Another rainy afternoon.
Another crowded bus.
Another day trying to live like everyone else.
Today, he'd gone to the arcade. Now it was time to go back.
Beom Seok boarded wearing his usual "sickly college student" disguise—hoodie down this time, light blue dress shirt underneath, medical mask snug over his face, hair deliberately mussed into a careless mess. Round, nerdy glasses slid slightly down his nose. The combination stripped him of any idol aura.
He hated it.
Wearing all black would've screamed suspicious, so this—hoodie, messy hair, medical mask, glasses—was the perfect camouflage. Perfect… and perfectly irritating.
His favorite back seat was open. He slid in quietly, letting the rhythm of the bus rock him into a kind of semi-peace. His backpack rested on his lap as always—inside, the cream blazer sat folded neatly. Not books. Not notes. Not really a college student, but the disguise worked.
Then came the voice.
"Oh, you're here?"
He looked sideways.
Jin-ah stood there, shaking rain off her umbrella like a battle-worn anime heroine.
"Either this is a funny coincidence," she said, "or this bus is cursed—forcing a girl anime fan and a boy who's into male idol groups to sit together."
"You chose this seat again," he replied mildly.
"You sat here first—the backline," she countered, plopping down beside him.
She sighed. "So… I guess we're seatmates now."
The bus lurched forward.
A familiar high-pitched phone speaker blared a song from behind them—again. Same high schooler. Same chorus.
Jin-ah groaned. "Why is it always this song?"
Beom Seok raised an eyebrow, amused. "You're not gonna start singing along?"
"Only in my nightmares," she muttered. "I swear, every time I hear it, my brain finishes the line automatically. I don't even want to. I touched my noodle this morning and whispered 'smooth.' I hate myself."
He chuckled under his mask.
Jin-ah glanced sideways. "You're enjoying this."
"A little."
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't tell me you're one of them."
"One of who?"
"You know—those obsessed fans."
"I'm just… aware. And no, I'm not one of them."
Considering he was the idol in question.
She shook her head. "Still can't believe your bias named himself after Bomb of Socks."
"Not Bom Sock," he corrected, sighing—but deeply amused. Though secretly, it stung a little. No one ever got his stage name wrong—except her.
"Sure it is," she smirked. "Beom Seok, the Bomb Sock Defender."
"You gave him that name."
"And he can't hear it, and wouldn't know," she teased.
Actually, he could hear it. And he did know. Because he was sitting right there. And he really wanted to whine that it wasn't his stage name.
But sure.
"Anyway, no offense, but your fandom is terrifying. Like… scary levels of intense."
He didn't argue. He knew better than anyone. Sasaengs were no joke.
She went on. "I mean, I like anime. But I don't send death threats over Naruto ships. Some of those idol fans? Whew. If you even breathe near their bias, you're public enemy number one. Then again, I know some anime fans do it too… so yeah, one thing's the same—obsessive fans are the worst. At least in anime we just hate a character. Worst case, you get a death threat if it's the obsessive type. But your world? Stalking."
"Yeah," he winced without thinking.
"Huh?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Just… I don't think you'd fit the 'jealous fangirl' type."
"Damn right," she said proudly. "I'm the 'please don't involve me in your fandom wars, I just want to finish my ramyeon and rewatch Naruto in peace' type."
The bus rolled toward her stop. She stood up and stretched.
"See you around, Beom Seok," she said with a mock salute. "Tell your bias I said hi." She grinned. "That is, if you meet him. After all, it's hard for fans to meet their bias."
"Sure," he replied, eyes twinkling. "I'll let him know."
She didn't notice.
He watched her step off into the light drizzle again, shaking her hair like a dog and muttering something about people who play music in public.
She was loud, awkward, and brutally honest.
And she had no idea who he was.
He liked that.
But man, he couldn't wait to get back to the dorm—so he could take off this hoodie. A dress shirt under a hoodie wasn't his taste, and it didn't feel right.
Meanwhile, at her house…
Jin-ah walked down the street toward her house. She opened the door and stepped inside.
"Man, that's really the second time I've met a guy fanboying over idols—especially a boy group. Jang Beom Seok… heh, stan of an idol with the stage name Bomb Sock… I mean, Bomsok."
She dropped her umbrella by the door. "Not that I can say I'm any different. He's into idols, I'm into anime. Wow… maybe he's an outcast too? I hope he's got friends who are cool with it."
She paused, frowning. "…But how sick is he, to wear a medical mask again today? It's been… a week? Is he fine? Well, I hope so. Idol nerds like him need to stay healthy," she muttered—then, with a grin: "Anyway, time for another Hatake Kakashi binge run on YouTube. My husbando."
She was instantly absorbed—eyes glued to the screen, completely focused on Kakashi. She grinned. She couldn't wait to save up for his Nendoroid. Every paycheck got split down the middle: essentials, and Kakashi merch.
Financial wisdom.
Then an ad popped up. She scowled.
An idol music video.
With a dramatic groan, she closed her eyes and, relying purely on muscle memory, skipped the ad without even looking—unknowingly skipping a BTSB MV.
"Aish. Ads. Mortal enemies of binge culture," she declared, flinging her arm across her face. "How dare you interrupt Kakashi vs. Obito?"
She checked the progress bar just to be sure. Still Kakashi. She breathed a sigh of relief.
"If I miss the punch by even one second," she whispered solemnly, "the emotional damage doubles."
Clutching her phone like a sacred relic, she rolled over and buried herself deeper into the futon—one hand still reaching for her instant noodles.
Truly, this was peak form.
A solo anime binge. Kakashi on screen. Noodles within reach. No fandom wars. No squealing idol fans.
Life was good.
Meanwhile, at the same time when Jin-ah arrived at her place…
By the time Beom Seok made it back to the dorm, the rain had eased into a mist.
Inside, the first thing he did was peel off the hoodie with visible relief, tossing it onto his bed. Out came the cream blazer from his backpack. He slipped it on with practiced ease, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders, adjusting the collar until it sat just right.
He smoothed each sleeve crease with slow precision, fingers brushing away any imagined wrinkles. Then he turned to the mirror, pushing his messy hair back into place until every strand sat exactly where it should.
A little tilt of the head. A quick wink.
"Like usual," he murmured at his own reflection, "Seokie's back."
The hoodie and glasses had done their job—now the real him was restored.
He wandered into the living room on the way to the fridge, grabbed a yogurt drink, and spotted Minho hyung.
The glow of Minho's laptop lit up his face in the dim room, casting sharp shadows under his eyes. He sat on the couch with one leg tucked beneath him, scrolling through a thread of comments at a speed that suggested he'd done this more times than he'd admit. The deep brown leather jacket he wore creaked faintly with every movement, its quilted shoulders and silver zippers catching stray bits of light. Minho had just gotten back from a photoshoot, and the jacket was a remnant of his "model visual" aesthetic. Paired with the all-black shirt beneath, it made him look like he'd walked straight off a photoshoot and into their messy dorm.
A soft sigh escaped his lips. "Yeesh… again with this," he muttered.
From the floor, Hajoon glanced up from where he was stretching his legs. He had the easy, approachable style of someone who could roll out of bed and still look put together—rust-red t-shirt under a pale blue button-down, sleeves casually pushed up to his forearms. The open shirt gave him a laid-back vibe, though the neatness of the collar betrayed his habit of keeping at least some order.
"What now?" he asked.
Minho didn't look up. "Someone's ranting again. Says they were trying to search for behind-the-scenes clips but ended up neck-deep in fancams and memes of us."
He tilted the screen slightly toward the others. "Apparently typing 'BTS' or 'BTSB' brought them here instead of bloopers."
Hajoon winced and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, to be fair… I didn't think we'd ever get famous enough for that to matter."
The fridge door clicked shut, and Beom Seok walked in holding a yogurt drink like he was arriving on a variety show. His cream-colored blazer and light-blue dress shirt made him look effortlessly polished, his hair perfectly styled—an obvious contrast to the hoodie-and-mask disguise he'd worn earlier. Even his casual smirk seemed camera-ready.
"Hyung, didn't you almost name us BTS originally? Just Be The Superstar?"
Hajoon groaned. "Yeah. That was the plan. But I didn't want people thinking we meant Behind The Scenes, so I added the B—for Boys. Hence BTSB, Be The Superstar Boys."
Kangmin was slouched at the far end of the couch, phone in hand, wearing a soft pink hoodie over cream pants. The hoodie's loose fit and the way he barely glanced up gave him the air of someone half-asleep.
"Which made it worse, by the way," Kangmin said without looking up. "Now we sound like blooper reels."
Beom Seok snorted, flipping his hair. "I mean, it's not wrong. We are chaotic."
"And I thought it was a rookie name," Hajoon grumbled. "Back then, I assumed we'd stay underground. I didn't think people would actually start typing 'BTSB' and end up in an accidental fandom rabbit hole."
"Which is now full of us," Minho added dryly.
Beom Seok smirked. "Well, obviously. The second they saw me as the face of the group —OW!"
A pillow smacked him across the face.
Kangmin didn't even look up from his phone, still reading his favorite foreign manhwa, Flawless. "Your vanity quota is full for the day."
Beom Seok whined, still holding the pillow. "You guys are so mean to me. I'm basically the main character."
"Main clown character," Kangmin muttered.
Minho chuckled, pulling his laptop back onto his lap. "Honestly, we should just embrace the chaos. Our name is SEO-optimized for misdirection. Free exposure."
Hajoon muttered under his breath. "We're a misdirection."
Beom Seok peeked over the pillow. "Speak for yourself. I'm the main attraction." He leaned dramatically against the back of the couch. "At least our fandom acronym sounds supportive. BTS—'Be The Supporterstar'—very wholesome."
Kangmin raised a brow. "Wholesome until someone tries to Google behind-the-scenes clips and ends up watching your face cam with sixteen filters."
Beom Seok grinned. "You're welcome."
Another pillow flew across the room. "OWIE!!!"
At the same time, at her house...
She replayed a few favorite Kakashi scenes, looking thoroughly satisfied.
"Man, as usual… Kakashi is peak storytelling," she murmured, stretching with a slow yawn.
She glanced at her phone—and froze. "Aish… I totally lost track of time! It's midnight already?! I need to sleep ASAP!"
She tossed her phone beside the futon and shut her eyes.
Silence.
Then—
Her eyes popped open again. "Bathroom."
She dragged herself upright. One flush later, she re-emerged with the posture of someone who had fought and won a private battle.
Now she could sleep.
"Now I can sleep in peace… with Kakashi in my dreams," she murmured, half-asleep already. "Working the night shift with me, Areum, and Boss Lady… serving hot ramyeon to hungry customers."
She let out a dreamy little laugh as she settled back onto her futon. "Kakashi behind the counter with an apron and a ladle… cool… but every now and then, he'd probably drop some weird, random comment in between reading Icha Icha Tactics."
Her smile softened. "He's been through so much… losing people over and over, carrying all that pain… and yet, he still protects others. Still stays good."
She sighed contentedly. "That's why I like him. Not just the cool ninja thing… it's because he's… him." It was silly. But the image made her genuinely happy.
After all, this was her dream job.
She'd grown up watching Naruto devour bowls of ramen with stars in his eyes—and even if she couldn't work at Ichiraku, a ramyeon shop in Seoul was close enough.
Working there wasn't just a job—it was wish fulfillment.
The smells, the steam, the satisfaction of handing over a perfect bowl… it made her feel grounded. Proud.
Blanket up to her chin, face turned toward the wall, she whispered one last thought before sleep took her:
"Good night, Kakashi… see you at the shop."