Chapter Text
Zhou Anxin didn’t know exactly when it happened.
He’d thought about it more times than he’d like to admit. Was it the first time he saw him? The first time they officially met? Or maybe later, when they started to actually talk? To get to know each other beyond what the cameras showed?
He wasn’t sure.
But he wanted to know. He wanted to find that exact moment, as if knowing when it started could somehow help him fix it: these feelings, these strange, stubborn, unwelcome feelings.
The thing is: Zhou Anxin is in love.
In love with a man.
In love with a coworker.
A teammate. A friend.
Zhou Anxin is in love with Lee Sangwon.
And he hates it. Because it’s wrong, because it’s weird, because it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
There are plenty of reasons why this shouldn’t be happening, he tells himself.
First: Lee Sangwon is a man.
Anxin still remembers promising his mother he’d get married someday, give her grandchildren and everything. And while he may not know much about love, he knows enough to understand he can’t have children with a man. He didn’t even know he liked men until now.
Second: Lee Sangwon is his friend.
Or… something close to it. Maybe “friend” is too generous—Sangwon probably sees him more as a teammate, or just another trainee. He’s quiet, reserved, prefers to spend time with people his age or older. Their relationship, if you could even call it that, is polite, professional.
So what does that make this? Falling in love with a coworker?
Anxin mentally facepalms.
Great. Perfect.
Third: Lee Sangwon is everything. Cool, handsome, charismatic, hardworking. It’s no wonder he’s the most popular trainee in Boys Planet. Not just in online votes, but in everyday life. Everyone wants a piece of Lee Sangwon. Trainees fight to get his attention, dream about being on the same team as him, about sharing even a fraction of his spotlight.
And Anxin? He’s just one of them, too.
Fourth, and worst of all: Lee Sangwon doesn’t care about him—not the way Anxin wants him to.
To Zhou Anxin, Lee Sangwon was like the moon: beautiful, captivating, and forever out of reach.
Everything a mess. And Anxin hates messes.
So he thinks, and thinks, and overthinks, trying to find a way to fix it, to go back to when everything was simple. When he didn’t feel this way. When he could still look at Lee Sangwon without his heart tripping over itself.
He just wants to feel normal again.
“Help me, Hao-ge…” Anxin heard himself say, pouting as he pressed a towel to his face in frustration.
He and Jiahao had met after dance practice for the final performance. It was supposed to be a joyful meeting—they both had the killing parts, after all. They should’ve been excited.
But instead, here they were: sweaty, exhausted, sitting on the floor of an empty practice room with no cameras, trying to solve a problem Anxin never thought he’d have in his life.
Jiahao sighed, running his towel over his face.
“Xinxin… honestly, you’re a mess,” he said softly.
“I know!” Anxin blurted out a little too fast, then immediately looked around, just in case someone had heard, even though they were alone in the room. “I know… I want to make it stop, but I don’t know how! Is there a way? Hao-ge, please tell me there’s a way! I don’t like this at all, I can’t even focus—”
“Then maybe you should try harder to focus.”
Jiahao’s hand landed on his shoulder; not harsh, but firm enough to make him feel small.
He looked tired, dark circles shadowing his eyes, his hair sticking to his forehead. They were both running on little sleep, working themselves to the bone, chasing the same dream. And here Anxin was, burdening his best friend with something so… pointless.
What a shameless person I am, he thought.
“Anxin-ah, I love you, you know that, right?” Jiahao’s voice softened again. His hand tightened on Anxin’s shoulder. “I’m saying this because I care about you. Your feelings are valid—they’re not wrong. But this isn’t the time to dwell on them. Remember your dream, Xin-ah. You’re so close to debuting. Focus on that.”
His grip loosened, and a small smile appeared on his face. He gave Anxin’s back a few gentle pats.
“I promise it’s going to be alright, okay?” he said, his eyes full of warmth.
Anxin nodded slowly. He didn’t know what he would do without his Hao-ge.
“If we debut together—”
“We will,” Anxin cut in quickly. Jiahao smiled at that.
“When we debut together,” he continued, “we’ll think about all this carefully, alright?”
Anxin’s eyes burned. He blinked quickly. He was not going to cry. He never cries.
“Yeah… thank you, ge,” he said, voice low and tired. His body suddenly felt heavy; maybe all the training was finally catching up to him.
“Xin-ah,” Jiahao added softly, “no matter what you think, there’s nothing to fix, okay? What you feel isn’t bad.” Then he reached out and pinched Anxin’s cheek, chuckling. “Aigoo, are you becoming a man now? A man who falls in love?”
Anxin frowned and started to complain, and Jiahao just laughed harder.
“ Yeah, that’s it—that’s my brat Anxin,” he said, ruffling his hair.
Anxin couldn’t help but smile. Maybe Hao was right. He needed to get it together. Focus on what mattered. Enough with these strange, distracting feelings. He had better things to think about.
“Alright, Anxin,” Jiahao said suddenly, crossing his arms. “Show me your dance. Something tells me you haven’t been practicing enough.”
“W-what? Of course I have! I… I already learned the whole choreography,” Anxin lied.
Jiahao smirked. “Then let’s go back to the studio. Show me.”
“Y-yeah… I’ll show you!” Anxin’s shaky voice betrayed him, and Jiahao burst out laughing.
Ah, he missed this. The easy banter, the simple joy of being around each other. Anxin had been so caught up in meaningless worries, he’d forgotten how good it felt to just exist in the moment.
He started making mental plans: maybe he’d visit Kaiwen later, or go back to his shared room with Kangmin so they could have something delicious to eat together. Little, ordinary things that grounded him.
He was still thinking about that when he and Jiahao stepped out into the hallway…
And suddenly froze in place.
Because something he wasn’t supposed to see was happening right there, in front of his eyes.
In one of the hallways—the kind without cameras—the lights were dim, humming faintly overhead. It was past midnight, quiet except for the sound of distant footsteps and the soft rustle of fabric.
And there they were.
Two people.
Not just standing.
Hugging.
Lee Leo was holding Lee Sangwon in his arms; warm, close, like he never wanted to let go. And when they heard Jiahao and Anxin freeze in place, they separated. Too fast. Too guilty.
Anxin didn’t need an explanation.
He had simply forgotten to mention the fifth reason.
Fifth: Lee Sangwon was in love with Lee Leo.
And there was nothing Zhou Anxin could do about it.