isn’t about never being scared — it’s about being scared and showing up anyway.”
The crowd quieted. Reporters leaned forward.
“His name is Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said, looking directly into the closest camera. “And tonight, he’s performing in the spring musical at Briar. So if you’ll excuse me — I have to go see him.”
He dropped the microphone and ran.
---
Back at the theater, Seonghwa had no idea.
He was in the middle of his big Act Two solo — a heartbreaking ballad about love and loss. The spotlight followed him across the stage as he sang his character’s desperate confession.
“I’ve been hiding in the shadows / Afraid of what the light might show / But you reached in and pulled me out / And now I can’t let go.”
His voice cracked on the final note — intentional, raw, real. The audience sat in stunned silence.
Then the applause came — thunderous, overwhelming.
Seonghwa took his bow, tears already forming.
The curtain fell. The cast erupted in hugs and screams. Wooyoung tackled him from behind, laughing and crying at the same time.
“You were INCREDIBLE,” Wooyoung shouted. “I’ve never seen you perform like that! What got into you?!”
Seonghwa opened his mouth to answer — but before he could speak, a stagehand ran up.
“Seonghwa! There’s someone at the stage door. He’s asking for you. He’s… covered in confetti?”
Seonghwa’s heart stopped.
He ran.
Through the backstage maze, past costume racks and lighting boards, past confused cast members and cheering crew. He burst through the stage door and into the cool night air.
Hongjoong stood there.
His hair was still wet with sweat and Gatorade. His jersey was untucked, stained with ice and champagne. Confetti clung to his shoulders like stars. He was holding a bouquet of red roses — slightly crushed from his sprint across campus.
And he was smiling like the sun.
“We won,” Hongjoong said, breathless. “I dedicated it to you. The whole country heard it.”
Seonghwa couldn’t speak. His throat was too tight, his eyes too full.
“And I heard you were amazing,” Hongjoong continued, stepping closer. “Wooyoung texted me. Said you brought the house down. I’m not surprised. You’re the most —”
Seonghwa kissed him.
Right there, in front of the stage door, in front of the cast and crew who had followed him out, in front of the few fans lingering by the theater entrance. He kissed Hongjoong like he’d wanted to kiss him for months — openly, proudly, without a single glance over his shoulder.
Hongjoong dropped the roses and pulled him closer, one hand tangling in Seonghwa’s styled hair, the other pressing against the small of his back. The kiss deepened, hungry and desperate and relieved. Someone wolf-whistled. Someone else started crying.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were laughing and crying at the same time.
“Well,” Wooyoung announced from the doorway, phone held high, “that’s going on Instagram. Caption: ‘Love wins. Also, hockey players can run really fast.’”
San appeared behind him, still in his team jacket. “He left the trophy ceremony for this. The media is going to lose their minds.”
“Let them,” Hongjoong said, not taking his eyes off Seonghwa. “I don’t care anymore.”
Seonghwa cupped his face — the face that had just been on national television, the face that had just publicly declared his love. “You really did it.”
“I told you. No more hiding.”
Someone from the cast shouted, “Get a room!” Someone else yelled, “Let them have their moment!”
Seonghwa pulled Hongjoong into another kiss, softer this time. “I love you.”
“I love you too. And for the record —” Hongjoong grinned, brushing a tear from Seonghwa’s cheek — “you’re way more talented than me.”
“Obviously.”
They walked back into the theater together, hands intertwined, not caring who saw.
Behind them, the roses lay forgotten on the ground — a small sacrifice for something much bigger.
---
Two Weeks Later
The sports magazine cover read: "Love on Ice: How Hockey Star Kim Hongjoong Found His Leading Man."
Inside, a full spread featured photos of them together — one on the ice, one in the theater, one in the greenhouse with fairy lights twinkling above. The article was surprisingly kind, focusing on their story rather than scandal.
Seonghwa’s parents had called, confused but supportive. Hongjoong’s father had flown in for the championship game and ended up staying an extra week to meet Seonghwa properly. (“He’s loud,” Hongjoong whispered. “But he means well.”)
Minjun had transferred schools. No one asked where.
Wooyoung and San were still disgustingly in love. Yunho had started dating a nutrition major who packed his post-game snacks. The hockey team had adopted Seonghwa as an honorary member, complete with his own jersey (number 00 — “because he’s too good for a real number,” San explained).
On the last night of the musical’s run, Hongjoong sat in the front row.
He cheered louder than anyone. He cried during the sad parts. He stood up for the standing ovation before anyone else.
And when Seonghwa took his final bow, looking out at the audience with tears streaming down his face, Hongjoong mouthed three words:
"I love you."
Seonghwa smiled — that wide, radiant, unguarded smile that Hongjoong had fallen in love with on a rooftop months ago.
And for the first time, the whole world got to see it.
---
THE END