Chapter Text
The waves sound like static to him. The same white noise that used to fill the silence between words he never spoke aloud, but still hangs around like ghosts. Kyehoon stands by the sea at dawn, the cold air threading through his coat and tastes of salt. He closes his eyes, and for a moment, the static turns to a low hum that drifts over the water, swallowed by the wind.
The scent of sawdust is thick in the air, and a glint of sunlight slips through the cracks in the boards, sketching shifting patterns on their faces. Two figures crouched over a radio that never quite worked but always buzzed with possibility. The shed comes back easily. Walls leaning inward, rusted nails holding them together, and the clutter of scattered parts. They were crouched on the floor, heads bent close over a tangle of wires. The younger boy grinning widely over something he had said, a fan of dusty red smeared across his cheek.
“One day, we’ll fix it,” Kyehoon said, tapping the radio’s side. “Then we can listen to my songs on it. Maybe by then they’ll play it everywhere, even out here.”
Donghwa snorted. “We’ll need more than a miracle and a broken radio for that hyung.”
Kyehoon smiles faintly. “Mm, I guess, but it’s nice to think about.”
“Someday,” Donghwa said, quieter now, “I’ll wear real fancy clothes and I’ll walk down runways.”
“You’d look stupid in a suit,” Kyehoon teased.
Donghwa nudged him with his shoulder, grinning again. “Then I’ll make it look good.”
Kyehoon could almost believe him then in that fading light. In the distance, the waves lick the shore and the radio hums faintly with static. For a moment, it felt like the world might actually listen.
He can almost picture Donghwa again, somewhere brighter, adorning clothes that didn’t smell of old wood and salt. Kyehoon opens his eyes to the gray water in front of him. The world is quieter now.
He hums again, softer this time, as he stands up. His shoes sink slightly with each step, the tide reaching for his toes before retreating. The horizon glows faintly, a bruise of pink and gold.
Suddenly, it’s already September, and Kyehoon is not seventeen anymore and hasn’t been for a very long time.
The misty town still slept when Kyehoon left. A faint pink brushed the horizon. The street below his old house sloped toward the harbor, where the fishing boats rocked against the docks. He adjusted the strap of his bag, a faded duffel he’d had since high school, and started down the hill. His shoes left damp prints on the pavement. The shutters on the convenience store were still pulled down; even the street cats hadn’t come out yet.
Once the band begins their promotions, there will be less time to come back. He might as well bid his goodbyes to the one that remained in the village before he leaves and get back to the city. Pieces of his youth remain buried too deep in the sand. He can never leave for good, but the thought always lingered in the back of his mind. At the bus stop, he was the only one waiting.
He reaches for the phone buzzing in his jacket pocket.
“Happy birthday Kyehoon hyung,” Donghyeon's voice floods through the device. Kyehoon winces at the loud voice and scrambles to lower the volume. Luckily, no one was around to witness him fumbling.
“How was your vacation? You are coming back today, right?”
“It was great, nothing like the company of seagulls and freezing water,” Kyehoon answers sarcastically.
“You have a surprise waiting for me or something?”
“Nothing like that. Figured I should make a call before you are back.“
“Happy birthday hyung, enjoying your trip?” Amaru’s bright voice greeted him.
“You two are up early,” Kyehoon laughs. “Hm, it was nice having a break from being stuck in the studio room, I suppose,” and that was not entirely wrong. The three of them have been living in there for the past month, trying to prepare for their next comeback. He was due for a break before being trapped for another unforeseeable period.
“I’ll be back probably by noon.”
“Do you want manager hyung to pick you up?”
“Sure.”
When the airport bus pulled up, its headlights washed over him, bright. The driver nodded once, didn’t ask where he was headed. There was only one direction from here anyway. He sat by the window. Outside, the low houses of Seogwipo and its fields were cut by thin roads that led nowhere. The old water tower still leaned slightly to the left. The bus hummed softly as it climbed the ridge that would take him north, away from the sea.
The sky turned gold as they crossed into Jeju City. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about it not about Donghwa’s laugh, or his grandmother’s pale face, or the last fight that ended in silence instead of goodbye.
When the bus pulled into the airport, the world was fully awake. The noise hit him all at once, tearing him from his memories.
He checked in for the earliest flight to Seoul– one hour.
By the time Kyehoon reached Seoul, the city was already buzzing. The plane landed in rain, not quite pouring, but just hung in the air like static. From the airport, he makes his way towards the subway.
Kyehoon’s hair is longer, eyes are tired. In the train station light-up ad display, Donghwa looks unreal, polished, clearly belonging to a different world. The bright light shines luminating him under the gray weather outside the Seoul train station.
He smiles faintly, watching the ad play through before the familiar run-down company car slows to a stop in front of him.
He didn’t have an umbrella, so by the time he reached the shared apartment, his hair clung damply to his forehead.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of ramen and detergent. Keiju and Minje were slouched on the couch, mid-Mario Kart match. They both looked up when he shut the door behind him.
“You’re back! Happy birthday, hyung!” Keiju grinned.
“Happy birthday,” Minje said without looking up from the screen. “You wanna join in?”
“Eh–maybe one round.”
Kyehoon sank to the floor in front of the couch, dropped his bag beside him, and grabbed one of the controllers scattered across the coffee table.
Unsurprisingly, Keiju won with ease.
“Have you eaten yet?” Amaru asked, appearing in the doorway, drawn out from the room he shared with Donghyeon by the noise.
“Nah, not that hungry.” Kyehoon stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Is Donghyeon here?”
“Still in bed.”
“That brat woke up just to wish me happy birthday and went back to sleep,” Kyehoon mused affectionately. “He should’ve been up by now so we could go out.”
Though he had just been complaining about Donghyeon’s absence, Kyehoon started to think maybe the maknae had the right idea. He dropped his single carry-on by his bed in the room he shared with his manager, and as soon as he sat down, exhaustion hit him like a wave. A quick nap before dinner didn’t sound half bad. He barely had time to close his eyes before sleep dragged him under.
As quickly as he blacked out, he was then abruptly wrenched out of his evening nap by someone shaking his shoulder. Minje hovered over him, frowning, one hand gripping Kyehoon ’s arm, the other clutching his phone.
“Hyung, what is this about?” he demanded. While he usually messed around with their tall drummer, he had never seen him look this angry– hurt, even. The usual teasing glint in Minje’s eyes was gone, replaced with something raw and uncertain.
“You knew him,” Minje said quietly, like he still couldn’t believe it.
Kyehoon blinked up at him, disoriented, trying to piece together where he was.
“You knew Donhgwa this whole time and didn’t say anything?” Minje’s words were flat, disbelieving.
“You let me talk about him for years like he was some stranger.”
“What– ?” Kyehoon started, still groggy. Minje shoved the phone toward him, the screen inches from his face.
On the screen was a video. Grainy, familiar, and unmistakably him and Donghwa, their voices overlapping in some old song he’d tried to bury years ago. Then it all came rushing back. For a heartbeat, it was like he was back by the sea again, the same cold, helpless feeling crawling up his chest.
Minje looked more shaken than Kyehoon had ever seen him, tense, jaw tight. Of course, he was. He’d actually known Donghwa, lived with him once, probably heard those same songs on loop in some cramped dorm room years ago.
When he’d first joined the group, Minje had been excitedly telling everyone how he’d known Donghwa back in L.A., how they were roommates before Donghwa dropped out and vanished that semester without warning. And the next came back as the campus celebrity crush. Kyehoon hadn’t thought much of it back then. Now, it made his stomach twist.
“Oh,” he said again, quieter this time. “Oh, shit.”
Their manager’s voice cut in from the doorway.
“Yeah,” he says grimly. “You want to explain yourself?”
The next hour blurred.
Their manager made calls. Minje kept pacing, muttering under his breath. Kyehoon sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, still trying to process what he’d seen on the screen. His old songs, Donghwa’s soft soothing voice, the stupid home video they’d made one summer when he was seventeen.
It was supposed to be gone.
He thought he’d got rid of everything.
By the time they finally sat down for dinner, the sun had already set. The five of them crowded around a long table in a small restaurant tucked behind the company building. Their manager’s idea of keeping things “low profile.” The atmosphere was heavy, more like he was about to stand trial than have a birthday dinner.
The food sat on the table untouched.
Donghyeon cleared his throat. “So people really think the songs were about Lee Donghwa?”
Kyehoon didn’t answer. He pressed the edge of a napkin between his fingers until it tore.
“I mean, hyung,” Keiju said carefully, “the lyrics do read like a love song.”
Kyehoon exhaled, long and uneven. “They weren’t.”
It sounded defensive, even to his own ears.
“Then why’d you never tell us you knew him?” Minje asked.
“Why is that the main concern right now?” Kyehoon shot back before he could stop himself. Minje flinches at the retort.
The manager leaned forward. “The company’s not happy. Donghwa just signed with KFP. Now everyone’s talking about how the ‘unknown indie band’s leader wrote love songs for a model.’”
Kyehoon blinks. Yes, that was perfectly reasonable, he thinks. Wait… what? Signed.. with who?
“Maybe it won’t affect us much,” Amaru said, trying to sound reassuring. “Most of our fans are casual listeners anyway, and the older crowd doesn’t care about gossip.”
Still reeling from what he just heard. Kyehoon wished he could say something that would make sense of how everything within the past hour was making his whole world fall apart. That those songs were just stupid experiments, that they’d been kids messing around with a guitar and an old camera, but even he couldn’t convince himself of that anymore.
“Usually,” Kyehoon muttered.
Their manager sighed, rubbing his temples. “Doesn’t matter. KFP’s publicity department is furious. They don’t want drama around Donghwa’s official debut into the Korean market.”
Kyehoon nodded absently. The conversation around him faded into static. His chest felt tight, the same cold weight from this morning. He reached for his glass, only to realize his hands were shaking slightly.
The meeting ended the way they always did, with too many words and not enough direction. Someone said, “We’ll revisit this next week,” but Kyehoon really wished they wouldn’t.
Outside, the city was bright and loud, neon signs reflecting off puddles from the afternoon rain. Kyehoon stepped out into the noise after his wonderful dinner celebrating another year of living. He breathes in the cold air like it could clear his head. Seoul had already started raining again, the kind that didn’t pour but just lingered, like fog that never quite left.
The reflection of the company logo blurred in the puddles at his feet. KFP Entertainment. Once, the name had meant something. The rest of the kids exclaimed something about getting ice cream, dragging their manager along, no doubt to pay for the sweet treat. He walked ahead, hands deep in his pockets. Minje followed, the click of his boots against wet pavement echoing in the silence.
They didn’t talk until they reached the alley behind the studio.
“He used to play that same verse in our dorm,” Minje said quietly next to him.
“Didn’t say who wrote it. Guess I know now.”
Kyehoon didn't say anything in response.
Kyehoon hadn’t expected to see him so soon. Granted, he really should have. They were under the same label now.
The conference room smelled faintly of burnt coffee and sterile, like every other meeting room in the building. Manager-hyung stood at the head of the table, flipping through a stack of contracts. “Alright, let’s keep this civil. Donghwa’s officially part of the KFP family, so you’ll probably cross paths often.”
Kyehoon looks up at the mention of the name.
Donghwa stands by the door, hair pushed back, half-hidden under a beanie, still somehow looking like the spotlight bends toward him. He smiles, polite but cautious, much like someone trying on a mask that doesn’t quite fit.
“Long time no see,” Donghwa says first. His voice is calm.
It feels like it’s been years since Kyehoon last heard his voice, which– well, wouldn’t be true. He heard his voice in a sports drink commercial the other day before he went on his solo trip. It was playing in the back of the TV in the convenience store where he and Keiju were eating cup ramen late at night. He and along with the world have definitely seen his face. Plastered on covers of pretty much anything these days.
Kyehoon forces out a laugh that sounds more like a cough. “Uh, yeah. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Didn’t expect the internet to dig up our past either,” Donghwa replies lightly, a corner of his mouth twitching.
There’s a static in the air. Kyehoon’s bandmates exchange glances, trying to read the atmosphere in the conference room.
Manager-hyung claps his hands together. “Good! You two already know each other. That makes things easier.”
Easier, Kyehoon thinks bitterly. Sure.
He sat stiffly in his chair, fingers clenched together under the table, as the company’s PR head walked into the room and took her seat. The group rose to greet her cautiously.
“So,” she said finally, scrolling through the article on her tablet. Tapping the screen. “You’re telling me this video was written when you and Donghwa were still in school?”
Kyehoon nodded, barely. “Yeah. Years ago.”
Her sigh was sharp. “You should’ve told us, Kyehoon.”
“Just making sure, but the two of you aren’t actually in a relationship, right?”
“Yes.”
“Even now, the company allows you to have so much freedom out of respect for Seo Changbin-ssi who vouched for you in the first place,” she lets out another sigh. “Look where that's going.”
He didn’t have an answer for that. His throat felt dry, heavy. The rain outside beat harder against the glass.
“It’s not the worst scandal we’ve had,” their manager tried. “The fans are confused more than anything.”
“The fans will be fine,” the PR head said matter-of-factly. “It’s the image we’re worried about. Donghwa’s just starting his career here. If the press starts pushing a narrative, we’ll have to clean it up fast. Both of you might have to issue statements.”
Kyehoon’s head spun. Statements. Narratives. Cleanup. All the words blurred together until they didn’t sound real anymore. It was just a stupid song he wrote because it felt honest. And now it was a problem that needed fixing.
After the meeting, Donghwa lingered in the hallway, waiting for Kyehoon to finish his follow-up discussion about an upcoming showcase. When the team finally wrapped up, Kyehoon rose from his seat a little too quickly, eager to escape the room. The moment he stepped into the corridor, Donghwa was there leaning against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets.
“It’s been a while.”
“Not long enough,” Kyehoon replies.
He laughs at Kyehoon’s response. “Yeah, I guess this was a bit sudden for you.”
“It's not that- it just... circumstances.” Kyehoon says, eyes looking everywhere but Donghwa. A sense of guilt washed over him.
“Mm. This is not ideal for a reunion,” Donghwa's voice became lighter, teasingly. “You are shorter than when I last saw you. Weird how quickly time flies by, isn’t it?”
It’s stranger to think of the years since then as ‘flying by’ in the way Donghwa seems to believe they have. It figures that Kyehoon would be fretting over their personal history being leaked to the media while Donghwa breezes past it with a tease and a light laugh, unconcerned with the blaze they lit up. Maybe if this were in the past, the roles would be reversed. Donghwa has scolded him more times in the past than he can count on his fingers on his hand, even if he had four more arms.
Though he still remembers the last time he saw Donghwa. Two months after he’d left to study in America. He came back for his grandmother’s funeral. Came back to the village he swore to never come back to, and why would he? Kyehoon could never blame him after all, he was the one who encouraged him to leave. It would have been stranger if he’d stayed, this kid was too intelligent to stay in the cold village that didn’t care about how bright his future could be. Despite his protests, Donghwa came. Then, as quickly as he arrived, he left, this time for good.
“Weird,” he agrees.
“You really didn’t delete those videos?”
Kyehoon froze, then let out a humorless laugh. “I thought I did,” he muttered. “Sorry for the mess. Guess that’s why they always warn us about our digital footprint,” he tried to make it sound like a joke, but it landed flat, more self-defense than humor.
“Yeah, guess so.” Donghwa’s smile wavered, softening into something quieter. “Still, I couldn’t bring myself to forget them either.”
Kyehoon looks away. “They were stupid.”
“A little,” Donghwa quietly said, almost fondly. “But you meant every word, didn’t you?”
Kyehoon opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch somewhere in his throat. The silence between them is heavy, full of everything they haven’t said in years, everything they’d avoided for years. They being mostly Kyehoon.
“We should meet up again, hyung. Catch up with each other.”
“Mm. We should.”
Kyehoon forgot how to talk easily with Donghwa like when they were younger. Now he is unsure of how to continue the conversation. Is this the part where he should leave, agree to some lie for the two to stick to, and never talk to each other again?
Many questions were brewing in his head. Why did he come back? Why now? There’s no doubt in his mind that he does love Park Donghwa, in the way that someone will love their closest and only companion from childhood. His only light and motivation he had back then. Years spent living on either side of the world won’t change that. Hiding his past from everyone else he knows won’t either.
Just then, a tall man in a sharp suit walks up, Donghwa’s manager. He gives Kyehoon a polite nod. “Ah, you must be Lee Kyehoon-ssi. I’ve heard plenty about you while watching over Donghwa back in the States.”
“This is Jang Juwang.” Donghwa grins and slaps Juwang on the back.
“Lighten up a little. No need to be so formal, hyung is pretty much like an older brother to me.”
Some kind of older brother he is. Kyehoon forces a polite smile, murmuring a greeting back.
After the Juwang walks off to prepare the car, Donghwa glances back at Kyehoon, expression unreadable.
“He’s one of the few people I knew there,” Donghwa says quietly. “After you stopped contacting me, it got really lonely for a while.”
“I mean, I know there was Minje, whom I'm sure you know, but I never really got the chance to know him.”
“I was focused on trying to get my career started, so hyung would stop freting over me like a child,” Donghwa paused.
“And start focusing on his own dreams.”
The words hung in the air — simple, but heavy. Kyehoon froze. His throat felt dry, the reply dissolving before it formed. So he did what he did best and avoided the matter entirely.
“Are you staying here now?” he asked softly.
“That’s the plan. Probably going to take a month or two to get fully situated. I still have some deals overseas to wrap up.”
“Why now? Why KFP? I’m sure there are bigger labels that want you.”
“It felt right,” Donghwa said after a pause. “I was able to negotiate a good contract, one that probably wouldn’t be possible anywhere else. Besides, you’re here.”
Kyehoon couldn’t say anything in response. He really should work on his comebacks.
“I heard Loud’s debut,” Donghwa said after a beat. “It was playing on the car radio for a bit. I thought I heard your voice. It’s only one international station, but it’s a start, right?”
He didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was most likely the first and last. The only reason anyone paid attention to their debut at all was because of the names attached to their label. 3RACHA, the mysterious producer duo who rarely showed their faces, had been legends in the music scene. They dropped songs once or twice a year, always under a veil of anonymity, and their compositions filled the title tracks of idol groups echoing through every shopping mall.
Kyehoon had worked with them for a while. Long nights in borrowed studios, faceless credits under a borrowed name before he gathered Amaru, Keiju, and Donghyeon. Later, Minje joined after their first drummer quit, saying the band was a lost cause.
3RACHA, co-founding KFP Entertainment, had been the only reason Loud ever stood a chance. But dreams alone weren’t enough. Their first and second comebacks slipped past unnoticed, overshadowed by the shinier, more perfect groups the industry adored. Still, Kyehoon stayed. Because even if no one else believed in Loud, it was the only thing left that made him feel like he hadn’t completely failed the people who once did.
Donghwa walks off waving, taking a call from Juwang. Kyehoon is left staring at the reflection of his own expression in the glass door. Somewhere between regret and something he refuses to name, painted over his face.