Archive of Our Own

Geonwoo stares at his phone in exhausted disbelief, then at the ceiling, then back at his phone, as if the message will rearrange itself into something more normal like a rent reminder, or a complaint about the neighbors, or literally anything that makes sense in a tenant-landlord dynamic.

His brain is still half-asleep, trying to process what kind of unhinged 3 AM nonsense just landed in his inbox.

Because what the hell does Xinlong mean, dance battle? Why does he think this is normal?

He groans, shoving his face into his pillow. It’s been exactly five months since he moved in, and at first, everything seemed great. The apartment is spacious, the rent is decent, and Xinlong, despite being the physical embodiment of chaos, wasn’t the worst landlord in the world.

Until he found out his landlord is also an underground K-pop street dancer.

A very serious underground K-pop street dancer.

And his number one mortal enemy?

Jiahao—another underground dancer who somehow manages to be even more extra than him.

Apparently, their rivalry is so intense that it has actual stakes. Like property damage, ego casualties, and somehow, now, Geonwoo’s involvement.

Geonwoo launches himself off the couch and scrambles to find his lease agreement, because he knows for a fact he never signed up to be a backup dancer. Right? RIGHT?

The second he finds the document, he flips straight past the boring stuff (“blah blah, security deposit,” “blah blah, no illegal pets cos it'll attract damage fees”) until he reaches the Fine Print Section.

And there, in legally binding black-and-white betrayal, he finds the clauses he somehow missed when signing his soul away to Xinlong’s ridiculous apartment complex.

(Geonwoo has already suffered from this one. He once refused to go to a battle, and Xinlong casually informed him that his rent had gone up. Geonwoo thought he was joking. Xinlong was not.)

(Geonwoo is not losing his midnight ramen and hotpot stash over this silly bullshit.)

(Geonwoo can already see the future—him, in a full-body cast, while Xinlong proudly stitches the footage into a highlight reel.)

Geonwoo clutches the paper in horror. This is illegal. Actually, it’s probably not, because Xinlong is just insane enough to make sure this stupidity is air-tight.

He slams his lease onto the table and grabs his phone.

Geonwoo slumps onto his couch, utterly defeated. He thought he was just renting an apartment, not signing up for a K-pop survival show. So he does what anybody trying to remain sane in this kind of situation will do... complain to a Reddit community.

Geonwoo stares at the comments. This is actually happening. His life is a joke. But… the comments are right.

Xinlong is desperate. Which means Geonwoo has the upper hand.

APARTMENT COMPLEX DANCE STUDIO – 10:45 AM

The next morning, Geonwoo drags his feet into the studio, looking like a man headed to his own execution. And the moment he steps in, it hits him that this isn’t just Xinlong’s side hobby, it's a cult.

Mirrors line the walls, the hardwood floors practically screaming at him to trip and die. A massive speaker in the corner looks expensive enough to cover three months rent, and there’s a full-length whiteboard that says “JIAHAO MUST DIE” in unhinged capital letters. Underneath, a list of what appear to be battle strategies is scrawled in red marker, complete with a hand-drawn sketch of Jiahao with devil horns.

Geonwoo should have moved out when he had the chance.

Xinlong is already there, stretching like this is a normal weekday and not a legally binding hostage situation.

“You’re late,” he says, arms crossed.

“I had to mentally prepare for the fact that my life is a reality show now,” Geonwoo deadpans, dropping his practice bag on the floor.

Xinlong snorts. “You act like this isn’t the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Geonwoo slowly turns his head to stare at him. “I want you to really sit with that thought, and then ask yourself if you deserve human rights.”

Xinlong grins, ignoring him. “Alright, let’s get started.”

Geonwoo holds up a hand. “First, negotiations.”

“Excuse me?” Xinlong raises a brow..

“I read the fine print,” Geonwoo says, grinning like a man who has seen the light. “If you need me, that means I have leverage. So here’s my price: Six months rent-free.”

Xinlong throws his head back and laughs. “No.”

“Four months.”

“One.”

“And a new fridge.”

“Fine.”

“And new laundry machines.”

“No.”

“Two months rent and a new fridge. Final offer.”

Xinlong stares at him, then sighs. “Fine. But if you mess up, I take it all back.”

“No refunds.” Geonwoo shakes his hand.

Rolling his eyes, Xinlong pulls out his phone and opens the NCT choreography video. “Alright, first move: Body rolls.”

Geonwoo goes very still.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Geonwoo looks at his reflection in the mirror, looks at Xinlong, scrolls over the lease agreement in his head, and realizes he is so screwed!

THE FIVE STAGES OF DANCE PRACTICE HELL

Stage 1: Denial

Geonwoo stands in front of the mirror, arms crossed, refusing to move.

“I can’t do body rolls,” he announces.

“You can,” Xinlong says.

“I physically can’t.”

Xinlong tilts his head. “You have a spine, right?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then move it.”

Geonwoo glares at his reflection. He tries. His back moves like a broken marionette.

Xinlong bursts out laughing, “this is so bad.”

“I KNOW.”

Stage 2: Anger

“This choreo is insane,” Geonwoo growls, staring at the mirror like it personally offended him.

Xinlong, meanwhile, executes a flawless combo like he was born for this.

“Why do I have to learn this?”

“Because you’re my backup.”

“No, because you’re a MENACE.”

Xinlong grins. “Come on, don’t you wanna be hot?”

Geonwoo throws a water bottle at him.

Stage 3: Bargaining

“Okay, hear me out,” Geonwoo pants, collapsed on the floor.

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“What if,” Geonwoo gasps, “instead of dancing, I just stand there looking menacing? Like a wolf ya’know??”

Xinlong squats down next to him, tilting his head.

“Do you think Jiahao’s backup dancer is a wolf?”

“… No.”

“Exactly.”

“But I will—”

Xinlong drags him off the floor.

Stage 4: Depression

Geonwoo is drenched in sweat, staring at himself in the mirror.
“This is my life now,” he whispers. “I have become an NPC in my own story.”

Xinlong moonwalks past him with perfect footwork. “Less existential crisis, more foot placement.”

Geonwoo considers throwing himself out the window. It doesn't sound half as bad.

Stage 5: Acceptance (with Suffering)

By the third hour, Geonwoo is drenched in sweat, pacing the studio in existential crisis. He’s still not great, but he’s improved just enough that he no longer wants to throw himself out the window. His body aches, and his legs feel like they’re about to detach and sue him for workplace violations, but the choreography is finally making sense.

Xinlong nods approvingly. “See? You’re not hopeless.”

Geonwoo glares. “Say it again, but in a way that isn’t emotionally scarring.”

Xinlong grins. “I believe in you.”

Geonwoo hates that it actually makes him feel better.

Xinlong claps his hands together. “Good. Now that you’ve got it, we’re shooting the video tomorrow.”

"We’re what!!!! ” Geonwoo yells. “Gotta make sure Jiahao sees it,” Xinlong says. “Oh, and you’re editing it.”

Geonwoo falls to his knees.

“YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT EDITING.”

"Better get some sleep, buddy." Xinlong pats his head. "Soon you will become a star.”

Geonwoo screams into his hands. He should have never moved into this apartment!!!!

RECORDING DAY

Geonwoo wakes up feeling the kind of exhaustion only experienced by people who have been scammed into unpaid labor. He briefly considers moving out, but then remembers that he still has two months of rent-free living thanks to his questionable life choices.

Xinlong, on the other hand, is thriving.

"It's showtime, baby," he announces the moment Geonwoo drags himself into the dance studio.

“Why do you look like you’ve been awake for twelve hours?” Geonwoo mutters, tying his shoelace and slipping his mask into place.

“Because I have,” Xinlong replies, rolling his shoulders.

Geonwoo squints. “Did you even sleep?”

Xinlong grins, buzzing with energy. “Nah, I was too excited.”

“… How much caffeine have you had?”

“Enough.”

Geonwoo doesn’t want to know. He stands up and crosses his arms. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

By the time they're done, after ten agonizing takes and enough sweat to fill a small ocean, Geonwoo falls to the floor, feeling like a ghost of his former self. His legs are jelly, his back is screaming, and his brain is running on 2% battery.

“That was solid,” Xinlong says, casually stretching like they didn’t just go through an entire K-pop comeback cycle in one night. “We’ve got enough footage to work with.”

Geonwoo grunts. Words are too hard right now.

He barely has the strength to lift his head, but his half-lidded eyes drift to the ridiculously high-end camera Xinlong is packing up, something that looks like it belongs in a cinema-grade music video shoot.

“… Where did you even get that camera?” Geonwoo croaks.

Xinlong grins. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Geonwoo stares.

Xinlong winks.

Geonwoo narrows his eyes.

Xinlong starts humming a straykids song under his breath.

Geonwoo looks up at the ceiling, exhales through his nose, and makes a silent vow to break into Xinlong's apartment and strangle this man in his sleep.

“I swear to God,” Geonwoo rasps as he finally pulls himself off the floor, dragging his feet down the hallway, “if I wake up tomorrow and you tell me we need to reshoot, I am ending your bloodline.”

Xinlong snickers. "I’d like to see you try, big guy. You’ll be too sore to move."

Geonwoo flips him off weakly and vanishes into his apartment.

He’s not even going to shower. He’s just going to collapse onto his bed, let gravity claim him, and hope that when he wakes up, he no longer lives in a reality where his landlord is an unhinged K-pop menace.

Unfortunately, he still has to edit the stupid video. 

📍 THE EDITING PROCESS – “K-DRAMA THRILLER: DANCE EDITION”

Geonwoo is not going to let this video be normal. If he has to suffer, everyone is suffering with him.

He loads the footage onto his laptop and goes feral.

By the time he’s done, the video has:

 ✔ Over-the-top cinematic color grading

 ✔ Slow-motion effects on the most dramatic moments

 ✔ Thunder sound effects during Xinlong’s spins

 ✔ Random black-and-white flashbacks (even though they don’t make sense)

 ✔ A fake K-drama-style narration over the intro that says “THIS IS PERSONAL.”

He exports the file and sends it to Xinlong.

Five minutes later, his phone rings.

📞Xinlong: WHY DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A MURDER DOCUMENTARY?

📞Geonwoo: it's called artistry, you're welcome.

📞Xinlong: WHY IS THERE THUNDER AND LIGHTNING??

📞Geonwoo: BECAUSE THIS IS WAR! STOP SHOUTING OVER THE PHONE YOU IDIOT!!

📞Xinlong: I hate you so much.

📞Geonwoo: you think I don't?

Geonwoo hangs up and heads to bed, ignoring the way his muscles scream in protest. His body feels like it’s been run over by a truck, but his mind is already halfway to unconsciousness. The moment his head hits the pillow, he’s gone.

And for one blissful moment, he believes that when he wakes up, this nightmare will be over.

It is not.

Because the first thing he sees the next morning is a hundred notifications lighting up his phone like a damn Christmas tree. It takes a second for his brain to catch up to reality. Then he remembers:

Xinlong trusted him with his Instagram password.

Which means, at some point last night, in his sleep-deprived state, he was responsible for uploading the unholy cinematic monstrosity that was their dance video.

Geonwoo sits up, heart already sinking. He doesn’t even need to check, he knows deep in his soul that this is bad.

He looks at his phone. The video has gone viral, and the comments are out of control.

Jiahao just publicly challenged Xinlong to a live dance battle, the NCT dream official handler is emotionally devastated by his editing choices, and worse of all, a variety show wants them on air.

This is not happening, this is not real he spirals before a knock at his door pulls him out of despair.

Geonwoo doesn’t even need to check, he already knows who it is.
With the kind of deep, existential dread usually reserved for tax season or finding out your card declined at the grocery store, he drags himself out of bed, shuffles over to the door, and opens it like a man preparing for death.

Xinlong is standing there, phone in hand, smug as hell.

"Good morning, internet sensation."

Geonwoo slams the door in his face.

There’s a beat of silence, then, another knock.

"Jiahao wants a live battle," Xinlong says. It comes out muffled because his mouth is now pressed against the peephole. "And apparently, we got invited to a variety show."

Letting out a groan and a whine in quick succession, Geonwoo rests his forehead lightly against the door. "This is it, isn’t it?”

"What?" Xinlong questions.

Geonwoo opens the door and exhales, voice tired and filled with the defeat of a man who knows there is no escape.

"If you keep this up..." he mutters, gazing past Xinlong, into the abyss of his future. "I'm gonna debut as a K-pop dancer."

Xinlong’s grin widens. "Well, welcome to the industry, buddy."

The longest, most exhausted sigh of Geonwoo's life escapes him.

He should have just fucking paid rent.