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Hanbin’s bouncing his leg under the table.

He arrived ten minutes early, so it’s not like Matthew is late by any means, but he can’t wait to see the other nonetheless. Between university classes and weekend shifts at his mom’s cafe, Hanbin hasn’t had much of an opportunity to attend a dance workshop lately, let alone invite Matthew to tag along.

As he takes another sip of his iced americano, the man hears a bell jingle as the front door of the cafe opens. His eyes dart up to look at the newcomer, and when he spots Matthew in the entryway, he sets down his cup to stand and wave energetically. The two make eye contact, and the younger breaks into an adorable grin as he hurries to Hanbin’s table in the back.

“Seokmae-yah,” the older calls affectionately, immediately pulling his friend into a warm hug. “Long time no see.”

“Hanbinnie-hyung,” Matthew coos as he reciprocates the embrace with a tight squeeze. “I missed you so much.”

After a few seconds of the pair swaying back and forth, the younger pulls away first with a gentle pat-pat on Hanbin’s back. Matthew removes his down jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair before shoving his hat and scarf into his backpack and setting his bag on the floor.

“You ordered without me?” the younger pouts, eyeing his friend’s half-empty coffee cup.

“I’m sorry, Matthew-yah,” Hanbin says as he flashes his puppy dog eyes in defense. Once Matthew’s frown melts away, the older reaches into his pocket for his wallet, opening it up and searching for his credit card. “Here, let hyung pay for your meal as an apology.”

Matthew pushes Hanbin’s hands away with an adamant shake of his head. “I was just joking. No way I’ll let you pay for me, hyung,” he responds. “My family sent me some money last week, and the store just gave me my paycheck yesterday. I’ll be fine.”

Before the older can shove the card into his hands, Matthew strides to the front of the cafe, taking a look at the menu boards and peering into the glass display cases to see what sandwiches, wraps, and pastries are on sale. With an amused huff, Hanbin puts his credit card away and slips his wallet back into his pants pocket.

As his friend pays and waits for his order, Hanbin takes the time to observe Matthew. Though the two have kept in contact, they hadn’t found the time to hang out in over two months. In that time, Matthew has maintained aspects of his old self: his soft-cheeked baby face, his adorably short stature, his favorite pair of lace-up boots. However, these facets feel trivial in comparison to the major differences in the younger man’s appearance. Where Hanbin’s old friend used to keep his short black hair styled out of his face, this Matthew has dyed his hair a deep shade of auburn, growing out his bangs and letting them fall over his forehead. The shorter was never one for accessories before, but now he sports new lobe piercings adorned with small silver hoops as well as a simple corded bracelet on his wrist. With the winter coat out of the way, Hanbin notices how a plain white tee exhibits Matthew’s toned arms, consisting of broad shoulders, visible veins, and lean muscles.

It’s only been two months, but Matthew has grown up without Hanbin, and the older feels a pang of sadness at having missed so many updates in his friend’s life.

After a few minutes, Matthew returns with a fork, a slice of blueberry cake, and a steaming hot cup of coffee. Once he has carefully placed the plate and mug onto the table, he settles into his chair and starts digging into his sweet treat.

However, seeing Matthew up close reveals the largest contrast between the boy from back then and the man of now. If Hanbin was wistful upon seeing how much his friend has matured, he feels his heart shatter when he examines the younger’s face. Under blended layers of concealer and foundation, the redhead’s undereye bags and dark circles peek through, casting shadows on the man’s otherwise youthful appearance. Even as Matthew smiles at Hanbin after the first bite of cake, the older can see how Matthew’s eyes refuse to sparkle anymore.

The older runs a hand through his hair, letting the black strands fall back into place as he contemplates the best way to catch up. Eventually, Hanbin decides to start with, “So, how is Cube treating you? Hopefully things are still going well for you there?”

Matthew almost spits out his cake mid-chew, but he forces himself to swallow and take a sip of coffee before replying. “I didn’t tell you? I already left Cube.”

“You left?” Hanbin parrots, his eyes widening as the shorter man confirms the statement with a nod. “When did that happen?”

“Maybe a month and a half ago? I can’t really remember.” The younger helps himself to another forkful of cake. “I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore.”

“So where are you training now?” Hanbin asks. Cube treated them both like shit, but Matthew was strong enough to tough it out longer than Hanbin did. If Matthew left Cube, he must have found a better debut opportunity somewhere else.

“I’m kind of between companies right now,” Matthew admits with a sheepish grin. “I’m still doing auditions for other places, too, but if nothing goes well, my mom and sister said they’d be willing to help me move back home.”

The taller man’s voice wobbles as he repeats, “Home?”

“Yeah, home. As in Canada.”

Hanbin is speechless as Matthew drinks from his mug. Even though they weren’t able to become idols under Cube together, the older had always believed that the two would reunite somewhere else, whether it may be a TikTok challenge after filming for music shows, a guest appearance on a variety program, or a collaboration stage at an end-of-year awards ceremony. He hoped that even if they couldn’t perform on stage together, both of them would have made it out of the trainee years in their own way.

He didn’t fathom that there would be a world in which neither of them made their dreams come true.

Fighting through the negativity building in his gut, Hanbin scrambles to think of a response that will veer the conversation away from Matthew leaving Korea. It was hard enough to write the younger a meaningful letter in English through Papago when he left Cube. The older isn’t sure if he’ll be able to handle a more permanent goodbye.

Suddenly, Hanbin remembers the post he’d texted Matthew a few weeks ago: the audition he’d pestered his friend to sign up for, the one he promised would “hardly take any time at all.”

“What about that link I sent you?” Hanbin questions. “Did you click on it?”

Matthew heaves a sigh. “Hyung, I’m not too sure…”

“Matthew-yah, it’s an Mnet survival show,” the taller man counters. “Do you know how this could kickstart our careers? Even if we don’t end up in the final group, we could still make it big. Tons of companies recruit trainees after these programs end.”

“And what are the odds that we get evil edited?” Matthew argues as his speech increases in ferocity and volume. “Or what if they still try to manipulate the votes to rig us out of the running? Who will want to train us then?”

“Matthew…”

“Listen. I don’t want that to happen to me, but most of all, I don’t want that to happen to you.”

Hanbin finally looks up at Matthew then, and he notices that his friend is holding back tears. Clutching onto the coffee cup with both hands, the younger takes a shaky inhale before meeting the other man’s eyes.

“Hyung, you of all people should know that none of these decisions have been easy for me,” Matthew says, his voice cracking toward the end of the sentence. “I’ve been in Korea for a year, and even though I’ve had my ups and downs, I don’t regret becoming a trainee here. But I’ve already been cut from group lineups too many times. Hell, some companies won’t even accept my audition videos because I’m already ‘too old.’”

Hanbin wants to argue. He wants to tell Matthew that’s not true, that there is still time for them to debut, that if they keep working hard enough, their dreams will come true—

But he’s seen the audition notices these days, too. He’s noticed how the age requirements have gotten younger with each announcement, how the other idol hopefuls in the room need parental supervision, how he’s had to cross out open calls from his schedule because he was born just a few months before the date of birth cutoff. The voice of protest withers and dies in the older’s throat, and there’s nothing Hanbin can do but swallow the bitter, bitter truth.

Instead of fighting back, Hanbin reaches across the table. He can’t save Matthew from drowning in the cruel reality of the K-pop industry, but he can help the younger fight the tide for a little bit longer. He hesitantly places his hand palm up on the table, hoping the younger will reach back. Matthew swiftly grabs Hanbin’s hand, his knuckles white and his fingertips red as he tightly grips the older’s palm.

The firm grasp hurts for both of them, but they’ve only got each other to hold onto.

The shorter continues on. “You have a life here, Hanbin-hyung. You have a family, you have friends, you take classes, and if this doesn’t work out for you, you can do backup dancer jobs until you can get a teaching license. I can’t even find a company that wants to train me long enough to debut, let alone sponsor my work visa.” He sniffles, and the tears finally overflow. “Hyung, I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I don’t know how much longer I want to do this.”

Hanbin pulls Matthew’s other hand away from the coffee cup, and the two sit there holding each other’s hands as the younger lets tears roll down his cheeks and drip onto his shirt. The taller man wishes he could alleviate the other’s worries, but deep down, he knows that he, too, shares the same fears. In place of pretty white lies disguised as comforting words, he opts for letting the shorter clutch onto him like a lifeline.

Once Matthew’s cries start to subside, Hanbin gently squeezes his friend’s hands as he lets go, and he gets up to grab a few napkins from the cafe counter before sitting back down and placing them in front of the other man. As Matthew wipes his face and blows his nose, the older waits patiently until the younger looks back up. Though the other’s eyes, nose, and cheeks are still tinged red, Hanbin lets out a sigh of relief when he sees that Matthew has stopped crying.

“Matthew-yah, I’m sorry,” Hanbin apologizes, leaning over to give Matthew a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I know it’s hard for you. I didn’t mean for it to seem like your struggles aren’t important.”

“It’s fine,” Matthew dismisses, forcing himself to put on a smile. “I know it’s hard for hyung, too.” He dries the last of his tear tracks and sets the tissue down as he returns Hanbin’s gaze. “I don’t want to give up, but… I really think this might be the end for me.”

Hanbin allows a silence to form as Matthew takes a sip of his long-chilled coffee, and each of them quietly mourn as they reflect on the dreams and aspirations they’d shared through tears, sweat, and laughter in the trainee dorms and humid Cube dance studios.

They were two boys who foolishly ran toward the harsh actualities of adulthood before they realized their youth had an expiration date.

After some time, Hanbin speaks. “I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Why not submit the Mnet video auditions? It can be a last chance for both of us,” Hanbin suggests. “Just one more try.”

Matthew looks up then, uncertainty and conflict evident in his eyes. “Hyung, I’m really not sure…”

The older reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone, scrolling and tapping on the screen until he finds the open call information. He moves his chair closer and tilts his screen toward the other so they can both read the flyer. Amidst the black background, a drawing of a bright blue planet in eclipse and the show’s title in metallic letters— Boys Planet— shine back at them from the display.

“It’s just two minutes each of two talent categories,” Hanbin explains, pointing at the graphic on his phone. “You could do two minutes of dancing and two minutes of singing. Then, once you film your intro in English and Korean, you email it to the Mnet producers. Easy, right?”

Matthew sighs. “What would I even do? It’s due in a month and a half, and I haven’t even prepared anything.”

Hanbin levels the younger with a look. “Matthew-yah, you said you’ve been submitting auditions to tons of companies. I’m sure you’ve covered plenty of songs and dances during for those open calls— you could totally reuse them for this. And even if those don’t work, you have all the stages from when we had to do monthly evaluations at Cube! You’ll be fine.”

With a scratch of his head and a slow nod, Matthew looks up with an uneasy expression. “Okay,” he hesitantly agrees. “Okay, I’ll audition. But you have to help me practice and come up with something, deal?”

“Deal,” Hanbin laughs, pulling the shorter man into a hug once more. “Let’s go out with a bang, okay? If this is the last time we’ll ever be K-pop trainees, we’re going to make the most of it,” he whispers.

“We will,” Matthew promises, and he rests his head against Hanbin’s shoulder for a few moments before letting go with a grateful beam.

Hanbin shuffles his chair to its original spot, and he gets up to return the dirty dishes and throw out the used napkins before getting back into his seat.

Once the older settles, Matthew asks, “Have you already prepared your audition materials?”

“I haven’t,” Hanbin answers. “I’m probably going to come up with my own waacking or tutting choreography for the dance audition, but I’m not too sure what I’ll do for the vocal part yet.”

“You’ve got this,” the younger cheers. “I’m sure whatever you do will be great.”

“I don’t know about that,” the older says. “I’ve been thinking about going to voice lessons to prepare for the audition.”

“Hyung, you’re joking, right?”

The taller man chooses not to respond, instead taking a long sip from his iced coffee.

“Hyung, you’re a K-pop major at an arts school, where taking voice lessons is part of your coursework,” Matthew points out. “You’ve been a trainee at one of the largest companies in Seoul, and you always did well on our monthly evaluations. I don’t think you need to build more practice into your routine.”

Despite his friend highlighting evidence to boost his self-esteem, Hanbin wilts even further. After a few moments, he replies, “This is the last time, right? Our last chance to become the idols we’ve always dreamed of.”

The younger nods.

“I already don’t trust my voice,” Hanbin admits. “I don’t want to lose my chance because I wasn’t prepared enough. If I’m going to give up on K-pop forever after this, I want to give it everything I’ve got.” He shudders through a breath and faces the shorter man. He’s been vulnerable in front of the other before, but it feels different when he knows his time with his best friend might be limited. “You understand, don’t you?”

Matthew scans Hanbin’s face, and he can’t help but recognize a mirror of his own desperation and hopelessness in the older’s expression. “I do understand. I don’t agree with you, but I understand,” he acknowledges. His eyes fill with pity as he sighs out, “Fine. If you say you need training, I can try to help you find a voice coach. But I’ve always thought your voice was amazing, hyung.”

Hanbin’s fear and anxiety melt away for a grateful beam to shine though. “Thank you, Matthew-yah.”

After he stopped training with an entertainment company, Hanbin had to move out of the trainee accommodations and back into his parents’ house. He may live with his family again, but that hardly feels like a drawback when it means he gets to see his parents and Areum more often than he had over the past two years. It means Hanbin doesn’t have to worry about cooking or grocery shopping for the foreseeable future. It means Hanbin doesn’t have to pick up extra dancer gigs on the weekends to make sure he can cover rent.

Most importantly, moving back home means Hanbin gets his beloved car back. Though he isn’t a fan of driving through intercity traffic, the ability to go wherever he wants, whenever he wants, with whoever he wants is certainly a plus.

After starting another week of school, Hanbin finishes his last lecture of the day, immediately hopping into his car to drive home. Since one of the part-timers at Ludia called out of their shift tomorrow, Hanbin’s mom asked her son to work in the morning until another employee could relieve him in the afternoon. As a result, the university student declined all his friends’ offers to hang out after class in favor of getting a good night’s rest for his opening shift the next day.

Though he loves spending time with others, Hanbin can’t help but savor this moment for himself. As he travels along the highway, he feels free. Other people and their cars may come and go, but the man can rely on certainties he’s well-acquainted with after years of driving: paved roads that stretch on for miles, easy-listening music playing in the background, and Hanbin driving a consistent speed the whole way.

Partway through his drive, Hanbin is singing along to one of his liked songs when he’s interrupted by his own ringtone. He takes a glance at the display, reads Seok Matthew , and clicks the “Answer Call” button on his steering wheel.

“Hello?” Hanbin says.

Matthew’s voice filters through the car speakers. “Hanbin-hyung, hello!”

“Matthew, are you okay? You don’t usually call,” Hanbin asks as he’s switching lanes. “We just saw each other a few days ago. Did you need something?” He’s almost home, but it’s still early enough in the day that he could drive over if Matthew needs him.

“Oh, things are fine, don’t worry about me,” the younger replies, his tone as cheery as ever. “I actually have something for you.”

“Huh?” Hanbin can’t remember if there’s anything he asked of Matthew recently. “What is it?”

“Remember how you wanted to take voice lessons? My uncle actually knows of a music studio in Gyeonggi-do,” Matthew explains. “His friend’s kids have been going there for a while, and apparently they really like it.”

“Okay,” Hanbin comments, taking the exit ramp off of the highway. “And?”

“I sent you the link to the studio’s website over KaTalk,” the younger adds. “I skimmed over the information, and I think it looks pretty legit, but you should take a look for yourself. If it doesn’t work out, we can try looking somewhere else, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Hanbin answers. When the line goes quiet for a few seconds, he pipes up, “Hey, I really appreciate you doing this for me, Seokmae-yah. Thank you.”

Matthew scoffs on the other end. “Please, hyung, this is nothing. We’re in this together, remember?”

“Of course,” Hanbin affirms, grin overtaking on his face as he starts to recognize the roads around his neighborhood. “Take care of yourself, Matthew-yah. Let me know if you need anything, too.”

“Will do, hyung. Talk to you later.” The call ends, and the audio fades back to one of Hanbin’s playlists.

As he pulls up to the curb and parks outside his house, Hanbin makes a mental note to give Matthew a gift the next time they meet. Even though they’re both going through auditions together, Hanbin wants to do the best he can to make the process as painless as possible for his friend. Maybe he and his mom could make some extra pastries at the cafe before he and Matthew have their next practice.

After heading inside and settling into his room, Hanbin pulls out his laptop and opens up KakaoTalk. Sure enough, he has a few messages from Matthew: the last one a link to the reputable music studio. Hanbin clicks on the attachment, and his browser opens up to the homepage of the 88 Academy of Musical Arts.

At first glance, the website doesn’t look promising. The first few images are of elementary and middle school performing instruments at a recital, and Hanbin is far from an instrumentalist, let alone a prepubescent child. He scrolls down and reads the studio introduction.

Since 2000, the 88 Academy of Musical Arts has had one main goal at its core: make music fun and accessible for all. With our children’s group sessions, one-on-one private lessons, and ensembles for teens and adults, we will provide an education that will instill a love for music, teach strong fundamentals in technique and music theory, and prepare you for a lifetime with music.

 

While some of our newer students may be learning to explore music for the first time, our older pupils may find themselves preparing for the professional music world, which may look like university arts degrees, music education licenses, or even auditions for entertainment companies. Wherever your musical goals may take you, we are certain that our staff can make a unique, specialized curriculum to help you get there.

 

If you’re ready to become one with music, head over to our contact page to schedule your first lesson!

Hanbin is surprised they offer lessons specifically for adults, but he won’t complain— it’s what he needs right now. He clicks over to the about page and scrolls past the founding story and curriculum description to take a look at the teachers that work at the school. Though he’s sure that there’s at least one person qualified enough to give him voice lessons, he’d prefer if it weren’t someone his grandparents’ age. He already knows his initial dream of becoming a street dancer was far-fetched— he doesn’t need his voice teacher to tell him that he’s silly for studying performance in uni to become a K-pop idol.

As he looks at the smiling faces of the teacher profiles, the man spots some older folks among the instructors, but luckily, most of them specialize in teaching children and adolescents. He scrolls on and grins when he notices some younger staff on the roster, some of which with songwriting and composing credits on well-known idol songs. He even sees a teacher who’s still pursuing his degree. Although that educator specializes in orchestra and strings, Hanbin is happy to see that there’s someone else his age going for a career in music. In spite of all of the signs telling him to quit, Hanbin feels like these teachers would tell him to keep fighting for his dream, no matter what lies in his path. He believes he’ll be in good hands if he attends the 88 Academy.

He’s seen enough of the website to get a read on the place, and Matthew even echoed a recommendation from a family friend. Hanbin navigates to the contact page to schedule his first lesson.

After starting a new email draft addressed to the studio, the man fills out the new student registration form provided on the site as he types out his first message. Once the questionnaire asks him to describe his prior musical background, Hanbin hesitates.

Should he say that he’s taken voice lessons before? He thinks back to the vocal coaches at Cube and the singing teachers at DIMA, and he shrinks in on himself when he remembers the years upon years of daily feedback he’s received.

Maybe it’s better if I say I haven’t learned how to sing before. They won’t be able to laugh at my voice if I tell him I’m a beginner, Hanbin thinks. Maybe they can help me change my voice and teach me how to sing all over again.

As he types, Hanbin conveniently leaves out the biweekly voice classes he’s had since he first became a trainee, the semesters of individual and group singing lessons at university, and the thousands of recordings he’s taken of himself singing in place and while dancing. Instead, he only mentions the music theory and piano courses he only began taking just last year. At least he’s not completely lying.

At least that’s a good enough explanation as to why he can understand music terms even though he can’t sing.

2022/01/17 19:16

From: Sung Hanbin <[email protected]>

To: 88 Academy <[email protected]>

 

Subject: New Student Registration Form

 

Hello, my name is Sung Hanbin. 

 

I am writing this email to schedule my first lesson with 88 Academy. Attached is the new student registration form; please let me know if there is any other information you need from me!

 

Thank you!

Sung Hanbin

 

—

 

Name: Sung Hanbin

Date of Birth: 2001.06.13

Address: Cheonan-si, AB-gu, XY-ro 613

Email: [email protected]

KakaoTalk ID: shb0613

 

What instrument(s) do you wish to study? Voice

 

What prior musical experience do you have?

I have never had voice lessons before, but I have taken beginner piano lessons for a year. I also learned basic music theory, including how to read sheet music as well as basic intervals and harmonies.

 

Do you have any particular goals you’d like to achieve through music lessons?

For over a year, I have been trying to become a K-pop idol at an entertainment company. To achieve this dream, I will be submitting an audition video to Mnet and CJ E&M to join their new boy group survival show on February 11th. I hope to use the next few weeks to prepare for this online audition, and if I pass the first round, I will continue to take lessons until I am eliminated from the program.

 

What is your availability? M-F: 18:00~22:00, Sat-Sun: available all day

 

Additional Notes: I look forward to working with you!

As he sits in the back of the auditorium, Hanbin understands why Pop Music History isn’t particularly popular among his fellow K-pop Music majors. Out of all his required coursework, this class is definitely the least hands-on. It’s a lot easier to pay attention when the assignments consist of modeling, playing instruments, or learning new choreography, but Hanbin knows that understanding the creation and development of jazz and rock is important to his future career as well.

However, as the lesson goes on, Hanbin feels his focus slip away bit by bit, and his eyes dart from the notes on his word document to the clock in the corner of his computer screen. Fifty minutes until class ends… forty-five minutes… forty-two minutes…

Typically, Hanbin’s not the type of student to go on his phone during class— he keeps his devices on silent until he gets out of his last class, and even then, he’s willing to turn on Do Not Disturb again if he’s hanging out with friends or taking extra dance classes. 

An email notification pops up, and reading the subject line is enough to make Hanbin open the message immediately.

2022/01/20 14:30

From: 88 Academy <[email protected]>

To: Sung Hanbin <[email protected]>

 

Subject: Your First Lesson Has Been Scheduled – 2022/01/22 (Saturday), 13:00

 

Good afternoon, Sung Hanbin-nim.

 

This is the 88 Academy of Musical Arts.

 

Given the new student form you emailed to us a few days ago, we have assigned Zhang Hao to be your voice teacher. Though he is primarily an instrumental music instructor, he has plenty of vocal experience both as a student and as a teacher, and we believe that his interests in K-pop align well with your music goals.

 

We have tentatively scheduled your first lesson for Saturday, January 22nd at 13:00 at our location in Incheon. Please reply to this email to confirm or reschedule your lesson.

 

We look forward to meeting you and helping you grow in music!

 

Best, 

The 88 Academy of Musical Arts

Hanbin is pleasantly surprised that 88 Academy fit him in this weekend. Given how last minute his email was, he was half-expecting the studio to respond after a week or schedule his first lesson toward the end of the month. Given the several photos of children on the studio homepage, Hanbin figures it’s because he must be one of the very few students who still attend music lessons at his age.

Suppressing his embarrassment, Hanbin rereads the email and processes the information about his instructor, Zhang Hao. The student is a bit hesitant about getting voice lessons from an instrumental music teacher, but he figures that he should feel lucky that his vocal coach likes K-pop. It saves him the trouble of explaining the whole audition and training process to debut, even if he still has to explain the logistics of being in a survival show. Hanbin’s not jumping for joy at getting another voice teacher, but hopefully, their shared interest in K-pop will make these music lessons just a bit less painful.

After a deep breath, Hanbin clicks on the reply arrow to type a response. His need for vocal coaching is time sensitive, and no lecture on Western pop music groups of the 1960s will stand in the way between him and his dream.

Hanbin clicks send, and there’s twenty-five minutes of class left.

2022/01/20 14:45

From: Sung Hanbin <[email protected]>

To: 88 Academy <[email protected]>

 

Subject: RE: Your First Lesson Has Been Scheduled – 2022/01/22 (Saturday), 13:00

 

Hello, this is Sung Hanbin. 

 

I am writing to confirm my voice lesson with teacher Zhang Hao this Saturday at 13:00. 

 

Thank you so much, and I look forward to attending my first lesson this weekend!

 

Best,

Sung Hanbin

As Hanbin enters the main entrance of the studio that Saturday, he immediately feels out of place.

Looking around the waiting room, there are plenty of adults with children— presumably parents waiting for a group class to start or counting down until a private lesson ends. For the most part, the little ones seem happy to be there, their legs swinging from the waiting room chairs as they chatter on with their grownups. Most of the young students hold their instrument cases by the handle as they clutch sets of messily stacked papers, books, and folders. From what Hanbin can read, they seem to be marked-up music sheets, graded theory assignments, and introductory-level playing exercises.

In the back of the room, Hanbin can see a long hallway of doors. Though the waiting area is relatively quiet, the man can hear the various sounds of people playing instruments and small groups of children singing songs in the distance. He supposes that the studio organizes many different kinds of ensemble rehearsals and private lessons on the weekends.

Hanbin heads over to the front desk, which sits between the open waiting area and the hallway of classrooms and practice areas. He resists the urge to peer into the door windows to look for other students his age, instead facing the woman sitting behind the desk. Upon noticing the man in front of her, the woman looks away from her computer monitor and gives Hanbin a polite smile.

“Hello, welcome to the 88 Academy! Can I help you?” the receptionist greets.

“Hi, I have a lesson scheduled for 1PM. It should be under Sung Hanbin,” the man states.

The receptionist turns back to the screen, and after a few keyboard taps and mouse clicks, she verifies, “Are you the 1PM private voice lesson with Zhang Hao-sunsaengnim?”

Hanbin nods. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Perfect! I’ll let Hao-nim know you’re here,” the woman replies. “Please feel free to take a seat while you wait.”

With a small bow, Hanbin turns away, choosing the seat furthest from the rest of the patrons in the room. As much as he adores children and loves music, being in a room with fellow students half his age or younger is not helping with his pre-lesson nerves. He worries his lip under his teeth and wills himself to stay calm.

As the clock ticks on, Hanbin keeps his eyes on the ground as he tries to block out the sights and sounds of the other people in the room. However, as the sounds around him fade away, he can only hear his own insecurities mocking him and spiraling him into anxiety.

I bet the other people in the room are judging me. They probably think I’m too old to be here. Isn’t it so pathetic that I can’t sing like everybody else? I have to take classes just to learn how to sing one note. Will my teacher laugh at me, too? Will he give up and tell me how terrible and unteachable I am? Maybe I should just go home before—

“Sung Hanbin-nim?”

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Hanbin lightly shakes his head before standing to greet the person calling his name. “That’s me.”

As he looks up, Hanbin immediately comes face to face with a handsome stranger before him. The man seems to be around Hanbin’s height and age, and with wide eyes, a straight nose, plump lips, and a defined jawline, the other is an elegant beauty that magazine covers could only dream to emulate. In contrast to Hanbin’s puffer coat, zip-up hoodie, and training sweatpants, the man wears a grey knit sweater, crisp black slacks, and thin wire frames to complement his sophisticated aura.

At the sight of such a stunning person, Hanbin would be intimidated by how chic and stylish someone his age could be. However, after taking a closer look at the man before him, Hanbin can’t help but internally coo at the accessories the other is wearing. The man has long brown bangs, but there are cute hair clips in his hair to hold his fringe in place: a small Pompompurin pinned to the left side and a tiny Cinnamoroll on the right. As the taller man heads into the hallway, Hanbin catches sight of teddy bears on the back of his white and blue sneakers, the small stuffies bouncing with each step the man takes.

Hanbin may be scared for his private lesson, but he trusts that his voice teacher will be just as welcoming as the person before him. 

The other bows. “You can follow me to Practice Room 4.”

Keeping close behind the man, Hanbin discreetly peers into each of the classrooms they pass by. As he suspected, most of the students there are younger than him, but he is delighted to see some high schoolers around Areum’s age taking classes. Regardless of the age group, though, Hanbin notices that all of the teachers and students in the studio are enjoying the music lessons together. He lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues moving forward.

Eventually, the two men reach the practice room, and the employee gestures for Hanbin to enter. Looking around the small space, Hanbin decides to sit in the chair closest to the piano, pulling a music stand in front of him and setting down his repertoire for the Boys Planet audition. The worker closes the door and stands in front of Hanbin.

“I’m Zhang Hao,” the man says, bowing to a ninety-degree angle. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Zhang Hao-sunsaengnim. I didn’t realize it was you,” Hanbin rushes out, scrambling to his feet to return the bow. “I should have asked for your name earlier, but I was so caught up in my own thoughts—”

Hao laughs good-naturedly, signaling for Hanbin to take a seat as he sits on the piano bench. “Please, don’t worry about it,” he consoles with a kind grin. “I’m not typically one for formalities, anyway. You can just call me Hao-ssaem.”

Hanbin feels a flush blossom over his cheeks and ears at having embarrassed himself in front of such a handsome man, let alone his voice teacher. “Yes. Okay. Hao-ssaem.”

“Yep, that’s me,” Hao agrees with a nod. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll go ahead and properly introduce myself. I’m Zhang Hao, and I’ve been working at 88 Academy for a few months now. I’m pursuing my bachelor’s in musicology at Fujian Normal University, but I’ve had my teaching license for over a year. I typically give strings or piano lessons, but I also teach beginner voice, so I look forward to working with you.”

Amazed, Hanbin couldn’t help but let his shock show through his expression. This man is my age, but he already has a teaching job before graduation? And he can sing and play multiple instruments? Hanbin is proud of his own progress as a dancer, but all his accolades seem to pale in comparison to someone as accomplished as Hao.

At Hanbin’s surprised face, Hao responds, “Sorry, is that hard to believe? I can show you my teaching license if you need proof. Most adults worry that I’m not qualified enough to teach because I’m on the younger side.”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that at all!” Hanbin quickly displays a kind smile. “I was just in awe of how talented you are, I promise.”

“Ah, not really… But that’s enough about me,” Hao dismisses with a wave. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself and why you’re starting voice lessons?”

As Hao waits for a response, Hanbin fumbles for a moment, thinking about the best way to explain his situation.

The email said Hao-ssaem likes K-pop, but will he really be understanding?

Hanbin’s eyes dart around as the man finds a place to start. Eventually, Hanbin catches sight of his folder on the music stand before him, and he leafs through the papers until he finds his physical copy of the Boys Planet audition announcement, handing the printout to Hao as he elaborates.

“Uh, as you already know, I’m Sung Hanbin,” he begins. “For a while, I’ve dreamed of becoming a K-pop idol, but I didn’t really find an opportunity until this Mnet survival show casting call.”

“I see…” Hao reads through the text on the page. “I always liked watching these types of shows back home, but this is my first time actually seeing an open call notice.”

“Exactly,” Hanbin concurs. “So I figured that I should audition for the show and see where it takes me. I have a couple years of dance experience, so that’ll be the first part of my audition.” He falters for a moment before he continues. “But I don’t really have any of the other talents the producers are looking for. I want to learn how to sing, but I haven’t had any vocal training before, so… I hope you’ll forgive my inexperience.”

“Interesting,” Hao comments, seemingly giving Hanbin a once-over before setting the audition flyer on the piano’s music stand. “Well, I’m surprised you haven’t had an opportunity to train before.”

Huh? “What do you mean by that, Hao-ssaem?”

“You clearly have the face and looks to become a celebrity,” Hao responds easily, and Hanbin tries to hide the blush rushing to his face. “I’m sure you have the dance skills to be an idol, too. I can tell that you have a dancer’s physique.”

Embarrassed at the sudden shower of praise, Hanbin isn’t sure if he should say thank you or deny the claims. He nods shyly.

“I think you’d make a great idol,” the teacher continues. “And I believe that anyone can sing— it’s just a matter of getting the proper training… And finding the right teacher.” Hao winks playfully. “Anyway, let’s start warming up! Do you know what voice part you are?”

“Tenor?” Hanbin answers, uncertainty dripping from his voice. “I’ve tried to sing high notes, but they don’t really sound great.”

“We can work with tenor for now,” Hao assures. “This is just a warm-up, so we’ll be doing scales and other simple exercises to prepare for the singing portion of the lesson. If tenor ends up not being your voice part, we can change things around until you’re comfortable. Okay?”

Hanbin gives a nod in assent. “Okay.”

“Awesome. Don’t be nervous,” the teacher teases. “Take three deep breaths with me. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

Closing his eyes, the student follows the guided breaths, and with each exhale, he feels himself releasing the built-up tension in his body, becoming more relaxed and grounded in his chair. He opens his eyes again to find the music teacher looking at him with a caring gaze.

Hao turns away to face the piano, and he sings and plays a scale up and down as an example.

Wow, his voice is really pretty…

The teacher plays and sustains the first note again. “This is G2. Can you comfortably match this pitch?”

Hanbin replicates the note with his voice. “Like that?”

“Yes, perfect,” Hao praises. “We’ll start from here and go up, okay? Let me know if you have any questions or if anything feels uncomfortable or starts to hurt.”

With that, Hao diligently sings with Hanbin through tons of vocal exercises: going up to C5 and down to C3, shifting dynamics between very loud and very soft, moving vowels from “ah” to “eh” to “ee,” and even switching over to lip trills. As Hanbin follows along, he’s surprised by how many different warm-ups there are and how long Hao spends on each one.

Once they stop, Hanbin is even more stunned when they move on with little fanfare other than a few helpful tips and corrections and Hao suddenly asking, “Do you have a song you prepared?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, hold on.” Hanbin takes two sets of sheet music out of his folder and presents them to Hao, who places both pieces atop the music stand on the piano. Then, he pauses. “Aren’t you going to say something else?”

Hao shoots Hanbin a quizzical glance. “Such as?”

“More critiques, or if there’s anything wrong that I need to fix,” Hanbin utters, mentally bracing for impact. “I know I’m not that great at singing, so—”

“No, not really.”

Hanbin faces Hao then. “Then why did we spend so much time on warm-up?”

Hao furrows his brow before looking up at the wall clock above the door. “We only spent about five minutes on warm-up,” the teacher replies carefully.

That’s way longer than any warm-up the vocal trainers at the company or voice teachers at school have ever given me. They would always cut me off to point out something I did wrong, Hanbin wants to argue. He then remembers that this is a beginner lesson— that he told the studio that he’s never sang before, and that Hao is the one with the teaching license. He remains silent.

After the quiet drags on for a few more seconds, Hao explains, “It’s important to take your time warming up so you can sing your best without getting hurt. Think about it this way: when you dance, you make sure to stretch before you start practice, right?”

Hanbin nods.

“Same thing goes for music. You need to be in the right mental and physical state to perform,” Hao elaborates. “I haven’t had any voice lessons before you today, so that warm-up was just as important for you as it was for me, regardless of skill level or experience. Does that make sense?”

Hanbin nods again, and he feels the knot of anxiety unravel a bit in his chest when Hao beams at him.

“Great,” the teacher remarks, looking back at the sheets on the music stand. “Let’s see what we have here… ‘Time for the Moon Night’ by GFRIEND and ‘Energetic’ by Wanna One— I love these songs! Any reason why you chose them?”

“I like them, too,” Hanbin comments. “I just chose K-pop songs that I felt like would be good for a voice audition.” He omits the fact that he’s used them for several different company auditions in the past. Instead, he asks, “Ssaem, do you think there’s one that would sound better than the other?”

Hao flips through both pieces, looking through the notes, lyrics, and melodies of each song. “‘Time for the Moon Night’ is a pretty song, but it might not be a good choice unless you’re willing to lower it from the original key. On the other hand, since ‘Energetic’ is a powerful boy group song— more specifically, a well-known Mnet boy group song— I think you’d be able to show off more of your voice if you sing this for the audition.”

“That works,” Hanbin approves, plucking the GFRIEND piece from the piano and putting it back in his folder. “So what do we do next?”

“Are there any parts you want to go over in the song?” Hao prompts. “We could do a runthrough of the whole thing first, or we could go over specific measures or phrases if you’ve been having trouble with certain parts.”

Hanbin laughs nervously. “I think I’ve been having trouble with the whole song,” he confesses. “I don’t think there’s a single part I feel confident in.”

The teacher pouts. “I’m sure you’ve made good progress so far,” Hao encourages. “Here, I’ll play the piano accompaniment while you sing the whole song for me. From there, I can listen and note if there are any passages that need more work than others.”

“Okay,” Hanbin agrees.

“Stand up and sing next to me. That way, you can read the sheet music if you need it, and you’ll be able to better project your voice than if you were sitting.”

The student rises from his chair, and he feels like a newborn fawn as he moves closer to the piano bench. Hanbin tries to will his legs to remain steady, but they continue to shake, and it feels like his knees are going to give out. He hides his trembling hands, clasping them behind his back out of the teacher’s sight.

“Let me know when you’re ready.”

Apprehension makes Hanbin’s throat constrict. The man tries to counter it by closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, modeling the breaths he had done with Hao earlier in the lesson. After he manages to ease his nerves, he opens his eyes to see his teacher offering him a thumbs up and a genuine grin.

Hanbin doesn’t think he’ll ever truly be ready, but he says, “We can start now,” and Hao begins to play the intro to “Energetic.”

After a few notes, Hanbin begins to sing, and Hao starts playing quieter. Though he wants to hide behind the accompaniment, Hanbin pushes himself to sing above the music, telling himself that his teacher needs to hear how bad he is in order to help him. Continuing through the song, the two make it to the second chorus without issue, Hao keeping time with the piano and occasionally humming along to some of the lyrics.

In the bridge, Hanbin’s anxiety starts to take over again, seeping into the man’s voice and making the notes come out shaky. The student keeps singing on, knowing that he’ll have to crescendo from the soft lines at the beginning to the high note right before the rap section. However, Hanbin feels his nerves get the best of him, and the ad-lib comes out breathy and unsupported, ending in a small voice crack.

Immediately, Hanbin shuts his mouth, wishing he could go back in time to redo the entire song over again. But Hao continues playing through the bridge, so the student has no choice but to finish singing with the little dignity he has left in him. He mumbles through the rap lyrics to catch up at the start of the last section.

Instead of risking the many ad-libs in the finale, Hanbin opts for repeating the lines to the chorus again, pushing past the fear, shame, and embarrassment building in his throat and trying to use the techniques his previous vocal coaches and trainers beat into him.

As Hanbin finishes the last phrase of the song, Hao plays the last few notes of the accompaniment, and the only sounds that remain in the room are the lingering resonance of the piano notes and the tick of the clock on the wall.

Hao looks at the other with an unreadable expression before slipping off his glasses and setting them on top of the piano to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Sit down, Hanbin-nim.”

With dread running through his veins, Hanbin hurries back to his seat, nearly tipping over the chair in his haste. He can feel the self-doubt spreading through his body, making him shrink in on himself. Even on his best days, his voice teachers would still give him a verbal lashing, pointing out each pitch out of note, each note length unobserved, each lyric without proper diction.

The echoes of previous criticisms reverberate inside Hanbin’s head. Is that the best you’ve got? Are you sure you want to go into this line of work? Maybe you’d be better off just sticking to dancing.

That was probably his worst attempt at the song, and he knows it. Hanbin can’t imagine what Hao has to say to him after all that.

Amidst Hanbin’s internal conflict, Hao shakes his head and mutters, “I don’t think this is going to work.” He breathes out with a heavy sigh before putting his glasses back on and looking at the other man. “Hanbin-nim, why are you really here?”

“Huh?” Hanbin lets out. He had already gone over his musical goals in his initial email and at the start of the lesson. Was I not clear enough? Does he think this is a prank? He restates, “Like I said before, I hope to become an idol in the future, so I wanted to take vocal lessons for my survival show audition—”

“Yes, you said as much in your registration form and just a few minutes ago,” Hao interrupts.

Does Hao-ssaem think I’m that bad?

“What I’m trying to say is,” Hao explains, “I don’t understand why you’re taking lessons with me .” The teacher gestures at himself for emphasis. “I specialize in instrumental music, so I only offer beginner voice.”

Hanbin bites the inside of his cheek. Do I really have to admit it out loud? “Hao-ssaem, I am a beginner. I don’t know how to sing, so I signed up for beginner voice lessons.”

With furrowed brows, Hao closes his eyes. After a few moments of silence, he meets the other’s gaze once more. “Let’s try phrasing this another way. Why are you in a beginner voice lesson if it’s obvious you’ve had vocal training before?”

Hanbin worries his lip and fiddles with the music stand in front of him as he figures out what to say. Eventually, he admits, “I have had vocal lessons before.” Hanbin sighs as he looks down at the floor. “To be completely honest with you, I’m actually pursuing a performance degree at Dong-ah Institute of Media and Arts right now.”

Hao’s eyes widen. “Dong-ah In— DIMA?” the teacher says incredulously. “Hanbin-nim, I know your school has far more qualified instructors than me to give you voice lessons. Plus, I’m sure you’re more than prepared to make your debut if you’ve already auditioned and been accepted to a university-level performing arts program.”

“That’s the thing, actually,” Hanbin mutters, bringing his hands to rest on his lap. He digs his fingernails into his palms, hoping the physical pain will stop his tears from overflowing and running down his cheeks. “I’ve only gotten this far because of my personality and my dancing.”

“Hey,” Hao calls out gently. His voice is soft, but his face is all tension and hard lines. “What do you mean by that?”

Hanbin didn’t prepare to dig this deep with any of his teachers ever, let alone during his first real voice lesson. He shakes his head firmly as he tries to swallow the lump forming in this throat.

“There’s no wrong answer. You can be honest with me,” Hao murmurs, leaning forward on the piano bench to maintain eye contact with Hanbin. “This is just me, Zhang Hao, wanting to get a better understanding of you, Sung Hanbin.”

Closing his eyes, Hanbin takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes and starts to speak again. “I’ve always wanted to be a vocalist in a boy group,” he confides. “I was first interested in K-pop because of the dance performances and the catchy title tracks, but I truly fell in love with the genre when I listened to the groups’ R&B ballads and vocal-heavy B-sides. I was used to expressing myself through my dancing, but listening to those songs made me realize how much singing can touch someone’s heart as well.”

Hao nods sagely. “Music is a powerful thing.”

“It is,” Hanbin agrees. “I originally wanted to study dance and become a street dancer or a dance teacher, but after seeing my little sister make progress toward her dreams, I figured I should try to give K-pop a shot. I auditioned for companies and universities, and I got into DIMA and trainee programs at the end of high school.” Hanbin blinks, and the tears finally overflow and roll down his face. “But once I started attending lessons, the vocal coaches always said that no one would ever want to listen to me sing. I have to take voice lessons to graduate, but my professors always said that I’d be better off trying to become a dancer or a rapper.”

“Oh, Hanbin-nim… I’m so sorry.”

The student swallows the lump in his throat, powering on. “It’s kind of funny, actually,” Hanbin starts. “Usually, people say that singers with husky voices sound really attractive, but… one time, during a recording session, one of my teachers cut me off and said that my voice was grating, like metal rubbing together.” He chuckles weakly at the self-deprecating remark, wiping the tears from his eyes before he continues, “So when I enrolled for voice lessons, I just— I wanted to start over. I believed that maybe, if I went back to the beginning all over again, that things would be different. That I could change my voice to one that’s worth listening to.”

Hanbin hides behind his hands, covering up the ugly crying face he knows he has. He hears the teacher get up from the bench and walk away, and for a moment, the student wonders if he is a hopeless case after all. Maybe Hao heard his sob story and decided to give up on him.

The man sinks further into himself and cries harder when suddenly, something soft brushes against his fingers. Hanbin looks up.

“Here,” Hao says. The teacher pointedly looks away with his arms outstretched, offering a box full of tissues.

Hanbin feels a startled chuckle escape him at how cutely polite the teacher is. He takes the tissue box and places it in his lap. “Thank you,” he whispers.

The student takes a moment to collect himself, blowing his nose and wiping away the tear tracks from his eyes and cheeks. After some time, Hanbin sets the tissue box on the chair next to him, gets up to throw away his used tissues, and then sighs as he sits back down again.

“Is it safe to look now?” Hao says, still facing the wall.

Hanbin giggles. “Yes, you can look now.”

With wide eyes and a cute grin, the teacher turns back to Hanbin. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I am,” Hanbin confirms, heat rising to his cheeks when he realizes he’s turned his private lesson into a therapy session. “Oh, my God— I’m so sorry about all of this… I’m not usually like this, I promise—”

“Hanbin-nim,” Hao calls. “It’s okay. I teach kids, remember? I’ve seen a lot worse from my younger students and their parents, so this is nothing to me. Plus… you were cute when you cried.”

“Huh?”

“Your face was so soft and dimpled… It was like…” Hao repeatedly opens and closes his hands into fists, his eyes wandering as he finds the words. “Clay? The thing you make pottery with.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. That’s clay.”

“Then yeah, your face looked like clay,” Hao articulates, a beam blossoming on his face at the memory. “You looked really, really lovely just then.”

Hanbin doesn’t know what to say. That’s certainly the first time someone’s ever called his crying face “cute” and “lovely.” He decides to respond with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Hao replies. “Now, as for your singing…”

The student holds his breath.

“I’d say the only things you really need to work on are breath support and register mixing, but that can take some time to develop,” the teacher notes. “Other than that, I really don’t think you need my help. Your singing is already so beautiful.”

“You’re joking,” Hanbin says. “There’s no way you really think that.”

“You sing well! Far above beginner level or anything you give yourself credit for,” Hao insists. “Even while we were doing warm-ups, I could tell that you’re a wonderful singer.”

The other man is in disbelief. “How? You’d barely even heard me sing.”

“Natural-born talent and hard work never lie,” Hao answers. “Do you know how hard it is to match pitch and stay in tune? How difficult it is to sing with a supported sound? How much work it takes to produce even one note? Sometimes, it can take years for someone to learn those skills.” The musician covers the keys of the piano and turns to fully face Hanbin. He lets out a big sigh before he reveals, “To be honest, I originally wasn’t going to become a music teacher.”

Hanbin’s mouth forms an ‘O’ in shock. “Really? What happened?”

“I was originally a geosciences major,” Hao admits. “I was really good at math and science, so when I took the college entrance exam and got into a top geosciences university back home, I thought I was all set.”

The teacher gently places a palm on top of the lid of the piano, giving the instrument a brief, reverent glance. Hanbin can’t help but notice the firm muscles and calloused fingertips on the other’s hands.

“But during my first year, something felt wrong. It felt stupid at the time, but I felt like music was calling out to me— like I wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t try to at least pursue it,” Hao explains. “So I dropped out of university, and I spent a year studying to take the entrance exam again as well as the arts school entrance exam… And it was hard. I was learning violin for the first time at seventeen years old, and my tutor at the time told me that I’d never be good enough to become a music major.”

Hanbin feels Hao’s story resonate with his own experience. Maybe Hao-ssaem was just like me.

Hao continues, “But I got into a really good music education program after that year of self-study, and after all that, now I’m here teaching in South Korea.” He gestures widely to the practice room around them. “All this to say, you should have more faith in yourself, Hanbin-nim. If you think your singing is the only obstacle on your way to becoming an idol, I have no doubt that you’ll have a successful debut one day. Your voice is already so gorgeous— I can’t imagine how amazing you’ll sound when you find the right instructor to help you grow and boost your confidence.”

Overwhelmed by the amount of empathy and support the other man has given him, Hanbin feels a new rush of tears fill his eyes and roll down his face, and he hurriedly pulls another tissue from the box next to him.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry, Hanbin-nim,” Hao apologizes, arms instinctively reaching out toward the other man. “I didn’t mean to belittle your feelings in any way, so please don’t cry…”

“I’m fine. They’re happy tears,” Hanbin clarifies, dabbing at his wet cheeks. “I just— I’ve never had anyone say such nice things to me before.” He folds up the tissue to wipe at his eyes before pocketing it. “I’ve always thought it was my fault… That if I just kept practicing more often and pushing myself harder, maybe one day my teachers would praise me and tell me I did a good job. But no matter what I did, they would always say they couldn’t bear to listen to me sing. So I eventually came to the conclusion that maybe there’s something wrong with me … That maybe I’m not meant to be an idol after all.”

“I’m sorry, Hanbin-nim,” Hao responds genuinely. “You don’t deserve that at all. Not then, not now, and not ever. It wasn’t your fault that they didn’t do their best to educate you and help you succeed.”

Hanbin grins. It’s small, but it’s something. “Thank you, Hao-ssaem. It really means a lot to me that someone as talented as you can understand what I’ve been through.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Hao says simply, and he takes a look at the clock. They have less than five minutes left of their hour-long lesson. “We’re going to have to wrap up soon, but do you want a hug?”

Silently, Hanbin sits up and stretches his arms out, making room for Hao to fit into his embrace. Hao shuffles forward and wraps his arms around the other’s back, and Hanbin tucks his face into the teacher’s shoulder, getting scents of lavender and fresh linen from the other man. The world seems to stop as they hug: two sides of the same coin, their heartbeats beating as one as they provide each other quiet warmth and support.

Reluctantly, Hao lets go first, rubbing the other’s back gently as he pulls away. As he returns to his seat on the piano bench, the teacher tells the other man, “Here’s my advice for you, okay? First, find a new voice teacher at your school or company. One that will actually help you develop as a singer and give you useful comments, not nasty critiques.”

Hao grabs the sheet music from the piano music stand and passes it to Hanbin, who puts it back into his folder. 

“Second, keep working on ‘Energetic.’ I know you can sing those high notes and ad-libs, you just need the support and proper voice mix to do so.”

The teacher then grabs the audition flyer and holds it between the two of them.

“Third, when you feel confident enough in your abilities, send in that audition,” Hao urges, pointing at the due date on the page before handing it back to the other man. “I’ve always dreamed of being a K-pop idol myself, but I’ve already used up all my luck on changing careers once. The least you could do for me is make it to that survival show. Okay?”

Dumbfounded, Hanbin glances down at the open call notice before making eye contact with the teacher once more. “I will,” Hanbin promises. “I won’t let you down, Hao-ssaem.”

Hao laughs goodnaturedly, offering Hanbin a hand to get up and leading him toward the door. “No matter what you do, you could never let me down, Hanbin-nim. I’ll always support you, even if I won’t be your voice teacher anymore.”

With that, Hanbin exits the practice room first, and the two men head back the way they came, walking through the hallway past the various other music lessons and classes. As Hanbin sees the other people in the studio, he feels his perspective shift, and he sees the children learning music through a new lens. They’re just fellow students with their own dreams, taking steps at their own pace toward success.

Once the two reach the waiting area, Hanbin walks toward the exit, and he turns around when he notices that the teacher doesn’t follow him. Instead, Hao stands at the end of the hall, flashing him a thumbs up before gently waving goodbye.

They’ve only been apart for a few seconds, but Hanbin feels drawn toward the other man like two opposite poles of a magnet: meant to be together.

I don’t want this to be the last time I see him.

Hanbin runs back to the hallway, stopping in front of the teacher. He flips through the pages in his folder, and once he finds the Boys Planet audition flyer, he pulls it out and hands it back to Hao. “Take this.”

Hao’s eyes dart between the paper and Hanbin’s determined expression. “Huh? Why?”

“You said you dreamed of being an idol, right?” Hanbin recalls. “You should audition, too.”

Hao’s face transforms into one of disbelief. “I told you already, I’ve probably used up a lifetime’s worth of luck—”

“You never know until you try,” Hanbin proclaims. “I didn’t tell you this before, but my best friend and I told ourselves this would be our last attempt at becoming K-pop idols. Hao-ssaem, you already have a stable job and a university education that you can come back to. You have nothing to lose.”

The teacher swallows. “I’m not so sure.”

“Just think about it,” Hanbin insists. “If not for yourself, then for me. Because I don’t know if you felt it, too, but talking to you was like looking into a mirror and seeing myself. …I don’t want this to be the last time we see each other. Okay?”

Hao examines Hanbin’s face before letting out a sigh. “Okay,” he relents. “I’ll think about it. Goodbye, Hanbin-nim.”

“This isn’t goodbye,” Hanbin says, heading toward the exit. With one last look over his shoulder at the other man, he calls, “See you later,” and he walks out the door.

Leather pants and a leather harness aren’t exactly the most comfortable clothes Hanbin has ever worn, but after checking himself out in the mirror, the trainee supposes that the look will make a strong first impression on a survival show. (He just wishes his company had let him try on the outfit before the first day of filming, but he can’t do anything about it now that he’s on set.)

Taking Hao-ssaem’s advice to heart, Hanbin sought help from his department at university to find new mentors to support him as he prepared his virtual audition. Combined with emotional support from Matthew, the man emailed his videos to the Mnet producers during the last few days of the submission period with his fingers crossed and a cocktail of anxiety and excitement coursing through his body.

When he didn’t hear back for a month, Hanbin grew disappointed, but he mostly forgot about the show, instead opting to focus more on his academics, his backup dancer gigs, and auditioning for new companies in the meantime. However, at the start of the summer, he received an email from the Boys Planet production crew inviting him to a second round audition in person, and he celebrated with Matthew when the two men realized that they’d both had received legitimate offers from the Mnet staff.

With renewed energy, Hanbin gave his all to the second audition and interview, baring his soul for the collection of videographers behind the camera. Now that he had made one step closer to becoming an idol, the trainee realized that he had nothing to lose from making the most of his opportunity and being honest with the filming crew. He sang and danced until he needed to catch his breath, and when the producers pried into his background and experience in the industry, he didn’t shy away from his history as a dancer and his time at Cube with Matthew.

Though he walked out of the set feeling confident about himself, Hanbin wasn’t truly sure if he’d convinced the production staff that he was worth this last chance. When the crew took longer to respond, part of Hanbin believed it would be a miracle if he made it onto the show as a real contestant. Even if he made it to the second round, he didn’t know how many other boys had made it to that stage. The man could have been one of thousands fighting for those ninety-eight spots, and despite the echoes of praise from Hao-ssaem, Matthew, his new teachers, and his loved ones, Hanbin still had an inkling of doubt in his mind.

Against all odds, though, Hanbin now stands at the end of the LED tunnel in a white dress shirt, heeled boots, and leather apparel, ready to step into the Boys Planet set for the first time. As he ensures the three blue star stickers are secured onto his name tag, the trainee takes a deep inhale through his nose and lets out a long exhale through his mouth. He hopes he can match up against the other ninety-seven contestants that await him.

As much of an extrovert as he is, Hanbin was worried that he wouldn’t recognize any of the other trainees, but when Matthew called and said he’d passed the second round of auditions, the older was ecstatic to find out that his best friend would be there beside him on set as they make strides toward debut. Even if the rest of the boys out there see him as a competitor, Hanbin knows that at least one person would be cheering him on whether or not he gets eliminated.

A production assistant motions for the trainee to enter the auditorium, and Hanbin reminds himself of the phrase tattooed on his arm: Don’t regret what you do. He promises himself he’ll give the show his all, leave everything on the stage, and walk away satisfied with the hard work he’s done, regardless of his final ranking.

Hanbin hears a burst of gasps and whispers as he steps onto the set, but he can’t process any of the words the other trainees are saying as he takes in his surroundings. The four-pointed star motifs decorate the elevated seating area, the bright lights shine down from the ceiling, and the professional cameras follow every movement, much like the eyes of the filming crew and the other contestants in the room.

The atmosphere is nothing like the dance competitions and battles Hanbin has participated in over the years. As he steps toward the many chairs before him, the trainee feels nerves bubble up in his body and fill his chest. He doesn’t know where he compares among the other boys, and he knows even less about what the Star Masters and Star Creators will think of him when the show begins to air. He’s scared of what’s to come.

But that same fear manifests itself as adrenaline in Hanbin’s veins, getting the man raring to go for whatever opportunities lie in his path.

After Hanbin takes a seat, there isn’t much for him to do. He makes small talk with the boys who sit around him, and he watches as more boys emerge from the K- and G-Group tunnels. Each time a new batch of contestants head up to the seating area, Hanbin silently compares himself to them, wondering what kinds of talents they bring to the show and a potential debut group. Once all the boys are seated, he takes a look around at everyone and realizes just how large of a pool ninety-eight people still is.

With the arrival and introduction of the Star Masters, the Star Level Tests begin, and Hanbin sits back and watches as various trainees take the stage, give their performance, and display their additional talents before getting their initial evaluations from the panel of celebrity mentors. Though the crew told him he’d be in the third set of auditions after the second break, Hanbin can’t help but be on edge throughout the shoot. He catalogs each of the Masters’ reactions, seeing how each of their comments correlates with the amount of stars each person receives.

Hanbin knows how these shows work. If he doesn’t get at least three stars in the first evaluation, his chance at debut is as good as gone.

After some time, the overhead screen glows pink, with four silhouettes of Yuehua Entertainment trainees that gave themselves four stars. Intrigued by the sight, Hanbin waits eagerly for the next performance, but he freezes when the monitor reveals the trainees’ profile photos.

On screen, the first contestant is a handsome young man wearing a plain black shirt. He has neat brown hair, although his fringe covers his eyes. Hanbin reads the name written in Korean and English underneath the picture. Zhang Hao. The same Zhang Hao who’d given him a voice lesson back in January. Hanbin thought he recognized the man from his headshot from the 88 Academy website, but pairing the name with the face confirms his suspicions.

Shortly after, Zhang Hao emerges from the G-Group tunnel, leading the three other trainees onto the stage. Hao certainly stands out among the group: red hair styled up and out of his face, a jacket with some sort of nature-themed design, a white graphic tee, bleach wash jeans, and slip-on sneakers. Hanbin can’t really tell what song he and his group are about to perform, but at the same time, he’s a bit too distracted by how beautiful the other man is.

Hanbin already thought Hao was stunning the first time they met, but the other has become even more attractive in the months they’ve been apart. Even the trainee profile picture is nothing compared to the man’s good looks in real life.

Eventually, Hanbin breaks out of his stupor when Hao begins speaking. The group bows, and then the oldest trainee speaks, “Hello, we’re G-Group trainees from Yuehua Entertainment. I’m musical genius and ace leader, Zhang Hao!”

Hanbin brings a hand up to his face to cover the giggle that emerges at the self-dubbed nickname. Every contestant wants to stand out on the show, but as fitting as the catchphrase is for the other man, Hanbin can’t help but find the description cute.

After the rest of the introductions, Lim Hanbyul asks Hao to verify his musical genius status. Hanbin smiles at the challenge. He knows that the other man can rise to the test.

“Originally, I was studying music education in university,” Hao answers.

“Then, do you have any musical talents you could show us?” Lim Hanbyul prompts.

“I do,” Hao affirms. “I brought my violin with me.”

Just then, Hao goes to the side to grab his violin from a production assistant, and Hanbin can’t help but whisper, “He’s so cool…”

Hao moves the bow across the strings of the violin and adjusts the pegs to tune the instrument. After some time, he plays a few measures of a classical piece. His notes are smooth and connected, and the sweet melody fills the room, leaving everyone in awe. The rest of the room titters and jokes about how fancy Hao is, but Hanbin can only focus on the violinist.

When the two had a voice lesson together, Hanbin only saw a fraction of the talent Hao has, and even then, he was taken aback by how wonderfully the music teacher performed. Now that the redhead is playing his primary instrument, the younger trainee can see the other man in his element. As he plays, Hao fixes his eyes on the neck of the violin and sways gently to the beat as he lets the music encompass him. Once the excerpt comes to an end and Hao gives his violin away to be taken backstage, Hanbin claps to show his appreciation for the older, and he can’t help but wish he could listen to more of Hao’s playing.

However, Hanbin’s sadness only lasts a moment as the Yuehua G-Group trainees set up for their audition song, and the man sits up to pay close attention to the performance. Hao transforms as he sets up in his starting position, his dynamic pose and fiery gaze exuding confidence and composure. Even though the older man is placed in the back of the formation, the other trainee’s great stage presence draws Hanbin’s eye to Hao’s frame.

The music begins, and Hanbin smirks when he recognizes the opening notes to NCT 127’s “Kick It.” He figures the trainees must have a lot of courage to perform something by NCT— the group’s choreographies aren’t easy, and every title track has at least one high note or ad-lib toward the end of the song. Even if he weren’t such a big fan of NCT, he would still be familiar with the song. The title track was extremely popular the year it was released, and it’s one of the first songs people think of when they hear the group’s name.

Hanbin tells himself he’ll spare judgment on the performance— the Star Masters are already evaluating the group, and he’s certain that the other trainees expect a lot from big company trainees that claimed to be All Star level.

As the trainees start from the second verse, Hanbin watches as Hao performs the moves with effortless swagger. Though his textures and lines aren’t perfectly clean, the older trainee looks self-assured as he dances, making his movements look effortlessly cool.

During the combined prechorus and bridge, Hao sings his lines, and Hanbin marvels at how stable and strong the other man’s vocals are, especially when the older trainee hits the high note and transitions into an upper harmony part to double the vocals on the chorus.

The performance ends with an instrumental dance break, and Hao takes the spotlight as he often takes center in the group’s formations. Even as the moves become small, quick, and intricate, the man maintains the same energy he showed at the beginning, holding eye contact with the camera in front of him and showing off good facial expressions for the audience. The Yuehua trainees strike their ending poses, and Hanbin has his mouth open in wonder as he applauds the group.

The Star Masters offer some brief comments to the four boys on stage before forming a huddle to discuss the star levels for each of the trainees. Hanbin silently hopes Hao can keep his four stars.

Even if I’m biased, Zhang Hao-nim did a great job for his audition, especially given the short amount of training he must have had before the show.

The mentors return to their seats, and Back Kooyoung begins announcing the evaluations, starting with the youngest and ending to the oldest. When the first three trainees receive three stars, Hanbin feels his heart sink to his stomach. He wonders if Hao stood out enough to break the chain.

“And the eldest, Zhang Hao-yeonseubsaeng,” Back Kooyoung announces.

Even though he should want G-Group to earn fewer stars than K-Group for his own benefit, Hanbin can’t help but wish for Hao to succeed. Hanbin holds his breath as if it’s his own audition.

The momentary silence breaks. “Congratulations, you received All Star.”

The audience breaks into cheers for the trainee: polite claps from the K-Group boys, enthusiastic applause from the Star Masters, and whoops and hollers from the G-Group trainees celebrating an All Star from their group. Even as the commotion roars on, Hanbin’s eyes fix on Hao, whose eyes quickly fill with tears as he bows and expresses his gratitude to the panel of mentors before him.

The Yuehua G-Group goes off-stage, and the trainees fall into a chatter as the production crew and Star Masters prepare for the next Star Level Test. Amidst all this, Hanbin only has one thought in mind.

I need to get four stars if I want Zhang Hao to notice me.

☼✧☾

Once the shoot reaches the second break, a production assistant comes up to fetch the trainees up next on the schedule.

After he follows the staff member, Hanbin sees Matthew in the group of boys waiting for evaluation and approaches the younger from behind, dropping his hands onto the other’s shoulders. “Matthew-yah!”

The shorter turns around, and his face immediately lights up when he recognizes his best friend. “Hanbin-hyung!”

“How are you feeling?” Hanbin says as he pats the back of the younger’s head.

Matthew leans into the touch. “Nervous, to be honest,” he answers. “I feel like I’m going to drop down to two stars.”

“What? No way,” Hanbin exclaims in disbelief. “You’re going to be amazing out there. I know it. Just perform the way you always do.”

“Thanks, hyung. I appreciate it,” the shorter replies gratefully, hugging the taller man. As he pulls away, Matthew catches sight of Hanbin’s name tag and gasps. “What? Three stars— what are you talking about? There should be six or seven stars here.”

“Ah, please, you’re overreacting,” Hanbin deflects, lightly slapping the other on the shoulder.

Matthew shakes his head with a pout, and the older can’t help but smile at the pure cuteness his friend emanates.

“How are you, hyung?” Matthew asks.

Hanbin takes a moment to answer, and his thoughts come to a halt as he remembers Zhang Hao on stage earlier in the day. “I have something to tell you,” the taller mutters, looking around to see if anyone else is listening.

“What is it?” Matthew’s face is overcome with concern at the sudden hushed tones of the older’s voice. “Is something wrong?”

“This is going to sound crazy, but I think I know one of the other G-Group trainees,” Hanbin whispers carefully.

Matthew gives the taller a quizzical look. “Huh? Which one?”

The older takes another look around to make sure no one else can hear. “Zhang Hao-nim. The red-haired guy from Yuehua,” he answers. “I thought his name and face looked familiar when it was on screen, but when he came out and introduced himself, I realized that he and I have met before.”

“Okay, but where would you have even met him?” the younger responds. “Besides Cube, you’ve never trained anywhere else before, and I would have definitely remembered if that guy trained with us.”

Hanbin feels his face grow hot. “Remember that music studio your uncle recommended?” he begins. “I took one voice lesson with Zhang Hao-nim as my teacher, and after that, I never went back again.”

“Huh, that’s crazy! What are the odds?” Matthew thinks aloud. After a few seconds, he develops a genuinely curious expression on his face.“Well, is that a bad thing? At least you’ll have another friend on the show besides me.”

The older recalls the shame of the voice lesson: his voice crack, his mental breakdown, his desperate attempt to get Hao to join the show before he left. “Let’s just say the lesson didn’t go well.”

Matthew grimaces. “But that was almost a year ago now, right? If it makes you feel better, I’m sure he probably doesn’t remember you.”

Hanbin frowns. That does not make him feel better, but he’s not sure if it’s better or worse if Hao remembers him. “In either case, I need to become an All Star,” he concludes. “I want Zhang Hao-nim to have a good impression of me, and I can only do that if I’m on the same Star Level as him.”

“If that’s what’ll get you through the audition, then sure,” the shorter relents with an amused chuckle. “I think you’ll get All Star regardless, but if you need a cute guy to motivate you to get there, then by all means.”

The taller man playfully shoves his friend as his blush burns brighter. He didn’t think Matthew would catch his interest in the older man this early. “Shut up.”

☼✧☾

After wiping the last of his tears from his face, Hanbin throws his used tissues into the trash, thanking the staff for offering them to him before Matthew’s performance. As much as he wished he could see his best friend’s performance in person, he’s glad he got the chance to give the younger a pep talk and a hug of encouragement before the Star Level Test.

Now that Matthew has received his evaluation from the mentors, Hanbin needs to refocus before his own audition. He does some light stretching (or at least, as much stretching as he can in his leather clothes) and a couple vocal warm-ups until the producers tell him that it’s time for his performance. The trainee takes a calming deep breath before he steps into the tunnel, and he prepares himself to take the stage in front of the trainees, the Star Masters, and the world.

As he emerges from the blue K-Group tunnel, Hanbin is welcomed with a warm round of applause and a few shouted compliments from his fellow trainees. After arriving at center stage, he immediately bows to the people in front of him in greeting.

“Hello, I’m K-Group’s Sung Hanbin, and I’m a trainee from Studio GL1DE.” The man beams for the audience, and he feels elated when more people praise him for his looks.

Hanbin can’t help but dart his eyes up to the corner where Hao is seated with the other G-Group Yuehua trainees to see if the older recognizes him. If Hao does recognize the younger, he doesn’t show it, clapping along with the others in the crowd. Hanbin looks back down at the panel of mentors when he realizes one of them is talking to him.

“I heard you were active as a dancer before you became an idol trainee,” Lip J says, her eyes flitting over the application form Hanbin had filled out at the second audition.

“Yes, that’s right,” the trainee responds. “I was active as a dancer for two years, and I specialized in waacking and tutting.”

The Dance Masters are surprised at the man’s statement, asking him to prove his skill. When a brief showing of his training isn’t enough for the crowd, Hanbin finds himself in a back-and-forth with Lip J, her arms moving cleanly and mechanically to the random pop beat the mentors selected.

The trainee evaluates the dancer before him and notices that Lip J isn’t dancing at her full ability. He debates if he should play off of her energy, matching her level even though it is leagues below her actual dancing in workshops and battles.

Then he remembers that Hao is watching— the world is watching— and that he vowed to leave everything on the stage.

Hanbin starts his turn with a fast single arm roll before effortlessly transitioning from his first few waacking moves to the sharp angles and clean shapes of tutting. Even the audience gets loud, the trainee focuses on the beat playing through the speakers, letting the music run through him and guide his movements as his arms and hands speak on his behalf.

Eventually, the mentors end the pair’s dance session, and after Lip J returns to her seat, the Dance Masters compliment Hanbin’s skills, taking note of the confidence and charisma in his moves and his gaze as he danced. The trainee looks up at the other contestants in the chairs above him, and he beams when he sees Hao giving him a standing ovation and beaming as he whispers to other trainees. Hanbin hopes it means he caught the other’s eye.

However, shortly after observing his strengths, the Star Masters quickly pour salt into the man’s wounds.

“Looking at your application, you didn’t mark vocals as something you’re confident in,” Solji remarks. She looks up from the forms to meet Hanbin’s eyes. “Does this mean you’re not confident in singing?”

Hanbin feels a pang of anxiety in his chest at the question. He knows that he would have had to address it at some point, but he hoped the mentors would ask about his vocals after his prepared performance. The trainee glances at Hao to gauge the older man’s reaction, but the other’s face is unreadable.

“I wanted to learn how I can improve on singing here,” Hanbin replies. He figures a non-answer is better than falling into the binary “yes” or “no” responses to the question. “So I couldn’t check the box.”

Fortunately, the mentors don’t push any further on the comment, instead letting Hanbin prepare for his audition. The trainee sets up further back on the stage, shaking his arms to wake them up and whispering encouragements to himself. As he settles into his starting pose, Hanbin spots Matthew in the audience giving him a thumbs up.

He shoots a look at Hao. The older sits at the edge of his chair with a hopeful expression, and he meets eyes with the younger. Hanbin breaks eye contact first.

As soon as the song begins, Hanbin puts on his determined face, striking his arm out to the percussive sounds in the intro. With powerful moves, he begins singing, and he works hard to keep his voice stable even as the choreography gets more difficult. Though the dance is fast, the trainee uses his muscle memory to guide him through the performance, especially since his dance teacher Bada Lee made sure to create a routine that would highlight his dance skills and bring out his stage presence.

Hanbin trusts the weeks of lessons and rehearsals he endured to prepare for the show, and he believes in his dancing. He just can’t rely on his vocals.

As the trainees and mentors react to his cover of “Beautiful Beautiful” by ONF, Hanbin tunes out the crowd's reactions, letting himself get caught up in the feeling of performing for others. This isn’t the same rush he gets from dance competitions or battles. It’s a new, invigorating sensation: one he can only get from following his passions and doing what he’s always dreamed of: singing and dancing just like an idol would. The thought of completing a performance for an audience both in real life and around the globe is what pushes Hanbin through to the end, the giddy energy coming through in the last few sharp moves and notes he delivers.

Once the background music comes to an end, people in the crowd immediately start applauding the trainee, and some even yell at the young man that he should’ve checked off the vocals box for his skills. Though his heart is already racing and his face is already warm from the stage, Hanbin feels even more blood rush to his face at the waves of praise. He won’t let himself get his hopes up for the evaluation, but he’s glad he’s made a great first impression on the other ninety-seven boys.

After the Star Masters finish their discussions, Lip J and Back Kooyoung bring their microphones to their mouths. “You received three stars,” Lip J announces.

Instantly, whispers erupt among the trainees in the crowd, but Hanbin hides his disappointment by maintaining his smile and thanking the mentors.

“Honestly, when you were waacking with Lip J-ssaem, we could see your charms really well. However, those charms didn’t stand out as much in your actual performance, so it was just a bit lacking there,” Back Kooyoung elaborates. “But still, you did a great job.”

“Thank you,” Hanbin says with a bow. He points at the missing star on his name tag and smiles brightly. “I’ll fill in this remaining star in the future.”

As the man gives one last look up at the seats above him, he takes in the other trainees clapping for him and offering pitiful smiles at the evaluation. Matthew still sends Hanbin a toothy grin, pointing down at his own name tag to show off that they’ll at least be in lessons together.

In the corner, Hao looks sad and confused, brows furrowed and mouth in a cute pout as his lips seemingly form, “Why?”

Hanbin tears his eyes away from the sight. As much as he wanted to get Hao’s attention, this is certainly not the way he wanted to do it.

With one last bow, the man exits the stage, vowing that his Star Level Test is only the first of many performances he’ll get to do before Boys Planet ends.

At the clap of a slate, a director calls out, “Trainees, you all are dismissed for the day.”

Even as he processes the sound of footsteps around him as the K-Group and G-Group trainees head back to their dorm rooms, Hanbin still feels his body rooted in place, his heart racing after Solji announced him as both the first place trainee of the K-Group vote as well as the center for the signal song. He hears the sound of blood rushing through his ears as he faintly acknowledges the pats on the back he receives from other contestants.

It’s only when Hao approaches a few minutes later that Hanbin unfreezes.

“Congratulations, Hanbin-nim,” Hao greets as he steps closer. “You worked hard; you deserve it.”

Hanbin flushes at the praise. He dreamed of becoming the signal song center months ago, but he didn’t think it would come true. The only reason why he stayed up late the past three nights practicing the lyrics and moves to “Here I Am” was because he wanted to become an All Star trainee, and the main reason why he wanted to become an All Star trainee was that he’d be at the same level as Hao.

“Thank you,” Hanbin says, putting his arms behind his back as he fidgets with his hands. “I honestly can’t believe it.”

Just then, the same director from earlier approaches the two of them, breaking the imaginary bubble Hanbin had formed in his mind. “Congratulations again, you two,” the man says, bowing to each of them in acknowledgement. “Since you two are the centers of each group, not only will you appear in the center of the All Star dance formations, you’ll also be featured in the ‘Here I Am’ performance trailer we’ll be releasing before the show starts.”

Both of the trainees nod along as they take in the information.

“We’ll have a meeting tomorrow during the lunch break to discuss the logistics for your center parts in the choreography and in the trailer, and we hope to film most of the clips by the end of next week to release the video before the start of the new year,” the director continues. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” the two respond in unison.

“Alright, sounds good,” the director says, stepping away to join the rest of the production crew. “Have a good rest of your evening, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

After Hanbin and Hao wave their goodbyes, the G-Group trainee turns to the other with a grin on his face. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other around more often?” Hao says.

“I guess we will,” Hanbin teases.

Hao heads toward the door to exit the gymnasium, but Hanbin finds himself running after the older and grabbing the other trainee’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I just— before you go, I wanted to ask… Could we drop the formalities with each other?” Hanbin gasps out, taking a moment to catch his breath. “Is it okay to call you hyung?”

For a moment, Hao has a dumbfounded expression, which breaks when the older giggles. “That’s what you ran after me for? You couldn’t have asked tomorrow?”

Hanbin feels heat creep up his face at the callout. “I guess I could have, but—”

“You can call me hyung or ge, but I’m not really one for honorifics to begin with,” Hao cuts in, stopping Hanbin from embarrassing himself further. “I’ll see you later, Hanbin-ah.”

Once the other man has left the room, Hanbin puts a hand over his mouth, covering up the giddy smile overtaking his face.

☼✧☾

Despite having become centers together, Hanbin doesn’t get another opportunity until he and Hao are in the back of a van as they head out to a wooded area away from the dorms and training facilities at “Planet Camp.”

As Hanbin stares out the window at the scenery passing by, he thinks about the best way to start a conversation with the older man. Ever since day one of filming, he’d silently been hoping to get some time alone with Hao, but now that he has his chance, he hadn’t prepared anything to say.

He wonders if Hao remembers the lesson they had almost a year ago.

“Hanbin-ah,” a voice calls, and Hanbin turns toward it to see Hao looking at him shyly.

“Yes?”

“I have something to confess,” Hao says.

Hanbin feels his heart jump out of his chest. Not trusting himself to speak, he nods, prompting the other to go on.

“When the producers asked us to pick a visual from the other group, I chose you,” Hao mutters, his eyes darting to the side to avoid eye contact.

That is not what Hanbin was expecting him to say. If the younger’s heartbeat was fast earlier, it must be through the roof now. “No way,” Hanbin responds meekly. He clears his throat and dares to be brave, adding, “I voted for you as the visual of G-Group.”

Hao smiles then, a small and pretty feature on his already small and pretty face. “To be honest, I’m really bad with names, but I only remembered yours,” the older continues. “Out of everyone I met at the Star Level Test, all I could think about was Sung Hanbin.”

Hanbin feels his cheeks and ears burn bright red, and he has to fight the gleeful expression that threatens to take over his face. “Oh,” he replies dumbly.

Hao’s grin transforms into a mischievous smirk. “Although, to be fair, I was lucky enough to put a name to the face twice,” he teases with a wink.

The younger trainee is stunned into silence, and Hao makes as if to turn away until Hanbin calls, “Wait!”

The older looks back with a shocked and amused face, pointing at the staff at the front of the van and motioning for Hanbin to keep it down.

“Sorry,” Hanbin apologizes, the shame making his blush spread to his neck and chest. “I’m just surprised you remember me after so long… Although, I guess it’s not common to have your student cry during a voice lesson…”

“I promise, that’s not why I remembered you,” Hao reassures, waving off Hanbin’s concerns with a hand. “After you gave me the open call sheet, I think I was just stunned that someone told me that chasing my dreams would be worth it, especially since I already risked everything changing my career path once. So a few days after our lesson, I started preparing for the online audition, and I sent it in on the last day of the submission period.”

The younger is in disbelief as he examines the man beside him. Hanbin tries to find a trace of humor or jest in the older’s words, but the honesty and sincerity roll off Hao in waves.

“The entire time I prepared for the show— finding a company, preparing for the in-person audition, doing the interviews with the Mnet staff— I thought about you. Your face, telling me to pursue my passion,” Hao recalls. “It’s because of you that I felt that desire to become an idol again, but I was so frustrated with myself because I couldn’t remember your name. I couldn’t look you up to see if you were still training, so I fought hard for a spot on the show for the chance to see you again.”

Hanbin remains unmoving as he pretends Hao’s admission isn’t absolutely world-changing for him.

“So when I saw you come through the K-Group tunnel on the first day, I was so happy. I figured it must have been fate that brought us together again,” the older trainee says, his face lighting up at the memory. “And once you performed, I was blown away. Your voice was even better than I remembered.”

“Thank you,” Hanbin responds genuinely, reaching out to clasp the other’s hands in his own. “That means a lot more to me than you think.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be here without you.” Hao squeezes the younger’s hands before letting go. Then, with a sly expression, he asks, “What? You didn’t think anything of me?”

“No, that’s not true!” Hanbin refutes. Eager to appease the other man, he finds himself blurting out, “There’s no one else for me but you.”

Hao seems genuinely confused at this. “Huh? What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, uh, what I meant to say was your audition was really good,” Hanbin tries, and he cringes inside at how uncool he sounds. “I really like NCT, and you looked so cool playing the violin, so you stood out in my mind, too,” he finishes lamely.

“Thanks.” The older man sighs. “I wish I’d had more time to train before the show, but I guess being a music teacher helped with some of the process.”

“You were an amazing music teacher, so I hope you can look back on that time fondly,” Hanbin says. “In fact… I actually wanted to be a teacher once, so I think it’s awesome that you had the opportunity to educate others.”

“Really?” The older questions.

“Really,” Hanbin confirms. “Originally, I wanted to be an elementary school teacher, but once I became a dancer, I ended up becoming a teacher for beginner and intermediate dance classes.”

“It seems like we have a lot in common,” Hao remarks with a smirk, leaning toward the younger man. “Tell me more.”

“About which part?” Hanbin asks.

“Both.” Hao checks his phone for a moment before he grins at the other man. “We’re only fifteen minutes into the drive, and we’ll be filming a lot of content together from now on. We’ve got all the time in the world to learn about each other.”

After a long day of fan calls and an in-person fansign, Hanbin affirms that the best form of healing is a quiet evening at home.

Early on in ZEROBASEONE’s career, Hanbin would go along with whatever the other members wanted to do after their schedules. Thus, with a group full of extroverts, most of them played video games, went out for dinner, or stayed up late talking about anything and everything. However, with his days full of talking to fans, managers, and production staff, the idol has learned over time that he needs to have time by himself in his weekly schedule.

(It certainly helps that he has an introverted partner who also prefers that the two of them get alone time as well.)

As soon as the staff drops the idols off at their dorm, the leader instantly heads into the bathroom, taking a warm shower to wash off the many hair and makeup products he’s had on since before sunrise. Once he finishes, he heads back to his bedroom to put on his pajamas, perform his skincare routine, and dry his hair with his towel.

Hanbin debates if he should head into Hao’s bedroom to borrow his hair dryer, but his inner conflict is quickly resolved when the older member, also freshly showered, enters his room with the appliance in hand.

As per routine, Hanbin sits on the floor as Hao settles on the bed. The older man says nothing as he gently combs his fingers through his boyfriend’s brown strands, moving the hair dryer around the younger’s head and ensuring that every part of his hair is dry.

In the meantime, Hanbin plays on his phone, scrolling through Twitter and catching up on any posts he’d missed throughout the busy day. He’s delighted to see pictures and videos of Hao’s fansign responses, promptly liking them and clicking on the accounts for more content.

(Hanbin bookmarks the ones where Zero Colas— their shipper fans— ask Hao questions about him. Seeing Hao gush about their relationship still makes the younger elated even after two years together, and it’s a quick way to cheer himself up when the older member goes abroad for magazine shoots and brand ambassadorships.)

Once Hao turns the blow dryer off, he gently pats Hanbin on the shoulders and motions for the two of them to switch places. Hanbin sets his phone on his nightstand before picking up the hair dryer.

Hao heads back to his bedroom, and Hanbin climbs under the covers and cozies himself in bed. Though he doesn’t expect his partner to fall asleep with him every night (especially after a day packed full of schedules like today), the younger welcomes the weight of his lover’s body on top of his own once Hao returns.

“Come under the covers,” Hanbin requests as he lifts up a corner of the blanket.

Hao acquiesces easily, snuggling into Hanbin’s side and laying his head on top of his lover’s arm. The older’s hand rests atop the younger’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat thrum underneath.

“You did well today,” Hanbin praises as he wraps his free arm around the other’s waist. “How are you feeling?”

“Thank you, baby. You did, too,” Hao mumbles, his voice muffled by the press of his cheek against the younger’s bicep. “I’m tired. Missed you all day.”

“But we were sitting next to each other for all the fansigns today?” Hanbin teases.

Hao weakly slaps the other man’s chest. “You know what I mean. There was barely any time for us to talk to each other for real,” he sulks. “I needed my Hanbin time to recharge.”

“I do know,” Hanbin assures, patting his lover’s side with gentle motions. “I’m sorry, gege.”

As much as their work allows them to stay in each other’s proximity, the two can only keep an eye on each other throughout their schedules. Though there have been many times where one has longed to pull the other aside when he seemed unwell or overwhelmed, the amount of promotions and activities their company manages to cram in one day prevents them from taking care of each other as much as they would like to. Over the past two years, Hao and Hanbin have often mourned their ability to be a normal couple.

They appreciate the fact that there is still a way for them to achieve their dreams while holding on to their beloved. They cherish the fact that it makes even the smallest bit of time together that much more memorable.

“Don’t apologize, dummy.” Hao pouts even further, turning his head to place a kiss on Hanbin’s bicep. “It’s not like either of us could have done anything about it, anyway.”

“I know, baby, but still,” the younger whines.

Hao placates Hanbin with a soft kiss on the lips. “No more of that.” The older leans in for another peck before settling back into his spot on the bed. “Anything interesting happen today?”

“Actually,” Hanbin begins with a smirk. “I saw some posts from Zeroses that talked to you at fansigns today.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hao fixes him with a suspicious look. “Such as?”

“I heard that you looove me. That you’ve liked me since Boys Planet days,” the younger sing-songs. “And that you think I’m a good singer.”

The older lightly pinches his boyfriend in the side. “Isn’t that obvious?” Hao huffs. “I wouldn’t cuddle you to sleep every night if that weren’t the case.”

Suddenly, Hanbin grows shy, blush coloring his cheeks and ears as he looks away from the other man. “You know what I mean, though,” he mutters quietly. “I felt like I always liked you more than you liked me, especially before we put any labels on anything. So when we ended up being first and second place, I was really happy we’d get to be in a group together… But I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle just being your friend for two and a half years.”

Hao observes the younger with wide eyes, blinking slowly as the other man tries to form more words.

“Forget it,” Hanbin says, pulling his hand away from Hao’s waist to cover his rapidly reddening face. “None of that made sense. Here, I’ll turn off the light—”

“Hey,” Hao calls, intertwining fingers with Hanbin and moving the younger’s arm back to its rightful place on his body. “I always liked you. I wouldn’t be here without you, remember?”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true,” the older insists. “You were the one who gave me that audition flyer back then. If you didn’t tell me to give it a shot, I wouldn’t have ever tried to become a trainee.”

“You made the debut lineup all on your own,” Hanbin rebuts. “I had nothing to do with your talent.”

Hao shifts further up on the bed, placing his head on Hanbin’s shoulder as he softly flicks the other on the forehead. “Who stayed up late to practice with me, even when we were on different teams?” the older counters. “And even if you didn’t do that, you gave me the motivation to keep going when I felt like giving up.”

Hanbin gathers the courage to look into Hao’s eyes then, and he sees nothing but true sincerity behind the older’s gaze.

“Just you being by my side and supporting me gave me strength,” Hao continues. “Meeting you and getting to know you was a big part of why I wanted to debut. I could have gone back to being a music teacher, but I didn’t because I felt like this would be my only chance to debut with you. ”

Hao brings his hand down to cradle the side of the younger’s face, and Hanbin leans into the touch with his eyes closed.

“I’ve always liked you,” Hao emphasizes, thumbing a tear away from Hanbin’s eye as it falls. “Back then, I didn’t know how to say it without getting embarrassed, but now… Being with you has taught me how to put my feelings into words and speak kindly to others. You helped me become an idol, but more than anything, you’ve helped me become a better person, and I will be forever grateful to you for that.”

The younger opens his eyes, and a fresh set of tears roll down his cheeks. “I tried so hard to get you to like me,” he sobs.

Hao pulls the love of his life closer so that they’re hugging. He lets the younger wet the fabric of the T-shirt he has on as Hanbin trembles and cries in his hold.

The older kisses his partner on each cheek before pressing their foreheads together. Once Hanbin opens his eyes, Hao whispers, “Didn’t I tell you I like you just the way you are?”

“Mhm.”

“I love you most when you’re you. Not leader Sung Hanbin, not idol Sung Hanbin— human Sung Hanbin,” Hao asserts. “You don’t have to ‘win me over’ or ‘get me to like you.’ You already have me, love.” 

Hanbin sniffles. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Hao swears. “Let’s go to bed now, okay? We have an early day tomorrow.”

Hanbin nods, and before he can lean over to turn off the lamp beside them, Hao pulls the younger in for a kiss, communicating as much love, affection, and adoration as possible in the meeting of their lips. After pulling apart, the older lets a smile grow on his face as his gaze falls upon the beautiful man in front of him.

“You’re so pretty,” Hao breathes out.

Hanbin laughs voicelessly as he wipes his face with his hand and sniffs. “Even when I look like this?”

“Especially when you look like this,” the older vows. “Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Hao-gege,” Hanbin responds, and he turns off the light.