Chapter Text
The humid August air hit them like a damp towel the second they stepped out of the airport terminal. Ahn Keonho stretched his arms high above his head, letting out a loud, theatrical groan that turned a few heads among the families and Uber drivers waiting at the curb. “Finally! American soil, baby! Smells like freedom, fried food, and regret.” He grinned, flashing perfect white teeth that contrasted sharply with his messy black hair, still tousled from the long flight.
Beside him, Ahn Seonghyeon stood with his hands in the pockets of his oversized black hoodie, earbuds dangling around his neck even though he wasn’t playing anything. He scanned the crowd with cool, half-lidded eyes, lips pressed into a faint, unimpressed line. “It smells like jet fuel and desperation,” he muttered, voice low and laced with that signature dry sass. “Let’s just get the Uber before you start kissing the ground and posting it.”
Keonho laughed, loud enough to echo across the pickup lane, and slung an arm around his twin’s shoulders. They were identical in face—sharp jawlines, expressive dark eyes, straight noses that spoke of their Korean heritage—but night and day in every other way. Keonho’s energy vibrated like a live wire; Seonghyeon’s was a still, deep pool that reflected everything back with quiet judgment. People who met them for the first time always did a double take. Inseparable since birth, the twins had a rhythm that needed no words most days. Where one went, the other followed. No exceptions.
Their suitcases—Keonho’s covered in chaotic stickers from every K-pop concert and late-night convenience store run back home, Seonghyeon’s sleek matte black and pristine—rattled behind them as they loaded into the back of a black SUV. The driver, a middle-aged guy with a thick Southern accent, glanced in the rearview mirror. “First time in the States, boys?”
“College, man,” Keonho said, already pulling out his phone to snap a selfie with the airport sign fading behind them. “Westbridge University. Preseason’s about to slap.” He angled the camera to catch both their faces—his own bright grin, Seonghyeon’s signature slight smirk—and captioned it instantly for Snapchat: *Landed. Ready to own this campus 🔥 #TwinTakeover #WestbridgeBound*. The story went live before they even merged onto the highway.
Seonghyeon leaned his head against the window, watching strip malls and palm trees blur past. Back in Seoul, life had been structured: elite academy, endless hagwon sessions, parents who expected perfection in silence. Here? Everything felt louder, brighter, more chaotic. He liked the idea of chaos in theory. In practice, he’d observe it from the sidelines, arms crossed, until it amused him enough to step in.
Their dorm assignment had come through weeks ago—Maple Hall, a freshman residence that looked more like a fancy hotel than student housing from the photos. When the Uber pulled up, the campus sprawled before them in all its late-summer glory: red-brick buildings draped in ivy, wide green lawns already dotted with students throwing frisbees or sprawled on blankets, music thumping from open windows. Greek letters hung from half the houses lining the main drag. The air smelled like cut grass, sunscreen, and the faint sweet tang of someone vaping nearby.
Keonho practically bounced out of the car. “This is it, bro. Four years of parties, girls, guys, whatever—we’re not picky—swim meets, and zero parental oversight.”
Seonghyeon paid the driver with a quiet “thank you” and hauled his suitcase toward the entrance. “You say that like I’m not the one who has to drag your drunk ass home at 3 a.m.”
Inside Maple Hall, the lobby buzzed. A welcome table manned by overly enthusiastic RAs handed out key cards and swag bags filled with condoms, energy drinks, and campus maps. Keonho immediately started chatting up a group of girls in crop tops, making them laugh within thirty seconds. Seonghyeon hung back, scrolling through Instagram. The explore page was already feeding him Westbridge content: pool parties, tailgates, aesthetic dorm room tours. He liked a couple of moody sunset shots and kept scrolling.
Their room was on the third floor—double occupancy, shared bathroom down the hall, two twin XL beds, and a window overlooking the quad. Keonho burst in first, claiming the left side by flinging his duffel onto the bed. “Dibs on the one by the window. I need natural light for my glow-up pics.”
Seonghyeon rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He unpacked methodically: clothes folded with military precision, a small collection of skincare products lined up on the shared desk, his laptop set up with dual monitors he’d insisted on bringing. While Keonho blasted a playlist of upbeat American pop and hip-hop through a portable speaker, Seonghyeon opened Snapchat and sent a quick private streak to their cousin back home: a photo of the empty room with the caption *Chaos incoming*.
The afternoon melted into evening as they explored. They wandered the student union, grabbed overpriced smoothies from the campus café, and watched orientation groups shuffle by in matching T-shirts. Keonho was in full extrovert mode—introducing himself to anyone who made eye contact, trading socials, promising to hit up the first party of the year. Seonghyeon followed like a cool shadow, offering the occasional sharp one-liner that had people doing double takes.
At one point, they ended up at the edge of a large grassy area where a group was setting up for what looked like a casual welcome barbecue. Smoke rose from grills, fairy lights were being strung, and someone had a speaker playing Drake. Keonho immediately drifted toward the crowd. “Free food? We’re in.”
Seonghyeon hung back near a tree, vaping discreetly from a sleek black device he’d bought at the duty-free. The cool mint vapor mixed with the evening breeze. He watched his brother work the crowd, loud laughs carrying across the lawn. It was always like this—Keonho diving headfirst into life, Seonghyeon curating his experiences with precision. He kissed rarely, and only when it meant nothing. A transaction of lips, no feelings attached. Keonho, on the other hand, collected stories like trading cards and told them all with zero filter the next day.
Later that night, back in the dorm, they lay on their beds scrolling. Keonho was already deep in group chats, planning a pre-game at someone’s off-campus apartment. “There’s this huge frat thing next weekend. Sigma something. We’re going.”
Seonghyeon hummed noncommittally, editing a moody photo of the campus at dusk for his private Instagram story. Only close friends saw those. “You’ll drag me anyway.”
“Obviously.” Keonho grinned over at him. “Can’t do twin shit without the twin.”
The next few days blurred into a whirlwind of freshman activities. They attended boring orientation sessions on academic integrity and sexual consent, where Keonho whispered sarcastic commentary the entire time, making Seonghyeon fight back smiles. They figured out the dining hall system (endless pizza and soft-serve machines that Keonho abused immediately), bought overpriced university merch, and started decorating their room. Keonho’s side exploded with posters of athletes and K-drama stars; Seonghyeon kept his minimalist with a single string of warm lights and a small plant.
One afternoon they wandered into the student recreation center. The pool area was massive—Olympic-sized, with gleaming lanes and a separate diving well. The smell of chlorine hit them hard. Keonho’s eyes lit up immediately.
“Dude. Swim team tryouts are this week. I’m doing it.”
Seonghyeon raised an eyebrow, leaning against the railing overlooking the water. “You haven’t trained seriously since high school.”
“Exactly. Fresh start. Plus, think of the parties. Swim team’s basically a built-in social circle. Hot people in Speedos. I’m in.” He turned, already vibrating with the decision. “You’re coming with me. Tryouts. Both of us.”
Seonghyeon sighed, but there was no real protest in it. They’d been on the same relay teams back home. Where Keonho went, he followed. “Fine. But if I make it and you don’t, I’m not carrying your ego.”
Keonho laughed and punched his shoulder. “Deal. Let’s go sign up before I change my mind and just chase tail instead.”
They found the sign-up table near the locker rooms. A couple of upperclassmen were there handing out clipboards. Keonho filled his out with flourish, chatting them up about last season’s records. Seonghyeon filled his quietly, noting the practice schedule. Early mornings. He could handle that.
That evening they hit their first real college party. A house just off campus, music shaking the walls, red Solo cups everywhere. The air was thick with weed, vape clouds, and cheap beer. Keonho dove in, dancing with a group of girls in the living room, shotgunning a beer with some guys on the porch. Seonghyeon posted up near the kitchen island, nursing a drink and observing. Someone offered him a hit from a vape; he took it coolly, the strawberry flavor mixing with the general haze.
A girl with bright pink hair tried chatting him up, leaning in close. “You’re new, right? You and your brother are twins? That’s so hot.”
Seonghyeon gave her a small, emotionless smile. “We get that a lot.” He didn’t lean in. Didn’t escalate. When she went for a kiss later after more drinks flowed, he turned his head slightly so it landed on his cheek. No spark. No interest. Just another moment that meant nothing.
Keonho, by contrast, disappeared for twenty minutes and came back with lipstick on his collar and a new Snapchat streak. “Bro, this place is insane. I love it here.”
They stumbled back to the dorm around 2 a.m., Keonho loud and buzzing, Seonghyeon quietly supporting his weight up the stairs. In their room, Keonho collapsed onto his bed still talking about the night. Seonghyeon changed into sweats, plugged in his phone, and stared at the ceiling for a while.
This was their new normal. Loud American college life crashing against their twin dynamic. Parties, vapes, Instagram stories documenting every filtered moment, Snapchats that vanished but left impressions. And soon, the swim team.
Little did they know how much one decision would shift everything.
The next morning came too early. Keonho groaned dramatically as his alarm blared, but he was up and ready for the first official swim team interest meeting faster than Seonghyeon expected. They walked across campus together, both in athletic shorts and hoodies, drawing glances. The athletic center was already busy with athletes from various teams.
Inside the pool area, the water shimmered under bright lights. A group of guys were warming up, their bodies cut and powerful from years of training. Keonho’s excitement was palpable. Seonghyeon felt that familiar pull—annoyance mixed with loyalty. He’d rather be in bed or editing photos, but here they were.
They joined the cluster of hopefuls. Coaches handed out info packets. Tryouts proper would be the following day: sprints, endurance sets, stroke technique evaluation. Keonho was already trash-talking playfully with another freshman. Seonghyeon stood a step behind, arms crossed, taking it all in with quiet intensity.
After the meeting, they lingered by the bleachers. Keonho was scrolling through the team’s Instagram, showing Seonghyeon posts of past victories and parties. “Look at these guys. This is gonna be us.”
Seonghyeon nodded slowly. “Yeah. Us.”
They spent the rest of the day preparing—buying proper goggles and swim caps at the campus store, hitting the gym for a light workout, and then crashing with takeout in their dorm. Keonho fell asleep mid-sentence about some girl he’d matched with on an app. Seonghyeon stayed up longer, listening to the distant sounds of campus life through the window, the occasional laugh or bass line from a party still going.
This was just the beginning. Arrival. Adjustment. The calm before the real storm of college, swim team politics, and whatever came next.