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The practice room was suffocating that night. The mirrors reflected every angle of his body, but Anxin couldn’t stand the sight of himself anymore. The others clapped for Sangwon after the center decision, and he smiled, humble, modest as always.
And Anxin — as always — stood just a half-step behind, swallowing down the ugly burn crawling up his throat. Second again. Always second.
He told himself he didn’t care, that supporting Sangwon when he first refused the killing part was genuine. He meant it when he went to Sangwon’s room at night, whispered to him in the dark,“You’re strong enough. You should try for it.”
He thought he was pushing his friend forward, but when the spotlight finally landed on Sangwon, the realization hit him like a slap — the one thing he secretly wanted, the chance to prove himself, was stolen before he could even reach it.
All through practice he avoided him. When Sangwon laughed, he looked the other way. When Sangwon reached out for a high-five, Anxin pretended he didn’t see it. The weight of Sangwon’s gaze burned into his back, but he refused to turn around.
By the time practice ended, his chest was raw with swallowed words, his palms sweaty from clenching fists. He walked back to the dorm, dragging his bag behind him, shoulders hunched. He didn’t even notice the footsteps trailing close, echoing his every move down the corridor.
Not until he stopped.
Not until he turned.
And Sangwon was there.
The hallway was dim, the weak fluorescent light flickering above them. Sangwon’s breath came harsh, uneven, like he had run after him. His eyes — sharp, unblinking — locked onto Anxin’s with a kind of fire that made Anxin instinctively step back.
“Why are you following me?” Anxin muttered, voice sharp enough to cut.
Sangwon didn’t answer.
Instead, in a blur, his hands shot forward. He caught Anxin’s wrists, slammed them above his head against the cold dorm wall. The thud echoed in the silence, the shock running straight through Anxin’s spine. His breath caught.
“Sangwon—”
But before he could finish, Sangwon’s body pressed in, his face so close their breaths tangled. His grip was unyielding, knuckles tight around Anxin’s wrists. The tension buzzed between them like static, wild and uncontrollable.
“You think I don’t notice?” Sangwon’s voice was low, rough, trembling at the edges. “You avoiding me. Looking at me like I stole something from you.”
Anxin glared, twisting in his hold, but Sangwon only pinned harder, his body weight keeping him trapped. “Because you did,” Anxin hissed. His chest rose and fell violently. “You took it all. Center. Killing part. Everything.”
Something flickered in Sangwon’s eyes — hurt, anger, something deeper that words couldn’t capture. Then his lips curled, not in a smile but in raw defiance.
And he kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was fire, sudden and consuming. His mouth crashed against Anxin’s with force that stole the air out of him, teeth clashing, lips bruising instantly. The hallway spun. The world narrowed to nothing but the press of Sangwon’s lips and the crushing hold on his wrists.
Anxin gasped against him, his first instinct to resist. His shoulders stiffened, his chest pressed hard against Sangwon’s. He tried to wrench his arms free, but the grip only tightened, veins straining along Sangwon’s forearm.
“Stop—” he tried to say, but the word dissolved into a muffled groan as Sangwon’s lips dragged harder, pulling at him like he was something owed, something essential.
Anxin’s knees buckled. The heat from Sangwon’s body poured into him, burning away the cold jealousy that had nested in his chest all day. His head spun with the taste — bitter from sweat, sharp from adrenaline, intoxicating in a way he had never expected.
Sangwon tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his mouth opening against Anxin’s with desperate urgency. Their lips locked in a rhythm neither of them controlled, messy and wild, breaths clashing, teeth grazing. His tongue brushed against Anxin’s lip, demanding entry, and Anxin’s body betrayed him — his lips parted without thought, a shudder escaping him.
The kiss turned rougher, wetter, the sound of it echoing indecently in the hallway. Sangwon’s grip shifted from his wrists to his hands, fingers interlacing like shackles, holding him prisoner not just to the wall but to the intensity of the moment.
Anxin trembled. From fever, from adrenaline, from the unbearable ache twisting in his chest. His brain screamed at him to push Sangwon away, to spit venom, to protect the last fragile thread of pride he had. But his heart — traitorous, desperate — clung to the warmth pressing against his mouth.
When Sangwon finally pulled back, their foreheads touched, breaths ragged and uneven. A thin string of spit still connected their swollen lips.
“Don’t you ever say I took this because I don’t care about you,” Sangwon rasped, his voice trembling with something rawer than anger. His thumb brushed over Anxin’s hand, still holding it tightly above his head. “The only thing I want to take… is you.”
Anxin’s eyes widened, chest heaving. His lips tingled, swollen and burning, as if every nerve was alive under Sangwon’s kiss. He tried to form words, but all that left him was a broken exhale of Sangwon’s name.
And Sangwon kissed him again.
This time slower, deeper, lingering, but no less intense. His lips molded against Anxin’s like they belonged there, pressing, tasting, pulling. His free hand slid down, cupping Anxin’s jaw, tilting his face up as if to make sure he couldn’t look away, couldn’t escape the truth laid bare in the kiss.
Anxin let out a muffled whimper — half protest, half surrender. His body arched into the warmth despite the jealousy still twisting in his chest. He hated Sangwon, he needed him, he wanted to shove him away, he wanted to never stop kissing him. Every thought blurred into chaos as Sangwon’s mouth claimed his again and again, relentless and consuming.
The kiss left Anxin shaking, his chest heaving like he had run a mile without breathing. The warmth of Sangwon’s lips still lingered on his own, burning, confusing, undoing him in ways he couldn’t admit out loud.
He barely noticed when Sangwon’s grip loosened, when the hand that had pinned his wrists slid down and laced gently with his fingers instead.
Sangwon’s voice broke the silence first, quiet but firm.
“Come with me.”
Anxin blinked, startled, but before he could argue Sangwon tugged on his hand. His body moved before his brain caught up, following the taller boy down the hall, their palms still locked, the warmth of Sangwon’s skin refusing to let him retreat into coldness again.
They entered Sangwon’s room. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them away from the noise of practice, the judgment of others, the suffocating mirrors.
Anxin exhaled shakily, trying to pull free, but Sangwon tugged him closer instead. His eyes — sharp and unwavering — pinned Anxin in place more tightly than his hands ever could.
“Sit.”
Anxin moved toward the edge of the bed automatically, wanting to sink down and disappear, but Sangwon stepped in before he could. In one smooth motion, he sat down first, pulled Anxin into his lap like he weighed nothing, and locked his arms around his waist.
Anxin froze. His body stiffened at the intimacy, the closeness, the sheer force of Sangwon’s will. He tried to push away, palms braced on Sangwon’s chest, but his wrists trembled, and his strength faltered the moment Sangwon’s thumb brushed lightly against his jaw.
“Talk to me,” Sangwon whispered, his voice softer than before but no less commanding. His eyes searched Anxin’s face with something desperate, something unbearably raw. “Don’t shut me out. Not this time.”
Anxin bit his lip, trying to hold the dam. His throat ached with words he had buried too long. His lip wobbled, traitorous, betraying the storm clawing inside.
“I…” His voice cracked. He swallowed, shaking his head. “I can’t.”
“You can.” Sangwon leaned closer, his forehead brushing against Anxin’s, grounding him. His hand cupped the side of his face, fingers warm and steady.
“Xin, I’m right here. Whatever it is, just say it. I’m not leaving.”
That broke him.
The words spilled before he could stop them. “Do you know what it’s like—always being second?” His voice came out ragged, each word trembling. “No matter how hard I train, no matter how much I give, it’s never me. It’s always—” His chest heaved, eyes squeezing shut as tears blurred his vision. “It’s always you.”
Sangwon stiffened, but he didn’t let go. His arms only tightened, as if holding Anxin together when he wanted to crumble.
Anxin’s breath hitched, and the sob tore free, raw and unrestrained. “I push you forward. I cheer for you. And still… still it hurts. Because I want it too. I want the stage, the spotlight, the chance to prove I’m more than just second place!”
His fists pounded weakly against Sangwon’s chest, over and over, until they lost strength and clung instead to his shirt. “But I can’t say it. I can’t show it. Because then I’m selfish, I’m bitter, I’m—” His voice broke again, shattering. “I’m not good enough.”
Sangwon’s heart clenched at the sight, at the sound, at the unbearable truth that the boy in his lap — fiery, bright, sharp-tongued Anxin — was unraveling into fragile pieces right there against him.
“Xin…” Sangwon’s voice wavered. He pulled him closer, chest to chest, cheek pressed to his temple. His arms wrapped around him so tightly it felt like he was shielding him from the world itself. “You’re not second to me. Never to me.”
Anxin shook his head violently, tears streaking down his cheeks. “Don’t lie—”
“I’m not lying!” Sangwon’s voice cracked, fierce and urgent. He pulled back just enough to look into Anxin’s teary eyes, his hands cradling his face like porcelain.
“You think I don’t see you? Every step, every lyric, every moment? You think I don’t notice how hard you fight? You push me because you believe in me—but don’t you get it? I believe in you even more.”
Anxin’s lips trembled. His breaths came in ragged bursts, caught between disbelief and longing.
Sangwon’s thumb brushed gently over his damp cheek. “You’re allowed to want it. You’re allowed to hurt. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. And to me…” His voice softened, breaking into something fragile. “To me, it makes you everything.”
The words struck deep, slicing through Anxin’s defenses. A fresh sob escaped him, and he buried his face into Sangwon’s shoulder, clinging desperately to the warmth offered. His body shook with each uneven breath, but Sangwon held him steady, murmuring soft reassurances against his hair.
They stayed like that for minutes, maybe longer, time dissolving into the rhythm of Anxin’s sobs and Sangwon’s heartbeat.
Finally, when Anxin’s breathing steadied into soft hiccups, Sangwon shifted, laying them both down on the bed. He guided Anxin gently onto his side, curling behind him, an arm draped securely around his waist.
Anxin let himself be moved, too drained to resist, too raw to pretend anymore. His eyes fluttered shut as Sangwon’s chest pressed against his back, warmth radiating into the cold spaces he’d carried all day.
“Rest,” Sangwon murmured into his hair, his breath warm and steady. “I’ll hold you.”
Anxin’s fingers twitched against Sangwon’s arm, hesitating, then curling tight around it. His voice came out barely above a whisper, cracked and broken.
“Don’t let go.”
“Never,” Sangwon promised instantly, his grip tightening. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Anxin allowed himself to believe it. Allowed himself to melt into the arms wrapped around him, to breathe without the weight of comparison crushing his lungs.
As sleep finally pulled him under, Sangwon pressed a soft kiss to the back of his head, whispering into the dark words only meant for the quiet.
“You’ll never be second to me, Xin. You’re my only one.”