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Growing up, Dongmin always thought that life would treat him well.
He had always seen his family members achieve the goals they worked so hard for. Whether it was his grandparents building a stable life from nothing or his parents overcoming obstacle after obstacle, success always seemed like the natural reward for perseverance. Growing up around those examples made it easy for him to believe that hard work would eventually solve every problem. To Dongmin, the future felt predictable in the best possible way. As long as he stayed focused and did his best, everything would work out.
He had seen his parents provide for him and support him endlessly in his dream of becoming a producer, encouraging him every step of the way toward the future he wanted. They listened to his ideas, celebrated his small accomplishments, and reassured him whenever he doubted himself. There was something comforting about the way his family always stood behind him, making sure he never had to face the hardest parts of life alone. Their faith in him gave him confidence during moments when he lacked it himself. Because of them, he grew up believing that no challenge was too difficult to overcome.
However, when Dongmin became a freshman, he realized that life treated no one fairly. No matter how good you were, the universe would always find a way to bring you down.
At fifteen years old, Dongmin lost his mother to a sickness she had been fighting ever since his little sister was born three years earlier. He was only twelve when he started waking up early to get his younger siblings ready for school because his parents were always at the hospital, trying to figure out what was wrong with her.
He could barely remember the smell of the hospital, his father crying, or the nurses gently trying to usher him out of the room so they could take care of the body. He barely remembered the wake itself. All he knew was that he stayed in the same spot the entire time, and even when his friends—Sungho and Jaehyun—tried to cheer him up, he wouldn't budge. It felt like a part of his heart had been ripped out the moment the doctors apologized to him and his father.
After that, everything became blurry.
He couldn't even remember if he passed ninth grade or how he managed to make it to tenth.
His father fell into a depression afterward. Even then, he tried his best to stay present for his children. He still made an effort to be there for all three of them.
Then one day, Dongmin knocked on his father's bedroom door. He had come to ask if his father wanted dinner, something he had started doing every evening. When nobody answered, a feeling of unease settled in his chest. He hesitated for only a moment before opening the door.
The moment he stepped inside, his heart dropped. His father was lying motionless, and Dongmin immediately knew something was wrong. He yelled his brother's name as loudly as he could, his voice shaking with panic. When his brother came running, Dongmin told him to call an ambulance right away.
Dongmin was only a sophomore when that happened. Everything after that felt like a blur of sirens, hospital lights, and unanswered questions. He barely remembered how he got through the following weeks. All he knew was that life had changed again.
Since then, their aunt—his father's sister—had taken care of them.
All he wanted was to graduate high school with high honors, go to Seoul for college, and make music.
It wasn't an impossible dream. Compared to everything else people wanted out of life; it was actually pretty simple. He wanted good grades, a degree, and a career doing the one thing he loved most. Whenever people asked him where he saw himself in ten years, the answer never changed. He'd be somewhere in Seoul, probably living in a tiny apartment, producing songs and chasing deadlines. As long as music was involved, he didn't really care about the rest.
His parents loved music, too. They were the reason he knew so many bands and artists. Some of his earliest memories involved long car rides with music playing through old speakers, his parents arguing over which album should come next. They always complained that songs these days didn't connect with them the way music used to. Sometimes Dongmin wanted to tease them with a that's because you're old comment, but he valued his life a little too much to say it out loud. Instead, he would sit there and listen as they introduced him to another artist that had defined their generation.
Because of them, he knew My Chemical Romance, Oasis, Smashing Pumpkins, Radiohead, The Beatles, David Bowie, and countless others. Their music filled the house so often that it became part of the background noise of his childhood. Some kids grew up listening to whatever was popular on the radio. Dongmin grew up listening to albums his parents swore had changed their lives.
Maybe that was why music always felt different to him.
It was more than something to listen to during long bus rides or while studying for exams—music was comfort. It was the thing that made bad days easier to survive and good days feel even better. It was the language his parents taught him before he even realized he was learning it. That's why he wanted to study it, understand it, and eventually speak it fluently himself. More than anything else, he wanted to create something that could make someone feel the same way his favorite songs had made him feel growing up.
So now here he is. College. His dream college. Everyone's dream college, really. One of the top universities in Seoul and one of the hardest schools to get into. Sometimes he still couldn't believe he had made it. Whenever he looked at the acceptance letter saved on his phone, part of him expected it to disappear. He knew how many people had applied and how many talented students had been rejected. The fact that he was here at all still felt unreal. He was lucky he had his friends' guidance during the entrance exams. Honestly, he wasn't sure he could have survived the process without them. After all, they were older than him and already sophomores in college. They had gone through everything before him and knew exactly what to expect. Whenever he panicked over deadlines or convinced himself he wasn't good enough to get in, they were the ones who talked him down.
Now, though, they weren't here to even help him
Dongmin sat alone in his dorm room, surrounded by half-open boxes and suitcases. Great.
He knew he shouldn't have applied for random roommate assignments. More importantly, he shouldn't have trusted Myung Jaehyun's advice in the first place. It was easy for Jaehyun to tell him not to worry about making friends when he was practically friends with the entire campus. They had each other. Jaehyun had Sungho and Riwoo. Riwoo had Sungho and Jaehyun. Sungho had Jaehyun and Riwoo.
Dongmin had no one his age.
He glanced around the room as he continued unpacking. A few of his favorite LPs sat carefully stacked on his desk beside the record player he had insisted on bringing despite everyone telling him it would take up too much space. Some things were worth making room for. Music had followed him through every stage of his life; he wasn't about to leave it behind just because he was moving into a dorm.
Hopefully his roommate liked music, too. Or maybe, if the universe felt generous for once, he wouldn't have a roommate at all, that would be even better. He could use both beds however he wanted, spread his things out across the entire room, and never have to worry about someone complaining when he played records late at night. The idea sounded nice enough that he almost laughed to himself.
Instead, his eyes drifted toward the empty space beside the door.
He wished his parents had been here. He imagined his mother fussing over where he should put everything. He imagined his father carrying boxes despite insisting his back hurt. He imagined them arguing about directions, embarrassing him in front of strangers, and taking far too many pictures before leaving.
His aunt had dropped him off earlier that morning, but she had needed to leave almost immediately for work. She'd helped carry one box upstairs, reminded him to eat properly, and rushed back to her car before she was late. Dongmin couldn't blame her. She had already sacrificed more than enough for him and his siblings.
His brother was busy preparing for the CSAT, and his little sister was still trying to adjust to middle school.
Everyone had their own lives to worry about now.
So for the first time in a long time, Dongmin found himself completely alone.
The soft crackle of the record player filled the room before the familiar opening notes of 1979 by The Smashing Pumpkins drifted through the speakers.
Dongmin froze for a second. His father loved this song. Not in the way people casually liked songs, either. His father treated 1979 like it was some kind of sacred text. Every time it came on during a drive, he'd turn the volume up and start explaining it all over again, as if Dongmin hadn't already heard the story a hundred times.
He remembers being eight and sitting in the passenger seat while his father drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.
"It's about waiting," his father had said.
Dongmin remembered rolling his eyes. "Waiting for what?"
"Life."
At the time, he thought it was a stupid answer. Life was already happening, wasn't it? He had school. Friends. Homework. Music lessons. Family dinners. How could someone be waiting for life to begin if they were already alive?
His father had laughed at the confused look on his face. "People keep saying life starts at forty. Or thirty. Or when you get married. Or when you buy a house."
He remembered the way his father shook his head and swearing, *"That's all bullshit." *
Dongmin had nearly choked on his juice because his mother was sitting right there. "Language."
"I'm teaching our son about life."
"You're teaching our son how to swear."
His father ignored her completely. "Life starts when you realize you don't want it to."
Dongmin hadn't understood, not then, not when he was eight and sitting in a warm car with both of his parents alive.
His father kept talking anyway. "Life starts when you realize the world is cruel. When you start noticing things that are unfair."
The traffic light turned red, his father stopped the car and stared out the windshield for a moment.
"And it really starts when you decide you want to fix some of those things, even when nobody listens to you."
Back then, Dongmin thought it sounded depressing. Now, sitting alone in his dorm room years later, he thought it sounded honest. He remembered his mother immediately smacking his father's shoulder afterward.
"Why are you teaching this poor kid about life starting?" she'd complained.
"Because someone's gotta do it."
"He's eight."
"Exactly. Prime existential crisis age."
"You're impossible."
Dongmin had laughed so hard that day his stomach hurt.
Then he'd leaned against his mother and wrapped his arms around her waist. He remembered her warmth. He remembered her laughter. Most of all, he remembered pressing his ear against her stomach just in time to feel his baby sister kick.
His mother had squealed, his father had nearly driven into another lane trying to look. And for a moment, the entire world had seemed so unbelievably big. Enough to hold all of them.
The song continued playing through the speakers, Dongmin sat on the edge of his dorm bed and listened. The room was still empty. His parents were still gone. Nothing about that would change.
But for the length of one song, with Billy Corgan's voice echoing through the room and memories flooding back faster than he could stop them, it almost felt like they were here with him.
“Hi, roomie!”
“Jesus—fuck!”
Dongmin nearly dropped the LP in his hands. Not just any LP, either. The signed Definitely Maybe record his father somehow managed to get signed by Liam Gallagher years ago. To this day, Dongmin still had no idea how he'd pulled that off. His father had refused to explain it, claiming that every music fan deserved at least one mystery in their life.
“Sorry!” His supposed roommate immediately held both hands up.
Dongmin looked down first, the LP was still safely inside its sleeve. No cracks, no bends, no damage. Because honestly, if he'd dropped it, he might've considered throwing himself out the dorm window.
“It's okay,” he mumbled.
The other boy visibly relaxed.
Up close, he looked surprisingly friendly. He was tall enough that Dongmin had to tilt his head slightly to meet his gaze. Dark hair fell messily across his forehead, giving him a relaxed, effortless look. His bright eyes seemed to sparkle with curiosity as they took in the room. He had the kind of face that looked permanently seconds away from smiling.
“I'm Donghyun,” he said. “But call me Leehan.” He stuck out his hand.
Dongmin stared at it for a second before awkwardly shaking it. “I'm... Dongmin.”
Leehan nodded thoughtfully, then he looked at Dongmin again. “No.”
"What?" Dongmin blinked.
“Yeah, we're changing that.”
Dongmin lowered the LP. “What do you mean we're changing that?”
Leehan crossed his arms. “Donghyun and Dongmin in the same room? That's a disaster waiting to happen.”
“We have different names.”
“Barely.”
“They don't even sound the same.”
“They both start with Dong.”
Dongmin opened his mouth, then closed it. He shifted the LP under one arm and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he opened his mouth again. “You can't just rename me.”
Leehan flopped backward onto his bed like he owned the place.
“Sure I can.”
“No, you literally can't.”
Leehan ignored him and rubbed his chin dramatically.
Dongmin watched him think. If he stared long enough, he could almost imagine a long white beard appearing on the guy's face. Like some ancient wizard contemplating the fate of kingdoms. Unfortunately, the expression was ruined by the fact that he looked about nineteen and was sitting on a dorm bed.
The illusion was immediately ruined by somebody screaming somewhere down the hallway, a loud crash followed, someone yelled something about ramen.
Leehan snapped his fingers. “I got it.”
Dongmin already hated this.
“From now on, you're Taesan.”
Taesan stared at him. Leehan stared back.
“Taesan?” Taesan repeated.
“Taesan.”
“Why?”
“Because it sounds cool.”
“That is not how names work.”
“It is now.”
“You can't just rename me. That's disgracing my parents.”
Leehan shrugged. “They're not here, are they?”
The joke came out casually, thoughtlessly. The kind of thing people said when they assumed everyone's parents were somewhere nearby, paying tuition bills and sending passive-aggressive texts about eating vegetables.
The words hit Taesan like a brick. They're dead. The sentence rose immediately, clean and sharp and ready to be spoken aloud. His mother and father were gone, a fact so heavy it sometimes felt like carrying a piano around inside his chest. For one brief second, he imagined actually saying it and letting the truth fall between them without warning. Just dropping it into the conversation and watching what happened next.
They're dead. And then watching this complete stranger fold in half and die from embarrassment. The image was, admittedly, a little funny. Not because there was anything funny about losing his parents, but because Leehan looked exactly like the kind of person who would panic himself into another dimension. Dongmin could already picture the frantic apologies and horrified stammering. He almost smiled at the thought before the feeling faded as quickly as it had come.
Leehan would probably launch himself through the nearest wall and Taesan wanted to see it.
Leehan, completely unaware that he'd just stepped on an emotional landmine, continued sitting there looking pleased with himself.
“Anyway,” he said, “Taesan is definitely better.”
Taesan stared at him. The urge to reveal devastating personal tragedy purely to win an argument was surprisingly strong, and for a fleeting second he almost did it. Instead, he swallowed the words before they could leave his mouth as the room suddenly felt smaller around him. His grip tightened around the LP sleeve.
Leehan, thankfully, seemed too busy admiring his own genius to notice the shift. “Besides,” he continued, dropping onto his bed, “Taesan suits you better.”
Taesan stared at him. Then at the room. Then back at the complete stranger who had walked into his life less than two minutes ago and somehow decided he had naming privileges. For the first time all day, though, the room didn't feel quite as empty, which was annoying.
Because now he had a roommate, and apparently his roommate was insane.
From outside, the two of them heard someone yelling hyung at the very top of his lungs.
Only Leehan reacted. His entire face lit up like someone had plugged him into an electrical outlet. He immediately sat up from the bed, nearly knocking over the pillow he'd just thrown there. The grin on his face somehow doubled in size as the voice got closer and closer. Dongmin watched the transformation happen in real time and decided that whatever was coming down that hallway was probably dangerous. The screaming certainly wasn't helping that assumption.
“Hyung!” the voice continued. “Shit! Why are you—you're a fast walker...” A boy appeared in the doorway looking like he'd just finished running a marathon. He bent over immediately, hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Sorry, Woonhak-ah.” Leehan reached over and petted his head like he was a particularly excited golden retriever. “I think I got too excited to meet my new roommate, Taesan!”
“It’s actually Dongmin,” Taesan deadpanned.
“No, call him Taesan.”
The newcomer immediately straightened up. “Hi, Taesan-hyung!”
“It's Dongmin.”
“Hi, Dongmin-hyung!”
“See?” Leehan pointed at him. “He gets it.”
“No, he literally just called me Dongmin.”
“After I corrected him.”
“You corrected him to the wrong name.”
“That's subjective.”
Taesan stared at both of them.
Woonhak stared back with the enthusiasm of someone who had just discovered a new species. “Oh, you're funny.”
“I wasn't making a joke.”
“Wow,” Woonhak said, sounding genuinely impressed. “You're even funnier.”
Taesan briefly wondered if transferring schools was still an option.
After a while, the door was closed again.
Woonhak eventually left after rambling about junior high dorms, some teacher he hated, and a roommate named James who's really quiet until he's on the phone with his friends. Taesan honestly stopped listening halfway through. The kid talked like he was being paid per word. The moment he disappeared down the hallway, a strange sense of peace settled over the room.
Things finally quieted down.
Taesan walked over to his record player and carefully swapped LPs. A few moments later, Wonderwall began flooding the room, Gallagher's voice mixing with the soft crackle of vinyl. It was familiar. Comfortable. The kind of sound that made unfamiliar places feel a little less unfamiliar.
While the song played, he pulled out his phone. He opened the group chat and immediately informed his friends that he had apparently been renamed against his will. Jaehyun replied first with approximately seventeen laughing emojis. Sungho's response wasn't much better.
A few minutes passed, then Leehan spoke.
“Do you have any ABBA LPs?”
The question was delivered with the confidence of someone who had lived here for years instead of less than an hour. Leehan was already sprawled across his bed, scrolling through his phone and looking entirely too comfortable. Taesan was beginning to suspect that this was simply how the guy existed.
“No.” That was it. A complete sentence. A complete conversation. At least, it should have been.
“Ah,” Leehan said knowingly. “All you have is sad rock music with yearning.”
Taesan slowly turned toward him. “What does that even mean?”
“It means every artist you listen to sounds like they got dumped behind a gas station.”
Taesan stared.
Leehan pointed toward the record player and immediately began counting evidence against him. “Oasis,” he said, before gesturing dramatically toward the stack of records sitting nearby. “Radiohead, Smashing Pumpkins, My Chemical Romance.” He paused for a moment as if reviewing a very serious case file. Then he nodded to himself with complete confidence. “That's not a music collection,” Leehan declared. “That's a support group.”
Taesan looked at the LPs lined up beside the record player and, against his better judgment, started mentally reviewing them. Oasis, Radiohead, The Smiths, My Chemical Romance—when listed together, they did paint a fairly specific picture. He glanced back at Leehan, who was watching him with the smug satisfaction of someone who knew he'd made a good point. Taesan hated that expression immediately. The guy had been his roommate for less than a day and was already acting like a music critic. Unfortunately, the evidence sitting on the shelf wasn't exactly helping his case.
"You're talking like ABBA is some kind of superior alternative," Taesan shot back, folding his arms.
Leehan gasped dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest as though personally offended. "It is," he declared without hesitation. "At least their songs sound like people occasionally experience happiness."
Taesan rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt, while Leehan grinned in triumph. The conversation should have ended there, but judging by that grin, Taesan had a feeling this argument was only getting started.
“You like old jazz,” Taesan said. “I'm sure you like Sinatra. I like Sinatra, too. You probably only know Sinatra.”
Leehan immediately sat up. The reaction was so fast that Taesan almost regretted speaking. Almost. Leehan looked personally offended by the accusation, like Taesan had just insulted his ancestors. The guy even put a hand over his chest.
“Not just Sinatra.”
Taesan raised an eyebrow.
Leehan pointed at himself dramatically. “I like Michael Bublé. Erykah Badu. Chet Baker. Norah Jones.”
He paused. Then pointed an accusing finger at Taesan.
“You think I'm a fake jazz fan.” Leehan crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.
“I didn't say that.” Taesan leaned back against the couch, looking unimpressed.
“You implied it.”
“I really didn't.”
“You absolutely did.” Leehan jabbed a finger in his direction as if presenting evidence in court.
Taesan sighed. Unfortunately, Leehan wasn't finished.
“I listen to Come Away With Me when it rains. I have opinions about Chet Baker recordings. I know the difference between people who like jazz and people who say they like jazz because they watched La La Land once.”
The worst part was that he sounded completely serious, rattling off names with the confidence of someone who actually knew what he was talking about. Taesan stared at him for a long moment, waiting for the punchline that never came. Then another passed, and Leehan only looked more offended by the accusation. By the third, Taesan was forced to admit that his roommate might genuinely have decent taste in music.
God damn it. Leehan actually knew his jazz. Not just the surface-level artists people brought up to sound interesting, either. Erykah Badu alone was enough to make Taesan reconsider his assumptions. Most people his age didn't even know who she was. The Norah Jones mention wasn't helping, either.
“You know Badu?”
Leehan crossed his arms. “Of course I know Badu.”
“You listen to Chet Baker?”
“Yes.” He nodded firmly, as if there were no reason to question it.
“Voluntarily?”
Leehan looked offended again. “Why are you acting like I said I eat drywall?”
Taesan hated that he was losing this argument. For the first time since meeting him, he couldn't immediately dismiss Leehan's music opinions as nonsense. The guy clearly knew what he was talking about. Which was unfortunate, because Taesan had already committed himself to finding his roommate annoying.
Leehan, sensing victory, grinned. “See?”
“Don't.”
“See?”
“Leehan.”
“See?”
Taesan crossed his arms and leaned back against the couch. He opened his mouth to argue, then immediately closed it again. For once, he couldn't think of a comeback.
Leehan noticed the hesitation instantly. A smug grin spread across his face as he pointed at Taesan. “That's right,” he said. “I win.”
“You earned it.”
“That's not what a friend would say.”
Taesan froze. The word hit him harder than it should have. For a second, he forgot what he was about to say. Friend. The word slipped out so casually that Leehan probably didn't even notice it. He looked completely unbothered by it. Like calling Taesan a friend was the most natural thing in the world.
Meanwhile, Taesan looked away and pretended to focus on the record player. He stared at it longer than necessary. Anything was better than acknowledging the strange feeling in his chest.
They'd known each other for less than three hours. Most people took weeks to get comfortable around strangers. Leehan had apparently skipped that entire process. Somehow, Leehan was already acting like they'd been friends for years. It was ridiculous and a little annoying. Taesan hated how quickly he was getting used to it.
The laughter eventually died down.
Not completely, though. Leehan still had that stupid grin on his face, the one that made Taesan want to throw another pillow at him. The room felt different now than it had an hour ago. Smaller, somehow. Less like two strangers happened to be occupying the same space and more like they were settling into something.
Leehan rolled onto his side and looked over at him.
“So, Taesan,” he said. “Music major, huh? Why?”
“How did you know I'm a music major?”
“It’s like asking why the sky is blue.” Leehan sat up and started counting on his fingers. “You brought a record player to a dorm.”
“One point.”
“You own enough LPs to start a small museum.”
“That's two points.”
“You almost died protecting a signed Oasis record.”
“Okay, that one is fair.”
Leehan nodded.
“Also, normal people don't spend twenty minutes arguing about jazz artists.”
Taesan opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Unfortunately, that was also fair.
“You have a point,” he admitted.
“I know.”
“I hate that you know.”
Leehan looked delighted.
Taesan glanced toward the record player. *Don't Look Back On Anger *was still playing quietly in the background. For a moment, he thought about giving some sarcastic answer. Something simple. Something that would end the conversation.
Instead, he found himself answering honestly. “Because of my parents.”
Leehan's expression softened immediately, not pity, just attention. The difference mattered.
“They liked music?” he asked.
Taesan nodded. “Loved it.”
His voice was quieter now.
“They introduced me to almost everything I listen to. Oasis. Bowie. Radiohead. The Beatles.” He looked down at his hands. “Music was kind of... always there.”
Leehan listened without interrupting.
“It sounds stupid,” Taesan continued. “But whenever I listened to songs they liked, it felt like they were speaking some language I didn't understand yet.” He laughed softly. “I wanted to learn it.”
The room was quiet except for the music. Leehan rested his chin on his hand. “That doesn't sound stupid.”
Taesan looked up.
Leehan shrugged. “Most people pick majors because they think they'll make money.” He pointed at him. “You picked one because you actually love it.”
There was something strangely sincere about the way he said it, there were no jokes, no teasing, just pure honesty. Taesan didn't really know what to do with that.
“So what about you?” he asked after a moment. “What's your major?”
Leehan groaned dramatically and flopped backward onto the mattress. “Oh, we're changing the subject.”
“You noticed.”
“Unfortunately.”
Taesan smiled despite himself.
Leehan pointed accusingly at the ceiling. “Business.”
Taesan blinked. “Business?”
“Business.”
“You don't seem like a business major.”
Leehan sat up immediately. “Rude.”
“You seem like someone who accidentally became a kindergarten teacher.”
“That's somehow more rude.”
For a second, they just stared at each other. Then Leehan started laughing. A second later, Taesan joined him.
Outside, college continued on without them. Students moved through hallways. Doors opened and closed. Somewhere in the distance, Woonhak was probably yelling at someone.
“Why business, Leehan?” Taesan shifted against the headboard, turning slightly toward him. A few hours ago, he wouldn't have cared enough to ask, but now the question slipped out naturally. Nothing about Leehan screamed business major.
Leehan let out a dramatic sigh and dropped his head back onto the pillow. “Like every character in a movie.”
Taesan frowned. “That doesn't answer anything.”
“Family business,” Leehan clarified. He picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “No choice. Future's already planned for me.”
Taesan glanced over. “Your family owns a business?”
“Several.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
Taesan rubbed the back of his neck, unsure what to say. His entire life had been built around getting here, and the idea of having your future decided for you felt strange.
“Then what would've you majored in?”
“Biology,” Leehan answered immediately.
Taesan blinked. “Biology?”
“Biology.”
“That was way too fast.”
Leehan laughed and rolled onto his side. “Because I've had the answer ready since I was fifteen.”
Taesan waited, and Leehan kept going.
“I like how everything connects.” He lifted a hand toward the ceiling as he spoke. “Cells. Ecosystems. Genetics. One tiny thing changes and suddenly everything else changes too.”
Taesan recognized the warmth in his voice immediately. It sounded exactly like how he talked about music.
“I wanted to do research,” Leehan admitted. “Or maybe teach.”
Taesan turned his head to look at him properly, studying his face as if trying to picture it. Leehan noticed immediately and raised an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth twitched, already anticipating whatever judgment was coming. A second later, Taesan let out a quiet laugh.
“You?”
Leehan pointed at himself. “Yes, me.”
“You know what? Teaching actually makes sense.”
“Thank you.”
“The biology part doesn't.”
Leehan pressed a hand dramatically against his chest and shook his head in disappointment. He sat up slightly, staring at Taesan like he'd just been personally betrayed. The offended expression lasted all of two seconds before amusement slipped through. “Rude.”
He groaned and collapsed backward onto the mattress. For a moment, neither of them spoke while Don't Look Back in Anger played quietly through the room.
Eventually, Leehan broke the silence. “You're lucky, you know.”
Taesan looked over. Leehan was still staring at the ceiling, his expression unreadable in the dim light. For a moment, Taesan wondered how often he thought about the life he hadn't been allowed to choose.
“You got to choose,” Leehan said, still staring at the ceiling.
The words settled heavily between them. Taesan thought about his acceptance letter, his LPs, and all the years he'd spent chasing music. “Maybe,” he said quietly.
Leehan turned his head toward him.
“But if it helps,” Taesan continued, “you seem like someone who would've been really good at it.”
For once, Leehan didn't joke. He held Taesan's gaze for a second before a small smile appeared.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think so too.”
Neither of them spoke for a while after that.
*Don't Look Back On Anger *continued spinning on the record player, filling the room with familiar noise. Outside, someone ran down the hallway while another person yelled for them to slow down. A door slammed somewhere nearby. College kept moving around them while they stayed where they were.
Taesan glanced over eventually. Leehan had gone unusually quiet, which somehow drew Taesan's attention more than any of his constant talking had.
He had one arm thrown over his eyes and the other hanging off the side of the bed. He looked exhausted all of a sudden, as if talking about biology had taken more energy out of him than arguing about music. For the first time since they'd met, he wasn't talking.
“You'd be good at business, too, you know.” The words left Taesan's mouth before he could stop them.
Leehan moved his arm just enough to look at him. His expression was somewhere between surprised and amused. For a second, it looked like he was about to make a joke. Instead, he just smiled.
“Yeah,” he said. “Probably.”
The answer wasn't convincing. Taesan noticed it immediately, hearing the hesitation hidden beneath Leehan's easy agreement. But he didn't push, deciding some things felt too personal for the first day.
The song eventually ended. The record player crackled softly as the needle reached the end, and the sudden quiet felt strange after hours of music. Taesan got up to fix it while Leehan watched from across the room. Neither of them felt the need to fill the silence anymore. Somehow, that felt important.
When Taesan sat back down, Leehan spoke again. “You know, I think Woonhak's gonna love you.”
Taesan groaned immediately. “Please don't say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because he's terrifying.”
Leehan laughed. “He's sixteen.”
“He appeared out of nowhere screaming.”
“He does that.”
“That's not normal.”
Leehan laughed even harder.
Taesan shook his head and looked away, though he could feel himself smiling despite his best efforts. A day ago, he had been worried about being completely alone in Seoul. Now he was arguing with a roommate who renamed him within five minutes of meeting him and had somehow become invested in his social life.
Life was weird.
Maybe his father had been right. Life didn't start when you were ready for it. It arrived anyway, whether you had a plan or not. Sometimes all you could do was keep up.
Maybe it started in moments like this. In dorm rooms with strangers who somehow stopped feeling like strangers. In conversations you never expected to have on an ordinary afternoon. In arguments about music that turned into something more honest. In the quiet spaces between songs. In the realization that you weren't as alone as you'd thought.
Across the room, Leehan stretched and let out a dramatic sigh. “I'm gonna take a nap, Taesan.”
Taesan immediately rolled his eyes. “Have fun, Leehan.”
He didn't bother correcting the name this time, and unfortunately, that told Leehan everything. The idiot looked unbearably pleased with himself as he flopped back onto his bed and pulled a pillow over his face.
Taesan decided he'd deal with that problem later.