(Rewrite) Chapter 2 : Bomb Sock to Bomsok

The walk back to the dorm was quiet, the snow muffling the sounds of the city. His breath clouded in the air in front of him in little puffs of white. The streets were nearly empty, too cold, too early in the season for people to be out just for fun. He passed the convenience store with its steaming fish cake stall, the orange glow spilling out onto the snowy sidewalk. He passed the alley shortcut, now glazed with a thin layer of ice that caught the light from the streetlamp. He passed the small park where bare trees stood like skeletons against the grey evening sky, their branches dusted with white.

At the dorm's side door—the one they used when they didn't want to be seen coming in through the main entrance—he knocked three times. Quick, sharp raps. Pause. Two more.

The lock clicked from the inside. The door opened a crack, revealing a sliver of Kangmin's face, silver hair messy from sleep or reading, glasses sitting slightly askew on his nose. He was wearing a soft pink hoodie with a cartoon cat on it and grey sweatpants covered in tiny cartoon bears.

"Oh," Kang-min said, his voice flat with its usual deadpan exhaustion. "It's you." He shuffled back to let him in, not even bothering to open the door wider than necessary.

Beom-seok stepped inside, the warmth of the building wrapping around him like a blanket after the cold outside. He shut the door behind him, locked it, and began shedding layers, trading his snow-damp sneakers for the dorm slippers waiting by the door.

First the scarf, unwound from around his neck and hung on the hook by the door. Then the hoodie, which he pulled off over his head and tossed onto a nearby chair with visible relief. The medical mask came off next, peeled away to reveal his face, paler than usual from the cold, but still undeniably handsome, the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones finally free. Finally, the glasses, folded carefully and set on the small table by the door.

He stood there for a moment in just his crisp white dress shirt, the fabric finally able to breathe after being trapped under all those layers. He tugged at the collar—the same way he had in the café, back when he'd been hiding it—and finally let the fabric breathe.

Then he reached into his backpack and pulled out the light blue blazer he'd folded that morning. He shook it out, hearing the familiar rustle of quality fabric. The sleeves slid into place with practiced ease. The moment the fabric settled on his shoulders, his posture changed, spine straightening, chin lifting, shoulders squaring back. The transformation was instant. Complete.

He caught his reflection in the hallway mirror and paused. His fingers went to his hair, still messy, deliberately disheveled for the disguise. With quick, practiced movements, he swept the front strands into the familiar "S" shape that framed his forehead, the signature style fans recognized instantly. The S-fringe. Bomsok's fringe. His fringe.

There he was. Bomsok. The golden maknae of BTSB. The idol. The actor. The face of the group. The fantasy.

But for the first time in a long time, the face looking back at him in the mirror didn't feel like a mask. It felt... like his.

"You literally couldn't wait two seconds to get to your room?" Kang-min muttered from the kitchen doorway, where he was now eating cup ramyeon straight from the container, not even bothering with a bowl.

"Two seconds is too long," Beom-seok replied, smoothing an invisible crease from his sleeve with a flick of his fingers.

From down the hall came the lazy shuffle of slippers against the polished floor. Nozomu appeared, his vibrant, eye-catching blue hair a messy halo around his head, sticking up in every direction as if he'd been sleeping or rolling around. He wore an oversized t-shirt with some anime character Beom Seok didn't recognize and plaid pajama pants, and he clocked the blazer instantly, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Already in uniform, Seokie-chan? Didn't even make it to your room first?"

Beom-seok gave him a side glance. "Hoodies are for hiding. Blazers are for existing."

Nozomu chuckled, leaning against the wall. "And I exist just fine without one."

That's when Beom-seok's grin sharpened, remembering the conversation he'd just had in the café, the girl with the frizzy hair and the direct eyes.

"...You know, hyung," Beom-seok said slowly, turning to face Nozomu fully, "some people really do think your name is 'Nope.'"

Nozomu blinked, his expression shifting from amused to genuinely delighted. "And I love every single one of them."

Beom-seok laughed under his breath—a real, quiet sound—and brushed past him toward the common room. "Figures."

He caught his reflection in the wall mirror again and stopped, tilting his head just enough for the light from the ceiling fixture to catch the sharp, tailored lines of his blazer, the perfect drape of the fabric over his shoulders. "Mm. Perfection. If I were any hotter, they'd have to start charging admission just to look at me." He winked at his own reflection before adjusting his collar with a precise, practiced motion.

Kang-min, still standing in the kitchen doorway with his cup ramyeon, let out a long, weary sigh. "Really? That's your first sentence after walking in? At this rate, my quota for hearing your vanity will hit the limit before midnight."

Beom-seok pouted, though the smug glint in his eyes didn't fade. "You're just jealous because you don't have a blazer collection."

Nozomu burst into louder laughter, clapping his hands together. "Classic Seokie-chan answer! 100% ego, 200% sparkle!"

Kang-min shot him a look over the rim of his ramyeon cup. "You're not helping, hyung."

"I'm not trying to," Nozomu grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Beom Seok winked at his reflection again, then turned away from the mirror, his smile softening into something more genuine, more private. "Good. I'd hate to think I'm the only one enjoying this."

But as he walked to the kitchen to grab a yogurt drink from the fridge, his mind wasn't on his reflection, or his blazer, or even his members. It was on a manga café booth, on snow-flecked windows, on steam rising from a cup of hot chocolate. On a girl with frizzy hair escaping a beanie, who called him Bomb Sock and didn't ask for a photo, who didn't whisper "Is that really Bomsok under that mask?" who didn't even try to be polite. Who just... talked. No filter. No pressure. No agenda.

She called Min-ho hyung "Secretary." Nozomu hyung became "Nope." Jae-min hyung and Kang-min hyung got merged into one person because their stage names sounded "too normal" to distinguish.

God, he thought, popping the top off his yogurt drink. She's like a glitch in the matrix. An actual Korean girl who doesn't care about idols. Do those even exist?

Or maybe... she just cares about her own world more. Naruto rewatches. VA forums. Stuff I never touch because I'm too busy being the "golden maknae."

If only she knew. If only she knew the boy she mocked was the exact one sitting across from her.

But somehow... I liked it. That she didn't know me. It felt... normal. Or at least, what life is supposed to feel like.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, looking out the window at the snow still falling, covering Seoul in a blanket of quiet white. The dorm was warm. His blazer was perfect. His hair—still technically messy from the hoodie—now seemed to fall into place on its own, as if it knew where it belonged. Not for a stage. Not for a camera. Just because this was him.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn't mind being himself.

Because somewhere out there in the snowy city, there was a girl who thought his name was Bomb Sock. And he couldn't wait to hear her say it again.

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