Chapter Text
Keonho didn’t check his email or social media much while he was recovering in the hospital, then at home.
During that first month in the hospital, his friends visited on weekends, bringing his favorite sweets and fruits, chatting away and doing their best to lift his spirits. For the next month and a half, the guys kept in touch through social media, filling him in on campus life and what was happening in theirs. Then they faded out. Eight months had passed. Now, in the second semester of his sophomore year, Keonho was finally back at the dorm.
He exhales nervously, the backpack with its couple of keychains slung over one shoulder and his duffel bag gripped in his hand, before stepping into his old room. He roomed with his best friend from high school — Seonghyeon. As far as he could remember, Seonghyeon had been the last one to message him. Keonho couldn’t really explain why their conversations had died. It had just become harder and more pointless to hit send with every passing day. Seonghyeon’s messages had stopped feeling engaged, and Keonho… well, he hadn’t had much to say.
He stood outside the door for a solid fifteen minutes like an idiot, staring at the handle, reaching for it and then pulling back. His heart hammered faster with every second he spent in the dimly lit hallway. Only one weak bulb still worked, because the dorm admins had stopped giving a damn about this wing ages ago. Keonho finally shoved the door open, half-expecting to see Seonghyeon sprawled lazily across his bed, strumming some lazy melody on his guitar, or hunched over his laptop typing with that focused look. Instead he found nothing but empty space and a cool breeze drifting in from the open window.
He walked further inside, slow steps echoing softly as he took in the familiar walls. Seonghyeon’s posters were still exactly where Keonho remembered them from a year ago. The mess on his side of the room was still the same: clothes, papers, empty takeout containers scattered everywhere. Keonho’s side, by contrast, was clean and bare. It looked like Seonghyeon hadn’t crossed the duct-tape line they’d stuck down after that stupid fight a week into freshman year. Keonho lowered himself carefully onto his bed, smoothing his palms over the cold sheets. Dust coated the nightstand. Seonghyeon really hadn’t been expecting him back.
Still, Keonho felt a buzz of anticipation at being back and the thought of seeing his friends again. As soon as he unpacked his backpack, he headed out to campus. The whole year away from his crew had been painfully boring and lonely.
He went straight to the basketball court, where James and Martin were usually settling some dumb argument with a game of one-on-one, but found only James sitting beneath the hoop.
“Hyung!” Keonho called out, voice bright and boyish as he jogged over with a wide smile.
James pulled an earbud out and blinked, looking startled.
“Keonho? Your rehab’s done?” The question came out awkward, his gaze sliding away like he was searching for someone in the crowd of students, avoiding eye contact.
“Yeah, I still have some exercises and stuff to do, but I’m pretty much good now,” Keonho answered, offering a small, slightly sad smile as he rolled his neck. “Where’s Martin?”
James’s shoulders visibly tightened.
“No idea,” he said, pressing his lips into an awkward smile before standing and slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I’ve got class. Contemporary dance, you know how it is. Coach hates it when anyone’s late.” He clapped Keonho on the shoulder, then seemed to realize that probably wasn’t the smartest move for a swimmer fresh off a year of rehab. “Uh… catch you later.”
Keonho tried to say something as James walked off a little too fast. This wasn’t the reunion he’d pictured with the guy who’d basically become his dance mentor.
All his life, including the start of freshman year, Keonho had never cared about dance. But Seonghyeon’s restless ass had decided to join the dance club as an extracurricular and dragged Keonho who practically lived in the pool along with him a few times. That’s where they met the senior with the almost unreal energy. He was so good it was almost intimidating to watch, but Keonho couldn’t look away. The guy knew exactly what he was doing.
Freshman year.
“Hyung!” Seonghyeon shouted, grinning way too wide and waving him over. Keonho shot him a questioning look. When had Seonghyeon gotten close enough with someone to smile like that?
James, still a little out of breath from dancing, jogged up to them.
“Hey, Slowhyeon,” he said, ruffling Seonghyeon’s hair. “This your friend? You joining dance club too?” he asked, turning to Keonho.
“Um…” Keonho hesitated. He usually needed a minute to warm up to strangers.
“He just came to watch,” Seonghyeon cut in. “I keep telling him dance would help with his swimming. A couple extra hours with me in the dance studio won’t kill him,” he added in that signature sassy, half-teasing tone.
“We already spend too much time together. I’m sick of your face,” Keonho replied automatically, shoving Seonghyeon’s shoulder.
James shook his head with a smirk and pulled them apart before they could start roughhousing for real.
“You’d build better flexibility and coordination,” James said, nodding confidently. “Plus dance is great for self-expression and just loosening up. Trust me, it won’t hurt you.”
“Told you,” Seonghyeon said in that annoyed, teasing voice. “You never listen to me.”
Ever since then, Keonho had started dropping by the dance studio whenever he had free time between swim practices or after training sessions when he wasn’t completely wiped. James was the oldest in their friend group, so he’d become something like a big brother to Keonho, always ready with advice, good or bad, depending on how you looked at it morally. But today his behavior felt off. James had never been the warmest person, but he was usually open and easy to talk to. This time it felt like Keonho had stepped into the personal space of a stranger. He decided to brush it off as James just being in a hurry.
Keonho lingered on the court for another minute after James walked away. In the distance, sneakers slapped against the asphalt, and from the far side of the blacktop came the bright shouts of students heading over for a pickup game after classes. The sun was dipping low, bathing everything in warm gold and stretching long shadows across the pavement.
He rolled his shoulders, testing the familiar dull ache that never seemed to fade completely anymore, and tried not to dwell on the strange vibe left behind by the conversation. James had always been like that—intense, a little closed off. Probably just a bad day.
Keonho pulled out his phone and opened the group chat. His thumb hovered over the screen. Nothing. The chat had been silent for months. For a second he wondered if they’d made a new one without him. That would suck even more. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and, instead of heading to the dorm, made his way toward the music building. Might as well see if anyone was still around.
As he walked down the hallway, the muffled sound of piano drifted toward him. He followed it and stopped outside room 204. The same scratched-up door, the same faded sticker stuck crookedly on it:
No bullshit, no drama
Keonho remembered the story behind it. Their professor had been pissed at Seonghyeon and Martin, but the sign was still there a year later.
He knocked softly. The music cut off. After a short pause, the door cracked open. Martin stood there in an oversized hoodie. He looked mostly the same, except his hair had grown out and the spikes that used to get him in trouble with every teacher were gone. His eyes widened when he saw Keonho, but a second later his gaze slid away, landing somewhere near Keonho’s left shoulder.
“Keonho,” he said quietly. His voice cracked on the second syllable, like it felt weird just saying the name out loud. “You’re back.”
“Yeah. They finally let me out of the cage,” Keonho replied, trying to summon the easy, confident smile he used to wear after a good race. “Figured I’d see who was still around. James said he didn’t know where you were, so I thought…”
“James,” Martin muttered under his breath. For a split second something sharp and ugly flickered across his face before it smoothed into an awkward half-smile. He stepped aside, holding the door wider. “Come in. It’s kind of a mess in here.”
The room smelled like coffee and fresh ramen. Martin’s laptop sat open on the desk, a half-finished track frozen on the screen. The jagged audio waveforms looked like the EKG of someone who desperately needed medical attention. Keonho stopped just inside the doorway, unsure what to do with his hands. Martin kept twisting the hem of his sleeve.
“You stopped texting,” Keonho said, still avoiding his eyes.
“I just thought…I don’t know. That you were probably busy with rehab and everything.”
Keonho’s stomach twisted. “I wasn’t great at keeping in touch with anyone. Everything felt so off.”
Martin had always been the kind of guy you could talk to about real shit—feelings, doubts, the messy stuff. He was sensitive like that.
Martin shrugged one shoulder too quickly. “Yeah. Same here.” He went quiet for a beat. “Me and Seonghyeon…” The sentence died halfway. His jaw tightened. “Never mind.” He turned sharply toward the laptop. “You wanna hear what I’ve been working on?”
Without waiting for an answer, he hit play. Low synths filled the room, layered with a moody guitar line. Something about it felt familiar. Keonho leaned against the wall and let the music wash over him. It pulled him straight back to the first time he’d actually cared about music.
Freshman year.
After a brutal evening practice, Keonho dragged himself back to the dorm, shoulders burning, hair still damp from the shower. The hallway smelled like instant noodles and someone’s burnt popcorn. He pushed open the door to their room, already ready to yell at Seonghyeon. They were always fighting about late-night snacks, especially the bad ones.
Instead he found the usual mess. Papers covered every surface: lyrics, drafts, scribbled sheet music. Seonghyeon sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of his creative hurricane, crossing things out in a notebook and chewing on the end of his pen. Across from him on the bed was a guy Keonho had seen around campus a couple times. Hard to miss. Ridiculously tall, wild spiky hair, and a style that didn’t exactly blend in. He was picking out chords on an acoustic guitar.
“No, no, no,” Seonghyeon groaned, flopping backward. “If we stitch those two drafts together the whole vibe collapses.”
“Why?” the guy asked calmly.
“Because they’re two different songs.”
“Or one song.”
“Martin.”
“What?”
“Sometimes I swear you do this shit on purpose just to piss me off.”
The guy looked up then and finally noticed Keonho standing in the doorway.
“Oh, hey,” he said, voice low and a little raspy. “You’re the swimmer, right? Seonghyeon talks about you all the time.”
Seonghyeon grinned, zero shame. “Told you he’d show up eventually. Martin, this is Keonho. Keonho, Martin. He’s helping me with the songs. This dude’s a monster with chords.”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“You literally rewrite half my stuff.”
“Because you have dramatic breakdowns over the dumbest things.”
Seonghyeon rolled his eyes, and the two of them immediately went back to work. Martin played a few more chords. Keonho dropped his swim bag by the door and sank onto the soccer-ball beanbag on Seonghyeon’s side of the room. Music had never really been his thing. He had his warm-up playlists and that was enough. But there was something about the way Martin played that caught him.
“Play that again,” Seonghyeon said.
Martin did. Seonghyeon froze, then shot up from the floor. “There it is!” He grabbed the nearest sheet and started scribbling.
“What?” Keonho asked, trying to peek.
“The right chords. We’ve been stuck on this section all night and Martin just accidentally nailed it.”
“Accidentally?” Martin protested.
“Accidentally.”
“I was actually trying to—”
“Definitely accidental.”
Keonho watched them for a while longer. Seonghyeon jumping from one wild idea to the next, Martin steadily working the guitar, thinking through the melody. Somehow the tiny, cluttered room felt a lot bigger.
Later, after Seonghyeon left to grab snacks, Martin held the guitar out to Keonho.
“You should try writing something sometime.”
“Me?”
“Even if it sucks. Especially if it sucks,” Martin said with a shrug. “That’s usually how it starts.”
Keonho had just laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. But after that, he didn’t complain when Martin stayed over late or when he and Seonghyeon started showing up at the studio on weekends. There was something quietly magnetic about music. It made the world outside the pool feel wider and brighter than it ever had before. Music had meant nothing to him once, nothing beyond timers and the blur of water, but now he saw crooked chords, unfinished thoughts, and things that didn’t have to be perfect to matter.
The track ended. Martin stopped the playback and rubbed the back of his neck.
“It’s different from what we used to do,” Keonho said softly, almost afraid to break the silence.
Martin still barely looked at him. “I changed a lot of things. After… well, you know. After everything.”
Keonho swallowed. The air between them felt thick, heavy with all the messages that had never been sent. He wanted to ask so many things, but the strange tension in the room sucked all the oxygen out.
“It sounds good, hyung. It feels… like you.”
Martin let out a short, dry chuckle, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Had plenty of time.” He glanced toward the door like he half-expected Seonghyeon to walk in and somehow make things worse. “You haven’t seen Seonghyeon yet?”
“Not yet. Why?” Keonho’s shoulders tensed. Everyone was acting so weird.
“He’s changed too.”
“We all change,” Keonho said, instinctively defensive of his best friend even though he had no idea what was going on.
“Sure…” Martin pressed his lips into a thin line, then forced a light laugh to cut the tension. “So… you sticking around campus now?”
Keonho nodded. The weight of too many unanswered questions pressed down harder than any duffel bag he’d ever carried.
“Yeah.”
He wasn’t sure if it would fix anything. The conversation with Martin left an even heavier, more uneasy feeling in his chest. Martin hadn’t even asked how he was doing, hadn’t mentioned his shoulder or his back after the injury that ended his last season. Of course a lot of time had passed, but the distance between them felt wider than ever.
Stepping out of Martin’s stuffy studio, Keonho finally drew in a deep breath of cool evening air. Dusk had settled in, the sun long gone, the sky fading into deep blue, but the thought of heading back to the dorm twisted something unpleasant in his chest. He wasn’t ready to face Seonghyeon yet. Instead, he wandered along the path lined with ground-level lights, drifting toward the arts building. In his opinion, it was the most beautiful part of campus, and it made sense. The courtyard was scattered with student creations: canvases on easels, busts of historical figures, a few full-sized statues, and everywhere flowers and shrubs bloomed in riotous color. Keonho used to walk these paths without really seeing any of it, eyes glued to the ground or his phone. Until the day the beauty of art had forced him to look up.
Freshman year.
Keonho was walking back to the dorm with Seonghyeon after one of the rare joint lectures between athletes and music majors when a shout came from above.
“Hey, watch out!”
Keonho looked up just as a small bucket nearly smacked him in the face. Seonghyeon grabbed him and yanked him back in time. Keonho stumbled awkwardly into his hold, staring at Seonghyeon’s profile now tilted upward. He hadn’t been hurt, but splatters of paint had caught his cheek, neck, and left tiny blue specks across his jeans and dark gray sweatshirt.
“Shit,” the guy overhead muttered in a low voice. “Sorry, guys.” The apology sounded half-hearted at best.
“Doesn’t the university have money for actual maintenance crews?” Seonghyeon shot back, releasing Keonho without even glancing at him, his full attention now on the guy above.
“Back off, Seonghyeon. I need to finish this wall before my advisor gets back,” the voice answered, tired and clipped.
“Juhoonie-hyung causing trouble again?” Seonghyeon called up in that playful, high-pitched tone he used when he was clearly mocking someone.
This was yet another friend of Seonghyeon’s that Keonho knew nothing about. Honestly, he knew very little about most of Seonghyeon’s friends, even back in high school. They’d always gone their separate ways during the day, only meeting up after classes. They’d bump shoulders and laugh the whole walk home. Keonho had never been one to linger around school anyway, he spent most of his time at the pool, often leaving late. Seonghyeon, on the other hand, showed up at the pool all the time.
High school.
The late afternoon sun painted everything golden as they left the pool building. Keonho’s hair was still damp, a towel slung around his neck, muscles pleasantly sore from practice. Their usual route home took them past the city library and a row of food trucks. Keonho shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, trying not to think about how easily they fell back into step together. Seonghyeon immediately bumped his shoulder and stuck close, their arms brushing with nearly every stride.
“God, today was a nightmare,” Seonghyeon groaned dramatically, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Jihoon spent twenty minutes trying to convince me that ‘Heartbreak glow’ is better than ‘Burning moon.’ Like, seriously, what a tasteless idiot. I’ve suffered enough for one day. Creatively suffered, you know?”
Keonho snorted and elbowed him in the side.
“You always say that. I think you just like hearing yourself complain.”
“That’s not true,” Seonghyeon protested, his smile only widening. He reached over and flicked water droplets from Keonho’s hair. His fingers lingered in the soft, damp strands a second longer than necessary.
“You owe me emotional support snacks after everything I’ve been through. Honey chips? Or those strawberry cream pastries?” He pouted thoughtfully. “Come on, you know you want to spoil me.”
Something strange twisted in Keonho’s chest at the way Seonghyeon was talking and looking at him, eyes bright with playful fire, smile warmer than usual, voice softer. He told himself it was just exhaustion from swimming messing with his head.
“Seriously? I just swam until I was half-dead and I’m supposed to spoil you?” Keonho smirked, shoving Seonghyeon’s shoulder again, this time slow to break the contact. “Such a baby.”
Seonghyeon laughed and didn’t pull away. If anything, he stepped closer as they walked, their pace gradually slowing, though neither of them seemed to notice.
“Well… maybe I just like making you buy me stuff,” he said, a hint of shy teasing slipping into his tone. “Hanging out with you is way more fun than those idiots in school.”
Keonho felt heat creep into his cheeks. He glanced at Seonghyeon and caught him staring. The gaze drifted along his jawline before returning to his eyes. The air between them felt charged. Strange.
“Shut up,” Keonho murmured, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “Keep saying stuff like that and I might start thinking you actually like hanging around me.”
Seonghyeon tugged Keonho’s hood up over his head, letting his fingers brush the back of his neck.
“Maybe I do,” he said quietly, holding his gaze for a few long seconds. Then he looked toward the glowing food trucks. “So… you treating? For my emotional trauma and all.”
Keonho pulled the hood back down. His heart was beating too fast for a simple walk home.
“Yeah. My treat.”
Sometimes Keonho felt completely isolated, especially in moments like these, standing around kicking at pebbles on the pavement while Seonghyeon chatted with friends he ran into. Seonghyeon’s easy smiles and laughter grated on him more and more each time. The inside of his cheek and lower lip had taken a beating lately from all the anxious biting. He genuinely didn’t understand how Seonghyeon could connect with people so quickly and effortlessly, keep up with classes, music, and dance, while Keonho barely managed to beat his own records in the water.
“And who’s this?” Seonghyeon’s conversation partner finally noticed Keonho awkwardly shifting from foot to foot after a while.
“This is Keonho from the sports department,” Seonghyeon said, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder. “You probably saw him at the fall competitions.”
“I don’t go to that crap,” the guy muttered, dragging a tired hand down his face, eyes squeezed shut like he was so done. “I’ve got deadlines on fire, you know..”
Seonghyeon laughed, and Keonho’s face twisted before he could stop it. Was it really that hilarious that this artsy asshole had just dismissed his entire life as worthless shit? The laugh stung more than it should have. Keonho forced his expression neutral, but inside something sharp and ugly twisted in his chest. For a second, Keonho found himself wondering what it would be like to be an artist, brushing paint across canvas, making a mess and calling it a process, leaving splatters everywhere. It sounded like the kind of life that left a mark on the world. Keonho wanted to leave a mark too. He wasn’t any worse than Juhoon, the one Seonghyeon was laughing with now, casually touching his shoulder. The blue paint on his own cheek didn’t sting as much anymore, and the flowerbeds stretching out for a hundred meters suddenly looked brighter.
Present day.
Lost in the past, Keonho hadn’t realized he’d started chewing the inside of his cheek again. He never quite understood his body’s reactions to moments like these, and honestly, he didn’t have the time or energy to analyze his feelings. Underwater, you didn’t have extra seconds to overthink, you had to keep moving forward, ignoring emotions or consequences. Maybe that mindset was exactly what had led to his injury, the one that would haunt him for the rest of his life. The phantom ache that quietly throbbed in his shoulder blades and spine.
Maybe he still hadn’t accepted that his swimming days were over, which was why he kept desperately reaching back to the past, when every day revolved around the water, occasionally brightened by Seonghyeon’s flickering face, his low voice, and that stupid smile he always made for his social media photos. Of course Keonho had checked them. He’d been right. Amid dozens of shots from the studio, walks with friends, and afternoons spent at the basketball court, Seonghyeon’s relaxed, effortless smile appeared again and again.
The courtyard of the art department was swallowed by pitch darkness. The power had cut out without warning, making Keonho flinch and whip his head around, eyes wide with panic. A thriller crashing into his personal drama was the last thing he needed.
The yard had emptied out. All that remained was the soft rustle of leaves drifting from the shadows. He started toward the gates, aiming for the lit street beyond, but a sudden flash of light and the growl of an engine exploded right in front of him.
Keonho barely had time to process what was happening before the motorcycle’s front wheel jerked sharply. He stumbled back, his foot catching on the curb. The next thing he knew, he was crashing hard onto his ass, a hot streak of pain shooting straight up his spine. The doctor who had specifically warned him against any pressure or impact on his joints and back would not have been impressed.
A familiar figure swung off the motorcycle that had screeched to a stop in front of him. The headlights burned into his eyes, but when he squinted and lifted a hand to shield them, everything clicked into place. There was the same thin black scarf wrapped around the rider’s neck.
Seonghyeon.