ardour

It felt like cheating.
In the furthest corner of their living room, tucked under blankets, the heat of their chests pressed together – it felt like cheating, but it wasn’t. Their lips press together, for the first time, and Minhyuk feels his heart fizzling like the corner-store fireworks they’d lit earlier on in the evening. He feels, also, the cold stone of guilt that had been a counterbalancing weight in his heart – feels it melt away, dripping down to his fingertips, cool against the flaring heat of the other boy’s cheek.
Perhaps, this was what he was looking for, all along.
this is a work of fiction

Work Text:

It felt like cheating.

In the furthest corner of their living room, tucked under blankets, the heat of their chests pressed together – it felt like cheating, but it wasn’t. Their lips press together, for the first time, and Minhyuk feels his heart fizzling like the corner-store fireworks they’d lit earlier on in the evening. He feels, also, the cold stone of guilt that had been a counterbalancing weight in his heart – feels it melt away, dripping down to his fingertips, cool against the flaring heat of the other boy’s cheek.

Perhaps, this was what he was looking for, all along.

His feet ache to move, his hips ache to sway – the music thumping from inside the practice room across the hall is enticing, beckoning him over. His parents are signing documents, huddled over the CEO’s desk with thick pens in their hands. Minhyuk slips out of his seat, creeps over to the door and peers down the hall.

Waiting outside the practice room are a few piles of trainee’s possessions, some coats, sneakers without a match, strewn water bottles. The music is complimented by the squeak of shoes, by the clapping and counting of an instructor. Ended, with the huffing and puffing of a team inside, cheering and whooping at the completion of their routine.

Minhyuk hovers in the doorway, peers back inside at his parents who are listening intently to the CEO, and scuttles down the hall. There’s a long window pane that looks in on the practice room, and Minhyuk sticks his head over the edge.

Sleek, hardwood floors. Grey panels on the wall. A long desk beneath him, littered with speaker equipment, notebooks filled with doodles and instructions, a small pile of mobile phones and mp3-players. Mirrors line two of the walls, and Minhyuk catches his own reflection peering inside the practice room. Twirling around the centre of the room, a little out of sync, is a group of boys. They all appear around Minhyuk’s age – eleven – maybe a little older.

As the song playing slows to a stop, so do the boys. They all scatter, some pressing their sweaty bodies up against the mirror, fogging it up, others collapsing into the floor. One boy reaches for his water bottle, takes a long swig, before throwing his head back and panting. As he looks up, he meets Minhyuk’s eye. His eyebrows raise a moment, and just as he’s about to point out the voyeur in the hall, Minhyuk slinks away.

His parents had been about to search for him when he arrives back. The CEO gathers Minhyuk’s much smaller hand in his and shakes it, congratulating him on his acceptance into the company. Minhyuk smiles.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how it’d be to practice, just like those other trainees – and now, he’ll be able too.

Minhyuk starts the very next day. He’s given his own locker, a dorm room with three other beds – he enters a whole new world. Wake up early, be fed by the dorm’s chef, practice, practice, practice, and fall asleep in a dorm room flooded with other boys.

The boy in the practice room, the one who’d spotted him, is the first to befriend him. He stops Minhyuk as they’re getting ready for practice, tank top looped around his neck. He smiles, thin lips coiling upwards, like a pleased puppy’s might. “You’re short,” he says, first. Minhyuk looks up at him, from over his locker door, a light frown on his features. The boy extends his hand, “I’m Bin. Moon Bin.”

“I’m not that short,” Minhyuk replies, pushing his heel into his practice sneakers.

“You’re a little short,” Bin shrugs, exaggerating his extended hand. Minhyuk shakes it softly, bowing a little, responding with his own name. Bin sticks his arms through the sleeves of his top. “How old are you, Minhyuk?” He asks. From within his locker, Bin pulls out a spray can of deodorant, spraying it for a few seconds too long under each arm.

“I’m eleven.”

Bin smiles, tongue poking out from between his teeth. “You better be nice to me, then – I’m twelve! I thought I was going to be the youngest forever, so I’m glad you’re here,” he rambles, throwing the can of deodorant back inside his locker with a metallic clatter and slamming the door shut. Bin is loud, Minhyuk decides.

Friendly, but loud.

“Are you a dancer?” Minhyuk asks, as they step inside the practice room. They’re the only ones in there, for now – both of them, coincidentally, had wanted to come early.

Bin is overlooking the sound equipment, plugging his mp3-player in. “I wanna be,” he replies, as a click sounds over the speakers, his device connected. “I’m a bit of everything, I suppose, but I want them to train my singing a little more. What about you?”

Minhyuk shrugs, hovering in the centre of the room. “Dance – but I want to rap, too.” His sneakers squeak as he looks around, taking in the appearance of the practice room, from a new angle, now that he was inside.

“Why’d you join this company?” Bin asks, swirling his thumb around on the dial of his device, looking for songs. He’s hunched over on the edge of the table, foot tapping along to an imaginary beat.

The younger boy grins at the sudden thought of his father, pulled to the surface of his memory, scuffing the toe of his shoe into the hardwood floor. “My dad,” he says. He remembers to stretch, pulling his arm across his chest. “He promised he’d buy me a Wii if I auditioned.”

Bin laughed, “You didn’t want to audition?”

Minhyuk shrugged, stretching his other side. Bin joins him, a mirror image. “I was nervous.”

“Well,” Bin smiles, “You obviously made it in for a reason. We’ll see what’cha got.”

As they finish stretching, Bin steps over to the mp3-player again. He selects a song, and Minhyuk listens to the first beats filter into the room. “I’ll show you what we were learning the other day,” the older boy says, darting into the centre of the room. Minhyuk nods, settling in the chair by the speaker systems.

The beat climbs, slow and steady, until it suddenly drops, and Bin begins to dance. He swirls around the room, body moving smoothly with the music, muscle memory revising the dance moves. Minhyuk is taken aback, watching on in awe. Something whirs in his chest – admiration, inspiration, or perhaps shock – he could not be sure.

To be fair, Bin was not the most talented dancer Minhyuk had ever seen - among his old dance classmates and his old coach and all the dancing stars he’d admired since he was very young – Bin was wedged somewhere between average and astounding. However, what Minhyuk enjoys so much, is the aura Bin exudes as he dances.

An aura of confidence, of a slick and smooth knowledge of his body that few are lucky enough to hone. He holds his head and chest high, poised, a twinkle in his eye unlike one that Minhyuk had ever seen. Bin may have been showing off, decorating the dance that had been created for him to learn with subtle flicks of his fingers and wrists, curls of his legs. He works with an air of finesse, suave as the smirk on his lips.

As the song dwindles to a close, Bin folds over, huffing and puffing. From his place on the floor, a crumpled heap, he grins up at Minhyuk. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face that shines under the artificial lights of the practice room, that accentuates his beaming smile. A little boxy, reminds Minhyuk somewhat of a puppy, again, as the breath is drawn from his lungs.

“Did you like it?” Bin asks, a pleased lilt to his tone.

Minhyuk nods. He did.

“Here’s a tip,” Bin begins as they stuff their feet into their shoes and step outside the company building, on the way back to their dorm. It’s only Minhyuk’s eighth day at the dorm, and he’s still settling in, adjusting to the extreme change.

Minhyuk is curled under his blanket, sniffling as quietly as he could as the rest of his dorm room sleeps peacefully. His blanket still smells like his mother, and as he curls his nose further into the plush, he can’t help but cry. He misses his mother, his little brother, and his father. He doesn’t know when he’ll see them again, either – he has no date to look forward too.

There’s a shuffling in the bunk above him. Minhyuk gasps, tucking himself further into the soft, dark cave of his mother’s comforter, biting his lip to cage the cries that want to escape.

His bunk bed quivers as the person above descends the ladder – Bin. There’s a warm weight on his shoulder, smoothing over his form, like a curious hand feels the heat of a boulder in the sun: with a little caution. Bin squeezes his shoulder gently, rolls him over. Tentatively, his hand pulls on the end of the blanket, revealing Minhyuk’s small, wet face – a pink petal in a dewy Autumn morning.

“Oh, Minhyuk,” he murmurs, a little whimper in his words. Minhyuk fights for the duvet back, to pull it back over his face, but Bin is remarkably strong. “You miss home, don’t you?” he asks, the empathy in his voice instantly pushing off some of the crushing weight on Minhyuk’s heart.

Minutely, he nods, and feels more hot tears slide over his nose and down his cheek. “Do you need a hug?” Bin asks. And, Minhyuk doesn’t want to give in, doesn’t want to look like a baby, but he craved the comfort of someone who understood. He nods again, and Bin lifts the blankets and crawls underneath.

Despite the cool air outside, Bin’s skin is warm. His arms wrap around Minhyuk, tucks the boy into his warm chest, nestles his chin in Minhyuk’s nest of hair, strokes his back gently. “It takes a while,” he whispers into Minhyuk’s ear. “I’m here, for now – I get it.”

Bin was here. Perhaps, Minhyuk would be okay.

“What’s the tip?” Minhyuk replies, tugging his coat a little tighter around himself, feeling the cool air press against the sweat on his skin. They’d been practicing, and Minhyuk had already learnt the whole dance Bin had shown him on his first day.

“Walk faster. Or, maybe, run,” Bin decides, and begins to sprint down the footpath.

“Hey! Where are we going?!” Minhyuk yells after him, trying to catch up. The wind brushes through his hair, flickers against his eyes, that water in response. Together, they dash past shocked observers, who serve quickly to avoid a collision with the two pre-teen boys.

Bin doesn’t answer until he promptly stops in front of a convenience store. Hands on his knees, he huffs, trying to catch his breath. “If you hurry… You can…. Get…. Sweets… Before you get back… To the dorm,” he breathes, wiping the back of his hand over his wet forehead.

Sweets were forbidden in the dorm. Anything that wasn’t decided by the chef or their manager, who pretended he was a nutritionist, was not allowed. Minhyuk missed the taste of his mother’s cakes, of the chocolates his grandmother would sneak him. Minhyuk argues this – “Sweets are banned.”

The older boy shrugs, stepping inside. “We can work them off on the run back home,” he replies. Reluctantly, Minhyuk steps in behind him, follows Bin as they worm through the shelves to find what they were looking for.

The rack is covered in a wide selection of chocolates and sweets. Minhyuk remembers he has no wallet, nothing to pay for these snacks with, and patiently waits for Bin to make his choice and purchase the food. However, Bin asks which one he would like, offering to pay, with the money his mother occasionally sends him – this time around. Glancing over the wide selection, Minhyuk finally makes his choice, handing it to Bin.

Outside, they eat their sweets. Minhyuk savours the warm and delicious flavour of chocolate on his tongue, listens to Bin chat about how often he sneaks sweets back to the dorm for everyone to share at midnight. The concrete of the curb is rough underneath him, as he sits beside the other boy, their sides pressed together and knees bumping.

Minhyuk thanks him for the treat.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re my favourite, right? Race you back to the dorm!”

Minhyuk falters. Favourite.

Bin has already turned the corner, before Minhyuk starts running, before the heavy feeling in his chest lifts and he can move again.

There’s a trail of blood trickling down his knee, a long slither in the centre of his shin that snakes to the underneath of his calf. Minhyuk is shaking a little, clutching the sore graze on his leg, trying to subdue the tears that well in his eyes. Normally, he isn’t upset when he trips and falls, and grazes himself. Normally, he wears the healing wounds proudly, like battle scars. Normally, his mother is there to kiss him better.

Bin hurries inside to retrieve a plaster for him. They’d been dancing on the pavement outside their dorm, on the way home, when Minhyuk had tripped over his own feet and fallen onto the cement.

A clamber is heard behind him, as Bin descends the stairs, medical kit in his hand. He drops to Minhyuk’s side and tries to sort through the box in his hands, pulling out a little bottle of disinfectant and cleaning pads. “This will sting,” he warns, drawing the disinfected wipe closer to Minhyuk’s leg.

Instinctively, he pulls it closer to himself, guarding his knee from Bin’s aid. Bin frowns, resting his hand on Minhyuk’s shoulder, trying again. Once more, Minhyuk tucks his knee further into hiding. “It won’t sting that much. I’m just doing what my mum used to do when I hurt myself. You have to clean it, or it will hurt more, later,” Bin explains, tugging on Minhyuk’s leg.

With that point said, the younger boy gives in, resting his leg in Bin’s lap. He winces, as Bin dabs the wipe at his graze, hissing a little. Quietly, Bin’s spare hand finds his, holds it Minhyk’s hand in his rough palm. For a few moments, it feels as if he’s gotten used to the sting of the disinfectant, as he stares at their joined hands. Soon enough, Bin takes his hand back and peels the Band-Aid open, resting it on Minhyuk’s knee and giving it a tap with his index finger.

“There,” he says. “All better.”

He helps Minhyuk to his feet, pats his back gently, before packing the kit back up and heading inside. His chest feels heavy, like a magnet were stuck in his lungs, pulling him into the dorm, following in Bin’s footsteps. Minhyuk replays it all, the warm hand on his back, the weight of his fingers healing his knee, the slightly sticky feeling of Bin’s palm in his.

His mind feels a little foggy, as he follows up the stairs to their dorm room. Feels a little foggy as he eats dinner, across from Bin. As he showers, as he tucks himself into bed, and can’t find sleep. Because, in the darkness, without distractions, his mind is worse than foggy - it feels like a hurricane, a blurry, whirring mess.

A long stretch of time, days bleed into the next. Something settles in Minhyuk’s heart, dust after a wind storm.

Each day begins and ends with Bin, Bin, Bin.

He wonders if he’s lost his mind.

Fourteen.

The company takes the trainees on a road trip, a break from the city, a reward for working so hard. Minhyuk feels refreshed, as the city crumbles away outside the window, tumbling out onto nature. It’s been years since he’s been to the beach – the horizon flat and smooth like his mother’s favourite dinner plates, the sky like an old painting, a delicate mixture of pinks and blues, decorated with clouds that look almost surreal.

He’s fourteen, now. Finding balance in himself, he believes. Working out who he is.

Bin, he reckons, is a part of that. It’s been three years, now, just the two of them. Ever since Minhyuk’s acceptance to the company in 2010, until now, they’d been inseparable. Bin was a certain fixture in his life, a quiet pleasure.

Minhyuk curls into the sand, a warm, sun soaked towel wrapped around his shoulders. He feels the crisp sea air coat his skin, leaving behind a thin, salty film. The sun sets on the horizon, oozing down the canvas of the sky until it disappears completely, and the world trips into dusk.

The older boy is splashing about in the ocean with a few of the other trainees, their sweats rolled up to their knees, skin glittering under the final rays of sun. Bin wades out of the waves that crumble at his ankles, climbing up the shore to where Minhyuk rests. His feet are coated in sand as he takes a seat beside him, and his slightly damp sweatpants smell distinctly of sea salt.

“Are you having a good time?” Bin asks, pushing his feet under a mound of sand, adjusting it beneath his fingers, like an artisan at work.

Minhyuk smiles, “Yeah.” He hands Bin the warm towel, who pats it over his wet legs. “Usually, leaving routine is scary. But, this is nice. This is good,” he mutters. “What about you?”

Bin smiles, tips his head back. The first stars pop into view, like pin-holes bursting through the sky. He’s fifteen, now, firming up with muscle, legs lengthening. His voice has grown a lot deeper, and the company has had to retrain his singing. “It’s the best. I missed stuff like this. Not having anything to worry about, just relaxing. It’s been a long time, huh?”

Minhyuk nods. There’s a certain spectacular beauty to this time of day, where they are suspended in between day and night. Where the sun’s dyed colours finally bleed away into the all-consuming inky night – where, for a moment, everything feels still, as if time has stopped. Minhyuk peers over at Bin, the line of the boy’s neck glinting with a silver lining of the evening’s best hues.

There are words caught in Minhyuk’s throat, a sentence that is neither a confession nor a question. He wonders if it’s appropriate to say. Imagines all the possible reactions.

If time has stopped, would Bin hear everything Minhyuk felt he had to say?

“You okay?” Bin asks, nudging his shoulder.

Minhyuk’s eyes refocus, pulling away from the tiny splash of a birthmark on the curve of Bin’s shoulder. The world seems to spill back into his attention, the sand beneath his legs, the sound of crashing waves and his friend’s laughter.

Minhyuk coughs. “Oh, yeah,” he responds, choppy as the sea breeze that bounces off the waves. The manager is calling them back to the hotel. “Fine.”

Bin’s hand finds his shoulder, pats it gently. Minhyuk feels his chest burn, feels the words he’d wanted to say slide easily back down his throat. With a gulp, they’re gone.

“Did you hear?” Bin whispers, as they step into the company building. “There’s auditions for the company happening today.”

A few dozen gazes fall on them as they walk toward the elevator and step inside, all curious and bug-eyed. The group of strangers are preparing for the five-minute audition that could change their lives.

The elevators doors huff to a close, and Bin presses the button for their practice room’s floor “I wonder if any of them will make it,” Minhyuk murmurs, toying with the zipper on his jacket.

“Let’s hope not – fresh meat means competition,” Bin responds. The elevator chimes, pulls open, and they step into the hallway.

The younger boy frowns. “Did you feel that way when I auditioned?” He asked.

Bin grins. “That was almost three years ago, now,” he replies. “I was a little nervous, yeah. But, then I got to know you and you became my best friend.”

They practice, for a while. Yet, curiosity eats away at them, creating a slack in their limbs. An interest that pushes them out the door, back into the elevator and downstairs. They pause outside the room the auditions are being held in. There’s a long window pane that stretches across the wall, a mirror on the other side; one-sided glass.

Minhyuk thinks, for a moment; they are alone, hidden. He flirts with the thought of Bin against him, in the presence of all these people, who cannot see or know anything. Though, Bin stands beside him, book-cover assessing every individual on the other side. She’ll make it – he won’t – I don’t know about him. Minhyuk watches his lips wrap around the words, wishes with an addicting secrecy that they were wrapped around his own.

He glances back out over the crowd, nervous chatter falling over small circles of people. There are young boys and girls, cheered on by their parents – young teens, and kids a little older than the both of them.

Minhyuk notices him first – a short kid, with a thick bowl of black hair on his little head. He is fairly scrawny, with large round eyes that humorously resemble a bug’s, hidden behind thick rimmed glasses. He sways, tucked into the corner of the room, shuffling his feet in an awkward dance, singing quietly to himself. It’s endearing, the light blush on his cheeks, as he looks over his shoulder, seemingly afraid of anyone coming near him.

Part of Minhyuk wants to step out, assure him everything would be okay. The other part of him wants to stay beside Bin, protect their chances of staying together and debuting side-by-side.

Then, Bin spots him. “Look at that poor kid. He looks terrified,” he mumbles, finger pointing directly to the boy in the corner. There’s a gentle smile on his lips, and he mumbles something inaudible.

“What?”

“He’s scared, because he really wants this.” Bin falters, as he says this, his smile slipping a little as he watches the boy.

“Were you scared?” Minhyuk asks. The lights from the other room flicker over his face. The door to this room opens, and a few officials hover by the entrance, preparing to watch in secret.

“Petrified,” Bin replies.

Minhyuk doesn’t hear much from the auditions until a few weeks later. A girl, maybe his age, or a year younger, is poking around the locker room. She’s very short, with thick, round cheeks and an eager smile. She opens every locker, only to find them full, shutting each one and moving on. With the toe of her shoe, she kicks at a pile of clothes on the floor, her nose scrunching up in disgust.

He must surprise her when he says, “This is the boy’s locker room,” because she squeals, jumping a little. Clutching at her chest, she blushes profusely.

“Oh! It is? I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, frozen in her place. “I must have sent Sanha to the girl’s locker room. Oh, gee,” she mutters, and finally scurries past Minhyuk and out the hall, shouting for ‘Sanha’.

A few moments later, Minhyuk is pulling off his hoodie and shoving it into his locker, when a pair of sneakers screech to a halt in the locker room. Short, a mop of thick, black hair, and huge glasses – it’s the nervous boy in the corner, from the auditions.

He smiles awkwardly, a little crooked. “Is this the boy’s locker room?” He asks, bouncing on his toes. He tugs on the straps of his backpack, toys with them between his fingers.

Minhyuk nods, watching him closely. This boy was so strange – made up of odd proportions, like an amateur’s clay portrait. He was short, yet very skinny, which made him look stringy and gangly. His lips were round and pouty like a new born baby’s, slick and red like the inside of a cherry.

“Oh, great, good!” The boy shuffles about, observing the room. “I’m Sanha, by the way. What’s your name?”

Minhyuk has to follow steps to develop his next sentence, a little awestruck by such a character. “My name is Minhyuk. I’ve been a trainee for three years.”

“Wow!” Sanha cries, hands clapping together. “That’s forever. You must be old enough that they’ll make you leave, soon, right?”

Blunt.

Minhyuk swallows, “I’m only fourteen.”

“Oh, okay. You look way older. That makes you my ‘older brother’, then. I’m thirteen,” he smiles, shrugs his backpack off his shoulders. “Do I get a locker?”

“They’re all full,” Minhyuk murmurs, shutting the door to his own.

Sanha shrugs, “Guess they’ll get rid of someone, then.” With that, he dumps his backpack on the floor and hurries into the practice room, where the trainee manager waits.

Get rid of someone?

Minhyuk slides the lock shut on his locker, double-check’s Bin’s is locked tight. If one of them goes, both of them go. If Sanha replaces one of them, he replaces both of them.

At least, that’s what Minhyuk had decided, anyway.

The low hum of a guitar strum. Melodic, peaceful. Minhyuk imagines the sounds of Summer oncoming, of a swishing breeze, distant laughter. The delightful tune echoes out from the recording room, a picked and perfected melody.

He pokes his head around the corner of the door hinges. The room is dark, the only light that of the computer’s bright monitor. Under this light, Sanha sits in one of the office chairs, bent over a guitar, strumming away peacefully. He strums a few chords, fingers contorting to align themselves along the neck, pausing every now and then to write in a notebook.

In all his curiosity, Minhyuk can’t help but knock.

Sanha is startled, his mop of black hair shifting, cherry lips split into an ‘o’. His palm clasps over the strings, halting the sweet song he was playing, “Oh, Minhyuk,” he murmurs, moving to put the guitar away.

The older boy stops him, waving his hands away. He takes a seat on the bench, shuffling some recording equipment and a large pair of headphones to the side. Sanha is nestled under the light of the monitor, thick framed glasses mirroring the light and masking his eyes. Minhyuk really wants to switch a light on. “You play?” He asks, gesturing to the guitar that sits between them.

The boy draws it further into himself. “I’m teaching myself. A new song. I want to write someday, but I don’t have the skills yet.”

“They’ll train you,” Minhyuk shrugs. “Play something?”

“What should I play?” Sanha asks, flicking through his notebook quickly.

“Anything. Do you know anything by heart?”

Sanha nods, adjusting the knobs at the top of the guitar and shuffling in his seat. He begins the chords to a song Minhyuk is sure he’s heard somewhere. A song distant in the back of his mind, something his parents would have listened to on the radio when he was a kid, a song they’d have danced around the kitchen too, when they thought Minhyuk was asleep. A bittersweet song, faded memories tangled into the syllables.

Then, the boy starts to sing. His voice wavers, crackles a little on the ends of his words. His cheeks are pink as he ducks his head and focuses on the strings he plays, foot tapping as he goes. Minhyuk smiles, encourages Sanha by swaying a little.

The song ends, slowly. Minhyuk feels his heart stutter, slipping from his daydreams. “Y-You sing, too?” Minhyuk asks.

The boy shrugs. “I want too,” he mumbles, strums the guitar once more. Hands it over to Minhyuk, “Want me to teach you?”

The smooth weight of the guitar lands in his lap. “Why?”

“Guitar is such a cool instrument. It’s so diverse – it can play rock, pop. It can be romantic. It’s a useful skill.” Romantic. “But, really, I just want the chance to show off – let me?” Minhyuk nods, and Sanha bends over his shoulder, adjusting his hands on the strings, talking him through the movements.

Yet, all Minhyuk can think of is showing Bin what he will learn. Romantic, Sanha described.

There’s arguing in the hallway.

The CEO barks over the Scout’s head, ordering him out of the room. The trainees try to peer through the glass and down the hall at the debacle, but it unfortunately ends before they can catch a glimpse. There are a few stifled giggles, Bin is staring wide-eyed, and the Sanha kid looks a little nervous as he shrinks back onto the practice floor.

Minhyuk and Sanha had barely spoken since the younger boy had taught him some guitar. Minhyuk hadn’t learnt enough to show off to Bin, and the two had never gotten around to another lesson. Their conversations were limited to whenever they found themselves in the locker room together, or awkward hello’s in the elevator.

Everyone is tired – the dance teacher is getting frustrated as they continue to lack, fingers pressed up against the bridge of his nose and forehead sweating. He dismisses them with a grumble, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary as they file into the locker room.

Bin rests his head against his locker, heaving out a sigh. Slowly, he pulls out his things and tugs his sneakers back on. There’s an elastic frustration in his movements, a flat, horizontal look on his face. Minhyuk pats his shoulder gently, let’s Bin know he’s here, but the boy shrugs his palm away. The younger boy feels like a puppy on a leash, as he follows quickly behind Bin as all the trainees trail out and back towards the dorm.

“Bin, are you okay?” He asks, as they fall behind, Bin strolling slowly.

“Tired,” he replies, sneakers scraping against the cement.

Minhyuk had never been any good at consoling people. He could identify when something was wrong – but felt a heavy guilt that he could do little about it. He thought to sneak Bin to the convenience store, grab a ridiculously sugary item as Bin had once shown him – but they’d already passed the intersection, they were already so far behind the other trainees, and it was already so late into the night.

The other trainees chat in the living room, playing on their mobiles and pillow fighting. Sanha settles into his bed in their dorm room, but after sensing Bin’s torment and meeting Minhyuk’s worried gaze, briskly escapes. Bin pulls off his jumper and throws it to the already chaotically messy floor, and begins to climb the ladder to his own bed. Minhyuk sits stiffly on his bottom bunk beneath, pursing his lips – what should he say?

“Bin…”

“What?” Bitten, snapped.

Minhyuk’s lips make a popping noise as he stumbles over what to say. “You can tell me anything and everything, you know? You’re my best friend,” he murmurs, and Bin shifts, the tired bed squeaking. “You can put all your trust in me.”

Silence. Another shift. And, then, “Would you believe me if I said I was just tired?”

“No.”

“Good,” Bin responds, tipping his head over the edge of the bunk bed and peering down at Minhyuk. “That was a test. I guess you really are my best friend.” With that, he rolls back onto his bed, out of Minhyuk’s sight.

Confused, he stands, up on the tips of his toes and peering at Bin’s form, splayed out on the skinny single bunk. “Well, are you gonna talk about it?”

“Later,” Bin presses, rolling over to meet Minhyuk’s gaze. His eyes are a little red and watery, cheek pressed up against his pillow. A slither of something warm threads through Minhyuk’s chest, as Bin’s eyes well up and he pushes his thumb over the fresh tears, as he reaches over and pats Minhyuk’s head. “After everyone goes to bed.”

It feels like days have passed, when everyone in the dorm finally settles down into their beds. As Sanha curls up in his own bed, opposite Minhyuk, his gaze is shaped with questions. Minhyuk simply shrugs, because it’s all he can do. Bin waits until long after soft snores fall over the room, before he clambers down the ladder.

The younger boy is wide awake, waiting. “I thought you’d be asleep,” Bin murmurs, as they creep out of the room.

“Are you disappointed?” Minhyuk asks. Terrified of rejection, terrified of upsetting him.

“The opposite.”

They settle on the stairs outside the dorm. The cool breeze squeezes the skin of their arms and legs, makes their knees coil into their chests, forces them to huddle a little closer. Minhyuk’s heart is burning, boiling in his chest, heat rising in his cheeks. The sound of the highway a few blocks over is a gentle rush, a white background noise that fills in the gaps between Bin’s words.

“Have you ever worried about the future?”

“Debuting?” Minhyuk asks.

“No, what comes after that. If we become idols, what happens? What happens after?” He asks, chewing on the tip of his tongue momentarily. “Will our lives ever be normal again?”

Minhyuk furrows his brow. “Probably not.” Bin sighs. “Maybe that’s not what you want to hear, but part of being an idol is leading a life that isn’t cookie-cutter or regular. It’s a package deal – being an idol has baggage, Bin. You of all people should know that.”

There’s a long silence. Minhyuk watches a cricket bounce along the bottom step, and back into the grass.

“I always wanted to find love when I was a kid. It was my dream to start a family and be a dad.” Minhyuk imagines Bin with children – can’t help but imagine himself beside him. “I don’t think I can have that anymore.”

Minhyuk turns to him, just slightly, until their knees knock together. The streetlight traces Bin’s lips, nose and eyelashes, reflected in the tear tracks that run over his cheeks. “What? Sure, you can. There are so many idols who have families, now.”

Bin shakes his head, lifts one hand to hide his quivering lips. The stretch of skin between his forefinger and thumb catches his tears. “I can’t. I really can’t.”

Minhyuk stills, “W-Why not?”

A loud cry rips out of Bin’s lungs, and he latches onto his legs, burying his face in his knees. “No matter what I say,” he murmurs, back shivering, “You’ll always be my best friend, right?”

The younger boy nods, before he remembers Bin can’t see him, “Of course.”

“Minhyuk, I…” Minhyuk slips forward on the step, moving closer to him. “I like boys.”

Suddenly, the world feels like it’s spinning faster. Minhyuk is dizzy. He can feel Bin’s heat beside him, can register the sound of his sniffles, but the world beyond that is out of focus. “What?” He asks, dumbly, as points connect in his head, like constellations. Bin likes boys, as well.

He’d never phrased his feelings in such a way before, never looked beyond the thought that his feelings for Bin and others boys were unusual and unfavourable. Like a flickering film roll, memories from Minhyuk’s childhood thread together – meeting with memories of himself and Bin. Minhyuk liked him, the way boys and girls do in dramas.

Naïve, he calls himself. He was naïve to mislabel his own feelings, to disregard that what he felt was real and possible.

“I’m gay, Minhyuk,” Bin says, pushing one of his hands through his hair, creating thick rows in his black hair.

Me, too, Minhyuk thinks. He wants to utter this in reply, to assure Bin he understood, but his lips simply wouldn’t open for them. After a deep breath, he takes the leap, “So, what? I li-.”

“’So, what’?” Bin echoes, flicking his head over to him, Minhyuk’s confession halted on the tip of his tongue. “Minhyuk, it changes everything. It ruins everything. What if… What if someone finds out? I’ll destroy my chances at becoming an idol. I’ll destroy all of yours, and the other trainee’s chances…” He gulps, squeezes his eyes shut.

Minhyuk hadn’t thought of that. In fact, he hadn’t thought about any of this – he was still dizzied, after the startling realisation had hit. He hadn’t had the nerve to flesh this out, to imagine a new future, with himself worked out.

Bin sighs, shuffles his feet about on the stairs. “Minhyuk?” He asks, quietly, his voice a whisper into the night. His eyes flick up to meet Minhyuk’s, watery and sparkly and wide, perhaps a little scared.

“Yeah?”

“Do you hate me, now?”

Minhyuk feels a tear slide over his cheek, warm and wet. “Never.”

The scout is in trouble again. Minhyuk and Bin watch as he scurries out of the CEO’s room, a tray of coffees balanced precariously in his arms.

“Why is the scout getting yelled at again?” Minhyuk wonders aloud, as he and Bin step down the hall toward the locker room. His skin itches, his limbs begging to dance – there are a chorus of muffled conversations in the locker room, however.

They turn the corner together, and are met with Sanha, a few of their other trainee friends, and a guy neither of them had seen before. He’s short, with broad shoulders and a distinct taste in fashion. His hair is bleached almost white, though mousy roots poke up from his scalp. He has a gummy grin, which he shares with the two boys, bowing softly as they enter.

“Minhyuk, Bin,” Sanha calls, bouncing on his toes, “This is Jinwoo. He’s a new trainee! He comes from the dance school in Ilsan!” Jinwoo bows once more, quite deeply this time, a shy smile on his lips.

“Hi, there! I’m Moon Bin, and I’m fifteen. Dancer and vocalist,” he smiles, bowing. Minhyuk tucks himself a little further behind the older boy – Bin was always much more open and friendly than Minhyuk had ever been.

“Minhyuk, Jinwoo is in dance and rap, just like you!” Sanha mutters excitedly.

Minhyuk huffs out a light chuckle, bows deeply. Jinwoo, however, seems rather startled, and matches his bow. “I’m Minhyuk. I’m fourteen,” he says. “And, like Sanha says, I’m a dancer and rapper,” he murmurs. He tries to step behind Bin again, but the older boy shuffles aside.

“Wait… You’re fourteen?” Jinwoo asks, forehead creasing a little. “Woah, sorry – I thought you were older than me!”

“Hey, I thought Minhyuk was way older when I first met him, too!” Sanha chimes.

Bin frowns, “I thought he was too young to be here when I met him,” he argues.

The youngest boy rolls his eyes, waving his hand, “That’s because you met Minhyuk years and years ago, when he probably still looked like a baby.” Sanha, still with chubby cheeks and big round eyes, boyish features that gave him a baby-face, had little right to say this. “Besides, you two are inseparable, you know each other inside and out.”

Minhyuk smiles softly, feeling his cheeks tingle with heat. Inseparable. He watches Bin, who plays around with Jinwoo, copying and learning from his moves, laughing as they go. Inseparable, Minhyuk thinks, with pride.

Steam rises from the hotplate as Jinwoo throws some meat in, tossing half-cooked pieces over. A delicious smell fills the air, of moist, crackling meats, spicy sauces, and fresh vegetables. Minhyuk’s mouth waters, tongue shifts in desire, as he eyes the bubbling oils and sizzling food.

It had been a long while since he’d eaten something so rich – he’d become used to living on cheap muesli bars and cup-ramen, after the chef had given up on serving so many teenage trainees, whose bellies never seemed to fill. Their manager had given in to their requests and invited them along to a restaurant. The far corner is filled with their explosive chatter.

Bin is almost drooling at the sight of the food. He actively helps prepare it, declaring which pieces he wants to eat, excitement lolling on his tone. Minhyuk can’t help but smile, his arm pressed against the natural heat of Bin’s body, warm and secure.

Eventually a few trainees leave to refill their drinks. Sanha, with a half empty cup of something neon orange, downs it and follows them. Bin hums, swaying the dregs of his drink in his glass, “Should I get a refill?” He asks, no one in particular.

“If you go, will you refill mine, then?” Minhyuk asks quietly, and Bin nods, smiles, slips out of the booth. He watches Bin walk to the far corner, laughing comically with Sanha and a few other trainees, as someone seems to make a spill.

The sizzle of meats is heard again. He’d already had so much, but his stomach still didn’t feel full. He eyed the meat, watching as Jinwoo picked up the biggest piece and dropped it on his plate. He gasps, “No, Jinwoo, you’re older. You have that piece,” he urges, pushing the plate away.

Jinwoo shrugs, waves him off with his chopsticks, “I want you to have it,” he smiles gently. They are the only two pressed against the wall – the other trainees who had not gotten drinks crowd over a music video on one of their phones. “Minhyuk, I don’t know how to say…” He trails off, wincing a little. “Are… Are you okay?”

The younger boy pulls his arms around himself, suddenly a little self-conscious. Had he been expressing something? “What? Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies, stuffing the meat into his mouth. His eyes flicker over to Bin, who’s arm swings around one of the trainees, as someone mops up the floor. He swallows. “Why?”

Jinwoo shrugs, “I guess it’s just in my nature to worry,” he smiles meekly. “I just want to make sure everything’s good. For you, and for everyone. I… I especially worry about you, and Sanha. You’re both quite young. You’re very shy, and I just…” he trails off, again. He shakes his head, contemplates, takes a sip of his drink, then sighs. “You don’t have to tell me anything – but I worry for you. I’m always here, yeah?”

Something in Minhyuk’s chest tightens. He watches Jinwoo’s smile, a little tight, but oh-so-caring. Jinwoo had become something of an older brother to Minhyuk; someone he’d promised himself he’d confide in, look up too. His confession, of his feelings for Bin, sits in his throat, ready to be uttered out.

Bin laughs loudly, patting the other trainee on the back. He’s blushing.

“Jinwoo,” he calls, when he realises Jinwoo had turned back to his phone. “I…” He couldn’t begin. He had to set one thing out, first: “No judgement, right?” The older boy doesn’t say anything, simply shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips, and a genuine affection in his eyes. Minhyuk sucks in a deep breath, “I… I like Moon Bin.”

Jinwoo’s brow furrows, for less than a second, before he nods. “Oh, okay,” he responds, taking another bite of his food. “Romantically?” He asks.

Minhyuk’s eyes widen. He hadn’t been expecting a response so blasé. A little shocked, he reluctantly nods.

“Has it made it hard for you?”

A beat. Another beat. Minhyuk nods.

“Ahh, sometimes it’s like that,” Jinwoo agrees, putting his chopsticks down and leaning back in the booth. “And, he does not accept your feelings?”

Minhyuk shrugs. “He… He doesn’t know,” he answers, chewing on his fingernail. He watches Bin finally refill his drink, watches Sanha step away from the machine with a nearly overflowing cup of something bright green.

The older boy hums. “Have you told him?”

“I tried too. One night. The night I realised I really did like him.”

“Well, try again,” Jinwoo smiles encouragingly. “And, if he doesn’t accept, then it simply wasn’t meant to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes, the person you choose isn’t always the right person for you,” he replies, a thoughtful gaze simmering in his eyes. “There’s always going to be someone else, you just have to wait.”

Their conversation is cut short, as Sanha slips into the booth again and takes a sip of his drink. He snatches a piece of meat from the hotplate, “What did I miss?”

The scout has a beaming grin on his face, as he shakes hands with the CEO, who pats him on the back. Minhyuk watches silently from the locker room at the interaction. There’s a boy in between them, rather tall, with a thick head of black hair and sleek, long legs. He faces away from Minhyuk, bowing to the head of the company and to the scout. They lead him away, and just like that, he’s gone.

Sanha is chewing on a sweet, observing as well, “Do you think he’s new?” He asks, from the corner of the locker room.

Minhyuk shrugs, “If he is, we probably won’t see much of him. They didn’t bring him down here – he must have joined for acting, or modelling, or something.” He turns, facing Sanha, whose face is glistening with the sticky candy around his lips. Gross, Minhyuk thinks. “You better finish that before the coach gets here, and clean it up. You’ll get in trouble,” he urges, flicking the boy in the head.

The younger boy winces, bringing his free hand to his affected area, “I’ll just dance off the calories,” he mutters, eating the last bit. He stands, stuffing his feet into his sneakers. Minhyuk notices the bottom of his jeans that rise above his ankles, then notices the way his t-shirt lifts a little at his waist, revealing a thin sliver of caramel skin. He’s grown taller.

There’s a heavy thumping of footsteps heard down the hall, and Minhyuk peers his head out again. He’s met with Bin, all red-faced and glowing, as he rests against the doorframe. His hair curls in the thin sheen of sweat, framing his face. His smile, a little dazzling, a little dazed, broadens his cheeks. He’d been for a run that morning.

“You’ll never guess, Minhyuk,” he starts, a hand clutched to his heart. “I think I’m in love.”

There’s a sudden emptiness in Minhyuk’s chest, as if his lungs had deflated, or his heart had withered. His stomach rolls with the confession, unpleasant and unsettling. His head spins, eyes stinging. For a moment, he felt heartbreak in every inch of his body.

They sneak onto the rooftop. This is where Minhyuk had imagined, countless times, he would confess to Bin. Here they are, now, side-by-side under the setting sun. His mind is still flickering like a film reel, all the ways he could tell Bin how he felt.

Bin doesn’t care – he’s splayed out on his back, humming a song between his closed lips, watching the sky bleed neon colours. His eyelashes bat as the world around them morphs into dusk. Minhyuk regards him now, with a sense of caution, as if he were something untouchable, something forbidden.

Their bodies are so close. Minhyuk can feel the older boy’s radiating body heat along his side, can feel the thin fabric of his t-shirt against his knuckles. Even so, he feels as if there is something separating them, something blocking him from Bin. A glass wall, perhaps. He could see everything Bin was experiencing and feeling, but he couldn’t reach him.

Bin rolls over, facing him. Minhyuk’s heart leaps into his throat. “You know?” he sighs, a little wistfully, “I think I really do like him.”

“Yeah?” Minhyuk murmurs, a betraying curiosity in his mind.

The older boy nods, hiding his face in his hands. “Dongmin… They wanted him to be an actor, but they’re thinking about making him a trainee. He’s insanely handsome, Hyuk, I thought he wasn’t even real at first. I thought I was dreaming,” he spiels, a hand falling to his chest.

“What’s he like?”

Bin shrugs, brows furrowed. “I haven’t gotten to speak to him much yet – that’s why I hope he becomes a trainee, because then I can get to know him…”

Minhyuk remembers the day Sanha had auditioned, “Fresh meat means competition. That’s what you told me,” he murmurs. Since then, multiple new trainees, including Jinwoo, had come to join them. “If Dongmin is good-looking, too, it’ll only make things harder.”

There is a stillness in the air as Bin ponders this. Then, he says, “I’m okay with that…”

Minhyuk feels as if he’s floating away. He can feel the distance between them growing, each time Bin comes back with a new story about this Dongmin. He recalls the way his heart had once been so set on the idea that they’d make it together – how, if one of them had fallen through, the other would follow. He’d thought Bin was on the same page, but in this moment, he realises that perhaps he never was, and perhaps he never will be.

The sky is grey, as the inky night mingles with the last hues of day. The silence between them is heavy, and Bin shifts on his spot.

“I feel like you’re mad at me,” he murmurs, into the air.

The younger boy doesn’t look at him. “You sound like you’re going to throw your dream away for this guy.”

Bin sits up, “I’m not!”

“Be careful, then.”

“’Hyuk,” he whispers, shuffling closer. “Do you hate me?” He asks, as he’d done the night he came out, the night Minhyuk realised he was in love.

Minhyuk feels tears trace the rims of his eyes, dancing on his waterline. “Never,” he replies, but he can’t meet Bin’s eye.

Sanha is waiting at the foot of the front steps to their dorm, when Minhyuk returns.

Bin had come back to the dorm, immediately, eager to watch an idol group’s new music video. Minhyuk was left behind on the rooftop, had stuffed his face into his sweater and sobbed. His legs were shaky on the way back down, on the walk all the way home. Face tucked into his hands, Sanha was perched on the staircase, surprised to see him when he returned.

“Oh, Minhyuk,” he breathes, pressing a hand to his heart. “You’re back! I was getting worried.” Minhyuk stops on the pathway, a little startled by Sanha’s words, hands fiddling in the pockets of his jeans. “Bin came back ages ago, I wondered where you went.”

He nods in acknowledgement, rocks on his heels. “What are you doing out here?” He asks, as Sanha peers up at him. The boy’s cheeks are squished between his palms ever-so-slightly, making his lips pop out in a light, pink pout. “It’s cold.”

A pause. “I-I needed some fresh air,” he says. He shuffles over on the staircase, though there’s plenty of room for the both of them. He pats his previous seat, inviting Minhyuk down. Minhyuk lowers himself to the stairs, feels Sanha’s heat beside him. A memory bleeds into the present, and he is reminded once more of the night Bin had come out to him. “Are you okay?” Sanha asks, peering over at him, “You’ve been crying.”

The young boy was quite blunt, had been as long as Minhyuk had known him. Though, usually a negative trait, perhaps being so straight-forward had benefits.

Minhyuk sniffles, quickly wiping at his cheeks and nose. “I’m fine.”

A sigh, as Sanha turns to him. He places a hand on Minhyuk’s knee. “I think I know. It’s okay.” Minhyuk turns to him, observes Sanha’s round face, eyelids drooping a little, a sweet and genuine smile on his lips. “Really, it’s okay.”

Minhyuk isn’t sure Sanha knows how he feels, and the reasons why, but he accepts his words, anyway. “You know?”

“About you? And Bin?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah.”

“How?”

Sanha giggles softly. “I’m observant,” he states proudly. Minhyuk glances at him, sideways, which makes Sanha laugh, a delightfully sweet sound. “I’m only one year younger than you, Minhyuk. I’m not a baby. I understand these things,” he chimes, grinning.

“Do… Do you think anyone else knows?”

Sanha ponders this for a moment. “Not unless you told them,” he decides eventually, shrugging. There’s a gentle, comfortable silence between them. Sanha shuffles slightly closer, as a cool breeze whips through. “Come on, let’s go inside,” he mutters, with a wide yawn, after a while, wiping his fingers over Minhyuk’s drying cheeks. “It’s getting cold.”

They step inside, feel the warmth of the dorm roll out over their bodies like an ocean wave in the Summer heat. Minhyuk slips into his room, surprised to find Bin missing from his bed, usually heaped with blankets and his own, fatigued body. Sanha nestles in his bed, opposite Minhyuk’s. “It’ll be okay,” he smiles. He waits until Minhyuk has crawled under his sheets before he turns off the light.

“Goodnight, Minhyuk,” he whispers, over the muffled sound of the other trainees in the opposite room.

“Goodnight, Sanha,” Minhyuk replies.

Minhyuk meets Dongmin in a conference room. Bin was right – the boy was gorgeous. His face held every quality a model’s held, yet fit with plush, round cheeks. Even so, Minhyuk could not feel any attraction for him – rather, resentment.

Dongmin seemed rather bashful, huddled over a little at the table, shying away from any eye contact that was held too long. He had an eloquence in his words, a subtle display of intelligence. The female staff members seemed a little star-struck as he spoke, which made both him and Minhyuk unsettled.

As it turns out, the scout had tried to recruit him to the company twice before he accepted, ‘third-time-lucky’. Which, Minhyuk realises, explains why he was getting into trouble – he hadn’t been able to successfully recruit Dongmin. The company obviously considered him a valuable resource, a realisation which made Minhyuk’s stomach twist, a mixture of envy and fear suddenly pumping through his veins.

“Well, that settles it,” the CEO declares, hands dropping to the table as he stands. Minhyuk realises he hasn’t been listening. “Lee Dongmin will, from now on, be a trainee.” With that, the conference room breaks into quiet chatter as busy staff and nervous trainees dissipate.

Dongmin is still sitting in his chair, focused intently on his pen, clicking the nib out and back in repetitively. He glances up as Minhyuk passes. “Are you a trainee?” He asks, as Minhyuk nears the door. Turning around, he realises they’re alone.

Minhyuk nods, stiffly.

“What’s your name?” Dongmin asks, with a gentle curiosity.

“Minhyuk,” he mumbles in response, turning to the door again.

Dongmin makes a noise of understanding, “Oh, you’re Bin’s friend!”

“Best.” Minhyuk corrects, turning once more. “I’m his best friend.”

The older boy looks a little startled, eyes widening a little. His round cheeks simmer a baby pink. “Oh,” he murmurs, peering down at the pen in his hands. There’s a silence. Minhyuk wants to leave – but Dongmin looks on the verge of saying something else. “Did Bin say anything about me?” Lots. “I think he doesn’t like me.”

Minhyuk scoffs, “What makes you think that?” Realising his tone might have been a little nasty, he shrinks closer toward the door.

Dongmin turns in his chair, shrugging. “He just… He wouldn’t speak to me…”

“What?” Minhyuk steps away from the door, dropping into the seat beside Dongmin. He felt a tremor of shock – Bin had never been one to shy away, always had something to say, and he absolutely adored Dongmin.

Dongmin turns in his chair. “He was supposed to help me learn a dance you guys are practicing, or something. But, as soon as we were left alone, he just shut down and barely spoke to me.” Dongmin sighs, “He danced for a bit, and then he just… Left.”

Minhyuk hums, trying to come up with a reason for Bin’s behaviour. He scratched his head, “Maybe I should talk to him.”

The older boy nodded profusely, “Please, do,” he urged. “I really want him to like me.”

“What? Why?”

Dongmin falters, chewing on the button of his pen, “Oh, uh, he’s been here so long. He’s like, uh, like a senior to me. I want to gain his respect, I guess.” Minhyuk hums, nodding. Standing, he goes to seek out Bin, questions on the tip of his tongue. As he opens the door, Dongmin adds, “Thank you, Minhyuk.”

He nods silently, escaping the room into the hall. He finds Bin in the locker room, head tucked into his locker, perhaps looking for something. Minhyuk taps him on the shoulder, which seems to startle him, as he bashes his head on the inside, screeching in pain. He retreats, rubbing the back of his scull with a scowl on his lips. “Oh, shit – you alright?” Minhyuk asks, murmuring.

“Just great!” Bin replies, sarcasm dripping from his tone. He sighs, “Minhyuk, I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, flopping into a chair. “I heard.”

Bin whips his head around, eyes wide, cheeks pink.

“You ignored Dongmin. He told me.”

The older boy throws his head back, grimacing. “I was just too nervous to speak to him!” He cries, tugging a hand through his hair. He throws off his t-shirt – Minhyuk gulps – replacing it with a more light-weight and breathable one. “And, now, he probably hates me, right? And, now, he’s a trainee too, and I’m gonna have more of these terrible interactions.”

There was a choice laid out before Minhyuk – side with Bin; lie, and agree to the thought that Dongmin resented him for his dismissive behaviour. In doing so, their acquaintanceship would crumble – and they’d never become closer. On the other hand, he could tell Bin how Dongmin really felt – I really want him to like me.

Surely, Minhyuk thinks, the latter would make him happier. He peers over at Bin, who moves with frustration, quick and forceful. Imagines how the news would make him feel, how it’d put his muscles at ease, how it’d warm his heart.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Minhyuk mumbles, fiddling with his fingers. Bin’s brows furrow, and he cocks his head to the side. “He said to me that he really wants you to like him…”

“He did…?”

Minhyuk nods.

A grin splits the lower half of Bin’s face. He eagerly bounces on his toes, “Really? No, way!” He cheers, clutching a hand to his chest. The apples of his cheeks burn a dark pink, glistening under the lights of the locker room.

With a sort of melancholy, empty acceptance, Minhyuk wonders if Bin has ever felt this elated over him, or if he ever will. He’d been so sure, the last three, nearly four years, that one day this suffering would end, and Bin would come to him and return his feelings. He realises that, possibly, he’d always been wrong.

Was it time to let go?

Bin leaves the room, hurrying into the practice room to dance. Minhyuk watches through the long glass pane, just as he had on the first day he saw him. This time, his feelings are different – less curious, more cautionary. Bin had improved a lot, since then, too. His movements flow with so much more grace, and he’s trained his facial expressions to follow him.

He watches, as Dongmin quietly lets himself into the room, as Bin stops in his tracks and grins. As he helps Dongmin through some steps, laughing freely at his clumsy movements and chatting sweetly. The older boy laughs, cheeks decorated with a permanent blush.

Maybe, it was time to let go.

Sanha scuttles into the room, interrupting Minhyuk’s thoughts with a startle. He leans against the wall, tipping his head back. “Hey,” he says, quietly, the faintest spirit of a smile on his full lips. He glances into the practice room, then back to Minhyuk, “You okay?”

Reluctantly, Minhyuk nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

Sanha smiles warmly – neither sympathetic nor mocking. Kicking his foot against the wall, he tucks his hands into his pockets. “It’s okay if you aren’t. You’re allowed to be upset.”

The older boy rolls his eyes, standing. “When did you get so smart?” He mocks, fluffing Sanha’s hair. The boy whines, smoothing his hair back out with the palms of his hands, giving Minhyuk a light punch to the arm.

“I’m just checking, is all.”

There’s a pause. Minhyuk smiles, “I’m grateful.”

Sanha grins, “Should we go somewhere? I’m a bit hungry – I feel like cake.”

“That would be nice,” Minhyuk decides.

With one final glance into the practice room, the two depart.

“Why do you eat like a baby?” Minhyuk asks, grabbing a napkin from the centre of the table and wiping Sanha’s mouth. For the last few weeks, they’d made it a tradition to eat at a café for lunch, or afternoon tea, every now and then – to escape from the dorm and the continuous training, to pretend their lives weren’t in limbo.

The boy gasps, wiping the back of his hand against his lips. “I don’t eat like a baby,” he murmurs, shovelling more food into his mouth. Once again, more food dribbles down the side of his mouth. Minhyuk had found it disgusting the first time he’d seen it, when Sanha had been snacking on a forbidden sweet in the locker room, but he’d gotten used to it. He grabs the napkin again, and wipes at the corner of Sanha’s pink lips. They bounce against his ministrations, and he puckers them gently when Minhyuk is finished. “I’m just… Messy,” he defends, arms crossing over his chest.

Minhyuk steals a fry from Sanha’s plate, sliding it into his mouth with a smirk. “When will you stop that?” The boy whines, kicking his leg under the table. “Fries are my favourite, you can steal anything else on my plate, except the fries.”

“But, the fries are the best bit,” Minhyuk whines, picking up a soggy looking leaf of lettuce and popping it into his mouth.

“Exactly,” Sanha replies, sticking his tongue out.

A comfortable silence settles over their table, as they look out onto the street, watching the world flicker by them. He thinks, briefly, of Jinwoo, and the dance they were choreographing together. He peers over at Sanha – who is, possibly, almost as tall as him, now – watching the boy worry his bottom lip between his teeth. It protrudes, pink to a bitten white, as he plays with his fingernails.

“What are you thinking about?” the older boy asks, tugging Sanha’s hand away from his other one, so he stops picking at his nails.

Sanha sighs, cupping his chin in his hand, resting on the bench. “Just worried,” he admits, chewing on his lip. “About the evaluation.”

“It’s not for another two weeks…” Minhyuk tells him, “What’s up?”

“I’m worried I won’t be tall enough,” he says, face pulled downward a little, worry set tight in his gaze. Minhyuk smiles lightly – Sanha had panicked before every evaluation, petrified that he’d be below standards and kicked out of the company. Every single time, Minhyuk had assured him he’d be fine, and every single time, he was right. Yet, Sanha still became anxious as the evaluations rolled around.

He sits back in his chair, patting Sanha’s back, before bringing his hand back into his own lap. “You’ll make it – trust me. You’re pretty much the same height as me, now, anyway. You grew, like, five centimetres in about a week,” he reminds Sanha, picturing the height chart themselves and the other trainees had sketched on one of the kitchen walls. He and Sanha were rapidly catching up to Jinwoo.

“I still worry, you know?”

“You always make it. We’ll make it to the end, yeah?”

Between his fingers, Sanha grins.

Jinwoo suggests they watch a movie.

The trainees were let off early for their hard work, given four hours to spare. With so little free time, they’d forgotten how to utilise it. So, Jinwoo takes Sanha with him to hire a DVD, whilst the others wait at home. Minhyuk attempts to study dance videos on his phone, but is ultimately distracted by Bin.

And, Dongmin.

They sit together on the living room floor, flicking through one of Bin’s comics together. Occasionally, they’ll laugh at a particular panel, or comment on something within the story, which will lead to a long spiel from either of them, a story of their respective pasts. Minhyuk watches, can’t help but feel his heart squeeze a little as he watches Bin, eyes soft and cheeks pink – reminisces on how he once felt with the boy, so flustered and warm. Bin, who perhaps had never felt that for Minhyuk, feels it for Dongmin, instead.

Minhyuk had had a long while to get over it, now – but three years of affection didn’t simply melt away before one’s eyes. He had no long-term distraction, and Bin was always there, his best friend.

Jinwoo and Sanha return a while later, with a selection for everyone to vote on. Minhyuk doesn’t mind what plays, and neither do Bin and Dongmin, it seems, who continue to read the comic together. As they slip the selected DVD in, and the movie begins, a loud giggle escapes Dongmin. Bin is tucked into his shoulder, trying to muffle his own laughter. “If you two aren’t going to watch, go somewhere else,” A trainee murmurs. With that, the two stand, in fits of silenced giggles.

They exit into one of the bedrooms, switching the light on and shutting the door. Minhyuk watches the sliver of light in the ajar door shrink, hears the click of the handle closed. Just like that, the two are hidden. Minhyuk turns back to the movie – he can feel Jinwoo and Sanha sparing him worried gazes, but pays them no mind.

That night, he falls asleep on the couch. He’s awoken to someone shaking his shoulder, and his eyes crack open to reveal Bin, face shrouded in shadows, created by the light of the television in stand-by mode. He’s positively glowing, eyes wide and smile giddy. Minhyuk can’t muster a response, mind still mingling in a dream state, so he waits for Bin to begin.

“’Hyuk! Guess what?” He whispers, warm breath fanning across Minhyuk’s forehead. Minhyuk hums in query, urging him to continue. “I kissed him.”

The younger boy blinks.

“I know I shouldn’t wake you up, but I couldn’t help it – I’m so happy,” he blabbers, pressing his fingers into the couch cushions. Minhyuk’s heart is beating so fast, he wonders if it’ll burst out of his chest. “He fell asleep just a few minutes ago – in my bed, can you believe? I just had to tell someone, and you’re the only one who knows,” he grinned, Cheshire Cat wide.

He waits for Minhyuk’s response. All he can croak out is a half-hearted, “That’s great, Bin.”

Bin sighs, but it fizzles into a giggle. “I guess I really shouldn’t have woken you up, then,” he mumbles, grin stuck to his lips as if it were permanent. “I’ll go to bed, now. Night, Minhyuk,” he whispers, before scurrying away.

Blankly, Minhyuk watches the bounce of the stand-by symbol on the television screen. In the silence, he hears a whisper that startles him. “You okay?”

He peers over, only to find Sanha nestled under a few blankets on the opposite couch. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Why are you awake?”

Sanha shifts, the duvets rustling. “I heard Bin step out. It woke me up.”

Minhyuk pushes his hair out of his face. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologising? It’s not your fault,” the boy replies. Minhyuk feels his eyes well up. He can’t decipher why. “Oh, my gosh. Minhyuk, come here,” Sanha beckons, lifting his blankets up. Without thinking twice, the older boy stumbles out of his place and slides into the warmth of Sanha’s sheets.

There’s little room on the couch, their bodies pressed directly up against one another’s. Sanha wipes his fingers over Minhyuk’s eyes, smearing away his tears. Minhyuk watches the boy’s face, notices how it’s lengthened a little, how his jawline and cheekbones jut out a little more than they had the week before. It seemed Sanha was growing as the minutes ticked by.

“We… We should go to bed,” he whispers, once he’s stopped crying. Sanha’s hand rests on the nape of his neck, toying with the short hairs there, absentmindedly.

“It’s okay, just go to sleep,” Sanha murmurs, gaze flickering away from Minhyuk’s. His drooping eyes bat a little, he chews on his lip.

Minhyuk feels Sanha’s breathing chest rising against his, slow and deep; he doesn’t argue.

Jinwoo introduces the new trainee, who shuffles from foot to foot as all eyes fall on him, gaze lowering to the floor. He is just as short as Jinwoo, with a thick muss of dark hair and chubby cheeks, as if his baby fat still had yet to shed. “This is Myungjun,” he announces, and the man smiles, his grin chipping into those round cheeks. “He’s a new vocalist that will be practicing with us, welcome him.”

Everyone says their hellos before preparing for practice. Myungjun sets his stuff down in the corner – there’s no free locker, which leaves an unsettling feeling in the pits of each of their stomachs. He will replace someone, in the upcoming evaluation. Minhyuk had felt this familiar pressure for years – but there was talk of the company finally whittling down their trainees in preparation for a group to debut.

Sanha is the first, besides Jinwoo, to openly talk to the new trainee. “Hey there,” he greets, bowing, “I’m Yoon Sanha. I’m the youngest here.”

Myungjun looks a little relieved to be further invited, his awkward, lopsided smile shifting into a grin. “Nice to meet you, let’s work hard together,” he says.

“So, you sing?” Sanha asks, rocking on his toes. Myungjun nods, shrugging off his coat and folding it neatly by his feet. “Can you show us? Give us a sample,” he suggests, cheeky grin on his plump, round lips.

Dongmin giggles, “Odd request, Sanha,” he scolds, playfully. “He just got here, let him settle in, first. Hi, I’m Dongmin,” he starts, bowing gently. Myungjun mirrors him. Dongmin drags Bin over to his side, “This is Bin. We’re vocalists, too.”

Minhyuk watches a shy smile slither onto Bin’s thin lips, as his side knocks against the older boy’s. He watches, also, Dongmin’s hands struggling to find a comfortable position, hovering over Bin’s back and waist, before dangling awkwardly by his sides.

“Minhyuk’s over there,” Sanha suddenly says, as Bin introduces himself to the new trainee. He scurries over, taking Minhyuk by the wrist and dragging him forward. “He’s a bit shy, it might take a while for him to warm up to you,” he grins. Minhyuk feels his heart thump in his chest, as Sanha’s grip on his forearm loosens but does not release.

Bin scoffs, “He’s not shy. At least, not at first.”

“Maybe not to you,” Sanha mumbles under his breath, just barely heard by Minhyuk – perhaps, something he wasn’t supposed to hear at all.

The group begin to chat amongst themselves. Sanha’s palm is warm and smooth along the skin of Minhyuk’s wrist, his long and bony fingers wrapped securely around his pulse. He wonders if Sanha can feel how fast his heart is beating.

His toes dig into the shaved bark beneath him, as he sways on the swing set. The breeze is refreshing, cool and calming. His palms wrap around the chains, cold to the touch, warming beneath the heat of his skin. It’s quiet, in this part of the city, in this little opening of greenery. A small garden, a green freckle on Seoul’s face, with a collection of tall trees and a small playground.

It’s dark, a little eerie, too lonely – but, Minhyuk supposes, that’s what he needed, right now.

Bin stops him as he goes to shut the bathroom door, foot wedged in the doorframe. Minhyuk clutches his clothes and towel closer to himself, as his eyes fall on Bin’s face, tight and furrowed. “Bin?” He asks, “Are you okay?”

“What’s up with you, lately?” He challenges. His face shifts, tilting, a little angrier. “You hardly talk to me, you ignore Dongmin, you’re distracted…”

“What?”

“Dongmin’s upset, because he thinks you hate him. And, it made me realise that you’ve been all standoffish for months!” He cries, under his breath.

What was this? Minhyuk thinks. Bin had no right to argue with him, when he’d left him behind to chase after Dongmin, when he had never listened, in the first place.

Minhyuk scoffs, feeling a fire burn high up in his stomach, flickering in his chest. “It took Dongmin for you to realise something was up?” He rebuts. “These days, he’s all that matters to you, Bin. Forget me, forget dance. For you, it’s all about Dongmin.”

Bin stands, adjusting himself. He’s much taller than Minhyuk, now – intimidatingly so. “You act like everything revolves around you,” Bin spits. “I’m allowed to have other interests. I’m allowed to date the guy I fucking like, okay? Does it bother you? Does it bother you, that he’s a boy?” he pushes Minhyuk’s shoulder. A sock falls to the floor with a patter. “Is that the problem?”

His voice is loud, piercing in Minhyuk’s ear. His mind spins with so many emotions – confusion; what had he done to make Bin so suddenly angry? Fear; Bin was bigger, stronger, a lot less stoic than Minhyuk. Frustration; how could Bin have left him behind, and expect him to still be there for him?

There are eyes watching them. The walls feel as if they’re closing in, Minhyuk feels pressure squeeze his chest, the fire in his abdomen licking at his insides.

“And, you act like the world revolves around Dongmin!” Minhyuk screams. “No! It doesn’t bother me that it was a boy. It never did! If you ever bothered to listen to me, you’d know this!”

Most of the trainees have filtered into the hallway, watching the debacle. Jinwoo’s face is pulled into one of worry, Sanha’s looks terrified. Myungjun seems surprised. Dongmin has a red, wet face, pink tracks stretching from beneath his eyes.

Minhyuk feels his own tears well up on his waterline. Bin’s face contorts and wobbles in his vision. “The problem is you left me behind! You forgot about me and left me behind!” A hoarse sob rips out of his throat. With that, he hauls his clothes to the floor and escapes, feels the eyes of his friends kindle the flame in his chest, and slams the front door shut behind him.

It’s peaceful out here. The fresh air has washed away his anger, left a murky, watery discontent instead. It seemed that he’d cried as much as he possibly could, eyes stinging and puffy, throat hoarse. Now, he sits in the near-darkness, and contemplates just how he and Bin had come to this position.

Miscommunication, perhaps, or a lack thereof entirely. Bin hadn’t listened – Minhyuk hadn’t kept up. Bin was distracted – Minhyuk was stubborn.

There’s a crunching of footsteps. Before he has a chance to panic about mysterious strangers in the night, Minhyuk spies a head of brown hair peer around the thick base of a tree.

It’s Myungjun – short and vibrant, a little skip in his step. He looks relieved, knees sinking a little as he hurries over to the set of swings. “Oh, gosh, you’re okay!” He cries, rattling the chains of Minhyuk’s swing. He’s grinning widely, smoothing Minhyuk’s hair back. He realises that he and Myungjun haven’t really spoken much at all, but somehow, he’s relieved that it’s Myungjun who found him first. Perhaps, for that very reason.

“How’d you find me?” Minhyuk asks, tugging on the chain of the swing beside him, inviting Myungjun to sit.

Myungjun waves his phone in the air, as he takes a seat, sliding it in his pocket. The chains creak as he swings forward, “We all left to search for you. I just told them they can go home, now, I found you,” he mumbles. “Bin’s really worried. So is Sanha. Jinwoo’s… Well, Jinwoo is petrified, but he worries a lot, doesn’t he?” He giggles.

“Is Bin okay?” the younger boy asks, kicking up a tuft of bark, burying the toe of his shoe in it.

“He’s a bit upset. Very apologetic. He’s been searching the hardest, I think.” Myungjun’s phone is buzzing repetitively in his pocket, but he doesn’t pull it out.

Minhyuk sighs, “I’m sorry for making everyone worry.”

Myungjun smiles, swinging a little higher. “It’s okay. Everyone gets upset sometimes. We’re always here, now, okay? So, if it all gets too much, you can talk to us, yeah?” When Minhyuk looks over, the older man’s grin is warm and comforting, glowing under what little light the surrounding city street provides. They sit in silence for a while, until Myungjun asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

There’s a wise twinkling in his gaze, a knowledgeable, informed smile resting on his lips. “You know, don’t you?” Minhyuk asks.

Myungjun’s face turns down a little, guilty. “About you and Bin?” he checks, quietly. When Minhyuk nods, he does too.

“How?”

“Jinwoo told me.”

Minhyuk gasps, “What? I trusted him to keep that a secret!”

Myungjun shoves the heel of his sneaker into the dirty bark below, halting his swinging. “He only told me tonight. I was so confused, I asked him to explain. He hasn’t told anyone else – and, he felt really guilty about it.” A long pause. “I’m sorry, Minhyuk.”

The younger boy chews on his lip, “You don’t mind?”

“About what?” He jokes, a cheesy grin pulling his cheeks. Minhyuk chuckles softly, kicking off the ground to swing again. Myungjun follows, “Your secret is safe with me. And, Jinwoo,” he adds.

“And, Sanha,” Minhyuk continues. The older man’s suddenly bewildered expression makes him laugh. “He worked it out on his own.”

Myungjun nods, accepting the information, turning it over in his head. “Yeah, figures,” he hums. Before Minhyuk could inquire what that meant, Myungjun forces himself a little higher, “Let’s see who can jump the furthest – and then, we’ll go home. Let everyone stop worrying.”

“Game on.”

When the two arrive home, Minhyuk is instantly wrapped up in Bin’s arms. Apologies are chanted in his ear, over, and over. For forgetting him, for ignoring him, for being stubborn. Minhyuk apologises, too, and they fall back into their old friendship – close, but not as close as Minhyuk would like.

Sanha is on the foot of Minhyuk’s bed, sat up and sleeping against the wall. Minhyuk sneaks onto the quilt, careful to shake the boy awake. “Sanha… Sanha?”

The boy stirs, all round-cheeked and swollen-eyed. He puckers his lips a little, smacks them together, as the curls of his wrists wipe the sleep from his eyes. His motions, slow and a little clumsy, remind Minhyuk of a baby. Sanha nestles into his touch, only slightly, as the last tendrils of sleep fall out of his mind’s grasp. “Minhyuk?” He murmurs.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He ruffles Sanha’s hair.

“You’re home,” he observes, quietly. Minhyuk sits beside him on the bed, feels it sink beneath his weight, feels Sanha’s body move closer to his. His long arms wrap around Minhyuk’s neck, a tired whine of a yawn escaping his lips, as his jaw hooks over Minhyuk’s shoulder.

He hums, “I’m home.”

The scent of coffee wafts in from the kitchen. Morning is still, quiet, lingers with the fatigue of night. The mattress beneath his body is warm, the sheets moulded against his skin. Minhyuk opens his eyes, is greeted to the sun sliding in through the blinds, particles of dust dancing in the air. The coffee scent is stronger, leaves a craving on the back of his tongue.

He slides out of the sheets, pads as quietly as he can out of the room, and into the kitchen. Dongmin rests against the counter, a steaming mug held up to his face. He doesn’t spot Minhyuk, at first, thick glasses hazy from his coffee. When he does, he smiles softly, and tugs his glasses off. “Good morning, Minhyuk,” he says, voice low.

Minhyuk smiles gently back. They’d never been particularly close – especially after Minhyuk’s argument with Bin. Since then, he’d promised to get to know Dongmin better, but had been too apprehensive to approach the guy.

Dongmin’s hair stands up at the back, an awkward hairstyle a remnant of sleep, coordinating with his swollen eyes and puffy cheeks. He takes a sip of his coffee, “How are you?”

“Good.” Minhyuk surveys the fridge, shuts it. “You?”

“Well,” he responds. He puts the mug down, wipes his hand on his robe, clicks his tongue. “Look, I… I get it – you’re not my biggest fan, but-.”

“It’s okay,” the younger boy interrupts. “I’m not upset with you. It took me a while to come around… I’m still getting there.” Dongmin shuffles on his spot, a thread of confusion in his gaze. “I want to be friends with you. I’m still getting over Bin, though. It’s just been… Hard.”

There is a still, uncomfortable silence. Dongmin seems to absorb the information, loll it around in his mind, whilst he tries to form a response. His lips purse for a moment, then, “Getting over?”

Minhyuk’s brow furrows, “Uh, yeah… I liked him. For years…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I thought you figured that out?”

The older boy looks taken aback, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip, an excuse for his delayed response, that he was yet to come up with. “… No. I just assumed you were upset, because Bin wasn’t hanging out with you. How could I have guessed that? Bin didn’t say anything,” he murmurs around the lip of his mug.

“That’s because Bin doesn’t know,” Minhyuk responds. “And, I don’t want him too.”

Dongmin’s lips purse into a thin line again. His feet shuffle in their slippers. “He… He thought you didn’t like him anymore, because he was gay… He thought you didn’t accept him, I-.”

“Please, don’t tell him,” he begs. “I’ve always accepted him, from the very beginning, because I was in the same boat!” He runs a hand through his hair, giving it a light tug. “I can’t really connect to my emotions the way he can, I guess. I was never able to tell him the truth.”

Dongmin steps forward, and without asking, he wraps Minhyuk in his arms. Minhyuk doesn’t argue, simply accepts the towering embrace of Dongmin’s much taller self. When he pulls away, he mumbles, “I can tell him, if you want – that you’re gay, that is.”

Minhyuk shakes his head. “It’s something I have to do.” The older man smiles meekly, stepping away. “Thank you, though,” he says. Dongmin nods.

A vow to himself, and to Bin; Minhyuk promises to accept Dongmin further into his life. To accept himself, too.

Minhyuk had left a post-it-note on Bin’s locker, slapped against the door, meet me on the company rooftop after your practice scrawled in messy handwriting. The rooftop is, after all, where he’d imagined confessing to Bin, numerous times in his early adolescence.

He’d been waiting nearly an hour, resting his back against one of the air vents, loud in his ear. The sun had long set, taking with it the warm temperature. He hugs his coat tighter around himself, tucking his nose into the hollow near his chest.

There’s a rattling. Minhyuk whips his head around, as Bin climbs over the gate and lands on the floor. “You wanted to see me?” He asks, hands tucked into his pockets, as he casually strolls to Minhyuk’s side. The younger boy nods in silence, patting the space beside him.

Bin pulls his hands out of his pockets, settling onto the ground. Minhyuk watches him, the way his eyelashes flutter as he tries to calibrate the situation, the silver lining of the city’s night lights on his skin, a halo in his hair. He recalls all the feelings he’d felt for Bin in his past, a nostalgic churning in the base of his stomach.

“Is everything okay?”

Memories of he and Bin filter into his mind, one at a time. Sweet, blissful daydreams, too. It had been a long time since he’d let himself feel this way – he’d supressed it ever since Dongmin had come along. It felt rather bittersweet, on this evening, as he willingly lets those feelings free.

“Yeah,” Minhyuk smiles, “Everything’s okay.”

Bin grins, and mirrors Minhyuk, resting against the air vent, head tilted up to gaze at the purple sky. They sit in a comfortable silence, soaking up the presence of one another as they hadn’t in a while, simple, relaxed.

“There’s a reason I invited you up here,” Minhyuk murmurs, after a while, after he’s built enough courage. He watches Bin leave his own mind, returning from his daydreams and wandering thoughts. His head rolls over to meet Minhyuk’s gaze. “I have to tell you something that I’ve kept secret for as long as I’ve known you.”

Bin’s brow furrows, a sly grin on his lips, “And, here I was, thinking I knew you inside and out,” he jokes. Minhyuk beams.

“Moon Bin,” he starts, a gentle tone. Bin’s gaze is warm and welcoming, as it meets his own. He feels the nerves in his stomach melt away. “I’m gay.”

Just like that, the phrase slips from between his lips – without hesitation, without regrets. Bin’s smile softens, a little watery, now. He lifts an arm, pulls it around Minhyuk’s shoulders, tugs Minhyuk’s body into his own. The younger boy is reminded of the warmth Bin’s body exudes, as he curls into his touch, allowing himself a little taste of what he’s wished for since he was younger.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bin asks, fingers fiddling with a loose string on the shoulder of Minhyuk’s jacket. “You knew I was…”

“I tried,” Minhyuk replies, sitting up a little. “It was hard for me.”

“It was hard for me, too.”

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He looks away, tries to shuffle aside.

Bin’s grip stops him. “It’s okay. I know, now,” he grins cheekily. “Now, is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

Minhyuk doesn’t want to admit to his fading unrequited love. Bin will know, one day, in due time. He shakes his head, smiling. “You know me inside and out.”

Minhyuk follows Sanha up to the training room. The air is tense and still, heavy with a sense of misfortune. Though he tries to hide it, the younger boy quivers a little as they ascend the stairs, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Minhyuk wants to soothe him, to say that everything will be alright – that they’ll make it – but, he can’t be sure.

Today, they’ll dance, sing, perform for the staff of the company. Critiqued, judged, and reviewed of their usefulness. Today is the day the company will throw out those they deem hopeless, and send those they admire to stardom.

The two boys wait side-by-side on a chair in the locker room, watching the room slowly fill with the other trainees, all nail-bitten and tired-eyed. Bin is nestled in the far corner with Dongmin tucked into his shoulder, his surveying eyes watching every soul in the room. He meets Minhyuk’s gaze and provides a gentle, reassuring smile.

Sanha’s fiddling hands are relentless, his bobbing knee bothersome – Minhyuk smooths his palm over the end of Sanha’s thigh, the thick, muscular joint just above his knee. The younger boy smiles apologetically, slipping his eyes shut and resting his head back.

Minhyuk watches as Sanha – blindly, reluctantly – hovers his hand over Minhyuk’s, gently resting it on top, threading the very tips of his fingers between Minhyuk’s. The boy takes a deep breath, and Minhyuk wonders how much affection would be enough to end Sanha’s fretting.

Soon enough, everyone is called into the room. As they dance, Minhyuk watches the room dissipate, people leaving one-by-one as they’re sent out. From the corner of his eye, through the long, glass pane, he can see trainees hurt and upset, fists bashing against lockers and red faces wet. He doesn’t dare to look for too long, too afraid that any distraction will destroy any chances of completing what he’d built for five tough years.

By the end of the dancing segment, he feels his legs about ready to give out. Sanha collapses on one of the chairs, snatching his water bottle and taking a long sip. He made it through this round. They both did. Bin did, too.

A daunting realisation – this is the all-or-nothing. Within the next few rounds of testing, if Minhyuk doesn’t give it his all, he’s out for good.

There are suitcases and boxes in the dorm. A handful of trainees say goodbye at the door, with empty promises to send messages often, before disappearing onto the street. There are eight of them left. For a moment, Minhyuk feels a sense of relief. Sanha is still by his side. Bin remains, and Dongmin, too.

From then on, his world moves in a blur. A mess of days and nights, weeks and months, that bleed into each other with indistinct beginnings and endings. Endless choreography nailed into his head, until muscle memory controls his every movement. Stage fright, which morphs from terrified of a large crowd, to terrified of a small crowd. He wakes with dancing on his mind, and falls asleep with dedication leaving painful traces behind in his joints.

Bin enjoys the weekly competitions. He’s exhausted, but determined to improve his performance skills. Minhyuk watches him grow, on stage and back, blossoming as an idol must.

Sanha, too. He was petrified at first, the terror of a watchful crowd toying with his mind. He’d shiver and shake before stepping on stage, and from the corner of his eye, Minhyuk would watch that fear melt away. The boy was fatigued, just as everyone else. Some nights, he had to be carried from the van, back into his bed.

Minhyuk recalls late nights, when his muscles near refuse to move, that Sanha lay awake, face as pale and round as the moon above them. Recall when Sanha was worried about his future, about their future, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Minhyuk would wake beneath Sanha’s sheets, the boy clutched onto his body, with little memory of what they’d discussed when they should have been sleeping.

He recalls, also, the few moments back stage before they went on to perform, Sanha’s consistent quivering in fear. How little it would take to calm him – a hand around his, a stroke of his thick hair (now, a vibrant orange colour and a little frizzy), a warm hug. How Sanha would fall into his embrace and almost melt there, moulded against Minhyuk’s body, before being pulled out onto the stage and performing to his heart’s content.

A familiar feeling blooms in Minhyuk’s chest; a dizzying realisation.

His hand feels empty, as Sanha steps on stage. His arms crave the familiar warmth of his body. His chest yearns to feel a heartbeat opposite his own.

By the end of the competition, two more trainees had left. There were only six of them, now. Sanha, Bin, Jinwoo, Myungjun, and Dongmin, too.

Minhyuk slowly feels his life pull back together, feels the weight of the previous five years fall easily off his shoulders. He will debut. The news feels invigorating, freeing, and inspiring. He allows himself this taste of pride, for finally breaking the ribbon at the finish line of a race that lasted him the majority of his adolescence.

With special permission from their manager, they throw a small party between the six of them. Myungjun elects for himself the duty of purchasing snacks, returning home with a bag full of sweets, crisps, and sodas. He was scolded for his choices, lightly, by Jinwoo, who ended up devouring most of it. Bin and Dongmin went by the corner-store, too, purchased streamers and balloons, and box-fireworks and glow-sticks.

The group head down by the river, setting out a picnic blanket in the park that lined the bank of the Han. The unique sound of glow-sticks snapping crackles in their ears, joined with the gentle slapping of the river along the bank. Laughter, loud and high-pitched and absolutely ecstatic – because they finally made it. Minhyuk allows himself to relish in the leisurely moment, to sprawl out on the soft grass and, for the first time in a long time, be carefree.

Sanha chases Myungjun with his glittering sparkler, until it finally dies out into a single wisp of grey smoke. He settles beside Minhyuk on the picnic blanket, nabbing a piece of fruit that Dongmin had insisted on bringing. “You okay?” he asks, rolling over onto his back. Together they stare up at the sky, the purple and orange of a city’s night sky, with tissue-paper clouds and pin-hole stars.

“More than okay,” he smiles, turning his head to the boy. When Sanha realises he’s looking at him, his head lolls over, pink lips pulling into a grin.

“Me, too,” he smiles, dropping a hand between them. “We finally, finally, made it.”

Jinwoo calls them over from the bank of the river, a collection of small boxes in his hands. Everyone crosses the greenspace, hurrying down to the river’s stony edge, where Jinwoo lays out the boxes. “Everyone gets to light one,” he grins, waving a lighter in his hand. Sanha runs forward, racing to grab a box, but Jinwoo stops him, “Age order!”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Sanha whines, stepping back nonetheless.

Dongmin scoffs, “Get used to it,” he grins, and everyone chuckles lightly.

Myungjun goes first, taking the lighter and peeling back the cardboard. His firework flickers to life, reflecting off the rippling water of the river, pink and yellow and glittering. Everyone takes their turn, awestruck by the bright, flickering colours and the infamous crackling of cheap fireworks.

As the last of the grey smoke of Sanha’s firework dissolves into the air, and the loud fizzling leaves their ears ringing, the group clean up their things and pile back into the van. The younger boy slumps against his seat, eyes drooping shut as the motions of the drive soothe him to sleep. They turn a corner – Sanha’s limp, sleeping body falls against Minhyuk’s side.

Jinwoo turns back from the passenger seat, smiling, “He’s had a long day,” he whispers, reaching over to pat the boy’s leg. The remainder of the ride is quiet, Bin humming along to songs on the radio, over the gentle rush of tar beneath them, Sanha’s slow breathing against Minhyuk’s chest.

It’s dark. Silently, Minhyuk reaches a hand over and threads it through Sanha’s orange hair, feeling the crisp strands between his fingers with curiosity. He palms the boy’s velvety hair down, before resting his cheek on the crown of Sanha’s head, and closing his eyes.

When they arrive back to the dorm, Minhyuk gently shakes Sanha awake. The boy stretches his long limbs, much like a waking cat, plucked like elastic back to his side. “We’re home?” He slurs, licking the inside of his mouth. Minhyuk nods, smoothing his hair back, out of his face. “I’m thirsty,” he whines, unclipping his seat belt and sliding out of the van.

“I’ll get you a glass of water,” Minhyuk assures, sliding the door shut behind him. “Will you just go straight to bed?”

“What will you do?” Sanha asks, fumbling up the stairs, a baby deer taking their first steps.

Minhyuk hums, swinging on the banister, “The boys were saying something about watching a movie… But, you seem really tired. I think you should just go to bed.”

“Will you watch the movie?”

“Maybe,” Minhyuk replies, waiting for Sanha on the next landing.

Sanha stops at the top of the stairs, contemplating. “I think I’ll give the movie a go.”

When they return, Sanha slinks towards the couch, falling into it’s plush arms. Minhyuk hurries to fetch him a cup of water, resting it on the coffee table. The boy sips at it slowly, his pink lips wrapping sweetly around the rim of the glass. His eyelids droop, long eyelashes falling against his cheek.

“You’re really tired,” Minhyuk presses, pushing himself further into the couch.

Sanha glances at him, “I want to stay up. This is a good day,” he smiles.

The others select a film and start it up, though no one lasts very long, exhaustion taking over. Dongmin leaves first, closely followed by Bin. Myungjun falls asleep with his face tucked into the creasing of the couch pillows, and Jinwoo has to drag him back to his bed with what little strength he has left. Surprisingly, Sanha is still awake.

The credits roll, the room goes dark, their couch in the far corner suddenly dunked into the night. Minhyuk feels the heat of Sanha’s body against his, absentmindedly curling closer to it, under the shielding of blankets.

“Minhyuk…” Sanha murmurs, his voice vibrating against Minhyuk’s head. Minhyuk peers up at him, at his face, coiled with curiosity.

He sits up, edges away from the taller boy. “Oh, sorry,” he whispers. “We should… We should go to bed,” he stammers.

Sanha’s head shakes minutely, and he takes hold of Minhyuk’s wrist, tugs him back against his chest. “I don’t want too,” he whispers. “Please.”

“Sanha…” Minhyuk echoes, cautiously moving himself forward.

The boy gulps, his throat bobbing. He twirls a finger through Minhyuk’s hair, an inquisitive course down behind his ear, over the line of his throat. “Can… Can I… Try something?” His voice is an uneasy, quivering whisper into the air. Sanha’s thumb trails over his lip.

Minhyuk’s heart skips a beat, then another. He understands what Sanha is asking for. With no need for thought, he nods, leaning forward.

Sanha’s lips capture his own, soft and plump and sweet. So many emotions flicker through Minhyuk’s mind, like a film reel.

Firstly… Was it guilt? Guilt that he’d promised himself to Bin for so long, that he still hadn’t had his time with the boy, that he was giving something so precious yet so simple away to Sanha – his first kiss? Perhaps. Even so, as Sanha deepens the kiss, tilting his head, this feeling melts and washes away.

Another emotion – excitement. The heat of Sanha’s chest pressed firmly against his own, through the thin fabric of their t-shirts. The feeling of Sanha’s soft lips against his own, moving with messy inexperience, but still as delicious as he’d imagined a kiss to be. His heart fizzles, and briefly, he’s reminded of the fireworks they’d lit on Han’s edge; sparkling and exploding (beautiful, with an air of confidence unique to something inhuman).

Curiosity, too – his tongue flickers against Sanha’s lip, and the boy’s mouth opens a little wider, inviting him further. Minhyuk yearns to feel Sanha’s skin, to discover more of him. His fingers reach up, cupping the smooth skin of his hot face, pulling him even closer.

Sanha pulls away after a short while, hand falling against his chest, as he catches his breath. He grins, a little dazed, “Oh, my God,” he murmurs, tipping his head back. Minhyuk mirrors his smile, laughing softly. “I want to do that again,” he whispers, as his head pulls back up, lips glistening under the lights outside that fall through the window.

“Why’d you want to kiss me?” Minhyuk asks, unable to peel his eyes away from Sanha’s wet mouth.

The boy looks away. “I like you,” he answers, without any apprehension, perhaps having lost any nerves as they kissed. “Did you mind?”

“No,” Minhyuk replies, smirking gently. “I liked it.”

He wonders what the kiss would have been like if Bin were in the place of Sanha. Would it have been so sweet? So chaste, so affectionate? Would he have enjoyed it as much? A younger version of himself, maybe.

He peers into Sanha’s glistening eyes, watches the flutter of his eyelashes, glances at the curl of his smirk. He decides, right then, as Sanha takes his lips within his own again, that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Minhyuk believes he’s found what he’d been looking for. It hadn’t been Moon Bin, in the end. It ended up being not a person, but a feeling. One of innocence, romance, and pure love – and he’d found it within Sanha.

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