"But…"
As Sol trailed off and lifted his head, Ji-ho’s lips curled into a wide grin. It wasn’t deliberate—more like a reflex. Before he even realized his expression had settled into calm, Ji-ho was already smiling brightly. Seeing his unchanging smile, Sol’s tense expression softened slightly. Meeting Sol’s gaze, Ji-ho spoke in a warm, gentle voice.
"What others say doesn’t matter. In the end, it’s your thoughts and feelings that are important."
Ji-ho’s composed, mature demeanor made Sol relax his shoulders. The tension drained from his long neck down to his slightly lowered trapezius muscles and rounded shoulders, leaving them slack. His shoulders didn’t just look lighter—they seemed relieved, as if he’d set down a heavy burden.
"It’s not about grand declarations like ‘Believe in me.’ People are complicated. Maybe to Myung-ha, I really was the kind of person he described."
Sol didn’t look away, and though Ji-ho’s expression brightened, his heart wasn’t at ease. Ji-ho was the one who’d been insulted, yet here he was, soothing Sol as if it were nothing. He spoke as if it were someone else’s problem. Swallowing a bitter laugh inside, Ji-ho flashed an even brighter smile on the outside.
"There might be others besides Myung-ha who don’t like me. I’d love to be remembered fondly by everyone, but that’s impossible."
He was spouting empty, pleasant words. Maybe it was some kind of "nice guy" complex. Myung-ha had said Sol’s looks were striking, that he had talent, that he’d succeed in entertainment—but Ji-ho didn’t treat him well for those reasons. He just wanted to be a good person in Sol’s eyes, someone admirable, for no reason at all.
Honestly, Myung-ha’s words had stung, leaving Ji-ho uneasy. Yet here he was, smiling and mouthing platitudes, all because he wanted to be the cool hyung Sol could rely on. But no matter his intentions, he was still putting on an act, just as Myung-ha had said. At this point, even Ji-ho wasn’t sure whether the face and emotions he showed Sol were real anymore.
"Even if you work hard and tread carefully, you’ll still have antis. On the flip side, there’ll be people who just click with you, who think you’re great, even without you trying."
He was pretending to be the better person, giving Sol advice, but really, he was talking to himself. He wished Sol would understand him—not the polished version, but the weak, petty parts too—and still call him a good person.
"Sure, some people might be moved by grand gestures, like fighting for them. But that’s not me. Even after hearing all that, if you just worry about me like usual, smile at me, and stay the same—if we stay good like this—that’s enough for me."
No. It wasn’t that the words were insincere, but it would’ve been better if Sol had gotten angrier on his behalf, if he’d stood up for him more fiercely. But Ji-ho had no right to ask that much of Sol. And given Sol’s gentle nature, expecting such a thing was even more impossible. This was fine. This delicate distance—close enough to brush shoulders, side by side, yet not fully leaning into each other. It was just right.
Ji-ho thought of Tae-oh. Tae-oh wouldn’t put on an act like he did. And yet, Tae-oh was solid, dependable. Especially lately, seeing him with Sol made Ji-ho almost jealous of how much Sol relied on him. Unlike himself—forcing a smile while hiding his darker thoughts, pretending to casually stand shoulder-to-shoulder—Tae-oh stood behind Sol, effortlessly becoming his support.
It was obvious from the way Sol looked at Tae-oh. And just as obvious from the way Tae-oh watched over Sol. What would Tae-oh say to Sol in this situation? Ji-ho let out a quiet laugh. Yoon Tae-oh probably wouldn’t say anything at all. He wouldn’t fumble with awkward words like Ji-ho did. He’d just raise an eyebrow, indifferent, and lead Sol back to the waiting room without a second thought.
But he wasn’t Yoon Tae-oh. Comparing himself was pointless. If anything, it just made him feel more like a fraud. Ji-ho shook his head slightly, eyes crinkling into a bright smile. His spray-stiffened curls, styled with extra volume, swayed like leaves in the wind.
"And right now, you’re getting mad for me. You’re worried about me, aren’t you?"
"Yeah."
"Then that’s enough for me."
"Hyung…"
When Ji-ho smiled, bright and unshadowed as sunlight, Sol hesitated before nodding softly. After a long silence, Sol finally spoke, shyly.
"I know you help me a lot… and I’m grateful."
All the members looked out for Sol, but when it came to daily life, Ji-ho did the most. If Sol had an older brother with a big age gap, maybe he’d have been just like Ji-ho.
Whether Ji-ho was pretending or not, Sol—who couldn’t see through him—simply thought the Ji-ho in front of him was incredible. I wish I could be that composed. Though standing side by side, the two of them each envied something in the other.
"You’re really kind, hyung. That’s what I think."
As Sol fidgeted with his fingers and confessed his thoughts, Ji-ho flashed a neat, toothy grin. As if to say, 'Who said I was jealous of Tae-oh?' His smile was wide, dazzling—not crafted, but genuine. For this moment at least, being Do Ji-ho was better than being Yoon Tae-oh.
Ji-ho burst into laughter, teasing Sol, who looked utterly flustered. His words were tossed out lightly, like a joke that carried a hint of sincerity. Playing it up, Ji-ho clasped his hands over his chest and squirmed exaggeratedly, like a kid who’d just been confessed to by their first love.
“Our Sol, are you confessing to me? What’s next—a ring and a bouquet? Hyung’s heart’s racing. It’s pounding, seriously.”
Sol’s face burned crimson under Ji-ho’s teasing. Ji-ho stifled his laughter, biting it back with a choked snicker. He was glad Sol wasn’t actually angry about what had happened earlier. Seeing him blush in embarrassment was infinitely better than watching him redden with frustration, regret, or anger.
“If you’re not going to the bathroom, you can head back first. I’ll stop by for a bit and then follow.”
With a gentle nudge, Ji-ho turned Sol’s embarrassed body toward the hallway and gave him a light push. Just for a moment—brief as it was—Ji-ho needed some time alone to sort through his own feelings too. He watched Sol walk toward the waiting room, nodding shyly with a soft “Mm,” before finally letting the smile fade from his face. But it didn’t last long. The moment he stood before the bathroom mirror, his reflection instinctively curled into a grin. It was like a reflex, something he couldn’t control.
***
“Check your fans, everyone.”
Three minutes before taking the stage. At Tae-oh’s calm reminder, Deuk-yong flicked his fan open with a snap. Made of thin, sheer white mesh, the fan bore an ink-wash painting of bamboo, through which Deuk-yong’s face flickered in glimpses. After confirming there were no issues with the fan, as Tae-oh had instructed, Deuk-yong answered in a confident voice:
“All good!”
As Deuk-yong finished checking his fan and tightened the cloth tied around his forehead, Ga-ram fidgeted with the hem of his hanbok, still unaccustomed to the unfamiliar attire. Making sure the costume wouldn’t snag or tangle, Ga-ram turned to Sol behind him and asked:
“Does my back look okay?”
“Yeah. It’s fine. Suits you well.”
Sol adjusted the trailing hem of Ga-ram’s hanbok once before giving him a thumbs-up. After Sol smoothed out the outfit one more time, Ga-ram finally relaxed a little, the tension in his expression easing slightly.
Most male idol concepts with an "Eastern-inspired" theme tend to feature heavily modified, extravagant costumes—long mesh robes, flowing decorative elements, or lavish embroidery and patterns on the fabric to make them stand out on stage. But the outfits worn by Sol and the other members were far from that. In fact, what Sol wore was closer to a properly tailored hanbok, the kind used in traditional Korean dance performances.
It was the type of hanbok often associated with scholars. The jeogori (jacket) and baji (pants) were clean white, while the outer dopo (robe) was a deep navy blue. Perhaps it was because they had drawn a low-tier card—the outfit was closer to a standard hanbok than a stage costume, lacking any flashy details. Even by Sol’s standards, someone who had worn hanbok quite a bit, the fabric wasn’t particularly high quality. To prevent the look from appearing too plain, the stylist had added a few accent pieces—norigae (decorative pendants), a forehead band, and a waist belt.
"Sol, it suits you well."
At Sol’s compliment, Ga-ram gave him a thumbs-up in return. With his striking looks, Sol could pull off anything, but the hanbok truly suited him. It almost made one wonder if he had trained in Korean traditional dance. Dressed like this, Sol looked every bit the elegant, refined scholar—if not for the stark white eyeliner and bleached silver hair (added specifically because the stylists insisted it would suit him), he could’ve been a noble scholar stepping out for a serene moonlit stroll.
At Ga-ram’s praise, Sol adjusted his outfit once more. Wearing hanbok again after so long felt both familiar and strange, leaving him with an odd mix of emotions. Though this wasn’t a traditional Korean dance performance, the thought of stepping onstage in hanbok to perform a choreography he had created himself made him both nervous and excited. He had felt this way before his first stage too, but the intensity was different now.
Even though he hadn’t gone on yet, Sol could feel the tension tightening his chest. He checked his status window—Trauma Resistance. The Stability Potion’s effects are still active. Reassured, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Behind him, Tae-oh, who had been double-checking the members’ appearances, mirrored Sol’s deep breath before nodding firmly and muttering, "Fighting." Sol felt a large hand press against his back—Tae-oh’s.
Feeling the warmth of that supportive touch, Sol followed Ga-ram’s lead. The stage ahead was dark, but soon, it would be dazzlingly bright. It was almost time.
