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Ahn Keonho has bad eyesight.
It was unsurprising—both his mother and father wore glasses, so it was inevitable that he got his first pair at only six years old when he always had to sit in front of the classroom to see the board.
Since then, he spent almost every waking moment with rounded framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, apart from when he was in the pool. Opening his eyes underwater was no different from how he saw generally—okay, maybe that was a little exaggeration—but he was used to it.
That was another perk of swimming—he didn’t have to get over his fear of contacts.
It’s just the thought of sticking plastic straight onto his eyeballs daily was just….eugh. What if they got lost and slipped into his system and poisoned him? The chance was low, but never zero.
So when Keonho first became a trainee and the dance studio became his second home, he was at a loss.
He couldn’t dance with glasses on. They’d bounce straight off his face.
He couldn’t dance without glasses on. He could barely see where he was going, which made formation changes difficult, to say the least.
And today was, without a doubt, the worst possible day for his optical anxiety to flare up.
For the past six months, the company had been quietly shuffling trainees between practice rooms, running evaluations, and dropping subtle hints about a prospective debut line. But today was the first time the five of them—the five guys who had been surviving on three hours of sleep, instant ramen, and sheer stubborn dream-chasing—were placed in Practice Room 3 together as a tentative, prospective unit.
Keonho was the youngest of the group, and that detail had settled itself like a small, heavy stone in the pit of his stomach every time he walked through the studio doors.
He looked up to the older trainees with a mixture of intense respect and quiet intimidation.
There was Juhoon, who despite training for the least amount of time climbed on par with the rest of them impressively quick, who picked up new skills like they were nothing.
James moved like water, and every time he danced, Keonho found it impossible to take his eyes off of him. His movement quality was special, and his brain worked in ways Keonho couldn’t fathom, creating choreography that’s both intricate and fun.
Martin was the sun-bright anchor of their trainee dorms. He was a natural born leader, loud, relentlessly funny, and wildly skilled, Martin had adopted Keonho within forty-eight hours of Keonho joining the company, dragging him to late-night convenience store runs and treating him like an endearing younger brother. He was the person that made producing feel like a possibility for Keonho.
And then…there was Eom Seonghyeon.
If Martin was the loud glue keeping them together, Seonghyeon was the quiet, immovable foundation. On paper, Seonghyeon was barely a month older than Keonho, their birthdays falling so close it should have comforted Keonho. But in reality, Keonho spent half his time looking at Seonghyeon with a stomach-flipping level of admiration.
Seonghyeon was good at everything.
His vocals were resonant and stable, even after two hours of cardio. His dance lines were fluent and effortless, every movement deliberate and grounded. He carried himself around with a strong confidence in what he believed was right. If he had an idea, he would speak on it, and it turned out amazing more often than not.
And to make Keonho’s life infinitely more complicated…Keonho had an incredibly inconvenient crush on him.
It was a quiet, suffocating kind of crush.
The kind that made Keonho’s heart do a backflip whenever Seonghyeon handed him a water bottle, or when Seonghyeon’s voice hummed beside him on the dorm floor. Sure, having Seonghyeon be so close in age was nice in a terrifying room full of older trainees—but it was also constantly testing his self-control.
"Alright, team," the lead performance director called out, clapping his hands twice. The sound echoed sharply off the high ceilings of Practice Room 3. "We’re running the second verse transition. We need to see how your dynamics match in a tight formation switch. From the mark, 5-6-7-8."
Keonho swallowed down the lump of dry panic in his throat and took his glasses off, placing them carefully on top of his towel near the mirror wall.
Instantly, the crisp world dissolved into a soft, glowing watercolour painting. The harsh ceiling lights smeared into hazy halos. The four figures standing around him became tall outlines of colour and shadow.
Individually, Keonho was a phenomenal dancer. He had the strength from years of competitive swimming, sharp rhythm, and distinct style. As long as he stayed in his own lane, he was flawless.
The music kicked in—a loud, hip-hop bass line that thudded straight through the wooden floorboards.
Keonho executed the first eight-count with no mishaps. A sharp hit of the right shoulder, a fluid chest isolation, a James Brown to the back. He felt good. He felt in control.
Then came the formation shift, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Keonho knew he was fucked.
Juhoon was crossing from the left; James was dropping back to the center. Keonho was supposed to cut sharply through the center gap, turning to land directly beside Seonghyeon for some more unison choreography.
Keonho spun, and even spotting his head, the room blurred.
He completed the turn, snapping his head around to spot his target—except he couldn’t see the target. Keonho misjudged the distance by six inches.
Before his brain could send the signal to his body to stop, he just went ahead, straight forward, momentum heavy.
The collision wasn’t a soft brush. It was hard and full-body, Keonho’s chest hitting directly into Seonghyeon’s shoulders, their knees tangling in an instant. Keonho let out a sharp, breathless gasp as the force knocked them both completely off balance, sending them tumbling onto the hard studio floor in a heap of tangled limbs and squeaking sneakers.
Somebody end him already.
Fortunately, Keonho didn’t have to wait long because the trainer's voice immediately roared through the studio.
"Stop! Music off!"
The heavy bass cut out instantly, leaving the room in humiliating silence. Keonho swears he heard someone choking back a laugh. Damn you, Martin.
Keonho’s head was spinning. He scrambled to push himself up, his hands pressing against the smooth, cold floor, his face burning with a sudden, violent heat.
"Ah—sorry, I—" Keonho started, lifting his head—and instantly choked on his own breath.
Because of the fall, Seonghyeon was lying flat on his back beneath him, accepting his fate of Keonho hovering over him. Even with his vision blurred to soft shapes, he could still tell Seonghyeon’s face was inches away.
He could feel the heat radiating off Seonghyeon’s skin. He could see the dark outline of Seonghyeon’s eyes, could feel the rapid rise and fall of Seonghyeon’s chest beneath his own ribs. The subtle scent of tonka bean and sweat washed over Keonho’s senses.
Holy shit. Too close.
“Keonho,” Seonghyeon’s voice came up from right under Keonho, surprisingly gentle, his hand coming up to angle Keonho’s chin toward him. “Are you okay?”
“I should be asking you—”
“What was that?” The performance director snapped. Keonho’s never worked with this one personally, but he’d been duly warned about his attitude. He’d love to be on top of Seonghyeon any other day, but this was the worst possible time.
“Keonho, you completely blew the gap! How are you supposed to debut in a synchronized unit if you’re taking out the center?”
A wave of guilt slammed into Keonho’s chest, as he scrambled backward off Seonghyeon like he’d been burned. Juhoon and James were standing nearby, catching their breath, watching the scene unfold.
It was so stupid. Keonho felt like a little kid, the one who’d ruin everyone else’s hard work because he was too stubborn and terrified to put plastic in his eyes.
“Sorry!” Keonho squeaked out, bowing his head. “I’m so sorry, director-nim, I—”
“It was my fault.”
Keonho’s head snapped up.
Seonghyeon had already pushed himself up off the floor. He didn’t look flustered or annoyed, he stood straight, bowing his head respectfully toward the performance director.
"I took my step two counts too early," Seonghyeon stated, his voice steady and strangely convincing. "I didn't leave the designated lane clear for Keonho’s turn. It was my spatial error, director-nim. Please reprimand me."
Keonho stared at the outline of Seonghyeon’s back, his mouth slightly open. What? No—no, it wasn’t him at all—
Juhoon chimed in from the back, his deep voice smooth and relaxed. "Yeah, the spatial count on that second transition is a bit cramped for five people, director-nim. We should adjust the spacing."
The director let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing his temples. "Fine. Five-minute break. Reset your positions and get it right this time. Keonho, go get some water."
The moment the director turned his back, Keonho couldn’t handle it. He knew it was small, but he felt bad. It was such a small transition, he should have been able to pull it off in his sleep. He’ll be damned if the reason he doesn’t debut is because he possesses contactphobia.
Keonho stood up and blinked, grabbing his water bottle and taking it to the cool, quiet hallway.
He didn't stop until he pushed through the heavy metal fire exit doors at the end of the corridor, stepping out into the narrow, concrete staircase well. He dropped down onto the cold concrete step, burying his face in his arms, his chest heaving as he let out a long, shuddering, miserable exhale.
Leaving probably wasn’t the most mature move, but neither was wallowing in front of the rest of the guys and crew.
But he must have spoken too soon, because the heavy fire door creaked open above him, two pairs of footsteps echoed down the concrete stairs. Keonho didn't need his glasses to recognize the voices.
“I told you he came down here,” Martin’s bright voice echoed first, followed by the soft sound of sneakers sliding down the steps.
“Keonho-ya,” Seonghyeon’s voice followed right behind.
Keonho kept his face buried in his knees, his voice muffled and thick. "Go away. I'm a spatial hazard."
"Oh, shut up, you dramatic little brat," Martin laughed softly, dropping down onto the concrete step right beside Keonho and throwing a warm, heavy arm over his shoulders, shaking him playfully. "You took out Seonghyeon like a bowling pin! It was actually cinema. Ten out of ten form on the tackle."
“It’s not funny, hyung,” Keonho whined into his arms. “I almost ruined the whole evaluation. And Seonghyeonie had to lie for me…”
“I didn’t lie,” Seonghyeon interjected from his other side.
Keonho felt the concrete step vibrate as Seonghyeon sat down directly beside him. Seonghyeon’s shoulder brushed against Keonho, warm and grounding. Keonho lifted his head slightly, his eyes squinting as he tried to focus on Seonghyeon’s blurry face.
"You definitely lied," Keonho muttered, looking down at his own sneakers. "I collided with you because I couldn't see where you were standing."
"Then we fix the reason you couldn't see," Seonghyeon said simply, his tone leaving zero room for argument.
Keonho blinked. "What?"
Martin sat up straight, a terrifying, wicked grin spreading across his face as he clapped his hands together with a sharp thwack.
“That’s it!” Martin declared, pointing a dramatic finger at Keonho’s nose. “Tonight, in the dorm bathroom, Seonghyeon and I are teaching you how to put contacts in your eyeballs if it takes us until sunrise.
Keonho gasped, pulling back in horror. “No! Absolutely not! What if they slip behind my eye socket and rot my brain?”
“They don’t rot your brain, you absolute infant,” Martin wheezed. “I've worn them for three years! Do I look like my brain is rotted?"
"Don't answer that, Keonho," Seonghyeon added.
Seonghyeon reached out, his hand settling on the back of Keonho’s neck, his thumb resting near the base of Keonho’s hair. The touch was so unexpectedly tender that Keonho’s heart completely stopped its panicked racing, settling into a deep, heavy thrum.
"We'll help you, Keonho-ya," Seonghyeon said softly, and even if his eyes were blurry, Keonho could tell they were earnest. They always were, which was one of his favourite things about Seonghyeon. "You don't have to do it alone. But you're not getting kicked out of this group over a pair of glasses."
Keonho swallowed hard, looking between Martin’s grin and Seonghyeon’s smile, feeling his chest swell with one of those overwhelming waves of love that made his throat tight.
“...Fine,” Keonho mumbled. “But if I go blind, you’re asses won’t be seeing the light of day ever again.”
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The trainees’ dorm bathroom at 11:15 PM was roughly the size of a walk-in closet, smelled faintly of citrus body wash and damp towels, and was currently serving as the stage for their high-stakes operation, titled Keonho Conquers Contacts, affectionately.
Keonho was perched on the edge of the porcelain sink basin, his knees pulled up toward his chest, clutching the cold marble counter with white-knuckle intensity. The fluorescent overhead light buzzed softly, casting an unforgiving, blinding glow across his face.
On his left stood Martin, holding a tiny blue plastic contact lens case. On his right, leaning against the doorframe with his arms loosely crossed over his dark grey hoodie, stood Seonghyeon.
“Alright, soldier,” Martin started, popping open the left cap with a sharp snap. “First step is hand sanitation. We do not want bathroom germs mingling with your precious corneal tissue.”
"I washed my hands four times, Martin," Keonho whined, his voice high and strained as he stared with deep, unadulterated suspicion at the small liquid-filled plastic well. "Look at them. They’re raw. They’re practically sterile."
"Washing them isn't enough," Martin chided, grabbing a clean paper towel and aggressively drying Keonho’s fingers one by one. "If you touch your eyeball with even a sliver of lint, you will see god. And we need you alive for tomorrow’s 9:00 AM vocal evaluation."
Keonho gulped, his eyes darting over to Seonghyeon.
Seonghyeon hadn’t said much since they got back to the dorm. He’d made them a quick pot of instant ramyun, set out the saline solution, and let Martin take the lead. Every once in a while he’d roll his eyes and chide Martin for the drama, but he never left the bathroom either. He stood there, right near Keonho, making his stomach turn somersaults despite his existential dread.
“Okay,” Martin breasted out, balancing a clear lens on the top of his right index finger. “I am going to guide it in. Keep your eye open, look straight ahead, and whatever you do, do not—"
"Get that away from me!" Keonho shrieked, instantly flinching backward so fast his head nearly smacked into the bathroom mirror. He squeezed both eyes shut, burying his face in his hands. “No way! It looks like a jelly jelly-fish! It’s going to suction onto my pupil and suck my soul out.”
“Keonho, it’s silicone hydrogel!” Martin groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "It is engineered by scientists! It wants to help you see!"
“I don’t care who engineered it,” Keonho snarked back, opening one eye just enough to glare at Martin through his fingers. “My brain is telling me that sticking foreign objects into my socket is an evolutionary mistake!”
“We have been in this bathroom for twenty minutes," Martin said, dropping his head back against the tiled wall with a dramatic sigh. "Juhoon is outside waiting to use the toilet. He’s going to start insulting me through the keyhole in five minutes."
“Let him insult,” Keonho whimpered, rubbing his nose. “I’d rather get flamed by Juhoon-hyung than lose my eyesight forever.”
From the doorway, Seonghyeon let out a low, quiet breath. He pushed off the frame, stepping into the cramped space between the sink and the door. The temperature in Keonho’s immediate vicinity seemed to spike instantly as Seonghyeon’s shadow fell over him.
"Martin-hyung,” Seonghyeon said. “Give me the lens.”
Keonho blinked, looking between Seonghyeon’s calm face and the contact lens on his finger. “Be careful, Seonghyeon-ah. The beast is wild and uncooperative tonight.”
“Hand it over,” Seonghyeon repeated.
Martin carefully transferred the lens onto Seonghyeon’s index finger using a fresh drop of saline. Seonghyeon stepped right between Keonho’s parted knees, closing the distance until his thighs were nearly brushing the porcelain edge of the sink.
Keonho’s breath hitched in his throat, heart dropping straight to his ass.
Up close, Seonghyeon was everything.
He smelled like his usual tonka-bean soap and fresh laundry, his dark hair falling over his forehead. Without his glasses on, Seonghyeon looked like a watercolour painting, his face glowing, broad cheekbones, dark brows, and soft lips.
“Look at me, Keonho,” Seonghyeon murmured, his voice dropping into a lower register reserved only for late nights,
Keonho forced his eyes forward. “Hyeon, I swear, if you poke my eye out, we are never speaking again.”
“I’m not going to poke your eye,” Seonghyeon says, and Keonho hates the tone he seems to adopt around him, soft and comforting.
Slowly and deliberately, Seonghyeon lifted his left hand. His warm fingers gently cupped the side of Keonho’s face, his thumb resting firmly under Keonho’s chin to anchor his head in place. The skin of Seonghyeon’s palm was smooth, pressing against Keonho’s jaw with enough weight that it anchored Keonho.
And just like that, all his fear of alien plastic and eyeball poison evaporated, replaced instantly by the dizzying reality of Seonghyeon cradling his face in a tiny, lit bathroom at midnight.
"Don't look at the lens," Seonghyeon instructed, bringing his right hand up slowly. His middle finger reached out, gently pressing down on Keonho’s lower eyelid, holding it open. "Look straight at my nose. Right here."
Keonho swallowed, his eyes locking onto the sharp bridge of Seonghyeon’s nose. "I'm scared."
“I know,” Seonghyeon whispered, his thumb lightly caressing the sharp line of Keonho’s jaw, sending a shiver straight down Keonho’s spine. “Trust me. I’ve got you.”
Trust me.
Keonho couldn’t have pulled away if he tried. He held his breath, his eyes wide, completely captivated.
Seonghyeon leaned in slightly, his own breath fanning warmly over Keonho’s cheek. With absolute precision, Seonghyeon brought his finger forward and lightly, barely perceptibly, pressed the cool, wet lens directly against Keonho’s left cornea.
A cold shock of liquid hit Keonho’s eye.
"Blink once," Seonghyeon whispered, his hand still holding Keonho’s chin firm. "Slowly."
Keonho blinked. A tiny tear squeezed out the corner of his eye, sliding down his cheek. He blinked a second time—and then half his world snapped into crisp clarity.
The blurry watercolour painting melted away in an instant. Suddenly, the tiny grout lines between the white tiles were sharp. The tiny droplets of water around the faucet glinted under the light.
And most overwhelming of all…Eom Seonghyeon’s face was right there, rendered in perfect definition.
Keonho gasped, his mouth parting slightly.
He could see everything. The faint, tiny mole just below Seonghyeon’s chin, the thick expanse of his eyelashes, the subtle flush of warmth on his cheeks, and the depth of his eyes staring down at Keonho, a look so profound it made Keonho’s chest ache,
“Holy shit,” Keonho breathed out.
“Did it work?” Martin yelled from the doorway, leaning over Seonghyeon’s shoulders with curious eyes. “Can you see my beautiful face?”
"I..." Keonho stammered, his gaze still locked entirely onto Seonghyeon, unable to look away even if he wanted to. "I can see. I can see everything."
"Oh, thank the lord!" Martin cheered loudly, throwing his hands up in victory and accidentally smacking his elbow against the towel rack. “A medical miracle! This is the most proud of you I’ve been ever, actually, Keonie!”
Seonghyeon’s face broke out into a smile, one of those real ones that made his mouth boxy around the edges. He let out a laugh, his thumb giving Keonho’s chin one last, lingering stroke before slowly pulling his hand away.
“Good job, Keonho-ya,” Seonghyeon murmured, dragging out the end of the syllable, stepping back to give him room.
Keonho sat on the sink for three long seconds, his face burning, relief streaming through his system.
Finally.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The next afternoon, the energy in Practice Room 3 was palpable.
The five of them had ran the same transition at least ten times over the past two hours under the watchful eye of their performance director. But today, there were no collisions. No misjudged gaps. No awkward tumbles.
With contacts in, Keonho moved like a fluid extension of the music. His spatial awareness was on point, his sharp turn landing him exactly two feet from Seonghyeon’s shoulder. When they hit the final chorus drop, even the director was nodding approvingly.
"Much better!" the director called out, nodding approvingly as he checked his clipboard. "The spatial synergy is night and day compared to yesterday. Take fifteen."
The moment the director walked out the door, Martin sprinted over to his gym bag near the corner mirror, a triumphant, secretive smirk plastered across his face.
"Attention, team!" Martin announced, his voice echoing off the studio walls. "Gather 'round, we are celebrating a historic milestone in trainee history!"
Juhoon wiped his sweaty forehead with a towel, looking over in confusion. "What milestone? We didn't even pass the monthly evaluation yet."
"Something far more important," Martin declared, pulling a small, crumpled white bakery box out of his bag with dramatic flair. "Yesterday at 12:04 AM, Ahn Keonho officially overcame his crippling terror of silicone hydrogel."
James let out a bright, melodic laugh, dropping onto the wooden floor. "Wait, really? The contact lens thing?"
"Yes, really." Martin said proudly, setting the box down in the middle of their floor circle and popping the lid open.
Inside was a single, slightly lopsided, convenience-store vanilla cupcake topped with thick white frosting. Squeezed across the top in bright, runny pink gel-icing was a clearly hand-written message:
CONGRATS ON CONTACTS
Keonho let out a loud groan, his face flushing to a colour akin to the gel-icing. “Martin, you are embarrassing! Why did you buy a cupcake for this?”
“Because you were crying like a baby in the bathroom, Keonho-ya,” Martin chided, pulling a wooden match from his pocket and lighting a single matching pink birthday candle stuck into the center. “Make a wish! Wish for zero eyeball poison!”
Juhoon and James were giggling along, clapping as Martin began vocalizing an improvised congratulations song.
Keonho looked across the small circle. Seonghyeon was sitting cross-legged on the floor, arms moving left and right in an interpretive dance, attempting to follow Martin’s inconsistent melody.
Keonho must have been staring a little too hard, as Seonghyeon’s eyes flicked up to meet his.
“Go on, Keonho,” Seonghyeon said over the noise. “Blow it out before the wax melts on Martin's icing."
Keonho looked down at the tiny, flickering flame, then looked back up at Seonghyeon.
He didn't wish for better eyesight. He didn't wish for an easy debut.
Keonho blew out the candle, wishing with every single fiber of his teenage heart that he would get to stay right beside Eom Seonghyeon for as long as he lived.
"Speech! Speech!" Martin chanted, shoving a plastic fork into Keonho’s hand.
Keonho laughed, wiping a tiny tear of genuine happiness from the corner of his eye—a sharp, crisp eye that could finally see his future clearly.
"Thanks, guys," Keonho said softly, taking a bite of the sugary frosting, his eyes locking onto Seonghyeon’s quiet smile. "I think... I think I'm gonna be just fine."
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The transition from prospective trainees to official debut lineup happened slowly, then all at once.
Once the contact lens crisis was resolved, Practice Room 3 ceased to be a place of terrifying, high-stakes and became a sanctuary of relentless ambition.
Keonho was no longer the liability knocking people over in formation changes. With his vision firmly established, his natural movement took over—sharp, fluid, and strikingly dynamic. The choreographers stopped yelling his name, the monthly evaluations came back with stellar marks, and the company officially solidified the five of them as a team.
To the rest of the agency, Keonho had become the charismatic, hyper-focused maknae of the group. To the public eye—or at least the tiny preview cameras of internal staff—Keonho was growing up fast.
But behind their dorm—yes, their own dorm—the reality was different.
Because contact lenses, as Keonho quickly discovered, were an absolute nightmare for twelve-hour practice days. By 11:00 PM, after sweating through four t-shirts and having industrial air conditioning blow directly into his eyes, Keonho’s eyes would burn like someone had dumped sand onto his corneas.
The very second they returned to the dorm, he was peeling that shit out of his eyeballs as quick as possible.
He would march straight to the bathroom, pop the plastic out, throw them into the trash, and slide his rounded, frameless glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.
He’d strip down into grey sweatpants and a washed-out band tee, his overgrown fringe falling over his forehead, bare-faced and blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted.
And for some reason, whenever Seonghyeon would come get him from the bathroom to drag him to the couch to watch a movie, he would smile in a way that was different.
Like he thought Keonho wouldn’t be able to tell that Seonghyeon was looking right at him.
For Keonho, however, the development of his crush was entering a dangerously unmanageable phase.
It wasn’t just a silly, fluttering, puppy-love anymore. It had evolved into a deep, heavy, roots-in-his-chest kind of falling. Because the more exhausted they all became under the pressure of upcoming debut preparations, the more Seonghyeon’s presence became Keonho’s oxygen.
He showed up in tiny details.
Seonghyeon was the only one who always carried a small, blue bottle of lubricating eye drops in his jacket pocket, popping the cap open and handing it to Keonho during three-minute rehearsal breaks before Keonho even had to ask.
Seonghyeon was the one who quietly swapped their meal boxes if Keonho got a portion with onions in it.
Seonghyeon was the one who, when they were crammed into the back of the company van after 2:00 AM vocal recordings, would shove an airpod into Keonho’s ear, playing lofi or r&b until Keonho’s head started lolling.
Keonho tried to justify it as an older brother instinct. What you do for your best friend. But every day, he found himself wishing even harder that it wasn’t just that. That Seonghyeon meant something by all of this.
It was silly, and he knew that.
"You're staring again," Martin whispered one night, kicking Keonho’s leg under the low kitchen table.
It was 1:30 AM. Juhoon and James were already asleep in their room. In the tiny kitchen, Seonghyeon was standing over the stove in his sleep shirt and basketball shorts, his back turned, quietly stirring a pot of tea so they’d have something warm to drink before bed. The warm yellow light overhead caught the lines of his back and arms.
Keonho, sitting on the floor with his back against the cabinets, his wire-rimmed glasses sliding slightly down his nose, snapped his head around so fast his neck popped.
"I'm not staring," Keonho hissed in a low, panicked whisper. "I'm looking at the wall."
“The wall isn’t humming and making tea, Keonho,” Martin deadpanned, taking a lazy bite of a pretzel. He leaned in closer, his eyes dancing with wicked, knowing amusement. "Your eyes are practically shooting little cartoon hearts across the kitchen. You look like a golden retriever watching a steak."
“Shut up!" Keonho squeaked out, burying his face in his knees. "I'm just tired! My eyes are blurry!"
"Yeah, yeah. Blurry eyes," Martin teased softly, shaking his head. "Just saying... if you keep looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars, even Seonghyeon’s dense ass is going to figure it out eventually."
Keonho felt a cold panic spike through his chest.
The idea of Seonghyeon knowing was terrifying. What if it ruined everything? Their group dynamic? What if Seonghyeon felt uncomfortable? What if Seonghyeon stopped touching him, stopped letting him throw an arm around him, stopped holding his chin in the bathroom? Keonho would rather swallow glass than lose the quiet intimacy they had built.
"Tea's done," Seonghyeon’s voice broke through the quiet room.
He walked over, setting three steaming mugs down on the floor. He dropped down into a slow sit directly beside Keonho, his legs stretching out, his shoulder pressing against Keonho’s arm.
Keonho let out a breath at the familiarity.
Seonghyeon didn’t say anything. He just reached out, his finger lightly catching the edge of Keonho’s glasses, nudging them gently back up the bridge of Keonho’s nose until they sat right.
"Don't let them slide," Seonghyeon murmured softly, his thumb brushing over the side of Keonho’s cheekbone, a casual, unthinking touch that made Keonho’s throat go completely dry. "You're squinting."
Keonho stared at Seonghyeon through his rounded lenses, his chest aching with a love so heavy, so ridiculously intense, it made him physically dizzy.
“Thanks, Hyeonie,” Keonho whispered, wrapping his hands around the warm mug, tilting his head so his temple would rest against Seonghyeon’s.
“You two look like little kittens right now.”
“Shut up, Martin.”
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Three weeks before their final, official debut evaluation, the company had pushed their schedule into overdrive.
They were running six-hour dance blocks followed by four-hour vocal recordings, sleeping in four-hour shifts on the practice room floor.
It was 2:30 AM in Keonho, Seonghyeon, and Martin’s shared bedroom. Martin was currently at the studio, finalizing some adlibs and whatnot.
Keonho sprawled flat on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His body was a collection of sore muscles and bruised toes. Seonghyeon was in his own bed, flipping through a novel he stole from Juhoon’s room.
Keonho closed his eyes, but immediately opened them when his eyes started burning like hot coals.
Shit, the contacts. He had worn a pair of performance contacts for eighteen straight hours under the punishing studio lights, and by the time they walked through the dorm door, the lenses had practically glued themselves to his dry corneas.
He sat up abruptly, wincing, and reached up to pinch the clear plastic out of his left eye, then his right, ruthlessly dropping them directly into the trash behind his bed.
He didn’t even have the energy to reach for his glasses sitting on the nightstand.
The world instantly dissolved into a soft, hazy blur.
"I can't wear them anymore tonight," Keonho mumbled miserable, rubbing his red, dry eyelids with the heels of his hands. "My eyes feel like fried eggs."
"Don't rub them, you'll scratch your cornea," Seonghyeon’s voice came from his bed.
Through his blurry vision, Keonho saw Seonghyeon pushing himself off the bed, his dark silhouette moving toward him. Seonghyeon dropped down beside Keonho, nudging his thigh out of the way.
A familiar small blue bottle came into his line of sight.
“Head back,” Seonghyeon commanded gently.
Keonho shifted without argument, resting the crown of his head against Seonghyeon’s knee.
Without his glasses, everything was a glowing, soft shadow. He couldn't see Seonghyeon’s face clearly, but he could feel him—the intense heat radiating off Seonghyeon’s body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the soft, firm touch of Seonghyeon’s fingers carefully pulling down Keonho’s lower eyelid to drop two soothing, cold drops of saline into each eye.
"Blink," Seonghyeon whispered.
Keonho blinked, the cool liquid soothing the intense burn. But as he blinked, he realized how quiet the room had become. Juhoon and James were in their own room. Martin was gone. It was just the two of them in the darkness of their bedroom.
Keonho pushed himself up and against the wall, trying to put some space between them.
Keonho looked at the blurry outline of Seonghyeon in front of him. Because he couldn't see the sharp details of Seonghyeon’s face, Keonho felt an overwhelming, dangerous surge of courage. The filter built by his fear of rejection cracked just a tiny bit.
“Keonho,” Seonghyeon’s voice matched the hushed nature of the atmosphere.
“Mhm?” Keonho muffled against his arm.
"Put your glasses on. You're going to give yourself a headache sitting in the dark like that."
"Don't want to," Keonho mumbled, his breath hot on his sweater. "Everything hurts. My eyes hurt. My legs hurt. I just... I don't want to look at anything right now."
Except for you.
Seonghyeon didn’t move away, staying seated on the edge of the bed. Keonho remained where he was, his eyes squinting softly through the dim shadows. The silence between them felt thick, humming like a live wire strung taut across the three feet of wooden floorboards separating them.
“Seonghyeon?” Keonho asked into the dark.
“Yeah?” Seonghyeon answered immediately.
“Have you thought about after debut?” Keonho squinted at Seonghyeon, trying to make out his face more clearly.
“Of course I have,” Seonghyeon confirmed.
“And?”
“And?” Seonghyeon’s voice lilted.
“Aren’t you…scared?” Keonho wanted to know. He wanted to know so badly. Keonho could tell Seonghyeon had to be a little worried too. It showed in the stubbornness he held when he believed something would be better for the group. It showed when he stayed later in the practice room to work on his facial expressions. It showed in ways he never voiced which Keonho always wished he would, because he wanted to help too.
“I mean, yeah.” Seonghyeon admitted. “We’re gonna go out there, and people are gonna know who we are. We’ll have to think about our public image all the time. How we look. How we act. Or even worse, no one will really care. What if we give up five years of our lives just to fade out?”
Seonghyeon paused, the shadow of his head tilting slightly as he watched Keonho in the dark.
“But we can’t dwell on the what-ifs. All we can do is work hard and hope it pays off. And if something goes wrong on stage…I know you’re there. Which helps.”
“I don’t think anyone could not care about you, Hyeonie.”
Seonghyeon leaned back slightly, his eyes locked onto the way Keonho was blinking rapidly at him. A subtle shift occurred in the air, something even more intimate arising.
"How bad is your sight actually right now?" Seonghyeon asked suddenly.
Keonho blinked, resting his chin back down on his knees. “Not great. I know you’re sitting over there, but you’re just a dark outline with a head and shoulders. Martin’s easy to recognize ‘cause he’s all the way up there, but you, James, and Juhoon get iffy.”
“A dark outline?” Seonghyeon repeated.
Slowly, deliberately, Seonghyeon moved forward. He shuffled toward Keonho until he was sitting barely eighteen inches away from Keonho’s pulled up knees.
The subtle scent of tonka bean washed over him, making Keonho’s chest tighten.
Seonghyeon tilted his head slightly in the dim amber light filtering through the window blinds. "Can you see my face now?"
Keonho’s heart gave a sudden thud against his ribs. He leaned forward a fraction of an inch, his eyes widening.
“I see distinct features,” Keonho murmured. “I know where your nose is. Your hair is messy. That’s about it.”
“Do I have distinct features?” Seonghyeon asked, a faint, unreadable note laced through his voice.
“It’s all just blurry edges, Hyeon,” Keonho whispered back, his palms sweating. “Just…soft shapes.”
Keonho didn’t say that he didn’t need glasses to know Seonghyeon’s features. That he knows his face so thoroughly that his mind practically places what expression he’s making onto his face like instinct.
Seonghyeon didn’t answer with words.
Instead, he shifted forward again, this time parting Keonho’s knees so he can settle through. He leaned forward, bringing his face straight into Keonho’s narrow focal zone, stopping barely two inches away from Keonho’s nose.
Keonho’s heart stopped entirely in his chest.
Suddenly, Seonghyeon’s face snapped into close focus. Keonho could see his eyelashes, the sharp, perfect slope of his jawline, the indent in the center of his lower lip, and his irises locked straight onto Keonho’s so directly it made Keonho’s entire body go completely still.
Their breath mingled in the narrow gap—warm, shallow, and fast.
Seonghyeon hovered there, his eyes searching Keonho’s face, and Keonho thought he might as well just pass out.
“How about now?” And when Seonghyeon spoke, Keonho could feel the puffs of air coming out of his mouth on his lips.
Keonho’s pulse was pounding in his ears, every nerve ending in his skin screaming under the suffocating proximity of the boy he had been helplessly in love with for years.
Even through the lingering, soft blur of his vision, Keonho realized with a sudden flash of clarity, that Seonghyeon wasn’t just testing his eyesight.
“Now…” Keonho breathed out, his voice a whisper that brushed straight over Seonghyeon’s cheek, “...you’re using my bad eyes as an excuse.”
Seonghyeon didn’t flinch or pull back. His gaze dropped down to Keonho’s mouth for a split second before rising back to meet Keonho’s eyes.
“Is it working?” Seonghyeon questioned, hand coming up slowly, hesitating in the air for a beat before his palm settled against the side of Keonho’s neck, his thumb resting against Keonho’s jaw.
Keonho’s throat worked as he swallowed, his hands tightening into fists against the bedsheets.
“I can’t see your face properly…” Keonho started, soft. “...but I know you’re looking at my mouth.”
Seonghyeon let out a quiet, shuddering exhale.
Caught dead in the act, Seonghyeon didn’t retreat. He doubled down.
Seonghyeon closed the final half-inch between them, pressing his lips firmly, desperately, against Keonho’s.
Out of all the collisions Keonho’s had with Seonghyeon over the years, this was certainly the top of his list. It was a collision of years of unspoken longing—soft, warm, and heavy enough that Keonho let out a gasp right against Seonghyeon’s mouth.
Keonho’s hands flew up instantly, his fingers tangling in the dark, soft hair at the back of Seonghyeon’s head, pulling him down, closing every single atom of distance left between them.
A low sound came from Seonghyeon’s throat, adjusting himself between Keonho’s legs, pushing forward, angling Keonho’s head to deepen the kiss. Seonghyeon’s tongue breached Keonho’s mouth, tongues moving languidly against one another.
Every late-night rehearsal, every shared coffee, every gentle touch bled out into the warm, breathless friction of their lips. Seonghyeon kissed like he was starving, thumb stroking behind Keonho’s ears, and Keonho clung to his shoulders like a man drowning.
When Seonghyeon finally pulled back a fraction of an inch to breathe, their foreheads rested pressed together in the dim amber light, both of them panting heavily, their lips swollen and wet with spit.
Keonho’s eyes were blown wide, his chest heaving. A breathless laugh erupted from his throat.
“What?” Seonghyeon asked, voice teasing in a way that almost made Keonho pull him right back down again.
“Nothing,” Keonho forced out, his voice cracking on the second syllable. His face was burning all the way to the tips of his ears. "It's just... you have spit on your chin."
Seonghyeon blinked, and suddenly whatever confidence had come over him just moments ago vanished into thin air.
"I—what?" Seonghyeon muttered, quickly bringing the back of his hand up to swipe at his chin, his dark eyes wide in the amber light. "Why didn't you say something before?"
"Before what? While you were sticking your tongue in my mouth?” Keonho rolled his eyes. “I was a little busy, Hyeon.”
“You’re so annoying,” Seonghyeon grumbled, though a genuine grin was already tugging at the corners of his reddened lips. “Also, you definitely left claw marks on my shoulders.”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”
“No, no!” Seonghyeon started waving his hands frantically. “I don’t mind. Like at all, actually.”
“Oh, okay.” Keonho quieted, as Seonghyeon stretched his arm over to the nightstand. Without a word, Seonghyeon leaned back down and gently, meticulously slid the frames over Keonho’s ears, resting the bridge softly on his nose.
The world snapped back into definition.
And right there, two inches from his nose, was Seonghyeon—hair a mess and cheeks faintly flushed, and Keonho couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
“Better?” Seonghyeon whispered, reaching up to brush hair out of Keonho’s eyes.
“Better,” Keonho murmured softly, pushing the glasses a little higher on his nose. "I can see you really clearly now."
"Good," Seonghyeon said smoothly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Then you can see how stupid you look with your hair sticking straight up."
Keonho gasped, smacking Seonghyeon’s shoulder. “Hey! I just let you make out with me for like, ten minutes, you can’t insult my hair!”
"Ten minutes?" Seonghyeon echoed, pulling Keonho back down by his waist until he was lying down beside him. "Felt like three seconds. We're gonna have to practice more."
Keonho had to stop himself from exclaiming, yes, totally, let’s go right now, in order for him to maintain his mysterious and nonchalant aura.
“Fine,” Keonho mumbled, pressing his face to Keonho’s shoulder. “Just... don't make me put contacts in tomorrow."
“Deal.”
(Martin arrived back at the dorm at 3:27 AM, pulling the door open as slowly as possible in order to not disturb his roommates.
What he didn’t expect was to see Seonghyeon’s bed entirely barren.
His gaze shifted to Keonho’s and everything fell into place when he saw two heads poking out from under the duvet, so close together they were practically on top of each other.
Martin pulled out his phone, snapping a photo—thank goodness for night mode—and promptly sent it to the groupchat, following it with a photo of two kittens cuddled together.
The similarities were uncanny.)