Chapter Text
The young boy’s heart raced wildly, as if he had run a marathon worthy of a golden medal, yet in truth, it was simply the feverish anticipation for the concert of his idol. It was not the first time he had seen him live; he could call himself a devoted soul, a wanderer in the sea of fandom.
He never missed a single stop on his tour, yet each time, standing before that stage, the emotion felt as pure and overwhelming as the very first. When the lights dimmed and he stepped onto the stage, the world around him seemed to burst into a thousand colors, as if time itself had been painted anew.
Han Jisung, his name, a melody that echoed in the depths of his heart.
Minho had woven a connection to him, almost like an invisible thread pulling him closer, and like every devoted dreamer, he found solace in the soft fantasies of walking beside him.
He longed, silently, for the day Jisung would notice his presence, when the moment would come that he could finally thank him for the music that had filled his life with light.
It seemed the stars had heard his prayers, for that night, everything changed.
The music pulsed through his veins, flowing and vibrating in every fiber of his being, making his muscles move to the rhythm as if they were guided by the very same force that fueled the beat.
The lights caressed the crowd, illuminating the faces around him, as if they searched for him every time he vanished into the darkness.
Sweat traced down his caramel-colored strands, while his vocal cords hummed in harmony with the melody, the song becoming one with him. His legs had begun to ache hours before, but as soon as the concert began, he completely forgot the discomfort.
The emotions he felt were so overwhelming that the entire experience felt like a dream, an ethereal vision he never wanted to end. But, as with all beautiful things, the concert eventually came to its close.
That night, just before stepping off the stage, Jisung announced a surprise for his fans. A blinding white light suddenly swept across the crowd, illuminating the figure of a boy dressed in blue.
“You!” Jisung shouted into the microphone, motioning for the boy to come closer to the stage. “Come up! You’ve been chosen!”
Minho looked around in disbelief, his heart racing as he pointed to himself, his legs growing weak.
The guitarist nodded and his breath quickened. The light blinded him so intensely that he wondered if he were dreaming. His mind couldn’t process the fact that Han Jisung himself had spoken directly to him. He was on the verge of collapsing from the emotion when his legs moved on their own.
Was it really happening? Was he truly stepping onto that stage?
Each step he took sent a new wave of anticipation rushing through him. Only two steps now stood between him and the dream he had carried for so long, though his mind had yet to catch up.
The roar of the fans around him jolted him back to reality, and when he blinked again, he saw him.
Jisung stood there, radiant under the lights. He wore a long-sleeved striped shirt layered with a torn black crop top, effortlessly striking. His long brown hair fell messily across his face, and his bright eyes shimmered with curiosity as they met Minho’s. He held the guitar in one hand, the microphone stand steady in the other.
“We’re here with…?” He asked, leaning forward and offering him the mic.
“M-Minho…” Minho whispered, barely audible.
“Could you say that again?” Jisung stepped closer, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Minho!” The older boy answered firmly this time, voice clearer, steadier.
“Welcome to the stage, let’s give Minho a big round of applause!” Jisung called out and the crowd erupted.
Minho turned to face them, but the sight of thousands of eyes on him made his chest tighten. He wondered how the other managed to endure such pressure, to live in this storm of noise and light, night after night.
“So, Minho, tell us, how was the concert?” The question caught the brown-haired boy completely off guard.
Here he was, standing in front of the very person he was hopelessly in love with, the one who had unknowingly filled his days with light and music.
The moment he had always dreamed of was finally his. And yet, what could he possibly say?
He wanted to confess everything, to pour out the feelings he had kept buried for so long. To tell him how his voice had become his comfort, how his smile become his sun. But he knew saying such things here, in front of thousands, would only expose his heart to ridicule and worse, it might make the person he admired most uncomfortable. He couldn’t risk that.
So instead, with trembling hands and voice laced with sincerity, he said: “It’s truly an honor for me to stand here...on the same stage as my favorite band. I’m really grateful to have been given this chance..”
Jisung offered him a gentle smile, then turned briefly toward his band mates, who were gesturing impatiently, urging him to hurry. He knew time was short, but something in him didn’t want to rush, he wanted to hear what Minho had to say.
“I just wanted to thank you..” Minho began, voice trembling soft but steady
“Your music..it’s helped me so much. Actually, it saved my life.” He smiled, tender and full of emotion, clutching the microphone as though it were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. He had gathered every last ounce of courage in his body just to say those words.
“Well, then it’s mutual” Jisung replied gently, his smile softening “Without my fans, I wouldn’t be here today.”
Then, without warning, he closed the distance between them. “And I saw you dancing…” He whispered against Minho’s hear, his voice low and playful, before stepping back again.
Minho froze in place, completely stunned, as a rush of heat rose to his cheeks. He could still feel the breath of that sentence lingering near his skin.
“And with that..it’s time to say goodbye” Jisung extended his arm toward Minho, reaching for a parting handshake, a simple gesture of respect, but instead, his fingers wrapped gently around Minho’s wrist. Startled, Minho lifted his gaze and met his eyes.
Time stood still.
The cheers of the crowd dissolved into silence, the voices of the other band members faded like echoes in the distance. All that remained was him, Han Jisung.
The musician held his guitar in one hand, the other still wrapped around Minho’s wrist when his gaze was caught, pulled into the depths of those amber eyes.
They were endless. Golden. Dreamlike. So intense, Jisung didn’t even realize he had been lost in them for what felt like forever.
His hand slowly slid down Minho’s arm, until it found his. Fingers intertwined for a heartbeat. A strange shiver surged through Jisung’s body, a sudden jolt, as though waking from a dream. Only then he did release his hold.
“It was a pleasure, Minho...I hope to see you at the next concert” he said with a playful wink before turning and running offstage.
Minho watched him disappear into the lights, breathless, heart fluttering in his chest. Then, lowering his gaze to his trembling fingers, he whispered to himself, soft, stunned, and full of wonder:
“Did Han Jisung just….hold my hand?”
♬
Minho loved to dance, it was the greatest passion he had ever known.
His talent was something rare, almost unreal, but his parents couldn’t afford the cost of sending him to a proper dance school. So he began alone, guided not by teachers, but by the quiet glow of online tutorials.
Not a single day passed without practice. In the morning, he went to school. In the afternoons, he studied and in the evenings he would sit in front of his computer, searching for new moves to learn.
That’s how he slowly began to build a style of his own, not perfect, but honest, born from solitude and endless dedication.
As soon as he was old enough, he started looking for a job, anything that could help him finally enter a dance school, because no matter how much he trained alone, he knew he needed more, someone to push him forward, someone to correct his missteps, to remind him he could be better.
With the money he managed to save, he couldn’t afford a prestigious academy, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t looking for luxury, only a place where his dream could begin to breathe.
He entered with ease, astonishing his teachers from the very first day, they held him in the highest regard for years to come, as if he were made of light. But fate, ever cruel and silent, closed the doors of that beloved school. Funds ran dry, and with them, the dreams that had taken root in its halls.
Minho was devastated.
The news fell on him like winter rain, cold and without mercy. He locked himself away, retreating into shadows, his dancing shoes untouched. He had lost his friends, his mentors, and worst of all, the will to dance. He could start again, perhaps, in another place, but he knew deep down it would never be the same. The other schools in the city asked for double the price, and anything beyond his province was a dream far out of reach. He was older now, unsure if any stage would welcome him again.
The days passed, colorless and slow, as he sat in front of his computer. And then, by pure chance, a video appeared among YouTube's suggestions.
He clicked it, more out of boredom than hope, but the song’s melody gripped him at once. 13 was its name and it was sung by someone called Han Jisung from the band Alien.
Minho fell headfirst into their world, a pop rock band with a soul that seemed echo his own. He became enchanted, by the angelic voice of that boy with stars in his throat.
Suddenly, not being able to dance didn’t hurt as much. On sad days, he’d put on his headphones, play one of their songs, and dance alone in his room and as the music wrapped around him, he remembered who he used to be. He worked tirelessly in the years that followed, found a job that brought stability and saved every coin with one dream: to see his idol live, just once.
The first concert was unforgettable. He stood there, breathless, realizing that even the most beautiful pictures had never done Jisung justice.
He sang every word with his whole heart and danced with wild abandon to every guitar solo. Through him, Minho had found something he’d lost, a purpose, a spark and slowly, the courage to chase his passions once again.
“Lee Minho right?”
“Yes.” The boy nodded, nerves dancing beneath his skin. The middle-aged woman eyed him closely, her gaze lingering just long enough before she handed back his ID.
“The registration is complete. Just one last signature.”
Minho took the pen and without a second thought, etched his name in permanent ink upon the page.
“Perfect. Welcome to our dance school.”
And just like that, a new chapter began.
♬
“It’s showtime!” The manager’s voice rang out, startling him.
Jisung blinked, torn from the mirror’s gaze, where his reflection had held him captive, a pale face framed by a halo of dressing-room lights, weary eyes ringed in smudged eyeliner, cheeks faintly flushed with rouge that now seemed to much, or perhaps too little.
“This blush really isn’t doing me any favors.” he muttered with a sigh, rising from the chair.
He looped the earphone cord behind his neck, then reached for the microphone like a sword too heavy to wield. Tonight’s show was for a private client, a seedy bar thick with smoke and stares, the kind of crowd that didn’t care for his music, only for his look. He hated that part. The empty applause, the vacant smiles.
“Well if it isn’t our shining star, Han Jisung!” A man in his forties greeted him with a sly grin, an arm slinging casually across Jisung’s shoulders, too heavy, the kind of touch that left a mark, even after it was gone.
“This kid’s our goldmine.” The man joked, pulling him closer and planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
The party hadn’t even started and he was already drunk, Jisung could feel the burn of alcohol on the man’s breath, warm against his skin. “Make sure you give us a dream tonight” he added before letting him go.
Jisung exhaled quietly. It could have been worse.
He made his way toward the rest of the band, offering a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Fingers brushing the strings, he picked up his guitar and began tuning it, a ritual as old as his silence, one that calmed his hands when is heart refused to.
“You’re going to ruin it, you know, pulling the strings like that.” The drummer voice broke the moment, half a joke, half a truth spoken from just behind his shoulder.
“You tuned it yesterday already. Nervous?”
“A little” he admitted softly, turning the tuning peg at the head stock. With a light touch, he plucked the string and leaned in, listening to its voice as if it could answer something.
“I know you’re not into nights like this, but the pay’s good.”
“Yeah.” he replied without looking up, eyes fixed once more on the guitar.
Money had never been his reason, what he wanted, what he had always wanted, was to make hearts beat faster. His soul had once been pure, but this world, ruthless, sharp-edged, greedy, had stained it.
In the beginning, he thought music was all about joy and light. He’d believed in stages, in passion, in applause that meant something, but reality had pulled him into darker corners: nights where he’d risked too much just to be seen, times when he was asked to sell more than just his talent. There had been a moment when he didn’t even know if he’d made the right choice at all.
“Twenty minutes. We’re on.” the manager clapped, snapping the band’s attention back to the room.
“Let’s keep it sharp. Tonight’s is important.” The band nodded, exchanging a few silent glances.
Jisung didn’t look his best, he rarely did these days, but the others trusted him. They knew that, no matter how dim his light seemed backstage, on stage, he always burned bright.
And he did. The performance was flawless.
When the final note faded, a wave of people surged forward with praise, flooding them in a storm of compliments, some about music, some about things that had nothing to do with it.
Jisung felt sick. Someone had even slipped him cash in exchange for a “private performance”, but the manager stepped in , smooth, a shield made of business smiles.
“Now that’s a night’s work.” the bassist grinned, counting the bills back in the dressing room. “I can finally sleep in peace.”
But Jisung knew he wouldn’t sleep. Not tonight.
He grabbed his headphones, powered up his laptop and crawled under the blankets like a child hiding from a storm. He started a new anime , bright colors, safe worlds, places where pain had purpose and endings made sense. It was the only way he knew to step outside of himself, to escape, if only for a while.
He was counting down the days to the tour, clinging to the thought of real stages, real crowds and new songs that might finally let him breathe again. He drifted off 4 am, that last thought wrapped in his mind.
♬
“Wake up, sleepyhead!” Felix’s voice rang out from the foot of the bed, bright and merciless.
“Felix...what time is it?” Minho rubbed his eyes, his voice thick with sleep.
“It’s time to get moving or you’ll be late!”
Minho’s hand fumbled across the nightstand until it found his phone. One glance at the screen and he shot upright like he’d been struck by a lightning.
“Hurry up! Is that the impression you want to give on your first day?” shaking his head, Minho bolted to the bathroom, cold water chasing away the fog of sleep.
He’d passed out after his morning shift, exhausted, just needing a moment and now he was racing the clock for his introduction at the new dance school. Felix had just saved his skin.
“What are you wearing?”
“I don’t know...I haven’t thought about it.”
“Seriously? Do I have to do everything for you?” Felix threw his hand in the air, half dramatic, half genuine, the kind of exasperation born from care.
“I didn’t ask you to!” Minho called out, toothbrush stuck between his teeth.
“Doesn’t matter” Felix shoot back, already knee-deep in his closet.
“You’ve got to show them who’s best so...casual? Elegant? Bad boy? Or something soft?” He rifled through Minho’s clothes with the zeal of a stylist on a mission.
“Don’t go overboard, I still need to be comfortable enough to dance.” Minho warned, as if he already knew what Felix was planning. Sure enough, the blonde huffed and reluctantly set down the tight jeans and leather jacket combo he’d been holding like a prize, but he wasn’t giving up that easily.
“Ta-daaa! What do you think?” he asked proudly, holding a simple black shirt and matching trousers, sleek, striking.
“It’ll do. Honestly I was thinking hoodie and sweatpants”
“Yes, after the first impression Minho! Then you can dress like a disaster all you want”
“Are you calling me a disaster?” Minho arched an eyebrow, amused.
“No, no..absolutely not..” Felix cleared his throat, suddenly innocent.
“I know dancers usually wear loose, comfy clothes, but I swear, those don’t do justice to your movements. You need something fitted, something that flows...it lets people really see you”
Minho had been living with Felix for a few years now.
They were more than just roommates, they were best friends, and no one knew better than Felix how much dance meant to him. He knew the shadows Minho had walked through, the pain of having to stop dancing when it meant everything. He wanted this to be perfect for him. In truth, Felix was more anxious than Minho himself.
"Look at you, you’re a masterpiece. If you weren’t my best friend, I’d ask you out," the Australian teased, pulling him into a tight embrace.
Minho smiled, tousled his friend’s hair, and walked toward the mirror, where he kept Jisung’s guitar pick, caught mid-flight at one of his concerts.
He picked it up gently, holding it like a charm between his fingers.
"Let this go well…" he whispered, brushing the pick against his lips, as if a kiss could summon good luck.
"If your ritual’s over, we can finally go!" Felix called out from the doorway, his voice filled with warmth.
Minho drove through the quiet streets, with his best friend singing every word of Alien’s album at full volume.
Felix was never really a die-hard fan, but Minho had infected him with his passion and now, he knew every lyric by heart. Minho sent him a silent thank you. That loud, off-key performance had made the pressure feel lighter.
"I believe in you. Text me the second you're out, fighting!!" Felix encouraged him, taking the wheel to drive back home.
Minho adjusted the collar of his shirt and stepped into the grand dance hall, heart pounding in his chest. He looked around slowly, eyes scanning the dancers scattered across the room and then someone stood out and Minho, without knowing why, felt seen.
"Hey you, what’s your name?" the boy asked, approaching with quiet confidence. His long black hair framed a face full of confidence, and he wore a crimson shirt
"Lee Minho," he answered shyly.
"I’m Hyunjin. Nice to meet you."
♬
"I'm not around today," Jisung said, eyes fixed on his hands.
"Where are you going?"
"The usual place," he replied, focused as he applied a second coat of black polish to his nails. He lifted his hand toward the light, checking that the ink was spread evenly. Blowing gently over them, he let his gaze drift out the window, watching the city breathe beneath the morning chill.
"Alright... take care," the other said softly as he left the room. Jisung let out a quiet sigh.
He spent the next half hour scrolling through news on his phone. Once sure the polish had set, he stood and got ready. He slid into tight jeans and tucked in a white shirt.
Over it, he threw on an oversized hoodie and adorned himself with his favorite accessories; rings on his fingers, steel chains hanging from his belt loops. Last, he pulled the hood over his face and stepped outside.
He didn’t want to be stopped by anyone that morning. Taking the quieter streets, he moved like a shadow through the city until he reached his destination. He looked around cautiously before ringing the bell, hoping no one had followed him.
"Who is it?" a voice crackled through the speaker.
"J.One," he replied, and the door buzzed open. Finally safe, he pulled down his hood and climbed the stairs, hands tucked in his pockets. It was bitterly cold that morning.
"Jisung!!" greeted the boy at the door with a bright, warm smile and tousled hair.
"I missed you, Chan," Jisung whispered as he pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Jisung?? He's here already?" a voice called from inside.
"Hyung, it's been too long!" Jisung beamed, rushing into Changbin’s arms.
"You missed your Binnie, huh?" the older one teased, ruffling his hair affectionately.
"I missed you both so much…" he admitted, reluctant to let go.
Changbin exchanged a look with Chan, who was closing the door behind them with a hint of worry in his eyes.
"You alright? You look a little worn out. Are you sleeping? Eating?" he asked, eyes scanning him with gentle urgency. He cupped Jisung’s face, inspecting his cheeks carefully.
"Okay, your adorable little cheeks are still here. False alarm," he joked, sighing in relief, making Jisung laugh.
"Did they give you trouble?"
"For leaving? Nah. They don’t know I’m here."
"You know I’m not a fan of you hiding this," Chan said, stepping closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I’m saying this for your sake. If they find out-"
"Don’t worry," Jisung replied, offering him a tired but warm smile.
"So, tell us, did you find your soulmate yet?" Changbin nudged him teasingly, earning a playful shove.
"You know I can’t," Jisung muttered, eyes half-closed.
"Ugh, boring!" Changbin huffed, crossing his arms.
"You will," Chan said, pulling them both into his strong arms. "Until then, we’ll be your people."
"You sure you’re not overdoing it at the gym?" Jisung wheezed, crushed between them.
"You should be telling that to Changbin!" and the three of them burst out laughing together, the sound echoing like home.
They had met by chance, years ago, online. Bound by their love for music, they soon formed a small group; 3RACHA, they called it.
Each of them had a rare, raw talent: Chan, drawn to sensual, electronic rhythms; Changbin, a purist of rap’s raw edge; Jisung, with a heart for rock. They made music together for fun. They even dreamed of debuting as a real group, until Jisung was offered a place in a band.
It felt like fate. The others pushed him to accept it. They believed it was the big break he deserved and knew he’d shine far brighter than by their side.
Five years had passed since then. They’d watched him grow, rise, become something more. And they were proud, so proud, but lately, the spark in his eyes had dulled. And worry sat heavy on their hearts.
"You sure everything's okay?" Chan asked gently, handing him a hot chocolate.
"I’m just tired...Last night, I had to perform in a terrible club. Full of people with more money than soul." The others exchanged a look, they knew. The music world could be cruel, especially to a young, promising rockstar. To those who saw him only as a body to sell and a voice to profit from.
"Then how about playing with us today? Changbin recorded something new, you wanna hear it?" Chan offered, trying to lift his friend’s spirit.
"Really? I’d love that," Jisung said, a smile tugging at his lips as the shadows of last night faded, just a little.
♬
"Nice to meet you, I’m Hyunjin," said the taller boy, reaching out his hand. Minho eyed it with suspicion for a moment before finally grasping it in a firm shake.
"Are you new?” he asked, his gaze unwavering.
"Mmh, yeah," Hyunjin nodded, glancing around nervously.
"Me too! I'm here for the audition, but everyone already seems to have someone with them... so I thought I’d come ask you how it works..."
Minho stared at him, a little bewildered. His face didn’t match his demeanor, he looked far too charming to be so kind.
"Honestly, I’m not sure…" he admitted.
"I think they’ll explain everything soon." He turned his head toward the three judges now entering the room.
"They’re kind of scary," Hyunjin whispered, stepping closer.
A cold wave of nerves washed over Minho.
It had been such a long time since he’d last danced in public and never in front of actual judges. This was a prestigious school. He couldn't afford to let fear ruin his performance.
One by one, names were called, each dancer took the floor until the judges were satisfied. Some passed with good remarks, others were cast aside, lined up against the wall. Minho began to imagine what it would feel like to be one of them, discarded, overlooked.
"Hwang Hyunjin." The woman’s voice rang out, and the boy beside him stepped forward.
The moment he began to dance, Minho was entranced. It was his expressions, so intense, so full of fire that drew him in. His eyes held a magnetic pull, his every move precise and powerful, perhaps too powerful at times. Still, he was captivating.
Minho found himself lost in watching him, forgetting for a moment that his own turn was coming. In fact, it was Hyunjin’s performance that soothed him. It pulled his anxiety away like a tide returning to the sea.
"Lee Minho."
The brown-haired boy took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let go. Where Hyunjin had struck with force and presence, Minho danced like water. Every movement smooth, elegant, fluid.
The soft fabric of his shirt floated with him, revealing just enough of his body to amplify the sensuality of his motion. He was silent, precise, breathtaking.
At the end, he bowed his head, cursing himself for each misstep he believed he’d made. He knew he could have done better. But the judges were impressed. They placed him among the top performers, right alongside Hyunjin.
Minho returned home drained. He collapsed onto his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"So??" Felix burst into his room, eyes sparkling. But his grin faded at the sight of Minho’s tired figure.
"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting at the edge of the bed.
"I didn’t give it my all... People are already making comments, comparing me to others." Minho sat up, rubbing his face.
"I know it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last, but... I’m just in a really bad mood. I could’ve done better."
"Oh, Minho…" Felix murmured, crawling closer and curling up beside him.
"I know you're a perfectionist, and that you care deeply... but I'm sure people will see how incredible you are with time. Mistakes are part of it, you’re human. Even your idol messes up, you know!" he added, raising a finger like he was stating a sacred truth.
"Even Han Jisung isn’t perfect." Minho's mouth dropped open.
"Impossible."
"It’s true!"
"Take it back."
"But it is the truth! Remember that time he– "
Before he could finish, Minho smacked him in the face with a pillow. Felix toppled off the bed, laughing. Their laughter filled the room, warm and bright and once again, Felix silently thanked Jisung for giving him a way to cheer up his best friend.
"By the way, how long until the concert?"
"Two weeks..."
"TWO WEEKS?!" Felix shouted, jumping to his feet.
"That soon?? Have you mentally prepared?!?"
"Not really... But this time I got tickets right at the front. I still can’t believe it."
"Imagine if he noticed you..."
"Felix. Go to sleep." Minho cut him off, his heart thundering at the thought.
"Yeah okay, just don’t dream anything too spicy…"
Minho grabbed the pillow again and flung it at the blonde, who fled in fits of laughter. Minho smiled to himself. He was truly grateful to have Felix as a roommate.
Later, as he changed in front of the mirror, his eyes caught the scar along his abdomen.
Even Han Jisung isn’t perfect.
Minho found himself wondering, did he have flaws too? It was impossible to believe. To Minho, Jisung was perfection embodied.
He still couldn’t grasp the fact that in just two weeks, he would see him again after waiting a whole year. And from that close. It was his biggest dream. He wanted to shine just like Jisung did. He wanted to work harder, to be seen by him. He wanted to make him proud and to do that, he had to outshine Hwang Hyunjin.
♬
The sky turned a gentle shade of pink as clouds painted their shadows across the mountains.
Jisung sighed softly, leaning against the windowsill of his room, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He loved waking up at dawn to catch the very first light of day especially after a night haunted by dreams.
There was something healing about watching the world awaken; it brought a rare stillness to the turmoil within him. Despite the unforgettable day he'd spent laughing with his best friends, that lingering unease remained, an echo left behind by the man in the crowd at their last concert.
Jisung loved his work deeply, with every fiber of his being, but in moments like that, doubt would creep in like a shadow. Had he made the wrong choice in life? Maybe the world he'd dreamed of was just that, a dream. Or maybe he simply hadn't yet accepted reality.
As a young fan, he’d looked up to his idols with wonder-filled eyes and a heart full of innocence, believing they must be happy, how could they not be? But that illusion shattered the moment news reached him of his favorite singer’s death. He couldn't believe it.
He’d mourned him for weeks, overcome by guilt for having romanticized him, for not realizing that even his hero might have been hurting, might have battled demons too heavy to carry.
Idols weren’t perfect. Their world wasn’t paradise, it was brutal, a constant race to survive, often paved with pain, loneliness, and exploitation.
Jisung considered himself lucky. He’d encountered manipulators, and even worse, but he'd always managed to walk away clean. And now, in the band that had become his second home, things had changed. He had fans, he could write and share his music freely.
There were shadows, yes, dirty money and secrets behind the scenes, but he’d learned to live with them. Still, sometimes, late at night, he wondered: What would my fans think if they knew?
His manager had always reassured him: no one would ever find out.
He closed the window when the sun rose higher in the sky, and sat at the edge of his bed, gently taking his guitar into his hands. He played softly with his eyes closed, letting the music take shape in his mind, the lights, the crowd, the stage. It had been a year since his last tour. And he missed it. He missed them.
“Jisung,” a soft voice called, one of his bandmates stepping into the room.
“Did you stay up all night?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes at the sight of the dark circles beneath Jisung’s eyes.
“Yeah… nightmares again,” he admitted, toying with the guitar pick between his fingers.
“Remember the charity concert tomorrow night?” The words sparked something in him.
“That’s right! I almost forgot!” he said with a sudden smile, standing up and gently placing the guitar back on the bed.
Those moments were what he loved most about being an artist, bringing comfort to others through his voice.
They’d organized a benefit concert to raise funds for medical research and just like that, the dark clouds in his mind began to clear. He threw himself into practice, rehearsing each song until it lived and breathed with him.
The day of the concert arrived like the flutter of an eyelash. The audience that night wasn’t made up of devoted fans and not everyone liked their style of music. But that didn’t matter. There were people, and they were listening. That was enough.
“Ahhh, I’m so happy,” he whispered, falling onto his bed, arms wide open like he could embrace the world.
That night, no nightmares came. He began counting down the days now only a handful separated him from the concert. The one that meant everything.
He visited the venue several times. It was slightly bigger than the one from the year before. He stood center stage, gazing at the empty seats, trying to picture the sea of lights, the sparkling eyes, the trembling hands. He even asked the crew to install more spotlights, he had a surprise planned for the fans.
Time slipped by too fast. Some of the promotional posters around the city had been torn down by the rain, but the energy remained in the air.
“How are you feeling?” asked the bassist, nudging Jisung with a teasing smile.
“Like I’m dreaming,” he replied. “Tomorrow, we’ll be up there again…”
“I can’t wait!” the other clapped his hands.
Jisung wasn’t the only one loved by fans. Each member of the band had their own charm, their own following. They were all handsome, talented, magnetic in different ways. Their concerts were usually filled with screaming girls, but it always meant something special when male fans showed up too.
That night, Jisung lay under the covers, his mind calm, his heart racing. He didn’t open his usual anime streaming site instead, he opened a blank page and wrote a letter to his fans. He posted it just past midnight, when the world was asleep and yet, just hours later, he awoke with a familiar knot in his stomach. That blend of nervousness and excitement that only came before a performance.
His emotions danced together like lovers, joy and fear. He wanted to give his best. He wanted to make them proud. He breathed in, deeply. Finally, he was backstage.
The crowd was roaring, the stands were shaking. He held his guitar tight, grounding himself. He wore a fingerless leather glove to keep the sweat at bay, he hated when his grip slipped.
His hair was parted to the side, revealing his forehead. A ripped crop top layered over a striped shirt clung to his frame. He’d done his makeup for the night, smoky black and violet shadows, lined perfectly with black eyeliner.
He rolled his shoulders and exhaled. It was time.
When he stepped onto the stage, the world exploded. He ran down the runway with a beaming smile, reaching out to fans, locking eyes for just long enough to make someone’s night. The others followed behind, just as bright.
The drummer kicked off with a solo, the bass vibrated like a second heartbeat, and the concert began. Their voices soared through the night, carried by the crowd.
At times, Jisung simply listened letting the audience sing his parts. It was magical. It was home, but the night was drawing to a close. Only a few songs remained.
He had to pick someone to bring up on stage someone who had shone like a star from the very first moment. He’d seen him in the front rows.
A boy in an over sized sky-blue hoodie, singing every lyric at the top of his lungs, dancing through every beat of Jisung’s solos. But not just dancing, he was living the music, he was feeling it, as if every note flowed through his blood. And in that moment Jisung’s heart skipped a beat.
When the concert ended, just before announcing the surprise to his fans, he rushed backstage and asked the crew to shine the spotlight right there, exactly where he had seen him.
That’s how Minho was chosen lifted from the crowd and brought into the light. Jisung watched him approach, bright-eyed and breathless. It was the first time he had ever let a fan share that view with him. He looked about his age maybe a little older, and his face was achingly beautiful.
"Who are we with tonight?"
"Minho."
Minho, so that was his name.
Jisung had often wondered about the people who cheered for him night after night. What were their names? What lives did they return to after the music stopped? Why his songs? What did they mean to them?
But there had never been time to ask and now was no exception. So he simply asked the boy if he’d enjoyed himself, though the answer was already written in his smile. Minho's eyes shimmered. Was that joy because of him?
"You saved me..." Those words struck Jisung deeper than he expected. To know that his music had saved someone, it was his greatest pride.
He longed to hear Minho's story, to linger a little longer beside him, but time was cruel. Still, something inside him stirred, an urge to tease, to lean in closer, to whisper something that only Minho would hear. And just like that, he did.
Then, turning to the crowd, he shifted their attention with a cheer, stealing back the moment. He said goodbye, too soon. Their hands met by accident; he grabbed Minho’s wrist and something strange surged through him, a jolt. a spark. He looked up and into amber eyes, and in that gaze he lost himself. They stood still, as if the world had forgotten how to turn.
Truly beautiful
The thought passed through him like a sigh, and then he was back in the now, letting go. "See you at the next concert," he called before running offstage. But the emptiness came swiftly. That quiet ache he knew so well at the end of a show, only this time, it wasn’t just post-concert sadness. He just didn’t know it yet.
♬
For Minho, those two weeks were anything but easy. The only thing that kept him going was knowing he’d soon see his idol again.
The dance school was as demanding as its reputation. Keeping up with the pace and the teachers’ expectations was exhausting. Hyunjin stood out in every way: graceful, magnetic, beloved by all.
Minho didn’t hate him not at all, he actually wanted to be his friend, but since the competition for the top spot had begun, they hadn’t spoken. Hyunjin had stopped reaching out, maybe he thought Minho resented him, or maybe he was just another one who let praise go to his head.
"Minho, are you sleeping? You don’t look so well," his roommate asked, concern softening his voice, a flicker of guilt crossed his face, had he been wrong to push Minho back into the world of dance?
"Yeah, I mean, no,?" Minho replied absently, eyes fixed on the glow of his computer screen. "I’ve been trying to train at night too," he murmured.
"You can’t keep this up, you know?" Felix warned, gentle but firm. "You don’t need to break yourself for this. You’ll only end up hurt."
"Dance is supposed to be freedom, expression. I don’t like what it’s doing to you." His voice held a quiet sadness.
Minho turned to him with a sigh. "I know, Felix… you’re right, but I’m tired of standing in the shadows. I want to shine too… just like the rest."
"Minho…" Felix whispered, stepping closer, wrapping him in a warm hug. "Tell me who this Hwang Hyunjin is, and I’ll break his legs so he can’t dance anymore." The angelic look on his face hid far darker layers beneath.
Minho laughed, surprised. "I don’t think you’d actually do it."
"And why not? You don’t think I could?"
"That’s not it. He just seems like the kind of guy you'd fall in love with." He shot back, teasing and the blush that rose on Felix’s cheeks confirmed the hit.
"Well… even if I did, if he makes you suffer, I’d still break his legs."
Minho laughed again, heart lighter. Felix was so innocent. So full of heart.
"Anyway, cheer up! The day after tomorrow, you’ll see Jisung again. Think about that now. Get some rest you can’t show up looking like this."
And he was right. Minho couldn’t let himself fall apart, not now. If there was someone who could refill his strength, it was Jisung. The next day was a blur of nerves.
The rain outside only deepened the weight in his chest. He spent far too long wondering what to wear then reminded himself it didn’t matter. He’d vanish in the crowd. No one would notice. He woke early but moved slowly, refusing to line up in the cold dawn.
He had a VIP ticket, there was no need. He read the letter Jisung had sent to his fans and something about it quieted him. He brushed the soft curls from his forehead, pulled on a pale blue hoodie, applied just a touch of makeup, enough to look presentable and left the house with nothing but his phone.
A big breakfast kept him grounded. Later he’d buy a drink. He queued around lunchtime, made small talk with a few others, though his shy nature made conversation hard but once he stepped into the venue, once he found himself right against the barricade, that close, reality blurred into something brighter.
He didn’t even notice the hours pass. He was too full of anticipation. All the noise of daily life, all the fatigue and doubt, faded into silence and then the lights dimmed and flared and the band stepped on stage. He screamed with all he had.
And then he saw him. Han Jisung. He passed right by, greeting the fans, dressed like a rockstar, burning with that untouchable fire. He was real.
Minho had never seen him so close and now that he had, it almost felt wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be human, not someone who could walk the same ground as him. He was radiant born for the stage.
Minho’s heart pounded like it might shatter. Right then, he could have died and thanked the stars. But then the impossible happened. Jisung called his name. He had chosen him from the crowd. It felt like a dream.
He pinched himself hard before stepping up the stairs but no bed greeted him. No waking. This was real. He was standing on the same stage, with the person who meant the world to him and Jisung was looking right at him.
That night, his deepest dream came true. Not only did he meet Jisung he spoke to him, he touched his hand, he noticed how he danced. That thought echoed inside Minho as he held that warm hand in his own, still flushed from the closeness, from the words whispered just for him. So soft, so alive and in that moment, Minho realized this wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t the glow of a fan looking up at a distant star.
That day, Minho truly fell in love with Han Jisung.
“So? So?? Tell me everything!!” Felix bounced in place, shaking his older roommate the moment he stepped through the door. Minho barely knew how he’d made it home.
His mind had shut down the moment it happened. He could still feel the warmth of that hand in his. Still see every line of his face burned behind his eyes.
“Are you okay?? Should I call an ambulance?” Felix joked but honestly, it might not have been a bad idea. Minho glanced down at his hand, then slowly turned to face him.
“Jisung… took my hand.”
“Excuse me??” Felix blinked, nearly shouting. “Like, during the concert, when idols reach for the crowd and fans touch their hands?” he asked, giddy for his friend. Minho shook his head, eyes distant.
“No, no… I actually went up on stage.”
“You what?” Felix froze mid-bounce. “How?”
“I’m not even sure it really happened. Maybe I dreamed it all. But he called me up there. He asked my name…He asked how the concert was. He said he saw me dancing. And… he held my hand.”
Felix stood in stunned silence. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“NO WAY.” He shrieked then threw himself onto Minho.
“You’re kidding, right? MINHO, TELL ME YOU’RE KIDDING.”
“I swear, I’d never make this up…” Felix fumbled for his phone, hands shaking, and opened Twitter.
He scrolled like mad, heart pounding. Posts flew past,.flashes of light, lyrics, blurry videos. Then he found it, a photo, then another.
Minho.
On stage.
With Han Jisung.
Felix stared, speechless. “Minho…you’re everywhere.”