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The blanket rustled as Kim Dokja laid it out atop the grass. The fabric was patterned with pale blue squares, a little worn at the edges but clean and comfortable. He wasn’t the type to own something like this, considering how his blankets were all plain and functional, but Han Sooyoung had a knack for finding things he didn’t realize he even had until she pulled them out of some random crevice of their shared apartment.
She sat cross-legged across from him, tearing open the lid of the plastic container of strawberries. She popped one into her mouth and immediately wrinkled her nose.
“They’re sour.”
“Then why are you eating them like you’re in a commercial?” Dokja asked, dry as ever.
Sooyoung grinned, flashing her red, strawberry-stained teeth. “Because I look good doing it, obviously. Isn’t that what being an idol is all about?”
He rolled his eyes, trying his best to hide his growing smile. The cicadas buzzed around them as the sky began to melt a variety of oranges, yellows, reds, and pinks together into a vibrant sunset. A little ways off, the sound of laughter echoed from other groups who were scattered across the park. But here, tucked into their corner, it was just the two of them together.
“You really surprised me, though,” Sooyoung said, reaching for another strawberry. “A picnic? You? It’s like you’re secretly trying to win like…Boyfriend of the Year or something.”
“Not everything I do has an agenda,” Dokja muttered, clearly unamused.
“Oh, please,” she huffed, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “Kim Dokja, the guy who used to schedule his bathroom breaks during our trainee days? The one who made Excel spreadsheets for practice times? The one who made sure to go home early so he could read? The idea that you’d do something just because you wanted to…” she jabbed a finger at him “...is ridiculous.”
Dokja plucked a grape from the basket, popping it into his mouth with deliberate slowness. “Maybe I just wanted to do something normal.”
Her laughter rang out bright. “Normal, huh? You? With me? That’s a first.”
The truth was, she wasn’t wrong. A picnic wasn’t normal for them. Not anymore. Their days were packed with rehearsals, interviews, fan-signing events, and the endless cycle of recording and performing. To be here, sitting on a blanket with no cameras and no company managers breathing down their necks, felt far more surreal than any stage they’d stood on at that point.
Sooyoung fell back onto the blanket, stretching out with a sigh. “This feels like high school again.”
Dokja glanced at her, her hair fanned against the fabric, her arms folded under her head like a pillow. Something about her words tugged at him, pulling him backward through time.
The air had been damp with summer rain that day, the asphalt slick under their sneakers. Kim Dokja stood under the eaves of the corner convenience store, his school uniform stuck to his back from the heat, and some cheap novel tucked protectively in his bag. Han Sooyoung appeared beside him, shaking her umbrella violently before snapping it shut.
“Hey,” she said, peering at him with that infuriating grin. “Jesus- you look like you crawled out of a book instead of living in the real world.”
He looked up and scowled. “I was reading.”
“Exactly my point.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled bill. “C’mon, let’s get instant ramyeon. Oh, but my mom will kill me if I go home smelling like it, so we gotta eat fast.”
They sat on overturned milk crates behind the store, steam from their ramyeon curling into the night air. Sooyoung chattered between bites, mocking teachers, complaining about homework, and teasing him about his oh-so-serious face.
Dokja mostly listened. He didn’t mind. Sooyoung’s presence filled the space in a way that made the silence less suffocating.
Later, she wiped broth from her chin with the back of her hand and said, “You know, we should audition for that company. Y’know, Starstream Corp., where Constellations made their debut. They’re holding open calls. I hear Uriel’s gonna be a judge!”
He stared at her, chopsticks hovering midair and eyebrows furrowed in shock, “You?! Singing??”
“Hey! You should know that I’m absolutely amazing at singing, okay?!” she declared, sounding borderline offended at Dokja’s confusion. “And you… Well honestly you could pass as the quiet, mysterious type. Girls eat that up. Hell, even some guys do!”
“That’s absolutely ridiculous..”
“Which is exactly why we should try it. You never know, we might be on the billboards in a few years!”
He’d meant to brush it off and refuse. Truly, he really did mean to reject Sooyoung’s impulsive suggestion. Yet somehow, he found himself being dragged by Han Sooyoung to the audition hall anyway, shoving him through the doors before he could even try to bolt out.
“Hey.”
Sooyoung’s voice pulled him back to the present. She was watching him now, eyes glinting with the last of the sunlight. “You’re spacing out.”
“Just remembering,” he said.
Her smile softened, just for a second. “Those were good days, weren’t they? Even if we were idiots.”
He hummed in agreement. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t entirely wrong.
The sun slipped lower, setting the horizon on fire.
The practice room smelled of sweat and linoleum polish. It was just past midnight, the overhead lights buzzing faintly like mosquitos. Dokja sat slumped against one of the many mirrored walls, his shirt sticking to his back with sweat, his throat raw from hours upon hours of singing drills.
Sooyoung collapsed beside him, hair damp, makeup smeared from too many repetitions of the same dance routine. “I’m dying,” she groaned, sprawling dramatically across the floor, “WE’RE dying.”
“You’re being loud,” Dokja muttered. His voice cracked, betraying how exhausted he was.
“So are you.” She rolled over, rolling his eyes at him. She took a small breath in, wondering if she should even ask the lingering question on her mind. She decided to bite the bullet and ask anyways. “Hey. You think we’ll actually even debut?”
He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. The truth tasted too bitter. The truth was that no, he wasn’t sure–not with how fierce the competition was. Not with how much talent crowded those tiny rooms.
But then he looked at her, cheeks flushed, eyes stubbornly burning even in defeat, and something in him refused to say no.
“We’ll debut,” he assured her despite his own uncertainty, “I mean, we’ve come this far, so there’s no way we won’t debut.”
She smirked, though it was half-delirious. “Look at you, Mister Optimist.”
“I’m not-”
“I know, I know.” She nudged his shoulder with hers, her grin tilting softer. “But thanks.”
Later, when the company staff finally flicked off the lights and told them to go home, they staggered out together into the night air. The city was asleep except for the buzz of neon. Their reflections in the glass doors looked like strangers. They were just two teenage kids chasing something too big for them to realize.
In the present, Sooyoung plucked another grape from the basket and chewed it slowly. “Remember when we almost got cut after the monthly evaluations? That one instructor said I didn’t have the right ‘idol look.’”
“You threw your water bottle at the trash can and missed,” Dokja said flatly.
Her laugh burst out, sharp and unrepentant. “I was furious! But you?? You didn’t even flinch when they said you had no stage presence.”
“Well that’s because I agreed with him...”
She rolled her eyes, leaning back until she was lying flat again, staring at the sky. “God, you were hopeless. If I hadn’t dragged you through, you’d still be in bed, reading some crappy aura farming webnovel and pretending the world doesn’t exist.”
“Yeah, probably.” He let a small chuckle slip. “But then you’d have had to debut without me.”
“I wouldn’t have,” Sooyoung corrected quickly, a hint of affection in her voice, “If you hadn’t made it, I wouldn’t have either. I would’ve quit. What’s the point of doing anything if you aren’t doing it with me? Idiot...”
He turned to look at her, surprised. She still had her eyes on the sky, the reflection of the stars making her eyes sparkle. Her expression still remained unreadable in the dimming light.
“You worked harder than anyone,” he said quietly.
“So did you.” Her lips curved faintly. “That’s why it worked.”
Debut night.
The waiting room buzzed with stylists, makeup artists, and managers barking instructions. Their group names were being announced in the hallway, the muffled roar of the audience leaking in from beyond the stage.
Dokja sat frozen in the corner, his hands clenched in his lap. His debut outfit, consisting of a black jacket, a starched shirt, and shoes polished so bright they hurt to look at, felt heavy, as though he wasn’t meant to be wearing it.
Sooyoung knelt in front of him, ignoring the chaos around them. She tugged his sleeve until he looked at her.
“Hey.” Her grin was steady, even if her eyeliner smudged slightly at the corners. “We’re really doing it.”
He swallowed. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.” She smacked his knee, firm but not unkind. “You’ve practiced more than anyone. You think I dragged you through three years of hell for nothing?”
“…You dragged me through it for you.”
Her grin tilted sharply. “And for you. Don’t sell yourself short, Dokja. You’re not allowed to do that tonight.”
When their names were called, they walked onto the stage together. And under the blinding lights, for the first time, he felt like maybe he belonged.
Maybe where he’s always belonged is next to Han Sooyoung.
Back in the park, the stars were beginning to outnumber the remnants of daylight. A cool breeze rustled the grass.
“Sometimes I wonder,” Sooyoung said, her voice thoughtful now. “If we hadn’t debuted together, would we still be here? Like this?”
“Yes,” Dokja said without hesitation.
She turned her head toward him, eyes glinting. “Confident answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
For a moment, she studied him like she was trying to read something between the lines of his face. Then she grinned, sharp edges softening. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you get rid of me that easily.”
He rolled his eyes, but the warmth in his chest betrayed him.
By the time the last orange glow drained from the horizon, the park had thinned out. Families packed up their picnic baskets, couples wandered off hand in hand, and the cicadas grew louder in the emptying quiet.
Han Sooyoung lay flat on her back now, her hands folded behind her head, staring upward as if the stars owed her something. Kim Dokja stretched out beside her, though not quite as relaxed, his arms still stiff at his sides. The blanket felt narrower than it had earlier, their shoulders brushing lightly whenever one of them shifted.
“See that?” Sooyoung pointed at the darkening sky, her finger tracing a line between three faint stars. “That’s Orion’s Belt.”
“You’re pointing in the wrong direction,” Dokja said.
She squinted, then snorted. “Whatever. You’re the bookworm, you deal with constellations. I just like looking at them.”
He turned his head slightly, watching the way her hair fanned against the blanket. For a moment, he thought about saying something about how strange it felt, sitting here with her after everything. But the words tangled in his throat, as they always had.
The awkwardness thickened until they both sat up at once, pointing at the same patch of sky.
“Look—”
“Do you see—”
They froze, fingers aimed at the same faint constellation. Their eyes met, surprise flickering into amusement, and then laughter spilled out of them, loud enough to startle a flock of birds from the nearby trees.
“Of course,” Sooyoung said, wiping at her eyes. “We’d pick the same one. Predictable.”
“You were pointing at it too,” Dokja muttered, but he was smiling, unguarded in a way he rarely allowed himself.
“Guess we’ve been around each other too long.” She nudged his shoulder with hers, and when he didn’t move away, she let it linger there.
The conversation drifted easily after that. They talked about constellations, parallel worlds, what-ifs. What if he’d stayed buried in books? What if she’d given up after her first rejection? Each version of their lives felt unreal, as though no matter what, fate would’ve dragged them back together under this same stretch of sky.
It was Sooyoung, as always, who broke the line of thought with something sharper. “Hey. Be honest. You ever read the fanfics about us?”
Dokja stiffened. He hesitated a second too long. “…Yes.”
Her grin was instant, wicked. “Knew it. What kind?”
“…Ones where we’re—” He coughed into his fist. “Where we’re lovers.”
Sooyoung threw her head back and laughed so hard the stars might have heard her. “Oh my god, I’ve read those too! And some of them are scarily accurate. Like, predicting the exact way you freeze up when you’re trying to confess? Peak comedy.”
His face heated, ears burning. “That’s!-”
“You’re literally doing it right now!” she cackled, pointing at his red cheeks. “History repeats itself.”
Dokja groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Why did I even tell you.”
“Because you love me,” she said sweetly, leaning closer until her shoulder pressed firmly against his.
His hands slipped just enough for him to peek at her. She was grinning, her eyes sharp with amusement but softened at the edges. The kind of grin that didn’t just tease—it remembered.
“Speaking of history,” she continued, “remember high school? That time on the rooftop after cram school?”
Dokja shivered, letting out a sound dangerously close to a whine. “Don’t.”
“Oh, I’m definitely bringing it up.” Her eyes gleamed. “You were so nervous, I thought you were gonna puke. Couldn’t even look at me. Your face was redder than the sunset.”
“…I was seventeen,” he muttered.
“And I had to literally ask you, ‘Are you trying to confess, Kim Dokja?’ because you couldn’t get the words out.” She leaned back, laughing until she nearly tipped over. “God, you should’ve seen yourself. Blushing mess. I almost said no just to put you out of your misery.”
He dragged his hands down his face, mortified. “Why do you remember everything so vividly?”
“Because it was adorable.” She softened suddenly, nudging him gently with her knee. “And because it was the start, wasn’t it? That was the first time you actually tried.”
He looked at her then, really looked. His eyes traced over the curve of her smile, the reflection of starlight in her eyes, the ease with which she turned his embarrassment into warmth.
“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “It was.”
For a while, neither of them said anything. Their laughter faded into the night, leaving behind a silence that didn’t press down like it used to. The grass whispered in the breeze, the stars blinked patiently above, and their hands brushed again once, then twice before finally settling, fingers tangling together.
Sooyoung gave his hand a squeeze, gentle but certain. “You’ve gotten better at this, you know.”
“At what?”
“Being honest.”
His ears flushed again, but this time he didn’t look away.
. . .
The night deepened as the stars had fully claimed the sky, crowding in like an audience of a thousand silent lights. The city hummed faintly in the distance, but here in their quiet corner of the park, it felt far away, like they’d stepped out of time.
Han Sooyoung stretched her free arm above her head, pointing lazily at the constellations. “You know, we’ve seen more of the world than we ever thought we would. Chicago, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Paris…all those neon lights, all those screaming fans. But sometimes…” She trailed off, letting the thought drift with the night air.
Dokja turned his head toward her. “Sometimes..?”
“Sometimes it feels like the best part of all this wasn’t the stages. Or the trophies.” She looked at him then, her grin softening into something rare, something unguarded. “It was just… that you were there for it all.”
His chest tightened. Words came slowly to him, they always had, but tonight, under this sky, he found them easier to reach.
“You were the reason I kept going,” he admitted. “When it got hard. When I wanted to quit.”
Her laugh was quiet, almost disbelieving. “You? Quit? You’re the most stubborn person I know.”
“I’m only stubborn when you’re involved,” he said simply.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was a comforting silence that settled between them like a blanket, warm and steady. Their hands remained linked, fingers comfortably tangled.
There had been nights, especially in the early years, when the weight of it all nearly broke him. The endless diets, the rehearsals that stretched past dawn, the constant criticism. He’d thought about walking away more times than he could count.
But each time, Sooyoung had been there.
Dragging him to convenience stores for a secret snack after another brutal weigh-in. Throwing herself into dance practice just so he wouldn’t feel like the weakest one. Talking loudly and shamelessly to distract him when he was too lost in his own head.
“You’re not alone, idiot,” she’d said once, tossing him a bottle of water in the empty practice room. “If you go down, I’m dragging you back up with me. Don’t think you can escape.”
Back in the present, Sooyoung shifted closer, her shoulder pressing into his. “You know, if someone wrote a fanfic about us right now, they’d probably call it something dramatic. ‘Two Stars Aligned’ or ‘Under the Same Sky.’ Something cheesy like that.”
Dokja chuckled. “They’d exaggerate. Pretend we were destined from birth.”
“Aren’t we?” she teased.
He rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.
They lay there in silence for a while longer, occasionally pointing out constellations, occasionally whispering about the little moments that had carried them from their childhood street to neon-lit stages. Each memory was a thread, weaving them tighter together.
Eventually, Sooyoung let out a long breath, her tone softer than the usual teasing tone he was used to hearing from her. “Hey, Dokja. Do you ever wonder… what if we’d never met?”
He shook his head without hesitation. “I don’t let myself.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Why not?”
“Because any version of my life without you feels wrong. I wouldn’t be myself without you, and my life certainly wouldn’t be my life without you either. You’re like a part of me; asking what it’d be like without you is like asking about an Earth without organisms. It just…doesn’t make sense.”
Her smile faltered for just a second—then returned, brighter this time, though her voice was quiet when she spoke. “…That’s surprisingly romantic for you.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
She squeezed his hand again. It was firm. Grounding. “Keep practicing, then. I like it when you’re honest.”
They fell back into silence, but it wasn’t empty. It was the kind of silence filled with years of unspoken understanding, of shared struggles and victories, of laughter that still echoed through time.
Above them, the constellations burned steadily. These stars that had been there long before either of them, and would remain long after hung in the sky, but tonight, it felt like they belonged just to Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung.
Under that endless sky, a pair of lovers sat with their hands entwined, neither of them feeling the need to say anything more.