They work on setting up the sound system and connecting Baekhyeon’s phone to the speakers. Baekhyeon unzips his jacket, throwing it off himself and onto the wooden floor, exposing his bare arms when he only wears an undershirt. He seems to train more than himself and Kuro judging by his toned upper body, so Iseul is expecting his choreography to be highly demanding and propulsive, never pausing to allow him to catch his breath.
Baekhyeon bends down to stretch as Iseul stands by. After a few moments, he looks up to nod at his reflection in the mirror, giving Iseul the cue to press play.
The first beat booms from the speakers. The strong drums and synths from the instrumental flood through Baekhyeon’s form as he dances, performing as though he’s on stage instead of practicing in front of one person.
He watches for Iseul’s reaction with undisguised interest as he moves, the lines of his body polished and precise. It’s difficult for idols with taller statures and broader physiques to control their bodies well, but Baekhyeon compensates with the breadth and intensity of his gestures, making his movements more expansive by spreading his limbs out.
His involvement with the composition shows. It’s strange to be in the position to examine for once, but when Iseul looks at him, he sees himself in his dance—the uncompromising command that Baekhyeon holds over himself like a gun to his head, triggered at any possible mistake.
His sneakers grate against the wooden floor as the music ends. Sweat slides from his forehead to his cheek, dripping onto his shirt. His chest rises and falls as he catches his breath.
“What do you think?”
“I’m not sure how a more conservative audience will react,” Iseul remarks with a quiet laugh, noting that his song would be considered noise music to most fans, “but it’s a very intense song. You have the strength and stamina necessary for your choreo, and you weaponize your strong physique to your advantage. But while your legwork is fine, you’re too stiff around your arms and shoulders. If you loosen up your upper body, your movements will look smoother and more effortless.”
“I understand,” Baekhyeon says breathlessly. “Thanks.”
At that moment, Iseul’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls out his phone, greeted by a message notification on the top of the screen.
leekuro
Be back in half an hour. I’ll get dinner for us on the way back. ^^
Baekhyeon wipes his sweat-sheened face with the hem of his shirt. “Do you have to go now?”
Iseul shakes his head. “It’s just Kuro.”
“Oh,” Baekhyeon says. “You don’t have to look like you’re cheating on your wife.”
Iseul thinks for a moment that he must have heard wrong. “Sorry?”
Baekhyeon offers him a shrug. “You look like you’re not supposed to be here. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“That’s not—” Iseul breathes out a resigned sigh, then drags a hand through his hair. “I think there’s some sort of misunderstanding here.”
“Aren’t you seeing Lee Kuro?” Baekhyeon asks, tone assessing and gaze thoughtful. “Not that it’s my place to say anything, but I always thought that you’d be interested in someone more—genuine? Never knew he was your type.”
“I’m not seeing him,” Iseul says quietly. He understands what’s being implied, but isn’t aware of what relationship exists between Baekhyeon and Kuro, if it even does. “I’m just collaborating with him for my album.”
“Huh.” Baekhyeon blinks away the disbelief. Iseul hasn’t read any of the news articles since arriving here, and he doesn’t know if he wants to. “Then, why did you choose to work with him?”
“Because,” Iseul starts, apologetic to people like Baekhyeon who have been waiting for him, “I was worried about being forgotten. I wondered if the people who liked me in my teens would still like me now that I’m in my twenties. I wondered when I would get the chance to make my comeback, if I ever would.”
It’s not as though he can mention anything about sponsorship, when the practice is still connected to illicit favors in the industry. He’s willing to explain everything but that.
“The lack of autonomy in my music was something that frustrated me for a long time, so starting anew with an artist as experienced as Kuro was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I think that working alongside him is going to give my music a different direction—something that I’ve been searching for since debut.”
Baekhyeon inhales. “Han Iseul.”
Iseul raises a curious brow and stands there with his arms folded above his chest, inclining him to continue.
“I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.” Baekhyeon releases a breath, sharp and controlled. “Lee Kuro—isn’t who you think you know. He’s a thief.”
Iseul blinks at him, taken by surprise without any comprehension of what was said. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Phantom’s Requiem wasn’t written by him.” Knowledge sparks in Baekhyeon's eyes, the kind where he knows something that Iseul doesn't. “The song belonged to one of his companions before they died, but he ended up passing off their work as his own. If I were you, I’d question his songwriting abilities.”
Iseul can’t fight the tense unraveling of unease in his stomach. Requiem is from one of Phantom’s oldest albums, a title track released during their early days. It’s not some forgetful B-side, but a song that most people would know from them. “I’ve never heard that before.”
“Because the controversy was buried,” Baekhyeon tells him, entirely serious. “Do you know what the news called Phantom? Plagiarists, thieves, copycats. They had enough connections in the media to bury it, so everyone’s forgotten about it by now.”
Iseul’s chest feels tight, even though his heartbeat feels steady and at ease. He takes a breath and lets it out.
The tightness doesn't leave.
“I see.” His voice comes out distant, distracted. No matter what kind of scenario he runs through his mind, he can’t fathom Kuro doing something like that. “Still, I can’t believe it.”
Baekhyeon looks at him steadily, faint concern in his gaze. “But—”
“This is the same as all the speculations around my relationship with Kuro,” Iseul explains, still calm, although there is warning in his tone. “I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, Baekhyeon. But there are too many rumors floating around and not enough substantial evidence, so until I hear this from Kuro himself, I can’t believe it.”
Iseul isn’t trying to put up his guards around him. He wants to take a well-reasoned approach to this, instead of being swayed by someone else’s story. He wants to believe that what Baekhyeon’s saying couldn’t possibly true, but if it is, then—
Iseul will just have to deal with this himself.
Because after all, he didn’t come here to speculate about what-ifs.
He came here to advise Baekhyeon on his performance because despite being younger than him, he has years and years of experience over him. He’s in the position to remind him that the media is so inundated with rumors and misleading narratives, that it’s incredibly easy to be swept up in them—even if Baekhyeon doesn’t seem to be that kind of person.
Throughout his years in the industry, Iseul made an effort to maintain his composure in all circumstances. He couldn’t control how the public reacted to his albums and performances. He couldn’t control postponing his comeback, withdrawing from television appearances, and terminating all his industry activities.
But the one thing he could control was how he reacted, and that allowed him to take everything in stride.
There’s nothing different about this.
Iseul drops the subject about Kuro and returns his attention to giving Baekhyeon advice about the precision and fluidity of his moves, because there’s nothing that Iseul knows better than dance.
He has the necessary personality for teaching, from the steadfast way he explains things to demonstrating them with practiced control over his body. He’s more critical than not, yet also willing to give compliments without making his words sound forced. It’s how he led the other trainees during group practice sessions when they were all fighting to debut, ensuring that they were ready to perform in front of their dance teachers during their evaluations, always the last one to leave the dance studio every night.
Baekhyeon’s song plays again on the speakers, his prerecorded voice echoing in the room as they face their reflections in the mirror. Iseul shows him how to roll his shoulders and ease his upper body. He runs through the choreography with Baekhyeon, step by step, paying attention to that signature move where Baekhyeon sweeps his shoulder with his hand.
Despite only watching the song performed once, Iseul has grasped the main points of the choreography. He watches as Baekhyun mirrors his movements, putting his advice into practice until he gets it right.
Eventually, Iseul checks his phone again for the time. “I have to head out first.”
“Wait.” Baekhyeon picks up his track jacket on the floor, hesitating for a moment before offering it out to him. “Do you want to borrow this? It’s pretty cold outside.”
“I’ll be fine,” Iseul answers more quickly than he intends. He pulls down the sleeves of his sweater—or rather, Kuro’s sweater—to cover his hands. “Good luck with practicing for the rest of the night.”
Baekhyeon nods. “Thanks for coming. This was really helpful. If you ever need a second ear for your song—just let me know.”
Iseul gives him a faint smile before he leaves. “Definitely.”
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