Chapter Text
Morning arrives quietly.
The sky wakes first, stretching across the horizon in soft hues of blue. The city follows little by little—lights flickering on, doors opening, footsteps echoing along familiar streets.
Not all at once, but in pieces.
The world is waking up.
Seonghyeon isn't ready to join it yet.
Curled beneath his blanket, he sleeps through the first hints of morning, oblivious to the sunlight beginning to slip between the curtains and settle across the floor of his bed.
The room still smells faintly of fabric softener and yesterday's sweat-soaked practice clothes hanging over the chair. His backpack rests beside it, already packed the night before. Dance shoes. Water bottle. Notebook. Charger. He'd learned early that mornings left little room for forgetting.
His phone isn't as forgiving.
Then.
The alarm blares through the quiet room.
Seonghyeon's hand misses the phone the first time, knocking yesterday's homework onto the floor instead. The second time, he manages to silence it, only to bury his face back into his pillow as if ten more seconds might somehow be enough to undo all the exhaustion from this week's training.
They don't.
He groans before he's even fully awake.
For exactly five seconds.
The third alarm goes off.
Ughhh..
He forgot he started setting backups.
The room is still dark.
His body still aches.
For a while, he simply lays there, listening to the muffled sounds of morning filtering through the apartment.
The hum of the air conditioner.
A motorcycle passing outside.
The apartment is quiet enough that he can hear his own breathing.
He wonders if everyone else's mornings feel this heavy.
Or if, somewhere across the city, other trainees are waking up with the same soreness settled deep in their shoulders and calves.
The thought is oddly comforting.
With a sigh that feels far too heavy for someone who's only opened his eyes, Seonghyeon forces himself upright. His blanket slides from his shoulders, and the cool morning air immediately settles against his skin.
Every muscle protests.
His calves ache.
His shoulders feel stiff.
Yesterday's choreography lingers in every joint, refusing to let him forget.
He rolls his shoulder once, then twice, wincing when something pops.
It wasn't just today.
It had become everyday.
It doesn't take long for Seonghyeon to realize that trainee life had a rhythm of its own.
Wake up.
School.
Training.
Go home.
Repeat.
Days blurred together until Seonghyeon stopped counting them altogether. His legs constantly ached, his voice was always hoarse, and sleep became something squeezed into whatever hours were left after another late-night practice.
Being a trainee wasn't anything like he'd imagined.
It was harder.
Louder.
Lonelier.
Everyone was chasing the same dream, but no one had the luxury of slowing down long enough to help someone else catch up.
Not because they were unkind.
Just because they were tired.
So he learned quickly.
When Seonghyeon finally stepped out of his room, the apartment had fully come to life. The smell of breakfast drifted from the kitchen, where Mrs. Eom was already setting bowls onto the table while the morning news murmured softly from the television.
"You're up, Hyeon-ah."
"Mm." He rubbed another yawn from his eyes before dropping into his chair.
"Eat while it's hot." Mrs. Eom said, sliding a bowl of rice toward him before he even had to ask.
Another day had begun.
──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────
The final bell rang through the classroom, sharp enough to pull everyone from the haze of another school day.
The classroom slowly came alive.
Chairs scraped against the floor.
Zippers closed.
Conversations that had been whispered throughout the lesson suddenly filled the room, everyone already making plans before they'd even stepped outside. His classmates talked about going to cafés, playing video games, and whose house they were going to after school.
"Hey, Seonghyeon."
He looked up to find Minjun standing beside his desk, backpack slung over one shoulder.
They'd spent months taking swimming lessons together every Wednesday until Seonghyeon's trainee schedule left little room for anything else.
"Want to hang out?" Minjun asked. "It's been forever."
Seonghyeon's eyes flickered toward the clock mounted above the classroom door.
Practice started in less than an hour.
"… I can't today."
The apology was already written across Seonghyeon's face.
"Training?"
A nod.
"I figured." Minjun smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Just… used to it.
Minjun let out an exaggerated sigh before nudging Seonghyeon's shoulder.
"One of these days, you're actually going to say yes."
A quiet laugh escaped Seonghyeon.
"Maybe."
"Another time?"
"… Another time."
Neither of them mentioned that "another time" had quietly become their goodbye.
The hallway emptied around him, students disappeared through the school gates in pairs and small groups, their laughter slowly swallowed by the sounds of the city beyond.
Seonghyeon adjusted the strap of his backpack lighter onto his shoulder before turning in the opposite direction.
Toward the station.
The practice building.
Another evening that wouldn't end until long after the sun had gone.
The walk had become second nature.
Past the convenience store on the corner.
Across the crosswalk where the pedestrian light always seemed to last just a little too short.
The route never changed.
Neither did the destination.
By the time the familiar glass doors slid open, the building was already alive. Music drifted through the hallways from behind closed practice rooms, different songs bleeding into one another.
Seonghyeon bowed to the receptionist as he walked past.
Without thinking, his feet carried him toward the changing room.
School shoes off.
Dancing shoes on.
The familiar weight of his uniform gave way to an oversized T-shirt and worn gray sweatpants.
He stepped back into the hallway.
He looked like every other trainee making their way to another day of practice.
Studio Three was already filling up.
Some trainees stretched in front of the mirrors.
Others quietly reviewed choreography beneath their breath.
Seonghyeon slipped his backpack against the wall before scanning the room almost absentmindedly.
He wasn't looking for anyone in particular.
His eyes landed on Martin anyway.
It had become strangely easy to spot Martin in a crowded practice room.
Maybe it was because he stood a head taller than most of the trainees.
Or maybe…
Seonghyeon had simply gotten used to looking.
Martin was already halfway through stretching, laughing at something one of the older trainees had said.
As if sensing the attention, Martin glanced over.
Their eyes met.
He lifted a hand in a small wave.
Seonghyeon returned it almost automatically.
Around them, the practice room buzzed with the familiar chaos that always came before class. Shoes squeaked against the polished floor as trainees hurried through their warm-ups. Somewhere near the mirrors, someone quietly counted under their breath while another replayed the same eight counts of choreography over and over.
The speakers hummed softly, waiting for the instructor to start the music.
The air carried the faint scent of sweat and freshly mopped wood, mingling with the sugary smell of someone's sports drink that had been left uncapped near the wall.
Martin excused himself from the group with a quick pat on someone's shoulder before making his way over.
"You made it," Martin said with a grin, he tilted his head toward the doorway, "Didn't get stuck there this time?"
Seonghyeon looked at him blankly.
"…You're never letting that go, are you?"
Martin's grin widened. "Probably not."
The two of them stood there for a moment, the noise of the practice room filling the silence between them.
"So…" Martin rubbed the back of his neck, "You getting used to this place yet?"
Seonghyeon glanced around the studio before giving a small shrug. "…A little."
"You know," Martin said, lowering his voice as if he were sharing a secret, "the mirrors stop feeling so judgmental eventually."
"…They judge people?" Seonghyeon frowned.
Martin nodded with complete seriousness. "They know when you miss counts."
Seonghyeon stared at him for a long beat. "…You're joking."
Martin's composure cracked into a grin.
"I am."
Seonghyeon rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him. "…You're annoying."
"Already?" Martin pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "We only met last week."
Before Seonghyeon could think of another comeback, a sharp clap cut through the room.
"Everyone." The instructor's voice carried easily over the chatter.
"Places."
Conversations dissolved almost instantly.
Water bottles were nudged against the wall, towels disappeared into backpacks. One by one, trainees drifted toward their usual spots in front of the mirrors.
Martin took a step backward. "Guess that's our cue."
Seonghyeon nodded, already turning back toward his place near the back.
"Oh and—"
He looked back.
Martin scratched the back of his neck, almost as if he remembered something at the last second.
"A few of us usually grab dinner after practice." He gestured toward his friends he'd been standing with earlier.
"Jiwoo, Kyungwon… whoever's still alive after practice."
Martin flashed Seonghyeon an easy smile. "You should come with us."
"…Me?"
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
Martin blinked. "Yeah."
"I don't want to intrude." Seonghyeon waved a hand dismissively.
"You won't." Martin answered so quickly that it caught Seonghyeon off guard.
"I was… We were going to ask eventually anyway."
Another clap echoed through the room.
"Last warning!" the instructor called.
"Think about it, yeah?" Martin playfully nudged his shoulder.
"…Okay." Seonghyeon nodded.
"Cool."
Then Martin jogged back to his spot.
Over the past week, their conversations had rarely lasted more than a few minutes before practice began.
A nod in the hallway.
A quick "Morning."
A joke there.
Complaints about sore muscles after another long practice.
None of it felt particularly important.
Just enough that Martin was no longer simply the first trainee Seonghyeon had met.
Somehow, Seonghyeon had started expecting them anyway.
Martin became a familiar part of every evening.
──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────
The music cut off as abruptly as it had started.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
The room exhaled.
Someone collapsed dramatically onto the floor with a groan and a chorus of tired laughter followed.
Water bottles were cracked open one after another, the sharp clicks of plastic caps echoing through the studio. Shoes squeaked against the floor as trainees wandered toward their bags, peeling sweat-damp shirts away from their backs. The air conditioner hummed overhead, struggling against the lingering heat that practice always left behind.
Seonghyeon bent over, hands braced against his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
His chest still rose and fell a little too quickly.
His shirt clung uncomfortably to his back.
The mirrors reflected a room full of exhausted teenagers, each one trying to pretend they weren't completely spent.
The instructor clapped once.
"Good work today."
A chorus of bows followed.
"Thank you!"
As soon as the instructor disappeared into the hallway, conversations bloomed again.
Martin toweled the sweat from the back of his neck before making his way toward the others.
Jiwoo was already draining half of his water bottle.
"Took your time there earlier." He tilted his chin toward Seonghyeon.
Martin twisted the cap back onto his water bottle, "Just talking." He shrugged.
That earned him a curious look from Kyungwon.
Kyungwon zipped up his backpack.
"Ah…That new kid?" His gaze drifted toward Seonghyeon, who was still packing up by the mirrors.
Martin nodded.
"I invited him to grab dinner with us," He glanced between them, "You guys are okay with that, right?"
Kyungwon looked almost confused by the question.
"Yeah." He slung his backpack over one shoulder, "Why wouldn't we be?"
Martin let out a small breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Across from him, Jiwoo lowered his water bottle with the faintest smirk.
"…Did you tell him 'I' invited him?"
Martin blinked.
"…Or 'we' invited him?" Jiwoo wiggled two fingers in the air as if putting invisible quotation marks.
Martin deadpanned.
"…What?"
Jiwoo's smile widened. "Nothing."
"Jiwoo."
"I'm just asking."
"No, you weren't." Martin shot him a sidelong look.
"I definitely was."
Kyungwon sighed, already walking toward the door. "You two coming or what?"
Jiwoo lingered for a second, glancing between Martin and Seonghyeon, then back again.
One corner of his mouth lifted.
"Huh."
Martin was friendly. Everyone knew that.
Going out of his way for someone he'd only known a week? Even inviting him into their circle?
That was new.
Jiwoo stepped forward and gave Martin a light tap on the shoulder.
"Didn't know you had it in you."
Martin frowned. "…What's that supposed to mean?"
Jiwoo only smiled. "Nothing."
The three of them made their way toward the exit, backpacks slung over tired shoulders.
Jiwoo pushed it open first.
Kyungwon was already halfway through when he realized Martin wasn't beside him anymore.
He glanced back.
Martin hasn't moved.
A few feet away, Seonghyeon was still crouched by the mirrors, quietly gathering his things. He folded his practice shirt into a neat square before slipping it into his backpack, then tucked away his water bottle.
He took his time.
As if he wasn't expecting anyone to wait for him.
Martin looked between him and the open doorway.
"You guys go on ahead."
"You sure?" Jiwoo raised an eyebrow. "We can wait too you know."
He wiggled his eyebrows.
Martin shook his head. "I'll catch up."
Kyungwon only shrugged. "We're hungry, don't take forever."
"Speak for yourself," Jiwoo muttered. "You've been hungry since lunch."
"I've been hungry since birth." Kyungwon flicked an imaginary strand of hair over his shoulder, "I was born to thrive."
Martin laughed, waving them off. "I'll be there."
The door swung shut behind them.
The practice room grew noticeably quieter.
Only the distant thump of music from another studio and the rustle of Seonghyeon's backpack broke the silence.
Martin waited.
Seonghyeon zipped his backpack shut.
The sound echoed a little louder now that most of the trainees had already left.
He stood, slinging the bag over one shoulder before turning toward the door.
Only then did he notice Martin.
He was still standing near the doorway, hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants, idly rocking back on his heels.
"…You didn't leave?"
Martin looked up.
"Oh." He smiled, as though he'd only just realized Seonghyeon had finished packing. "You're done?"
Seonghyeon blinked. "…Were you waiting?"
Martin shrugged, like it wasn't a particularly strange thing to do.
"I said we'd grab dinner together, didn't I?"
The building emptied around them, trainees spilling onto the sidewalk in tired groups, their laughter carrying into the warm summer air.
Martin fell into step beside him.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
Their footsteps filled the silence instead.
Seonghyeon found himself glancing around.
Weren't there supposed to be more people?
Martin had said we.
But the only one standing beside him now was Martin.
As if catching the direction of his gaze, Martin spoke first.
"They're already at the convenience store."
"Hm?"
"I told them to go ahead." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "They…would've complained if I made them wait."
"…Oh."
That… made sense.
The silence returned, though this time it didn't feel quite as awkward.
The city drifted around them.
Somewhere across the street, someone laughed loud enough to turn a few heads.
The pedestrian crossing chirped as the light turned green.
They crossed together.
Martin glanced over.
"How was school?"
Seonghyeon blinked.
"…Normal."
Martin chuckled.
"That's it?"
"…There was math."
"…Wow."
"It was terrible."
"There we go."
A smile tugged at the corner of Martin's mouth.
"I knew you had more words than that."
Seonghyeon looked away.
"…I do."
"I can see that."
──── ⌢ ✦ ⌢ ────
The familiar chime above the convenience store door rang as they stepped inside.
A rush of cool air washed over them, carrying the faint smell of instant ramen, brewed coffee, and freshly fried snacks from the hot food counter.
Bright fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Rows of neatly stacked drinks reflected in the glass refrigerator doors.
Jiwoo and Kyungwon were exactly where Martin had said they'd be.
Still standing in front of the refrigerated section.
Still arguing.
"I told you the spicy one's better."
"Spicy food just hurts your tongue."
"That's because you're weak."
"I'm alive."
"Barely."
Martin laughed under his breath.
"Told you they'd complain."
The two looked up at the sound of the door.
"There you are," Kyungwon tapped Jiwoo's shoulder.
Jiwoo's eyes drifted past Martin.
They landed on Seonghyeon.
For the first time, neither of them was seeing him from across a practice room.
Up close, he looked younger than they'd expected.
Smaller, too.
His dark hair was still damp around the temples from practice, a few strands falling across tired eyes that seemed unsure where to look.
His features were softer up close.
Pretty, almost.
The kind of face that made you look twice without really meaning to.
No wonder he got scouted.
Seonghyeon stood with both straps of his backpack pulled over his shoulders, fingers curled lightly around them.
Almost like he was trying to make himself take up less space.
Martin stepped aside without thinking.
"This is Seonghyeon."
"H-Hello," Seonghyeon greeted, bowing a little deeper than he probably needed to.
"Nice to finally meet you properly," Kyungwon returned the bow with an easy smile.
Jiwoo nodded. "So you're the new guy Martin keeps disappearing to talk to."
He looked at him over for another second before the corner of his mouth twitched. "…I get it."
Martin frowned. "…Get what?"
Jiwoo just reached into the fridge and grabbed a drink. "Nothing."
Seonghyeon's eyebrows knit together as he glanced at Martin. Did i miss something?
"What does he mean?" He looked at Martin for an explanation.
"Don't mind him," Martin shot Jiwoo a look, "He enjoys confusing people. Thinks it's funny."
The four of them settled around one of the small tables by the window, convenience store wrappers slowly piling between them.
At first, the conversation came in hesitant starts.
Where Seonghyeon went to school.
How he got scouted.
Whether he'd always wanted to become an idol.
Most of Seonghyeon's answers were short.
Martin never seemed to mind filling the silence they left behind.
Little by little, the conversation loosened.
Somewhere between Jiwoo insisting instant ramen counted as a balanced meal and Kyungwon stealing half of Martin's fries, they stopped talking about being trainees altogether.
Instead, they argued over movies.
Video games.
The best convenience store snacks.
Kyungwon somehow turned the topic into an argument about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
"It doesn't," Jiwoo said immediately.
Kyungwon nodded with complete confidence.
Seonghyeon quietly nodded in agreement.
Martin looked between the three of them in disbelief before placing a hand dramatically over his chest.
"As a pineapple pizza guy," he declared, "you guys are just hating."
Jiwoo pointed at Martin with a sausage skewer.
"I'd rather eat pineapple in a burger."
"..Mm, me too." Seonghyeon admitted.
Three nods.
Martin blinked. "You'll eat it in a burger," he leaned forward, genuinely baffled.
"…But not on pizza?"
"Exactly."
Martin frowned harder. "Those are literally the same ingredients."
No one bothered explaining.
"So…" Jiwoo stirred his ramen, glanced at Seonghyeon. "How old are you?"
Seonghyeon looked up.
"…Twelve."
The table fell silent.
Kyungwon blinked once.
"…You're twelve?"
Seonghyeon nodded.
"I thought you were at least thirteen."
Martin let out a quiet laugh. "I told you he was younger."
By the time the wrappers had been cleared away and empty bottles lined the edge of the table, Seonghyeon had laughed more than he'd expected to.
It wasn't until then that he noticed something.
Martin hadn't really eaten.
A few minutes later, Kyungwon glanced toward the freezers.
"…I want ice cream." He patted his stomach with exaggeration motion.
"You always want ice cream."
"And?"
Jiwoo sighed, already standing. "Fine," he looked at Martin and Seonghyeon. "You guys want anything?"
Martin glanced toward Seonghyeon.
"I'm good."
Seonghyeon shook his head.
"Suit yourselves."
The two wandered toward the freezers, immediately beginning another argument over which ice cream flavor was the best.
"Cookies and cream."
"Chocolate."
"Wrong."
Their voices grew quieter with every step.
Now it was just Martin.
And Seonghyeon.
The silence settled comfortably between them.
Not awkward.
Just…quiet.
Martin rested his elbows against the table, watching Jiwoo and Kyungwon debate ice cream from halfway across the store.
He was already thinking of something to say.
Before he could—
"…Hyung."
Martin blinked and looked over.
Seonghyeon was already looking at him.
"…Yeah?"
A small pause.
"…What's your favorite ice cream?"
For a second, Martin simply stared.
He'd been so used to starting every conversation himself that hearing Seonghyeon speak first caught him completely off guard.
"Mint chocolate chip," he answered after a beat.
Then, unable to help himself, he asked.
"Why?"
Seonghyeon looked down at the empty wrapper on the table.
"…Just wondering."
Another beat passed before he added, almost as an afterthought.
"…I don't like mint chocolate."
Martin gasped, pressing a hand to his chest.
"You mean to tell me…" He leaned in a little closer.
"…you're one of those people who think mint chocolate tastes like toothpaste."
Seonghyeon blinked.
"Yeah." A small smile tugged at Seonghyeon's lips. "It tastes like toothpaste."
"It doesn't."
"It's toothpaste pretending to be a dessert."
Martin looked toward the freezers as if searching for support.
"Jiwoo!"
Without even turning around, Jiwoo called back, "Don't drag me into your mint propaganda."
A minute later, the two returned. Kyungwon had somehow ended up with cookies and cream despite insisting chocolate was better.
"Ready guys?" Jiwoo asked around a mouthful of ice cream.
Martin nodded, pushing imself to his feet.
The others followed.
The sky had faded into shades of orange and blue, the day's heat slowly giving way to a welcome breeze.
The four of them walked together without much thought, conversation drifting from practice to whatever ridiculous challenge Jiwoo wanted everyone to try next.
The station entrance soon came into view.
Kyungwon slowed to a stop.
"This is us."
Jiwoo gave a lazy wave.
"See you tomorrow."
Martin returned the gesture. "Don't be late."
"I've never been late," Jiwoo scoffed, "Name one time."
Kyungwon didn't even have to think about it as he glanced at Jiwoo.
"You were late yesterday."
"That was… traffic."
"We walked." Kyungwon rubbed a hand over his face. "Come on."
The station entrance swallowed Jiwoo and Kyungwon's voices until even their bickering faded beneath the rumble of an arriving train.
Martin and Seonghyeon continued on, heading toward the station of the opposite side of the street.
"My station's this way."
Seonghyeon blinked.
"…You too?"
"Huh." Martin smiled to himself. "Guess we'll be seeing each other on the way home too."
"…I guess."
The two crossed the street together, waiting with a small crowd until the pedestrian light changed.
Another comfortable silence settled between them.
Then—
"…Wait here."
Martin blinked.
"Hm?"
Seonghyeon had already turned back toward the convenience store.
"I'll be right back."
Before Martin could ask why, Seonghyeon was already jogging back across the street.
Martin watched him disappear through the automatic doors.
Did he forget something?
He waited.
A minute passed.
Maybe two.
Then the doors slid open again.
Seonghyeon stepped back outside.
Slightly out of breath.
Something clutched carefully in one hand.
"…Here."
Martin looked down.
A mint chocolate chip ice cream bar.
Still cold enough that tiny droplets of condensation had already begun to form on the wrapper.
His gaze lifted slowly back to Seonghyeon
"…You went back just for this?"
Seonghyeon scratched the back of his neck. "You didn't really eat earlier…"
Martin's eyes dropped to the ice cream again.
So that was why he asked…
He accepted it carefully, as though it were something far more fragile.
"…Thanks."
Seonghyeon gave a small nod.
"…Don't make me eat mint chocolate."
A quiet laugh escaped Martin.
"No promises."
The ice cream was cold against his palm. Somehow, the warmth spreading through his chest made far less sense.