Earlier That Evening
Beom Seok stood in front of his closet, his eyes scanning the rows of neatly organized clothes. Dozens of dress shirts, blazers in every color, slacks, and vests filled the majority of the space. The casual section was noticeably sparse: two hoodies, a pair of sweatpants, and a few polos for his summer training attire. He sighed, pulling out the gray zip-up hoodie.
"Going out tonight, Seokie?" a voice said from the doorway.
It was Hajoon, leaning against the frame with a cup of strawberry milk.
Beom Seok pouted. "Of course, hyung. I want some air tonight… but I swear, hoodies suck. They don't go well with my dress shirt. But this is for the sake of a disguise…" He began to deliberately mess up his hair. "My beautiful, styled hair…"
Hajoon chuckled, gesturing to the closet. "You really love dress shirts, Seokie."
Beom Seok, still pouting, looked at his reflection. "It makes me look hot, hyung! And not only that, a dress shirt is the best outfit, and a blazer or vest is the perfect combo… But this hoodie… it sucks."
Hajoon's smile softened. He walked over and clapped a hand on Beom Seok's shoulder. "I know it's annoying, because you dislike it. But think of it this way: the hoodie isn't a disguise. It's a shield. It lets you be normal for a little while."
Beom Seok's shoulders slumped slightly. "I know. It's just…"
"I know," Hajoon repeated. "You're the one who shines the brightest without even trying, vain and loving it. That's your talent, but that vanity is also your burden. So put on the shield. Go eat your food in peace."
Beom Seok looked at his reflection, then back at his hyung. He nodded slowly, a grateful look in his eyes. He put on his nerdy glasses and pulled up his mask. The handsome idol was gone, replaced by the "sickly college student."
Hajoon just shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "Just be careful out there, Seokie."
"Of course, hyung," Beom Seok replied, a dramatic sigh escaping him. He grabbed his spare keys.
He headed for the door, his mind already on his task, but paused in the living room. It was their usual nightly chaos. Minho was sprawled on the sofa, sitting upside-down with his legs in the air, scrolling through his phone. Nozomu was watching a K-drama on the big screen, fully immersed. Jaemin was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was staying at his private home with his family tonight.
Next to Minho, Kangmin was, as usual, absorbed in a manhwa. But as Beom Seok passed, he stopped and peered over his shoulder. The text wasn't in Korean. It was in Chinese.
Just how many languages have you learned for your addiction, hyung?! Beom Seok thought, shaking his head.
Minho's eyes turned to him. "Going out, Seokie?"
Beom Seok mumbled, "Mm, I want some fresh air and some cooked ramyeon from their own shop."
Minho sat up slightly. "Right. Just be careful out there. Keep your head down, and do a little cough to make your disguise more convincing."
Nozomu, still focused on the drama, chimed in, "And Seokie, keep in mind don't—"
Beom Seok winced from the ghost of a bonk on his head. "Yeah, no wink, no pose, no finger heart. You already trained me hard for that, hyung. And no one has even noticed me—"
Minho, who was back on his phone, said, "Yep, there's no thread about Seokie being found."
Beom Seok puffed out his chest. "See! My disguise is better!"
Nozomu turned and gave a teasing smile. "I was just going to say, don't fart."
Minho and Beom Seok stared at him in silence.
Beom Seok finally broke it with a whimper. "H-hyung…"
Minho groaned. "Man, you got me. This is what I get for fighting for you, Seokie."
Beom Seok pouted and continued his walk.
He finally headed for the door, his mind on the promise of a peaceful, unrecognized meal.
He passed by many places. Because it was night, not many people looked at him. He was too normal. He wished he could wear his usual clothes instead of hiding just to go out.
His stomach gurgled. Right, I want to eat ramyeon.
Just as he was about to turn a corner, he saw it. A group of girls, huddled under a streetlamp. He kept his head down, but a flash of light made him flinch. One of the girls had her phone out, its camera facing him. He instinctively fought the urge to do a finger heart. She was holding it as if taking a group selfie. His heart gave a hard thud against his ribs. He suppressed the need to wink.
Just keep walking. Don't look. Don't react.
He coughed.
He quickened his pace. While his disguise sometimes worked, people could be sharp. Even with his hair, glasses, and mask, the upper part of his face was still handsome. People always stared at a handsome person. He could hear them whispering as he passed, a quiet sound that sounded almost like them saying he was handsome. He wanted to beam—yes, he was handsome, even if he looked like a messy, nerdy, sick college student. He didn't dare look back. He just walked faster.
He didn't stop until he was a full block away, his back pressed against a brick wall. He took a deep breath, fighting the sudden urge to be known. But he wanted to eat, to have one simple meal in peace. He had to keep looking.
The shop smelled like garlic and broth. It was tucked between a nail salon and a laundromat, just off a quiet intersection in Mapo. Beom Seok had passed by once—quickly—but today, something tugged him back. The sign was old, the paint a little faded, but the warm, golden light spilling from the windows looked inviting. He could hear a low melody coming from inside—not pop, not rock, just the quiet, echoing sound of a traditional Korean instrument. It was a gentle, unfamiliar sound that was a welcome change from the constant thrum of his own music.
This place looks safe, he thought to himself. Traditional music? It must be a favorite of older people. No one here will care about idols, which means I can actually pull my mask down and eat in peace. Unlike most places, where a glance is enough to spark a whispered conversation or a frantic phone picture.
Perfect.
He pushed the door open, the bell above the frame letting out a soft chime. He stepped in. The air inside was thick with the scent of spices and hot broth. A few tables were filled, but the shop was mostly quiet. The traditional music, played from a small, vintage radio on a shelf, was the only sound.
Present
He was slurping his ramyeon while Jin-ah sat beside him, watching something on her phone. Maybe anime, he thought. Considering that's all she talks about, she probably only recognizes voice actors and things. The other staff members were doing their own things; because of his disguise and his focus on Jin-ah, he didn't even notice the other two women.
It was peaceful, just like the dorm… Okay, the dorm is chaotic, but it can be considered peaceful. Most of the time, eating outside was hard—the stares, the glances, the photos. Even with a disguise, it was hard. Such was the life of an idol.
Admittedly, I enjoy the recognition. I'm a vain person, but because of that, I'm the member who is most easily found by fans. How I wink when I catch a gaze, how I want to smile at my own reflection… Other members have it easier because they aren't like me, who is always performing for the camera.
Flashback: Year 5Training for Disguise
"Too much shoulder," Nozomu said flatly.
Beom Seok slouched harder.
"No. Now you look like you have scoliosis."
"I thought we were going for 'sickly college student'?" Beom Seok huffed.
"Not 'haunted Victorian child.' Straighten. Relax. Don't pose."
"I'm not posing!"
"You're always posing."
Nozomu circled him like a predator with perfect posture and too much patience for someone barely 164cm tall in fluffy socks. He was the master of disguise, a skill he'd honed so perfectly he could even cross-dress without being noticed. Which was why he was the one training Beom Seok.
They were in the dorm practice room. The mirrors were covered with spare blankets. The lights were dimmed. Beom Seok wore a hoodie with a dress shirt underneath, nerdy glasses, and a medical mask. His usually styled hair was now messy.
He looked... civilian. From the neck up.
The rest of his personality?
Too clean. Too sharp. Too—idol.
Beom Seok took two steps forward.
BONK.
"OW!" He clutched the back of his head, spinning. "Did you just hit me with a fanlight?!"
Nozomu held up the weapon in question. "Soft plastic. It's good for building discipline, Seokie."
"You're abusing the maknae," he whined.
"You're sparkling again."
"I can't help it! My bones know where the cameras are!"
"That's the problem," Nozomu said, crossing his arms. "You walk like the world is your stage."
"It is!"
BONK.
"OW—Hyung!!" He clutched his head.
They practiced for an hour.
Walk like your shoes are worth ₩15,000.
Don't meet anyone's eyes.
No finger hearts. No peace signs. No unconsciously doing choreography when bored.
Don't lip-sync to the store music if it's your own song.
No mirror-checks.
And above all:
Don't smile like a CF model.
After a while, Beom Seok managed a decent slouch. He shuffled a bit. He practiced coughing behind his mask.
"Good," Nozomu said finally, adjusting his own disguise: a cardigan, a loose cap, an oversized tote. He looked like an art student skipping class. "Now try walking past me without looking famous."
Beom Seok inhaled. Focused. Imagined he was invisible.
Three steps in.
He passed the mirror.
His gaze flicked.
BONK.
"I JUST GLANCED!" Again, he clutched his head.
"You tilted your head and winked. That's your photoshoot face."
"I—what is WRONG with me?!" he whined.
Nozomu sighed, setting the fanlight down. "It's not just you, Beom Seok. It's your vain nature."
He nodded.
The practice room door opened, and Minho entered. He looked at Beom Seok with a questioned expression.
"He's getting better," Nozomu said. "But it's a constant battle."
"Well… it's Seokie," Minho stated. "While it's kinda helping your popularity, you're the one who wants to be anonymous now so you can have a taste of a normal life. Your personality, your charisma—it's too natural. Then again, this is because you've always been in the spotlight since you were a kid. You can't turn it off."
Beom Seok looked down. "I'm sorry. I try."
"I know you do," Minho said, his tone softening slightly. He ruffled Beom Seok's hair, which made him squawk. "But you have to learn to switch off. When you're not on stage, you're not an idol. You're just a person. You need to protect your private self, or the thing will swallow you whole again and…" Minho trailed off.
Beom Seok winced, holding his cheeks.
Minho said, "Don't worry. We'll get you there."
…Then, Minho ruffled Beom Seok's hair… hard.
"HYUNG?!"
Minho smirked. "Heh, this is fun."
Nozomu laughed. "Yep, Seokie is fun to hit."
Present
He winced. That… yeesh… I'm that bad. He sighed, thinking about how he had accidentally winked when he caught her gaze. My habits are still there.
His gaze slid from the side of her face down to her phone. It was open to a Japanese anime forum, and she was scrolling through a long thread of comments. He took another slurp of his ramyeon, the heat of the soup a welcome comfort. Here, in this quiet little shop, he felt like just a person. Not an idol. Not a maknae. Not a product. Just a guy eating ramen on a cold night.
He finished his bowl, setting down his chopsticks with a quiet clink. Jin-ah didn't look up from her phone. He watched her for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration as she read. He liked that she was so focused, so unaware of his presence. It was a strange kind of comfort, the kind he rarely ever got.
A thought flickered through his mind, a mischievous impulse he couldn't resist. He cleared his throat.
Jin-ah's gaze flicked up to him, a deadpan expression on her face. "Done?" she asked, her voice flat.
"Almost," he said, a tiny smile playing on his lips. "Just curious. What's so interesting?" He nodded toward her phone.
She looked down at the screen, then back at him. Her face remained serious. "Just discussion, or you could say debate, which season's opening theme is the best. Clearly 'Silhouette' clears all Naruto openings."
Beom Seok blinked, processing the information. He suppressed a laugh. "That's... very specific."
"Of course," she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "That is the best song."
He watched her as she went back to scrolling, her world once again confined to the small, bright screen in her hands. He wasn't in it. And for the first time in a very long time, he didn't mind at all.
This was a different kind of freedom. Not just from the crowds and the cameras, but from himself. In this ramyeon shop, in her presence, he didn't have to be anything. He could just... be him. If only he could take off this hoodie, he would be fully him. His dress shirt, his styled hair. His real self, Beom Seok. But alas, he couldn't.
He looked at his empty bowl, then at her. A quiet smile spread across his face.
If I could eat here every night, maybe I'd finally learn how to be just normal without the spotlight.
Yes.... I'm going to keep eating here every night.
He opened his phone and looked at the time. It was 10:45 p.m. He glanced around; there was only Jin-ah, himself, the staff, and the boss.
So, this is the time I'm most safe.
Jin-ah raised a brow. "Your bowl is empty, you're done right?"
Beom Seok pocketed his phone. "Yeah..." He stood up and walked to the counter to pay the owner.
Then he walked to Jin-ah, who was now cleaning his table. "Hey, Seo Jin-ah... consider you now have a regular customer."
She blinked. "Okay?"
Beom Seok's smile softened as he walked out, the bell chiming behind him. He snugged his medical mask on and zipped his hoodie, hiding the dress shirt underneath. The cold night air hit his face. Despite the mask, he was still smiling. He had found a place and a person who didn't care about his fame. He laughed quietly. She doesn't know me, she thinks Bomsok and Jang Beom Seok are different people, which… well, I guess they are now. This interaction, he liked it.
He was Bomsok, the idol, the maknae, the face, the actor. But here, in this quiet corner of the city, he was going to be a regular customer of this ramyeon shop.