민한빈 you're so bright

"live?" amusement blooms low in his voice. "mm. so brave."

his gaze drags back to hanbin, slow this time. he's not staring, he's assessing. the dimples don't help; riyan hates them, but it's a problem he's going to enjoy revisiting. "don't worry. i know how to keep my reputation… off camera." he smirked pointedly. "usually." his eyes trace the line of hanbin's shoulders, the way he stands like he's ready to bolt or dance at any second. cute. "first week?" riyan asks, voice smoothin over, knowing. another glance at the phone, then back at hanbin. he's got all the time in the world and fully intends to use it. "well, welcome to hydra," he says, softer now. "rule one: survive the hallways. rule two…" his smile tilts, subtle and very leo-coded. "don't trust anything that goes viral on day one."

the hallway goes silent in a way that feels loud. hanbin lowers the phone and exhales, shoulders dropping like he's just finished modeling shoot. "sorry again,” he says, though he's not sure for what. existing, maybe? "they're… really intense, huh?"

"relax,  relax,"  sena  chuckled  lightly,  a  melodic  resonance  that  bubbled  from  his  throat,  and  waved  off  the  young  boy  with  a  slender  hand.  he  was  genuinely  delighted.  "i’m  not  much  of  a  singer  either,  and  i've  been  doing  this  since  before  you  were  born,  probably.  i'd  be  a  hypocrite  to  hold  that  against  you  when  i've  built  a  legacy  on  far  less  than  vocal  perfection."

sena  let  the  words  settle  before  he  continued.  "the  standards  in  korea  might  be  different  from  japan,  but  let  me  share  something  that's  universal.  you  can  train  to  be  a  better  singer  or  a  better  dancer.  but  what's  harder  to  hone—to  truly  master?  is  character.  presence.  the  ability  to  make  a  room  hold  its  breath  just  because  you  walked  into  it."

sena  pushed  himself  off  the  doorframe  and  closed  the  distance  to  stand  directly  in  front  of  the  younger  male.  he  moved  with  the  languid,  effortless  grace  of  a  man  who  owned  every  inch  of  the  ground  beneath  his  feet,  his  voice  dropping  to  a  register  as  smooth  and  intoxicating  as  aged  whiskey.  "tell  me.  how  do  you  want  to  be  remembered?  what  do  you  want  to  be  known  for?"

how do you want to be remembered.

it was not a new question. it was one he asked himself late at night, lying awake when practice left his body sore and his head too loud. he had always answered it poorly. to be brighter. to be famous. answers that felt like running away from something instead of standing still. he took a breath. he did not smile. "i don't want to be remembered for being perfect," hanbin said. "there are a lot of perfect people." he looked at sena then. really looked. he did not look away. "i want people to remember how they felt when i was there," he said. "that something changed. even if they couldn't explain it. i want to be the kind of person who makes others braver," hanbin went on and couldn't stop himself. "not because i'm better than them. but because i tried anyway. even when it was ugly."

his hands curled once at his sides, then relaxed. "i don't need to be the best singer in the room," he said. "i just don't want to be forgettable. and i don't want to leave halfway through becoming myself." he bowed again. not deep or rushed, just enough. that was his answer.

FT. @hdhanie

riyan nearly collides with him by accident — shoulder to shoulder in the hallway of the practice rooms, the kind of almost-crash that makes his iced water slosh dangerously close to spilling. he steadies it with an easy reflex, eyes flicking up just in time to catch hanbin mid-apology, phone already half-raised like muscle memory.

he clocks the dimples first. then the grin. then the fact that this boy looks way too put-together for someone who just walked straight into him.

"—whoa," riyan laughs, light and unbothered, stepping back a half pace instead of forward. "my bad. hallways be dangerous around this hour."

he notices the camera app still open on hanbin's screen, the soft glow of it reflected in his eyes. very gen z. very cute. riyan doesn't comment on it — just tips his bottle in a small, lazy salute.

"you filming content," he asks, tone easy, curious without prying, "or collecting evidence for when hydra finally blames us for structural damage?"

then he actually looks. oh. that's… riyan.

that riyan. pretty-boy riyan. the one trainees whisper about in corners and comment sections under burner accounts. the one whose fancams trainees pass around like contraband. the one who (okay, allegedly) dated the ceo's son, but hanbin has always told himself rumors are rumors and also not his business, except his brain has stored the information anyway, neatly filed under Things About Riyan (Do Not Be Weird About This).

once  his  presence  was  recognised,  sena  shifted  his  weight,  uncrossing  his  ankles  to  allow  the  trainee  passage  from  the  booth,  but  showed  no  intent  himself  of  vacating  his  current  post.  and  why  would  he  leave  when  the  audacious  promise  that  tumbled  from  the  boy's  lips  gave  sena  such  unadulterated  amusement?  he  threw  his  head  back,  a  chuckle  rumbling  from  within  his  throat,  airy  and  rich  with  delight.  many  would  covet  the  melody  this  young  man  had  just  so  graciously  received—and  for  free,  no  less!  but  if  those  others  were  here,  sena  would  simply  point  a  slender  finger  at  their  inability  to  elicit  such  a  thrill  from  him,  a  thrill  that  was  now  coursing  through  his  veins  and  hazing  his  logical  mind.

"well,  you  better,  if  you  want  to  remain  here  for  long,"  sena  drawled,  mirth  dancing  in  his  eyes  and  softening  the  sharp  edges  of  his  critique.  "or,  you  know,  go  beyond  here.  which  might  take  you  a  while,  if  you  don't  get  any  better.  charisma  can  carry  a  tune,  but  it  can't  compose  the  whole  symphony.

the answer perches on his tongue, light and so convenient. 'six months, less than a year,' something soft and forgivable that would let him pass as raw clay instead of a boy who'd already been handled, shaped poorly, then set down unfinished. he can already picture how it would play: sena's eyebrow lifting, the indulgent ah, that explains it, the lack patience afforded to someone used. it's tempting. peter pan syndrome, alive and kicking, and neverland is stitched behind his ribs, insisting that if he refuses to grow up, refuses to accumulate time, then maybe time won't claim him either. but sena's looking at him like he can smell cowardice.

hanbin swallows. "…since january 2023." he rubs the back of his neck, sheepish but stubborn, rocking once on his heels before stilling himself. "so… two years. almost." he braces for impact, jaw tight, like he’s about to be scolded for wasting oxygen. "not here," he adds quickly, because context matters. because he needs it to matter. "my old company didn’t really do… vocal foundations. it was more like—" he gestures vaguely, hands fluttering, searching for the right word. "—survival 24/7."

he takes a careful sip, then nods like he's quietly proud of yejun. "mm. you did good. this is… comforting. very 'sit down and breathe for a second.'" he laughs softly and nudges the other cup toward yejun. "espresso suits you anyway." yejun is the type to lean in, all attentive but gentle, like an espresso. he shrugs, "i think i just get tired," he admits, honest. "not in a dramatic way. just… i try really hard all the time, and sometimes i don't notice until i stop moving. plus, family drama during the holiday season is imminent." he traces the rim of the cup with his thumb, absent-minded.

a  copy  of  his  freshly  signed  executive  contract  lay  forgotten  somewhere  in  a  drawer  at  his  penthouse,  yet  that  did  little  to  dilute  the  proprietary  ease  of  a  predator  surveying  hunting  grounds  yet  unchartered,  as  sena  walked  the  pristine  and  fluorescent-lit  halls  of  the  agency  building.  he  was  here  to  assess  the  'inventory',  to  separate  the  diamonds  from  the  dull  glass,  the  stars  from  common  space  dust.  he  expected  some  level  of  polish,  he  expected  desperation  and  even  the  stifling  rigidity  of  perfectionism  that  he  could  already  pinpoint  in  some  of  the  trainees  he  had  seen  on  first  impression  alone.

he  certainly  did  not  expect...  this.

the  sound  drifted  to  his  ears  through  the  crack  of  a  slightly  ajar  door  down  the  corridor:  a  vocal  performance  that  contained  unbridled  confidence,  in  the  face  of  skills  that  left  much  to  be  desired.

curiosity  was  an  insatiable  beast  that  ruled  sena's  impulses  more  than  it  should,  and  it  nudged  him  closer.

with  a  fluid  grace  that  barely  stirred  the  air,  sena  pushed  the  door  further  open,  enough  to  accommodate  his  slender  form  leaning  against  its  frame.  he  crossed  his  arms  over  his  chest  draped  in  fine  silk—exposing  no  more  than  his  pale  collarbones,  a  moment  of  modesty  for  him—and  watched  the  young  boy,  nameless  and  no  more  than  a  face  in  a  sea  of  many  others,  pour  his  heart  out  into  a  song  that  did  not  seem  to  agree  well  with  his  present  vocal  capabilities.

he's not here to sound perfect. he's here to make the room bend toward him.

only when the track cuts does he finally lift his head, chest rising with uneven breaths, then his eyes snag on sena in the doorway. at first, confusion; then surprise; then pink embarassment flushes his cheeks, "...oh!" his voice cracks on the single syllable, mortifyingly honest. he bows. quickly, too quickly, the kind that nearly throws his balance off because he's rushing to salvage dignity he already lost. his hair falls over his eyes, hiding the worst of the blush but not the tremor in his breath.

he walks out of the recording booth, shoulders back like he's in front of a panel. oh, he's heard of sena, of his particular perfectionism, and hanbin's been wanting to be his pupil ever since (very ala kill bill). "—i mean, hello. sorry. i was practicing." he says it like it should excuse everything, and he reflects back in full anxious flashbacks: the cracking note on the bridge, the overconfidence, the way he sang like he thought he owned the place. oh god. but then, because he can't help himself, because he was born with delusion dripping like gold through his veins—

she knows him.

so when hanbin starts flailing his hands like a man being personally attacked by organizational structure, she presses her lips together to hide a smirk. it doesn't work. her smile slips out anyway, "oh sweet, naive hanbin," she says, tilting her head and letting her earrings swing, "sweetie, you absolutely can't survive without departments. you need labels on people like i need labels on skincare. otherwise you start letting your inner gremlin into your life and calling boys you meet 'destiny.'"

"don't—" he lifts his head again, eyes narrowed like he's ready to fight but he's really fighting back another laugh, "—don't talk about my inner gremlin. he doesn't pay rent, he shows up maybe twice a year. three times if i'm heartbroken. and one time was because of that-boy-who-will-not-be-named who looked like he escaped from a perfume ad, so honestly, i was set up!"

the moment he says give me the tea, she exhales through a laugh, shaking her head like he's absolutely impossible. "first of all," she says, like, she's about to offer him runway commentary instead of intel. "welcome back to civilization. clearly you've been depriving yourself of quality gossip." she reaches for her chopsticks but doesn't unwrap them. zoe would never waste a dramatic moment on practicality.

"you..." he points at her, then drops his hand uselessly because even pointing feels too on-the-nose, "are actually insane. you clocked me in, like, two breaths." and she did. he sees it in the way she watches him talk, really watches him, and suddenly he's the one looking down at his broth, hiding a smile. also, can he gush over the fact that she ordered for him? "no, don't do that," he waves his hands, laughing helplessly, “don't make departments, zoe. i can't handle departments. i barely survived company hierarchy the first time. the talent consultants told me it'd be different here."