Iseul flushes at the memory. His career all began with Leo’s idea involving filming a dance cover on the roof of his apartment. At first, Iseul thought it was a horrible idea, and he was going to fall off the roof and die.

But the camera captured the vibrant city lights in the backdrop, illuminating the contours of his body as he moved, making him look as though he was harnessing light in the darkness. Leo uploaded the video to YouTube, and he caught the eye of talent scouts from entertainment companies, and the rest was history.

“I love your songs so much. Even Sarang calms down by hearing your voice,” Lee Aera continues, “but it saddens me to know how much potential you have and how your talent is being wasted with your hiatus. I asked to meet you tonight because I’m willing to support the production of your next album if you’ll work with my contacts to make it happen.”

“You mean one of the Hwang siblings?” Iseul asks about her stepchildren. No matter how much he appreciated her sentiments, he couldn’t imagine the idea of working with people like Hwang Sua.

“Goodness, no.” Lee Aera shakes her head. “My younger brother. He’s an accomplished producer responsible for his group’s music, and his work is impeccable. His music isn’t driven by trends, so there’s a distinctly memorable quality to it. I’m confident he can elevate your voice into something brilliant.”

“Your brother,” Iseul repeats.

“That would be me.”

Iseul startles at the voice. He turns around, not expecting to see Lee Kuro in a sleek black suit and styled back hair. He resists the urge to flee from the scene.

From the slight arch of Kuro’s eyebrows and the way his gaze studies him from head to toe, Kuro didn’t expect him to be well-dressed either. “You look good, Han Iseul.”

“What the hell,” Iseul says under his breath. “I need a drink.”

“Why don’t I get you one?” Kuro laughs softly. “You saw my message, but you didn’t reply.”

“I was busy,” Iseul answers flatly. “But I already told you that I didn’t want to work with you, so what’s going on here? If you’re thinking of making fun of me—”

“I asked my dear sister for a favor.” Kuro’s gaze swells with affection when he looks over at Lee Aera. “Can you believe that she was more interested in helping me as Han Iseul’s lover than her younger brother?”

“I—” Iseul’s words choked up in his throat. He wouldn’t care if he was referred to as such by anyone else, but the fact that Kuro throws around his name so carelessly bothers him. “I’m not your—”

“I know,” Kuro says, sounding the slightest bit regretful. The whole situation confuses Iseul, because he never considered anything related to love or relationships to begin with. He was too busy dealing with his training and balancing his education and debuting and actually working in the industry, always fraught with strain and pressure, to even think of being in love with someone.

Iseul doesn’t understand love beyond the borrowed ideas from his composers, the concepts imparted upon him so he could make the most of them during his performances. The love in his music isn’t even his, so how could the world think that he loves someone and someone like Kuro loves him?

His hand clenches, his fingernails digging into his palm. “Why are you doing this? You already know—”

“Do you know how many artists out there don’t have even the slightest of opportunities offered to you?” Kuro's words are spoken quietly, but they carry a weight to them.

Iseul falls silent.

“How many who get injured to the point they can’t dance anymore? They go back to the real world, watching everyone else make it while all they can do is hurt over their lost opportunities.” Kuro’s expression is unreadable in the faint light of the terrace, but the darkness of his eyes steals the air from his lungs. “That’s what I see when I look at you. I’m encouraging you to take what you want when it’s right here in front of you, Han Iseul.”

Something burns at Iseul’s chest because he can’t pour all of his love into his music the way Kuro does. “It’s not that easy.”

Kuro shrugs. “Isn't it?”

“We recognize your talent, Iseul.” Lee Aera’s voice resonates with a rare acknowledgment among those who never even gave him a chance. “As a sponsor, I’m not offering you a contract with dubious conditions, but rather, a partnership. You would remain at your company while working with Kuro, and we would handle not only the production of your album and choreography but all of the management and marketing that comes with it. We would be happy to accommodate your request for a solo album if you aren’t interested in Kuro featuring in your music.” Hope gleams in Lee Aera’s eyes, a sincerity that Iseul doesn’t witness often in this industry. “But as long as you’re willing to partner with Kuro at the composition level, I’m more than happy to support you returning to the stage.”

Lee Aera reaches for his clenched fist, unfurling his fingers with quiet reassurance.

“Don’t you want this?”

“I—” Iseul wants to perform again. He wants to, desperately. “I do.”

“You can,” Kuro murmurs.

His voice is too soft, barely holding up in the wind that rushes past them, but Iseul hears.

At that moment, it’s Iseul on the rooftop all over again, and Leo encouraging him to film a dance cover of one of Kuro’s songs. He thinks of how it felt to be a high school student listening to a song composed by someone only a few years older, already conquering the music world when it was only a distant dream for him. He thinks of what's stopping him from taking Kuro's hand when he's reaching out to Iseul right now.

All Iseul can hear is the steady thrum of his heart, the song that plays from the speakers—his very own song—full of the quiet sentimentality that comes with moving ahead when he hears the word can’t, overflowing with boundless hope and certainty.

This is all it takes for him to concede.

“Fine,” Iseul says. “I’ll work with you.”

* * *

Exhaustion comes to Iseul later that evening, reminding him of how he feels after hours of dance practice, even though all he did was attend a social function.

The light of his phone screen is stark in the darkness of his bedroom, even at the lowest brightness setting. He stares at his phone, the side of his face buried into his pillow, weary from the evening. He really should stop spending time on his phone before sleeping—it makes it more difficult for him to fall asleep when he’s exposed to the light and vulnerable to late-night thoughts that freak him out more than they should.

He doesn’t bother blocking all the people leaving him hate comments and private messages—an impossible feat when the nation’s entire population of fans is against him. They may seem like only numbers on a screen, but it’s easy to forget that there are people behind them, too. Misguided, highly devoted people revere Kuro as if he’s someone deserving of a statue worth his weight in gold. Their messages flood his inbox, but what catches his eye is a notification that Lee Aera has tagged him in a post.

Intending to sleep after this, Iseul taps on the post.

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leeaera Dreams do come true. @haniseul

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The photo shows Iseul posing with a peace sign beside Lee Aera, blurry from the camera shake. He’s bent down to accommodate her height, and both of them have small smiles on their faces. The photo is the first in a set of two, the other capturing the albums that Iseul personally autographed for her tonight. Her comment makes him smile into his pillow.

Iseul likes her post and follows her back. Not even a minute later, Lee Aera comments on one of his old photos with a series of exclamation points and nothing more. He appreciates fans like her when she enjoys his music and understands him beyond what fans are instructed to believe.

Kuro’s username appears in his notifications again. If he wanted to get Iseul’s attention, he certainly has it now because what he posted was a photo of Iseul without his permission. Here, Iseul is cradling Sarang in his arms after meeting her at the party, gazing at her fondly while she’s looking up at him with the remnants of sleep in her eyes.

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Iseul wants to burrow himself further into his sheets. He didn’t even realize his photo was taken, and now, the numbers on Kuro's posts are growing higher and higher. It could have been much worse if Kuro wanted to embarrass him or make him suffer with an unflattering photo, but this is, in fact, a nice photo.

From what he can see, some fans are more optimistic than others, sending messages of support. What makes him frown is the fact that Kuro seems adamant on keeping him tied to the spotlight with him when what he wants is anything but.