Chapter Text
THE DRESSING ROOM before a performance always felt like controlled chaos.
Music from the stage vibrated faintly through the walls, mixing with the sounds of hair dryers, laughter, and hurried conversations. Makeup artists moved from chair to chair while dancers stretched in corners, sequined costumes catching beneath the fluorescent lights overhead. Everyone was rushing somewhere, everyone had something to do.
And somehow, in the center of all of it, stood Hanbin.
As always.
The company’s star dancer. The face audiences remembered. The one sponsors wanted on posters. The one fans screamed for the loudest.
People constantly surrounded him. Some wanted pictures. Others wanted advice. Younger dancers watched him with admiration while older performers trusted him to carry difficult numbers. He smiled for everyone because that was what Hanbin did. He smiled until his cheeks hurt, accepted every compliment and pretended he didn’t notice how people loved the image of him far more than they seemed to care about the person underneath.
Nobody asked if he had slept. Nobody asked why he’d been limping slightly after rehearsals all week. Nobody noticed the dark circles hidden beneath expensive concealer.
Because Hanbin always looked beautiful.
Beautiful things weren’t supposed to have bad days. Beautiful things weren’t supposed to break.
Across the room, Hao sat on the floor with a sewing kit spread around him, his long fingers working carefully on a costume that belonged to one of the newer dancers. He listened patiently while she apologized over and over for accidentally tearing the fabric, and Hao simply smiled that soft, reassuring smile everyone adored.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “Accidents happen. Try it now.”
The girl stood up, moved experimentally, and immediately brightened. “It fits perfectly!”
Hao’s eyes curved with satisfaction. “Good. You should be comfortable on stage.”
Hanbin looked away before anyone could notice he’d been staring. Unfortunately for him, Ricky noticed anyway. (of course he did, he just has to be at the crime scene every single time.)
He grinned wickedly and nudged his shoulder. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
Hanbin blinked. “Of what?”
“Please.” he laughed. “Everyone knows Hao babies you the most.”
A nearby dancer overheard and joined immediately. “Seriously. Hanbin only performs well because Hao takes care of him.”
Another voice added, “Of course Hao fixed Hanbin’s costume first yesterday.”
“You’re obviously his favorite.”
“Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hao say no to you.”
The room erupted into laughter. Hanbin rolled his eyes dramatically, making a show of looking annoyed. “You people are ridiculous.”
But his ears were turning red. Because the truth was embarrassing.
He wanted them to be right. He wanted Hao to have favorites. He wanted himself to be Hao’s favorite.
The problem was that Hao treated everyone exactly the same. Hao remembered everyone’s measurements. Hao fixed everyone’s costumes. Hao stayed late for everyone. Hao worried about everyone.
And Hanbin hated himself for noticing every single time Hao smiled at someone else.
Because he knew it was ugly. Possessive. Selfish.
Hao wasn’t his.
But sometimes Hanbin wondered what it would feel like if he was.
“Hanbin.”
His head lifted immediately. Hao stood in front of him, holding his performance jacket. One of the buttons had loosened earlier during rehearsal. “I fixed it,” Hao said quietly.
Hanbin reached for the jacket, and their fingers brushed. Such a tiny thing. Completely meaningless.
Yet warmth spread through his chest so suddenly it almost hurt.
“You should be careful during the partner section tonight,” Hao continued. “The seam around your shoulder was stressed. I reinforced it, but don’t overwork yourself.”
Hanbin stared. “You noticed?”
Hao blinked, looking confused. “Of course I noticed.”
Of course. The answer came naturally. As though there had never been any possibility that Hao wouldn’t.
Something inside Hanbin softened, until-
“Hao!”
Someone poked their head through the doorway. “My zipper broke again!”
Hao stood immediately. “Coming!”
He turned back to Hanbin and smiled. “Good luck tonight.” and then he disappeared.
Just like that. Hanbin watched him leave and felt something unpleasant twist inside his chest.
Not anger. Just that same stupid jealousy he could never seem to control. Hao hadn’t done anything wrong. Hao was kind, that was simply who he was.
Hanbin, though wanted more. He wanted Hao to look for him first. He wanted Hao to worry about him first.
He wanted Hao to choose him.
THE PERFORMANCE ended close to midnight.
By then, everyone was exhausted.
Dancers slowly left the theater in groups, laughing and making plans for late-night food while staff members cleaned the stage. Congratulations echoed through the hallways, mixed with tired complaints and relieved sighs.
Hanbin escaped before anyone could stop him. For some reason, (boy stand up already on my god) his feet carried him toward the costume department.
The room was dark except for a single desk lamp. Hao sat beneath the warm yellow light surrounded by fabric, sketches, and unfinished costumes. His hair had fallen messily into his eyes, and there were several pins between his lips as he concentrated on hand-stitching details onto tomorrow’s costumes.
He looked exhausted. Not the polished exhaustion everyone hid behind makeup. Real exhaustion.
The kind nobody seemed to notice.
Hanbin leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms “You know everyone already left, right?”
Hao jumped and nearly stabbed himself with the needle. “Hanbin?” He laughed softly. “You scared me.”
“You should go home.”
Hao smiled without looking up. “Says the person who’s still here.”
Hanbin walked closer. Without all the noise around them, Hao suddenly looked strangely vulnerable. Smaller somehow. Human. That’s Hanbin realized something.
Hao always asked everyone if they’d eaten. Everyone. But who asked Hao?
Who took care of the person taking care of everyone else? Who noticed when he was tired?
“Did you eat?” Hanbin asked quietly. Hao froze. Completely froze. The needle stopped moving. His expression changed so subtly that anyone else would have missed it.
But Hanbin saw. He saw the surprise.
He saw confusion, as if nobody had asked him that question before.
Then Hao smiled automatically. “I’m fine.”
Hanbin hated that smile immediately. Why? Because he knew it. He wore that exact smile every day.
“I’m serious.”
Hao lowered his eyes. “I forgot.”
Forgot. Not “I already ate.”
Not “I’m not hungry.”
Forgot.
Something squeezed painfully inside Hanbin’s chest. Before he could think, he reached over and gently removed the fabric from Hao’s hands.
Hao looked startled. “Hanbin-”
“Enough.”
“There’s still work to finish.”
“There will still be work tomorrow.”
“Hm.”
“There are always costumes. There are always problems. There are always people asking things from you.”
Hanbin set the materials aside. “But everyone can survive one night without you.”
Hao stared at him quietly. The room fell silent. Outside, the theater lights shut off one by one, leaving only the warm circle of light around Hao’s desk.
“You’re unusually bossy tonight,” Hao murmured.
Hanbin swallowed, because what he really wanted to say was far uglier.
I’m tired of sharing you. I’m tired of watching everyone take pieces of you. I’m tired of pretending I don’t care when someone else gets your attention.
Instead, he forced himself to say something safer. “You take care of everyone.”
Hao’s expression softened. “And?”
“Someone should take care of you too.”
Silence. Real silence. Not awkward. Not uncomfortable. Just quiet.
Hao looked at him. Not with his professional smile. Not with the patient expression he gave everyone else. Just Hao.
And for a moment, something flashed through his eyes. Something that looked suspiciously like relief.
“That’s a dangerous thing to say to someone who’s tired,” Hao whispered.
Hanbin frowned. “What does that mean?”
Hao looked away quickly. “Nothing.”
But his fingers had tightened around the edge of the desk. Suddenly Hanbin had the strange feeling that maybe he wasn’t the only one hiding things.
Maybe Hao had his own loneliness. Maybe Hao was just as good at pretending.
Outside, the theater had gone completely dark. The rest of the world had disappeared and for the first time all day, Hao wasn’t taking care of everyone.
He was only looking at Hanbin.
THE NEW PRINCIPAL DANCER arrived at the company in early spring, and everyone fell in love with him almost immediately.
His name was Soobin.
He was talented enough to threaten nobody and charming enough to threaten everyone.
He learned choreography frighteningly fast, accepted corrections without ego and somehow possessed that rare ability to make people comfortable around him after only a few conversations.
Directors praised him. Senior dancers took him under their wing. Younger performers admired him. Within a week, he already seemed woven naturally into the company, as though he had always belonged there.
Hanbin told himself he liked him, there was absolutely no reason not to.
Soobin worked hard. He respected everyone. He was kind, and Hanbin genuinely believed all of those things.
At least, he did until one evening when he wandered toward the costume department after rehearsals and saw something that should have been completely insignificant.
Hao was laughing. Not smiling politely. Not giving one of those soft, professional expressions he offered customers and dancers and managers and anyone who needed reassurance.
He was genuinely laughing and sitting across from him, perched carelessly on the edge of Hao’s worktable with absolutely no regard for the expensive fabric beneath him, was Soobin.
“You’re going to wrinkle everything,” Hao was saying between laughs.
“Then stop making me laugh.”
“That’s somehow my fault now?”
“Obviously.”
Hao shook his head, still smiling. Then, for some reason, Hanbin stopped walking. The doorway suddenly felt impossibly far away. He wasn’t even sure why he’d come there in the first place.
His costume didn’t need repairs. He hadn’t forgotten anything. He’d simply wanted to see Hao.
The realization itself embarrassed him, but not nearly as much as the feeling that followed.
Because standing there unnoticed, watching the two of them laugh together beneath the warm light of the workshop, Hanbin felt something ugly curl quietly inside his chest.
Not anger. Not even sadness. Something worse. Something selfish.
Fucking, disgusting jealousy.
It settled heavily beneath his ribs before he could stop it. Because Hao looked happy and Soobin was the reason. He wanted to be the reason. He wanted to make him laugh, because Hanbin couldn’t remember the last time he’d been the reason for that expression.
The thought horrified him. Immediately. He hated himself for it.
Hao wasn’t his. Hao had never belonged to him. Hao laughed with everyone. Hao cared about everyone.
That was simply who Hao was. So why did it hurt?
Hanbin left before either of them noticed him.
THAT NIGHT, he lay awake staring at the ceiling of his apartment, unable to explain why his chest felt strangely empty. And yes, he actually knew how ridiculous he was being. He knew this wasn’t normal. He knew people were allowed to become friends. Allowed to laugh together. Allowed to bring each other coffee and share meals and exist in each other’s spaces without it meaning anything.
Yet every time he closed his eyes, he saw Hao smiling at someone else and he understood something that frightened him.
He had become greedy.
For years, people had assumed Hao favored him.
Everyone teased them. Everyone joked that Hao babied him. Everyone insisted Hanbin was obviously special and Hanbin? Oh Hanbin had always pretended those comments annoyed him.
But the truth? some hidden part of him had treasured them. He wanted them to be true. Not because he wanted special treatment, or because he wanted attention.
But because Hanbin had spent so much of his life being loved by crowds and adored by strangers that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be chosen by one person.
People loved watching him dance. People loved looking at him. People loved the image of him.
Sometimes, tho, late at night, after performances ended and makeup had been wiped away and applause had disappeared, Hanbin couldn’t stop wondering if anyone loved him when there was nothing to admire.
Without the lights. Without the perfect costumes. Without the beautiful smile everyone expected from him.
And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, he’d begun hoping that Hao did.
The worst part was that Hao never treated him differently. Never. He was just as kind to everyone else, which should have reassured Hanbin. Instead, it made him miserable.
Because if Hao cared for everyone equally, what made Hanbin special?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
It make him one of… those.
THE FOLLOWING WEEKS became unbearable in ways Hanbin couldn’t explain to anyone.
Soobin started bringing coffee to the costume department in the mornings. Sometimes Hanbin would catch sight of the cups sitting beside Hao’s sketches.
Sometimes he’d hear Soobin complaining dramatically while Hao laughed and fixed a crooked collar at the same time.
Sometimes rehearsals would end and everyone would leave, only for Hanbin to discover that Soobin had stayed behind to keep Hao company while he worked late.
And every single time, Hanbin felt that same quiet ache inside his chest.
Not dramatic. Just constant. Like a bruise nobody else could see.
He hated how much he noticed. Hated how his eyes searched for Hao automatically whenever he entered a room. Hated how he recognized Hao’s laughter immediately among dozens of voices. Hated how relieved he felt whenever Hao looked for him first.
Most of all, he hated the ugly little spark of satisfaction he felt whenever he successfully interrupted those moments between Hao and Soobin.
Because eventually, without even meaning to, Hanbin began inserting himself everywhere.
He’d appear beside them during lunch. He’d suddenly remember some nonexistent costume issue. He’d invent questions. Find excuses. Create reasons.
Anything to pull Hao’s attention back toward himself.
The terrifying part? the terrifying part was that he didn’t even realize he was doing it anymore.
It became instinct. Like breathing. Like his body had already decided something his heart was still too afraid to admit.
Everyone noticed. Nobody understood.
People simply assumed Hanbin was stressed, or tired, or adjusting to having another principal dancer in the company.
Nobody suspected the truth. Nobody imagined that the company’s golden boy, the beautiful, perfect Hanbin everyone admired, was quietly falling apart over something as simple and pathetic as wanting one person’s attention.
The reason? nobody ever imagined Hanbin could be lonely.
People looked at him and saw perfection. They saw confidence. They saw elegance. They saw someone impossible to hurt.
But nobody saw the boy underneath all of that. The boy who had spent his entire life being displayed.
Admired. Praised. Wanted.
Yet somehow never truly known.
Perhaps that was the reason behind why Hao had become so dangerous to him.. because Hao had never looked at him like a star. Never treated him like a masterpiece. Never acted impressed.
Hao simply looked at Hanbin and saw… Hanbin.
Not the company’s pride. Not the famous dancer. Not the beautiful doll everyone loved showing off.
Just him. Now, the question is, once someone gives you that, how are you supposed to survive the thought of losing it?…
————————————————-
NOBODY in the company had ever truly seen Hanbin fail. Not really.
Over the years, he had become something strange inside people’s minds. Something larger than himself. Directors relied on him without hesitation, younger dancers admired him almost reverently, and audiences adored him with a kind of devotion that made him feel less like a person and more like something carefully crafted for others to consume.
Beautiful. Elegant. Dependable.
The company’s star.
The one who could be trusted to save a performance if something went wrong. Hanbin had worn that image for so long that sometimes even he forgot where the performance ended and where he began.
People always spoke about his gifts. His technique. His stage presence. His beauty.
But nobody ever talked about the pressure.
Nobody talked about what happened when everyone around you expected excellence so naturally that mistakes stopped feeling human and started feeling catastrophic.
Nobody talked about how exhausting it was to constantly be admired. Admiration isn’t, and will never be the same thing as being understood… and Hanbin had begun to realize that he might spend his entire life being looked at without ever really being seen.
The company’s newest production was unlike anything they’d attempted before. Darker. More emotional. Less interested in perfection and more interested in pain.
The choreography involved chains wrapped around dancers’ bodies and harnesses suspended from the ceiling, creating the illusion of people being controlled by invisible forces. The entire piece centered around themes of obsession, captivity and the impossible desire to hold onto things that were never meant to belong to you.
Everyone thought the role had been written for Hanbin. He thought so too.
Sometimes, standing beneath the stage lights with chains around his wrists and the harness pulling at his body, he almost laughed at the irony. He understood the character too well. (Better than everyone, I might add.)
He truly understood what it meant to feel trapped by expectations. Understood what it meant to become something beautiful for other people. Understood what it meant to smile while quietly suffocating.
However, more than anything else, he understood what it felt like to want someone so badly that it terrified him.
The rehearsals had been difficult from the very beginning, but Hanbin normally thrived under pressure. Pain never bothered him. Exhaustion never bothered him. He knew how to compartmentalize, how to lock everything away and become whatever the fuck everyone needed him to be.
Except lately, something had changed.. or should we say.. someone.
Soobin had become inseparable from Hao, not intentionally, just naturally.
He brought coffee to the costume workshop in the mornings because he’d memorized Hao’s order after only a few weeks. He stayed after rehearsals to keep Hao company while he worked late. Sometimes they shared convenience store meals while discussing performances.
And God, Hanbin noticed everything. every fucking detail. He wishes that he wouldn’t have notice everything.
He hated that he knew exactly how Hao liked his coffee, yet had somehow never thought to bring it himself. He hated that Soobin sat comfortably beside Hao while Hanbin still hesitated before entering the workshop, worried he might interrupt.
He hated that jealousy had transformed him into someone he barely recognized, cause Hanbin had never been possessive before.
At least, he hadn’t thought he was.
But now he found himself searching for Hao the moment he entered a room. He found himself inventing excuses to interrupt conversations and inserting himself between them without even realizing he was doing it.
And every night, lying alone in bed, he hated himself for it, because Hao deserved friends and Soobin? Soobin had done absolutely nothing wrong.
But that selfish part of Hanbin still wanted Hao all to himself.
THE AFTERNOON everything fell apart felt ordinary at first.
Everyone was exhausted. Sweat (oh baby, i’ll make you sweat, sweat, sweat, sweat) covered the studio floor, music echoed endlessly through the speakers and the staff members adjusted harnesses while dancers stretched tired muscles between runs.
Hao sat near the mirrors with his sketchbook open on his lap, making notes about costume changes. Soobin had somehow ended up beside him again, leaning over to look at the drawings while occasionally saying something that made Hao smile.
They weren’t doing anything special. That was what made it so unbearable. They were simply existing together.
Comfortably. Naturally.
As though it had always been that way.
Hanbin tried not to look. He really did, but of course, his eyes betrayed him. No matter how hard he focused on choreography, some part of him remained painfully aware of Hao’s presence.
A laugh across the room and Hanbin immediately recognized it. A movement near the mirrors and his attention drifted automatically.
It had become instinct and that frightened him most of all.
Suddenly, the music started and the dancers started moving.
Chains glimmered beneath the rehearsal lights while the harnesses lifted bodies into the air.
Hanbin knew this sequence perfectly. Every count. Every breath. Every movement. He had rehearsed it dozens of times.
But then he heard Hao laugh.
Just once. Softly… and before he could stop himself, Hanbin looked. Not even for long, for a second, maybe even less than that. Long enough, though, to see Soobin sitting beside Hao. Long enough to see Hao smiling.
And long enough to lose everything.
The cue passed, Hanbin missed the lift and partner stumbled.
The formation collapsed. Someone shouted and the music stopped.
Suddenly the entire studio fell into a very loud silence. Hanbin stood frozen in the center of the room while dozens of eyes stared at him.
No one was angry, or disappointed, but everyone was shocked. Nobody had ever seen this before.
Hanbin made mistakes occasionally, like everyone else, but not like this. Not something so obvious. Not something that affects the entire rehearsal.
His partner looked more confused than upset. The choreographer lowered his clipboard slowly. Nobody spoke.
Somehow, that silence felt worse than criticism because Hanbin could practically hear the thoughts inside everyone’s heads.
What’s wrong with him?
Is he sick?
Is he injured?
How bad must things be if Hanbin made a mistake?
Heat flooded his face. Embarrassment crashed over him so violently that it almost made him dizzy.
He suddenly became aware of every inch of his body. The sweat on his skin. The chains around his wrists. The harness attached to his back. The people staring.
Being admired had never bothered him. But being witnessed like this.. while he was broken, imperfect, human…
He couldn’t bear it.
“I’m leaving.” The words came out cold. Too cold.
The choreographer blinked. “Hanbin, it’s okay, just take a break-”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m going home.” and no one stopped him.
Which somehow hurts even more, because if only they had argued, if only they’d scolded him, if they’d treated him normally, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have felt so exposed.
Instead, everyone simply watched carefully.
Hanbin quickly removed the chains from his wrists and unclipped the harness with trembling fingers. He grabbed his bag without looking at anyone. Especially not Hao.
Because if he saw concern on Hao’s face, if Hao looked at him with pity.. if Hao… Hanbin wasn’t sure he would survive it.
He made it into the hallway before he heard footsteps behind him. He already knew who it was.
Of course he did.
Nobody else’s footsteps had ever become so familiar.
“Hanbin.” Hao’s voice was soft, softer than ever. Concerned.
Hanbin closed his eyes. Not now. Please. Not now.
“Hanbin.” The footsteps stopped beside him and suddenly Hao was there.
Hao said Hanbin’s name a second time, not louder, not sharper, just softer, as though volume itself would only push him further away.
The hallway outside the rehearsal studio had emptied in the strange way spaces do after something goes wrong, when the noise leaves but the energy of it still lingers in the air like a bruise.
Distantly, music had already started again inside, at first it felt like the company was trying to convince itself that everything was fine, but out there beneath the harsh white lights, it felt like time had stopped moving forward at all.
Hanbin stood with his back turned. He didn’t move, but he didn’t leave either. It looked like he was just… stuck.
His shoulders were tense in a way Hao couldn’t ignore, not because it was unusual for dancers to carry tension, but because this wasn’t performance tension, it was something held too tightly, like if it loosened even a little, something underneath might spill out.
Hao had spent years reading bodies without thinking about it, noticing how fabric pulled differently depending on posture, how breath changed when someone was tired, how confidence and strain could look almost identical if you didn’t know where to look.
Hanbin, in that moment, looked like someone who had been holding himself together for far too long without letting anyone see what it cost him.
When Hao finally spoke, it wasn’t demanding. It was just there, steady in the space between them.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did you twist your ankle?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
Hanbin laughed, but it wasn’t humor, it was reflex. That’s something completely automatic and defensive, it’s a sound made to fill the silence before honesty could slip in and make things complicated.
It was the kind of laugh that didn’t reach his eyes, the kind that tried to turn something sharp into something harmless and Hao recognized it immediately because he had seen it in too many exhausted people who didn’t know how to explain what they were feeling.
“Nothing happened.”
“Hm.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” that simple calm and unbothered of Hao, was what finally made Hanbin turn around.
Hao was still exactly where he had been before, not stepping closer, not changing the distance between them as if he understood instinctively that moving either way right now would feel like pressure.
There was no anger in his face, no disappointment, no frustration, nothing that Hanbin could brace himself against or hide behind. Just concern. Plain, quiet concern, the kind that didn’t demand anything in return and somehow that made it harder cause there was nothing in it to push away.
“Everyone’s worried,” Hao said gently.
“I’m fine.”
“Hanbin.”
“I’m fine.” The second repetition was sharper, and immediately Hanbin’s expression shifted… just slightly, just enough for guilt to flicker through it like a reflex he couldn’t control.
Hao didn’t react to the sharpness. He didn’t flinch, didn’t push back. He just stayed there, watching him the way he always did when he thought someone might break if he looked away.
And suddenly Hanbin looked trapped… emotionally trapped… cornered in a way he didn’t know how to escape without losing something.
Because the truth was sitting too close to the surface now and Hao’s presence made it worse, not better.
If he looked at him too long, if he stayed in this conversation even a few seconds more, something inside him would spill out that he couldn’t put back in again.
Something humiliating. Something that had been growing quietly for weeks and now had nowhere left to hide.
I’m jealous. I’m jealous of Soobin. I hate how easily he stands next to you. I hate how you laugh with him like it’s nothing. I hate that I notice.
I hate that I care.
But none of that made it out. Instead, Hanbin made a small movement.. he stepped back a bit. “I just need to go home.”
Hao studied him for a long moment after that, not in a way that felt invasive, just in a way that suggested he was listening to everything that wasn’t being said.
Then, unexpectedly, he just… nodded. “Okay.”
No follow-up. No questions. No attempt to stop him. Just… okay… and that was worse.
A part of Hanbin, quiet, unspoken, almost childish in its need, had wanted something else. Had wanted insistence. Had wanted Hao to reach for him in a way that proved he mattered enough to be pulled back.
But Hao didn’t do that. Hao simply respected the space he was given. As he always did.
And Hanbin left with that sitting heavy in his chest, unable to decide whether he felt relieved or abandoned.
———————————————
THE RAIN had thickened by the time the building was almost entirely empty, not heavy enough to feel dramatic, but enough to soften the city into blurred reflections and muted light.
Inside, the rehearsal rooms had gone dark one by one, the corridors settling into that specific kind of silence that only comes after exhaustion has fully passed and nothing remains but the echo of it.
Only the costume workshop remained lit.
Warm yellow light spilled from the doorway, isolating it from everything else. Hao was still there.
Sitting alone beneath the desk lamp, surrounded by fabric, thread, half-finished garments, and sketches for tomorrow’s run.
His glasses sat slightly low on his nose, his fingers moving with tired precision even though the repetition had long since stopped feeling efficient.
He should have left hours ago. He knew that. But his body had stayed in the chair the same way his thoughts had stayed in the hallway earlier, looping around something he couldn’t quite resolve.
Hanbin’s expression. That moment after the mistake. That look like he had been seen too clearly, too suddenly and too completely.
Hao threaded a needle, missed the eye, exhaled quietly through his nose and tried again, though his focus kept slipping in small, irritating ways that didn’t usually happen to him.
What kept bothering him wasn’t the accident in rehearsal, or even the results of it, it was the feeling that Hanbin hadn’t just been embarrassed about a mistake.
It had felt deeper than that.
Like something in him had cracked open for half a second and instead of letting anyone see what was inside, he decided to run.
Out of nowhere, a knock came. A soft, careful knock and Hao paused, before looking up.
The door opened slowly and Hanbin stood there. For a moment, neither of them moved.
His hair falling loose in a way that made him look less like the figure people watched on stage and more like someone who had forgotten to perform at all.
Without makeup, his natural blush showing, without lighting, without the structure of rehearsal around him, he looked younger in a way that wasn’t about age… it was about exposure, like something had stripped away the distance he usually kept between himself and everyone else.
Hao’s hand lowered slowly from the needle. “…Hanbin?” he said, softer now, as if the name itself needed space to land.
Hanbin didn’t answer right away, because whatever excuse he had prepared on the way here suddenly didn’t feel like it belonged in this room anymore.