Chapter Text
Dreams are peculiar things.
Some arrive like waves, crashing into your life with enough force to sweep everything else away. Others are quieter. They settle somewhere inside your chest, waiting patiently until you're finally ready to listen.
Keonho used to think dreams were easy to recognize.
When he was younger, they had always looked the same—clear blue water stretching from one end of the swimming pool to the other. Every morning smelled faintly of chlorine, sunscreen, and freshly washed towels. His ears had long grown accustomed to the whistle hanging around his coach's neck, while his shoulders bore the familiar ache that came from repeating the same stroke over and over until muscle memory replaced conscious thought.
There was something comforting about swimming.
The moment he slipped beneath the surface, the world softened.
Voices became muffled echoes. Expectations dissolved into wavering silhouettes above him. Every kick sent tiny streams of bubbles dancing past his cheeks, rising effortlessly toward the light while he remained suspended somewhere between the bottom of the pool and the sky reflected on its surface.
Underwater, nobody expected him to smile.
Nobody asked him to speak.
The only language that mattered was movement.
So he swam.
Again.
And again.
Until every lap felt less like a race and more like a conversation between himself and the water.
It had been his first dream.
His first love.
But dreams, much like rivers, were never meant to stay still.
"You should audition."
Keonho nearly choked on the spoonful of rice he'd just taken.
His older sister barely looked up from her phone as she repeated herself. "BigHit is holding auditions."
He stared at her from across the dinner table, "...Me?"
"You sing."
"I sing in the shower." He argued.
"You dance."
"I dance because you copy my embarrassing videos."
She shrugged. "So?"
"So, that's not dancing."
Their mother laughed quietly while placing another serving of soup between them.
His father simply continued eating, though the corners of his lips hinted at amusement.
"You'll regret not trying more than you'll regret failing," his sister added before pointing her chopsticks toward him. "Besides, imagine how annoying you'd become if you actually passed."
Keonho scrunched his nose. "I'm already annoying."
"Exactly."
He clicked his tongue dramatically, earning another laugh from his mother.
Somehow...
He auditioned.
Somehow...
He passed.
The excitement didn't last nearly as long as he'd imagined.
Practice rooms replaced swimming lanes.
The sharp scent of chlorine gave way to polished wooden floors and sweat-soaked shirts. Mirrors lined every wall, reflecting tired faces determined to become just a little better than yesterday.
Dance lessons bled into vocal lessons.
Vocal lessons blurred into media training.
Media training ended only for evaluations to begin.
Some days, Keonho couldn't remember whether the soreness in his legs came from choreography or from sprinting to school after morning practice.
His notebooks slowly filled with lyrics instead of equations.
Homework remained unfinished more often than completed.
His eyelids grew heavier during class, no amount of determination strong enough to compete against exhaustion that settled deep into his bones.
There eventually came a morning when he realized he had spent more time asleep on his desk than listening to his teacher.
The decision wasn't sudden.
It was quiet.
Painfully quiet.
When he told his parents he wanted to leave school and pursue training full-time, silence lingered around the dining table longer than usual.
His mother worried.
His sister argued that if anyone could survive such a schedule, it was him.
His father listened.
Only when everyone else had finished speaking did he finally look at Keonho.
"Do you still love swimming?"
Keonho lowered his gaze. "...I do."
"And singing?"
"...I think I do."
His father nodded slowly in response.
"People think dreams only happen once." His voice carried the same calm certainty it always had. "But sometimes, life simply asks us to love something different. That doesn't mean you've betrayed your first dream."
He smiled gently.
"It just means your heart learned it had room for another."
Keonho held onto those words far longer than he realized.
Several weeks later, after another exhausting dance practice, a manager stopped him just before he reached the locker room.
"Keonho."
"Yes?"
"We have something we'd like you to help us with."
The folder they handed him was surprisingly thin.
Inside rested a single photograph paper-clipped to a neatly printed profile.
Kim Juhoon.
Keonho skimmed through the page absentmindedly at first.
Child model.
Football player.
Student ambassador.
Excellent academic standing.
Declined trainee offers.
His eyebrows lifted.
"...He said no?"
The manager nodded.
"More than once."
Keonho flipped another page.
There wasn't much else.
Just small details.
A birthday.
A school.
A dream.
Pharmacist.
He paused there.
A faint smile tugged at one corner of his lips before he could stop it.
"...He's like me."
The manager tilted his head. "What makes you say that?"
Keonho looked down at the profile again.
"It feels like..." He searched for the right words. "Like he already has a dream he doesn't want to let go of."
The manager didn't answer.
Instead, he simply smiled before patting Keonho's shoulder.
"We think you'll get along."
The following afternoon found Keonho standing outside Hanseong International Academy with his hands tucked awkwardly into the pockets of his hoodie.
Students poured through the gates in lively waves, filling the sidewalks with overlapping conversations and carefree laughter. Some hurried toward waiting parents while others lingered near convenience stores, debating where to eat before heading home.
Keonho glanced at the photograph again.
Then back toward the crowd.
Then—
There.
A boy stepped beneath the shade of a broad gingko tree near the entrance, adjusting the strap of his backpack with absentminded ease.
The late afternoon sun filtered through layers of golden leaves, scattering patches of warm light across the pavement. Every now and then, a breeze drifted by, carrying one or two leaves to the ground where they twirled lazily before coming to rest beside polished black shoes.
For reasons Keonho couldn't explain, the noise around him seemed to fade.
Not disappear.
Just...
Move somewhere farther away.
The boy's features were softer than the photograph had captured. Fair skin reflected the amber light filtering through the leaves above him, while strands of dark hair shifted gently each time the wind passed by. His expression wasn't cold, nor particularly warm. It simply existed with a quietness that somehow contrasted the bustling crowd around him.
Keonho stared a second too long.
A single thought floated effortlessly through his mind.
Pretty.
It should have remained there.
Instead...
"Pretty."
The word slipped out before he could catch it. His own eyes widened almost immediately.
"..."
"...I said that out loud."
The boy blinked once before looking directly at him.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
Then the corners of the older boy's lips curved into a smile so subtle it could have disappeared if Keonho had looked away even for a second.
"Thank you."
Heat rushed to Keonho's face.
"I—no—I mean..." He dragged a hand down his face with a groan. "That wasn't... I wasn't planning to—"
The older boy let out a quiet laugh.
It wasn't loud enough to draw anyone else's attention.
It didn't echo.
It didn't burst from his chest.
It simply slipped into the afternoon air like the first ripple spreading across still water.
Keonho found himself laughing too, though mostly out of embarrassment.
"Hi," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm Keonho."
"I know."
"You do?"
"The company already warned me someone would come bothering me."
"Bothering?"
Juhoon tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Were you planning to do something else?"
Keonho opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
"...Fair point."
Juhoon's smile widened just enough to reveal the smallest hint of teeth.
For the first time since arriving, Keonho relaxed.
Maybe recruiting Juhoon wouldn't be as difficult as everyone made it sound.
Or maybe...
He simply wanted to keep hearing that quiet laugh.
The thought surprised him enough that he let it drift away with the breeze before he could examine it any further.
Above them, another gingko leaf broke free from its branch, swaying gently through the air until it landed between the two boys.
Neither of them noticed.
They were already talking.