finally opening the heavy metal doors of the practice building, haechan walked out. heclosed his eyes, finally feeling the fresh night air as he stretched his neck side to side. his manager was already outside, waiting for him by the car with his bag in one hand and his phone in the other.

"how are you feeling?" his manager asks, before giving him his phone. he noticed how the younger had already discarded his pointe shoes and had already replaced them with his sneakers. he doesn't even see him holding it either.

"feeling like i need a smoke." he brushed his fingers through his hair as he lets out a deep sigh.

but his manager only lets out a laugh. before he started listing out tomorrow's schedule for him, like he always does. telling him about another clothing fitting, magazine shoots, and his preparation for next week's performance. 

while haechan, on the other hand, half-heartedly hums and listens quietly. the same routine over and over again, but it's not like he has any choice, does he? because he needed to be the perfect figure for his fans, for the world—for his father.

his phone buzzed in his hand, causing him to look down. he saw the notification on his screen before his eyes shifted to the dark alleyway that led towards the back of the building.

"and your pointe shoes," he continues, "they're already beat up so i got a new one for you." his manager then came into a halt once he noticed the male wasn't listening to him anymore. so he stopped talking completely, feeling like the younger is worn out for today, he guessed he could just tell him the rest by text or the next time he sees him. "alright then, should i bring you home?"

"no wait..." donghyuck shook his head, averting his gaze back to his manager. something flickering behind his lashes. "i'm gonna meet someone, but you can go ahead—"

"again, haechan?" the older slumped his shoulders. he already knew where this was going. his eyes blinked once, not surprised nor annoyed. he was just tired, but deep down, he felt bad for haechan. how he's fallen into the same habit more and more, and how he knows he's always going to cover up for him every chance he can. "they're probably waiting for you at home." he managed to reason out, half true, half convincing him not to do what he's about to do.

"it's fine," haechan tries to reassure, shooting his manager a small smile before rubbing his shoulders, "no one will know, plus you got me right?"

another sigh fell on his lips, giving in at the younger, just like always, "fine." he blurts before haechan gives him a side hug, as a thank you, "i'll wait for you in the car."

slowly, haechan's feet had started leading him towards the dark alleyway. he looked back at his manager before giving him a small wave, "sure! i promise it won't take long!"

he soon disappeared. walking slowly, as his eyes search for the person he's looking for. the surroundings were quiet, dark, the kind of stillness just for people like him—people who don't want to be seen. the air was heavier back here, probably because of the faint smoke and sharp tang of metal that just hit his nose. 

and then, he finally saw the figure he was looking for.

"jeno!" a smile grew on his lips. something that hasn't been on his face ever since he stepped foot into the practice room, but now that he's out here, he feels like he's free again.

the male was sitting down at the curb, half in shadow. the same person who always waited for him. one hand held a cigarette between his lips, while the other held a pack of cigarettes. he looked up after hearing the familiar voice from a distance. 

his eyes smiled together with his lips, as he stood up to greet the male, "you look happy."

"who wouldn't? i'm finally out of that hell hole." donghyuck shrugs, and they both knew he was talking about the practice room inside this building. 

the male didn't say anything but held out a cigarette between his fingers towards the male. already lit, the tip glowing faint orange. 

and the younger took it without hesitation, like it's already in his nature. bringing it to his mouth, inhaling. as the smoke hits the back of his throat, he felt it burn a little before it settled down in his lungs.

better than any deep breath ballet ever taught him.

"every time i see or hear your fans talk about—'he's innocent,' 'he's like an angel, so pure'—i feel like throwing up." jeno huffed out a laugh, looking at his friend blowing up a smoke. "i can't believe they see you as someone who couldn't even hurt a single fly."

"tell me about it." haechan tilts his head as he releases a breathy chuckle, "they think i go home and drink tea or something and sleep in silk sheets. but i leave practice, chain smoke, get drunk off my ass, and sleep with strangers—guys, girls, whoever makes me forget for a little while."

suddenly, the curve on jeno's eyes slowly started disappearing after hearing haechan basically drag himself.

he let the cigarette dangle from his fingers as his eyes narrowed while looking at the alley wall like it did something to him. "i don't even know if i hate ballet or myself for being good at it."

but once again, jeno didn't try to lecture or fix anything. he moved a little closer, purposely letting his shoulder brush against the younger's. they let the silence stretch, the weight of that truth still sitting heavy in his chest.

this. this was the reason why haechan always sneaks out every chance he gets. after practice? when no ones watching? staying up all midnight? he'll do anything just to get some time for himself. 

although this has become his habit, it's not always like this, where he could smoke anytime he wants. it's more if jeno is free, then haechan has to be too. because he's the only person who can give him a pack without being caught. 

their smoking session usually consists of haechan complaining about his life or his job, with jeno either giving him advice, if he needed one, or just sitting there listening to whatever the latter has to say. 

after a few more quite inhales of the smoke, they both knew it was time to leave. no words needed—just a nod, before haechan turned around and went back to his managers's car.

the ride home was quiet and uneventful; the city passed by in blurs of colorful lights. not one of them talked about what haechan did behind that building because his manager always cleaned up after him—in every sense. schedule-wise, media-wise, sometimes even emotionally. but at the end of the day, he couldn't stop him, not like he wanted to.

not when the boy barely felt like he belonged to himself.

———

the moment haechan stepped out of his car, he knew he had to shift his world for a second.

in his place stood sleek marble floors, a silent elevator that responded with a thumbprint, and high-rise windows where you can get to see the city views of seoul, looking down like he owned it. well in a way he does. 

his penthouse was sprawling and sterile. all glass, and a wall that, if anyone comes in, they could just feel a cold elegance. this is the kind of place people dreamed of having, not some place where it reeked of smoke, sweat, or cheap liquor.

he threw his bag at the countertop before opening his fridge to look for something to eat. he wasn't expecting that no one would greet him when he came home; he thought his father would ask him why he got home so late. i should've stayed smoking with jeno a little longer, he thought to himself. 

when he didn't find anything appetizing to eat in the fridge, he walked over to see what he could eat inside his pantry—his pantry that is half the size of his kitchen.

he settled for a bag of chips, instantly munching on them, before making his way out of the kitchen.but just when he was about to make his way towards the stairs, he heard sharp footsteps approaching from a distance, causing him to avert his head in that direction.

a tall figure stood in front of him, sleeves crisp and posture straight. his father. chairman lee.

he paused as his eyes looked down at his son, assessing him as usual. not a word at first, but his eyes caught the bag of chips he's holding. "you're eating again?" he asked, casual, but it was obviously layered with disapproval. "you know sodium makes you bloat."

haechan didn't say anything, only looking away. he didn't even stop chewing.

"you need to be careful of how you look," his father continued. but haechan heard this way too many times. he could even recite every single word at this point. "you have a performance in less than a week, so no more late nights, no mess. remember, every camera will be watching, and you're not only presenting yourself but also my company."

he stopped dead in his tracks after hearing the exact words that always triggered something in him. his jaw clenched as those words repeated over and over in his head. the exhaustion of the day, the echo of the fans calling him innocent, and the hours of forced perfection started coiling tight in his chest. 

haechan looked over his shoulder, back still facing his father, "why do you care so much about what i look?"

"public image is important." he breathes out, trying to calm himself and his son. he knows this will probably escalate them talking back at each other, just like every other night.

"and what about what i want?"

he saw his father massaging the bridge of his nose, and just like a cue, they're back at this conversation once again. his gaze narrowed slightly, his tone unshaken, "what you want is irrelevant when it comes to maintaining your status. as long as you're a dancer, your body is not yours—but to the art. to the audience, and the expectations you've built."

haechan's eyes darkened as he kept his gaze on him for a long second. it's like he doesn't even see his son as a normal human being. all of a sudden something snapped. a small yet bitter laugh escaped his lips, but nothing's funny. "like i'm some sort of puppet in a box?" his brows raised as well as his voice.

"you're a performer, a figure. you're life isn't yours, and if you want to stay on top, you need to accept that," his father exhales before attempting to soften his voice, "i just wanted to care about you, haechan."

but haechan only stood frozen. the bag of chips that were on his hands fell on the floor. "i never wanted to be on the top. you made me do this my whole life, i never get to figure out what i wanted because it's always you, your reputation, and your stupid company." his voice shaken, his mind only filled with rage and disbelief, "if you really cared about me, you would know i hate being called that name."

he turned his body around before storming down the long hallway and towards his room. his father said something more behind him, but his mind was already clouded. 

he couldn't even decipher what he was saying. he was already done. his footsteps continued to echo throughout the whole house.

the moment he closed his bedroom door, he locked it. his figure stood in the very middle of his bedroom, not moving an inch. his breath was heavy, and his heart hammered right through his chest. his hands then fished for his phone inside his pockets before dialing the same person that he knows listens to him. the only person that will do anything he wants.

his fingers flew over the screen before bringing it up on his ears, "jeno?"

"haechan? what happened?" it hasn't even been hours since they last saw each other but the younger is calling him again. this was rare, especially at this hour. they only talked when one of them wanted a smoke, and that's it.

his father's words burned. just like everything he said to him ever since he was a kid, like a script that sounded professional, emotionless, and logical. but this time, he wanted to be in control and show him that his body is his.

"do you know a good place that does tattoos?" it felt stupid and impulsive. maybe it was reckless, but this was the first ever choice he had made all week. after every day he spent doing nothing but perfecting lines and carrying a name he never chose—he just wanted to do one thing for himself.

jeno chose not to ask any further, "i got some good ones," he replied, "i also have a guy, he's chill and doesn't ask any questions. i'll text you the address." 

the call ended sooner, with haechan saying another thank you to jeno before plopping himself down on his mattress. a sigh of relief escaped his mouth.

he wasn't just going to dance for them anymore. if they wanted to watch, then go ahead. but now, they'd have to look for parts of him he chose to create. even if it's something small, stupid, or something permanent.

even if it was just a line of ink on skin, it would still be his.