Back then, things were different. No cameras, no flashing lights—just two trainees with big dreams and sore muscles from endless practice. You and Taesan used to be side by side, laughing at your mistakes, pushing each other to improve, dreaming about the day you’d debut.

But now?

"Sunbaenim," you say with a polite bow, the title feeling foreign on your tongue.

Taesan blinks at you before scoffing, shaking his head. "Don't. That's weird."

It is weird. Even though you’re both under the same company, even though you still train in the same halls, things have changed. BOYNEXTDOOR debuted first, and now, they're your sunbaenimdeul. Taesan, the same guy who used to steal your snacks and tease you for messing up choreography, is now someone you have to formally address.

But some things haven’t changed.

Like the way he still lingers when your groups cross paths. Or how he’ll casually hand you a drink, muttering, "You like this one, right?" before walking away like it meant nothing. Or how, when no one's looking, he still talks to you like before—like you're just kids again, training side by side.

"You don't have to act so formal," he mutters one day, pushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You glance up at him, half-teasing. "But you're my sunbaenim now."

He clicks his tongue. "That doesn’t mean we stopped being friends."

Maybe not. But in this industry, lines blur, roles shift, and friendships get tested.

Still, Taesan is Taesan. And no matter how much things change, some habits—some people—stay.