Chapter Text
The rooftop of the school.
It was the one place that felt removed from everything else. The city noise faded into a dull sound, and exams, for once, didn’t feel like they were breathing down their necks.
Geonwoo was currently lying down on a rusted bench, a script for the drama club clutched in his hand, though he wasn’t looking at it. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the boy in the center of the roof.
Xinlong was dancing. Every beat of the music leaking from his phone speakers pulled a limb in a different direction. His turns were sharp, slightly reckless.
"You're going to trip over your own shoelaces if you keep doing that turn," Geonwoo called out, with a teasing smirk.
Xinlong didn't stop. He finished the set with a sharp locking motion before finally exhaling and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He turned to Geonwoo, eyes bright and a little smug.
"And you're going to fail your audition if you keep staring at me instead of memorizing your lines, Actor Geonwoo," Xinlong shot back, mimicking Geonwoo’s dramatic stage voice.
Geonwoo sat up and pressed a hand to his chest.
"Excuse me? I can’t believe you’d disrespect an artist like this. You just happen to be the only thing in my line of sight that isn't a brick wall."
"Sure," Xinlong laughed, walking over and kicking Geonwoo’s feet so he could squeeze onto the end of the bench. He reached over, grabbing Geonwoo’s water bottle and taking a long gulp. "You know, if you spent half as much time practicing your monologue as you did criticizing my footwork, you’d be the next lead in a K-Drama by now."
"I don't need to practice. Talent like mine just shows up," Geonwoo said, though he finally tucked the script into his bag. He softened then, watching the way Xinlong as he tried to catch his breath. "You’re getting better, Longlong..."
Xinlong looked down at his sneakers, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I have to be. The dance club isn't enough anymore. I want... I want to actually do something with it. I’m thinking about checking out some agencies."
The air on the rooftop suddenly felt a little quiet.
Geonwoo felt a familiar tug in his gut, the one that always happened when Xinlong talked about the future. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was more like the realization that the world was starting to call for them, and he wasn't sure if the world would let them stay side-by-side.
"Agencies, huh?" Geonwoo leaned back, looking up at the afternoon sky. "The idol life is brutal. No sleep, no food, or existing without someone yelling at you."
"I know," Xinlong said softly. "But I'd do it. If it means I get to be on a stage," he bumped his shoulder against Geonwoo’s. “Relax. I’m not signing my life away tomorrow.”
He paused, then added, grinning, “Besides. If I did go, I’d probably need someone to complain to. You’d come with me, right?”
It was clearly a joke.
"Wait, you're serious?" Geonwoo nearly choked on his laugh, sitting up straight. "You actually want to go to an open audition? Like, with the judges and the cameras and the hundreds of kids who look like they’re about to pass out?”
Xinlong rolled his eyes, shoving Geonwoo’s shoulder. "Yes! But I'm not saying you have to sell your soul to a company. I just don't want to stand in that line for five hours by myself. I just need a companion. You can bring your script, sit on the floor, and I'll buy you that expensive boba afterward. The one with the extra pearls you like."
Geonwoo, pretending to think it over. "Extra pearls, you say? My dignity is worth at least a large size and maybe a pastry."
"Okay, deal. You just have to stand there and look pretty so I don't look like a loner," Xinlong joked, bumping his hip against Geonwoo's.
"Well, I am very good at looking pretty. It’s one of my top three talents," Geonwoo replied, flashing a peace sign and a wink that was just a little too charming.
The day of the audition was a mess, and Geonwoo was only there for moral support. The lobby of the agency was packed with teenagers doing vocal warm-ups in the corners and stretching in the middle of the hallways.
"Hey... you know, since you're already here... and you..."
Geonwoo arched an eyebrow. "Oh no. Absolutely not. I don’t like where this is going."
"Come on! Just for funsies!" Xinlong grinned, his nerves turning into mischief. "They have an Acting category. You wouldn't even have to dance. Just say a few lines and leave! Boom! Done!"
"Uhm yeah, no!"
Geonwoo looked at the long line, then at Xinlong’s pleading eyes, and was terrified of doing this alone.
"Fine. But if I get rejected and you get in, you're never allowed to bring this up again," Geonwoo warned, pointing a finger at him.
"Deal!" Xinlong cheered, practically dragging Geonwoo toward the registration desk.
When they finally called Geonwoo’s number, he didn't feel the nerves he usually felt before a school play. Because it was just for fun, he walked into the room with a relaxed confidence that caught the judges' attention immediately. He performed a short monologue, something dramatic and a bit over-the-top—and then, and then, as a joke for himself, he sang a few bars of a pop song.
He left the room laughing. "I think the judge liked my face more than my acting," he told Xinlong.
"Still, you did it!" Xinlong said, looking genuinely proud. "See? We’re a team. Even if this goes nowhere, at least we managed to turn a very serious situation into a joke. Which feels… accurate Hahahaha."
Three weeks later, the joke stopped being funny.
Geonwoo was in the middle of a boring history lecture when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Then it buzzed again. And again, the fifth vibration, he realized it wasn't a spam call. He checked it under the desk.
[11:04 AM] Longlong 🐉: GEONWOO.
[11:04 AM] Longlong 🐉: CHECK YOUR EMAIL.
[11:05 AM] Longlong 🐉: PLEASE TELL ME YOU GOT IT TOO.
His fingers were trembling as he navigated to his inbox.
There it was.
Dear Kim Geonwoo, we are pleased to inform you...
He didn't read the rest. He didn't need to. He raised his hand, told the teacher he had a sudden, violent stomach ache, and bolted from the classroom.
He found Xinlong near the gym. The younger boy looked like he’d been hit by a truck, hair messy, clutching his phone like a lifeline. When their eyes met, there was no need for words.
Xinlong sprinted the last few feet, practically tackling Geonwoo into a hug.
"We both got in! We both got in!" Xinlong yelled into Geonwoo's shoulder, ignoring the students staring at them in the hallway.
Later, sitting on the back staircase, Geonwoo finally read the full email. His heart dropped.
He had applied for the Acting Division. He had expected a script, a screen test, or perhaps a placement in a subsidiary for young actors. But there, in bold letters, it said:
Acceptance: Idol Trainee Development Program.
"Geonwoo! Look at this!" Xinlong came around the corner, his face flushed with pure joy. "They said I have potential for the main dance line. We’re going to be in the same building, same schedule—”
Xinlong stopped, noticing the way Geonwoo was staring at his phone. "Wait... they put you in the acting track, right? Ohh, we’ll be in different departments."
Geonwoo looked at the email, then back at Xinlong’s smile.
"Yeah," Geonwoo said, forcing a grin. He was an actor, after all. This was his best performance yet. He tucked his phone away, burying it deep into his pocket. "They put me in the idol track too. Turns out they want me for my singing voice. Guess you're stuck with me in the practice rooms after all."
"Really?" Xinlong’s face fell for a second, a flicker of genuine concern crossing his features. "But... are you okay with that? I know how much you wanted the acting thing..."
Geonwoo reached out, ruffling Xinlong’s hair to distract him. "Are you kidding? Being an idol is way cooler. I’ll get to be on stage with you. It’s exactly what I wanted."
It was a lie, a half-truth at best, but seeing the relief wash over Xinlong made it feel worth it.
One night, Geonwoo sat at the dining table with his parents, the contract laid out neatly between them.
"It’s a long time, Geonwoo," his mother said, her finger tracing the years clause in the contract. "You’ve always talked about university, about theater school. This... this is different. You won’t have a normal life."
"I know, Mom," Geonwoo said, his voice steady. "But how many people get a chance like this? And I won't be alone. Xinlong and I... we've looked out for each other since freshman year. We’ll keep doing it there."
His father studied him. “And acting?” Geonwoo hesitated. Just a beat. “It doesn’t disappear. I can come back to it.”
They were quiet for a long moment.
“If you do this,” his father said, “you commit. No quitting when it gets hard.” Geonwoo nodded. “I know.”
Meanwhile, on the other side.
Xinlong’s father sighed, looking at his own son. "Xinlong? Are you sure about this? It’s not just because your friend Geonwoo is going?"
"Actually, Dad," Xinlong said, smiling. "I think it’s the other way around. But even if he wasn’t, I’d still go. I want to dance on a real stage."
"If you sign these," Xinlong's father warned, "There’s no I'm tired, or I want to come home after a month. You give it everything."
"I know," Xinlong said, picking up the pen.
Pens scratched against paper on two different tables, in two different houses.
Geonwoo didn’t look at the line that labeled him an Idol Trainee. He looked at the empty chair beside him and imagined Xinlong sitting there, signing the same way.
It wasn’t the dream he started with. But it was a future where he wouldn’t be alone.
The floor of Geonwoo’s bedroom was barely visible under a sea of hoodies, sneakers, and charging cables. Packing for a dorm wasn't like packing for a summer camp. This wasn’t temporary. They were signing up for a life where someone else decided when they woke up, ate, practiced, and slept.
Xinlong was sitting on the floor, holding two identical black beanies. “Do I need both?” he asked, genuinely conflicted. “What if I lose one? But what if they don’t let us wear hats at all?”
Geonwoo leaned against his desk, watching Xinlong with an amused smile. He had already finished his packing, neat and organized. Or at least, it looked that way until you saw the small stack of acting books he had hidden at the very bottom of his suitcase, tucked under his heavy winter coats like contraband.
"Hey," Xinlong said softly, "Are you scared? Like, actually scared?"
"A little," Geonwoo admitted. It was the first time he’d said it out loud. "Everything is going to change. We won't be able to just go get boba whenever we want. We won't be able to just... exist without someone watching."
Xinlong nodded, looking down at his feet. "I'm terrified they’ll realize I'm not as good as they thought I was. That I'll get cut after the first month." He looked up at Geonwoo, his eyes wide and vulnerable. "But then I remember you're going to be there. And it feels like... okay, if Geonwoo is there, I can't fail. Because you won't let me."
Geonwoo felt something tighten in his chest. This was why he had lied about the acting division. This was why he was wearing the idol trainee label like a mask. Because Xinlong looked at him like he was a North Star—the one thing that kept him on track.
“You give me too much credit,” Geonwoo said. Then, softer, “But I’ve got you. And you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I won't let you fail," Geonwoo promised, his voice low and firm. He reached out, bumping his shoulder against Xinlong’s. "And you won't let me fall behind in dance class. Deal?"
"Deal," Xinlong replied.
As Geonwoo zipped his final bag, he looked around his room. It was empty now. He didn’t know how hard it would be to keep pretending that acting didn’t matter. He didn’t know how much it would hurt to watch other trainees go to acting classes while he headed to the recording booth.
But as he looked at Xinlong, who was currently trying to fit a giant plushie into a backpack, Geonwoo realized that as long as he had this, he had enough.
₊˚.⋆☾ 🎬 📽️ 🎞️ ⋆⁺₊✧
Time doesn't move normally inside a windowless practice room. In the basement of the agency, years aren't measured by seasons. They are measured by the number of times you’ve had to re-glue the soles of your dance shoes and the number of roommates who have packed their bags and disappeared in the middle of the night.
Geonwoo leaned against the mirrored wall. He was twenty now. Nearly a thousand days had passed since the rooftop. The baby fat was gone, replaced by the hollow fatigue of a man living on black coffee and four hours of sleep.
Xinlong was flat on the floor beside him, arms spread like someone had dropped him there. His shirt was soaked through, clinging to his back.
"Did you hear?" Xinlong asked, his voice raspy. He didn't even have the energy to open his eyes. "The 0X line trainees. They got their debut project today. They’re called Spark or something."
Geonwoo felt a bitter coldness. The 0X liners. Kids who were barely fifteen. Kids who had been in the company for six months, while Geonwoo and Xinlong had been rotting in the "Potential" pool for years.
"I heard," Geonwoo said shortly. He reached for his water bottle, but it was empty. It was always empty.
"The industry likes fresh. We’re... we’re the reliable ones. That’s just trainee-speak for leftovers."
Xinlong finally sat up, his hair sticking out in every direction. He looked at Geonwoo with an expression that broke Geonwoo’s heart, a mixture of exhaustion and a terrifying flicker of doubt.
"We’re twenty, Geonwoo. If we don't debut by next year, they’re going to let us go. Or worse, they’ll keep us here as demo-singers for the kids who actually made it." Xinlong’s voice cracked.
"Maybe I shouldn't have asked you to come with me on the audition day. And you should have stayed in acting."
Geonwoo’s hand tightened around the plastic bottle until it crunched. That was the one thing he couldn't handle, Xinlong feeling guilty.
"Don’t do that," Geonwoo said, "I’m here because I want to be. I’m an idol trainee because I’m going to be an idol with you. I didn’t get kidnapped into this building."
"But what if there is no with you?" Xinlong whispered, looking at the door. "What if they only pick one of us?"
It was the fear they never spoke out loud. The company loved "Group Chemistry," but they loved "Marketability" more. Geonwoo moved closer until his shoulder was pressed hard against Xinlong’s. It was a grounding weight, the only thing that felt real in a room full of mirrors and fake smiles.
"Then I’ll fail the evaluation on purpose," Geonwoo said, his tone dead serious despite the absurdity of the statement.
Xinlong let out a weak laugh. "You’re an idiot. You’re too competitive to fail on purpose."
"Try me," Geonwoo nudged him. "I’ll accidentally trip over my own feet during the center part. I’ll sing in the wrong key. If you aren't on that stage, the lights are going to be too bright for me anyway."
Xinlong leaned his head back against the mirror, closing his eyes again. For a moment, the bitterness of seeing the younger trainees debut faded away. As long as they were in this basement together, the world outside, the debut lists, the age limits... didn't matter.
₊˚.⋆☾ 🎬 📽️ 🎞️ ⋆⁺₊✧
The mirrors in the Practice Room were permanently fogged over. By 2:00 AM, the air was so thick with the scent of sweat that it felt like breathing through a wet towel.
Geonwoo’s knees were full of yellow and purple bruises. Every time he dropped for the choreo, a sharp, electric pain shot up his thighs. The red recording light on the wall camera was always watching, and weakness was a one-way ticket to termination.
Beside him, Xinlong was pushing himself even harder. He was the dance leader of their trainee tier, which meant every mistake they made felt like his own failure.
"Again," Xinlong rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
They ran the bridge for the twentieth time. When the music finally cut, Geonwoo didn't even stand up. He just tipped over, his forehead pressing against the cold, hardwood floor.
"I think my legs are done, Longlong," Geonwoo mumbled into the floorboards. "Like… permanently."
Xinlong didn't laugh this time. He just sat down next to Geonwoo and started massaging the cramps out of his own calves with shaking hands. They were twenty, and they felt like they were eighty.
“Same,” he said. “Let’s pretend we’re fine.”
Xinlong was staring at his meal-prep container with genuine hatred. Geonwoo looked at his own half-wilted broccoli and unseasoned fish and made a decision.
"I can't eat another chicken breast, Geonwoo. I’ll turn into a bird."
"Put your hoodie on. We’re going to the GS25 around the block."
Sneaking out was a risk, but the hunger for something salty and real was stronger than the fear of the manager. Inside the convenience store, it felt like a different planet. They sat at the narrow window counter, waiting for their ramen cups.
On the window was a poster of a senior group from another company. They looked perfect, hair styled, skin glowing, smiles frozen in a moment of victory.
"Do you think they ever felt like this?" Xinlong asked, stirring his noodles. "Like they were just... waiting in a lobby for a life that might never start?"
Geonwoo looked at the poster, then at Xinlong’s reflection in the glass. Xinlong looked tired, but in the harsh light, he was still the most striking person Geonwoo had ever seen.
"Probably," Geonwoo said, taking a bite that burned his tongue. "But they made it. And we’re going to be the ones on the next poster. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll drag you onto that stage if I have to."
₊˚.⋆☾ 🎬 📽️ 🎞️ ⋆⁺₊✧
A few weeks later, Geonwoo was asked to take some paperwork up to the 4th floor, the management offices. As he passed the bin near the head producer’s desk, something caught his eye.
A script.
It was a screenplay for a youth drama. The title was The Summer We Met.
He recognized it because his old drama teacher had mentioned it was looking for fresh faces. He looked at the character description on the cover:
A high school boy who dreams of the stage but is too afraid to chase it.
That could have been his role. He could have been on a set, acting out a life that felt a lot like his own. Instead, his hands were calloused from dancing, and his throat was sore from vocal lessons.
He reached down, his fingers hovering over the paper, before he heard a familiar laugh from the hallway.
"Geonwoo! Manager-nim said we have thirty more minutes for a nap!"
It was Xinlong, his eyes bright with a new kind of energy now that they were in a project group. The exhaustion was still there, but the hope was back. Geonwoo pulled his hand away from the trash can. He let the script stay where it was, in the garbage.
"Coming," Geonwoo said.
He walked away, leaving his first dream behind for the second time. He didn't regret it, he couldn't afford to. But as he followed Xinlong back down to the basement, he felt the first real seed of that buried feeling start to grow.
He loved Xinlong enough to give up the screen. He just hoped the stage would be enough to fill the hole it left behind.
Eight chairs.
That was how they knew it was real. The atmosphere in the main lounge was different the next morning.
One by one, they filed in. Junseo. Arno. Leo. Sangwon. Anxin. Sanghyeon. And finally, Geonwoo and Xinlong.
Eight.
The Head of Development stood at the front, his face unreadable. "This is the project group. From this moment on, you are not individuals. You are one unit. If one falls, you all fall."
Geonwoo felt a hand brush against his under the chairs. It was Xinlong. He didn't grab it, not here, where everyone could see, but the brief contact of their knuckles was enough.
We made it into the circle, Geonwoo thought.
Now we just have to stay in it.
Weeks have passed after the announcement, and the two of them had slipped away to a cramped, dimly lit pojangmacha (streetfood carts/tents) a few blocks from the dorms.
Three empty green bottles sat between them. The spicy tentacles of grilled octopus were cold on the plate.
"We're not leftovers anymore," Xinlong whispered, tracing the rim of his shot glass. But in the orange glow of the tent, he looked fragile. "I wanted to quit so many times, Geonwoo. When the trainers screamed... when my body felt broken."
"Why didn't you?" Geonwoo asked quietly.
Xinlong’s eyes locked onto his, hazy but honest.
"Because you were in the room. I did this for the music, Geonwoo. I really did. But I stayed... I endured all of it... because of you. I can’t do this if you aren't standing next to me."
Geonwoo felt the world tilt. It wasn't the alcohol. It was the weight of a truth they had been dancing around since high school. He turned his hand over, interlacing his fingers with Xinlong’s. Their palms were hot, a contrast to the chilly night air.
"I didn't stay for the music," Geonwoo confessed, his voice low. "I stayed because I couldn’t picture a stage without you on it. That… that’s the truth. I love you, Xinlong. Not just as my partner-in-crime. Not just as my best friend."
The silence followed. For a few seconds, they weren't idols or trainees. They were just two person in love. Xinlong squeezed his hand so hard it hurt, a small, broken sob escaping his lips as he nodded.
"I know," Xinlong whispered. "I love you too..."
The morning light was cruel. The practice room where they had retreated after the tents closed, unable to go back to the dorms and face the other six members yet.
Xinlong was sitting against the mirror, his knees pulled to his chest. He looked small. The reality of the project group contract, the image management, and the 24/7 surveillance sat between them like an invisible wall.
"We can't," Xinlong said, his voice steady but hollow. He didn't look at Geonwoo. "If the company finds out... We’ll ruin the group. We’ll ruin everything that the others worked for."
Geonwoo closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cold glass. He knew. He had known the moment he said the words.
"We put it in a box," Geonwoo said, the words feeling like ash in his mouth.
"We don't talk about it. We don't act on it. We become the best idols this industry has ever seen. We give them the best friends they want. We give them the energy. But the rest... we bury it."
Xinlong finally looked up, his eyes glassy. "Can you do that?"
Geonwoo reached out, smoothing a stray hair from Xinlong’s forehead. It was the last "real" touch they would allow themselves for a long time.
"I’ve been practicing for years, Longlong," Geonwoo said with a bittersweet smile. "I'm a good actor, remember?"
They stood up together, brushing the dust off their sweatpants. When they walked out of that room to meet the rest of the boys for their schedule, they weren't Geonwoo and Xinlong anymore.
They were "The Duo." And whatever they had said under the pojangmacha heaters was locked away, buried deep enough that it could survive the stage lights, the cameras, and the contracts.