(Rewrite) Chapter 4: Be The Superstar Boys

He began walking into the quiet night, snow crunching softly under his sneakers. The cold air felt sharp and clean after the warm, paper-scented air of the café. His mind was still wrapped in the quiet of the booth, the steam of her hot chocolate, the way she’d called him “Bomb Sock Defender” without even knowing.

Then a voice called out from the shadow of a convenience store awning.

“Yah! How cruel, you left your noona alone out here in the cold!”

Beom-seok jumped, nearly stumbling off the sidewalk. He turned, heart pounding.

A woman stood there, or so it seemed. She wore a sleek black mask, a beanie pulled low over her forehead, and a stylish long winter coat. Her eyes sparkled with mischief under the streetlamp.

Then she spoke again, "Yahoo, Chingu!" and this time he knew.

“Noona, my foot,” Beom-seok groaned, his shoulders slumping in recognition. “Hyung.”

Nozomu tugged down his mask, his smirk shifting seamlessly from “playful noona” to “mischievous hyung.” The change was so fluid it was almost unsettling.

“You’re getting slow, Chingu. I’ve been following you since you left the café.”

“Really, noona?” Beom-seok raised an eyebrow. “What are you even doing here?”

“Obviously I was reading manga!”

“Hy—noona… you’re not into manga. You’re into dramas.”

“You get me, Chingu!” Nozomu chirped, slipping back into his “noona” voice but keeping the term of address neutral, safe, untraceable. “I just followed you to keep you safe. What’s a noona’s job for their dongsaeng other than taking care of them?”

Beom-seok stared. “You were tailing me? Since when?”

“Since you slipped out of practice looking all suspicious and cute. I got curious. And bored. And the drama I was watching ended on a cliffhanger.” Nozomu shrugged, looping an arm through Beom-seok’s. “So I decided to chaperone. Consider it noona love.”

It was unfair, really. Nozomu’s short stature and delicate features made him frighteningly convincing as a woman. He’d perfected the disguise years ago, a secret weapon they never revealed on variety shows. While Beom-seok’s “medical student” getup was basically just… glasses, messy hair and a slouch, Nozomu could transform completely. Fans had no idea. The world had no idea.

Sometimes, Beom-seok thought with a pang of playful jealousy, Nozomu hyung’s power of disguise was just unfair.

“You could’ve just texted,” Beom-seok muttered as they walked.

“And miss the chance to see our Chingu in his natural habitat? Looking all scholarly and incognito?” Nozomu’s eyes gleamed. “Besides, you looked like you were having a moment. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Beom-seok stiffened. “What moment?”

“That girl you were sitting with. The one with the Naruto hoodie.” Nozomu’s grin widened. “You two looked cozy.”

“We were not cozy. We were sharing a booth. It was a public space.”

“Mhm. And you were smiling. Like, really smiling. Not your CF smile. Your ‘I just heard the funniest joke’ smile.”

Beom-seok didn’t reply. He just pulled his scarf a little higher.

Nozomu chuckled softly. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop teasing. For now.” He gave Beom-seok’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get you home before you catch a cold. And you can tell me all about this mysterious study session that didn’t involve any studying.”

Beom-seok sighed, but he didn’t pull away. “You’re the worst, noona.”

“And you love me for it,” Nozomu chirped, leading him down the snowy sidewalk toward the dorm.

---

By the time they made it back, the snow had eased into a fine, icy mist. Nozomu peeled off his beanie, fake hair and mask in the entryway, shaking out his vibrant blue hair.

“Home sweet home,” he said, his voice fully back to normal.

Beom-seok didn’t waste a second. He peeled off the hoodie with visible relief, tossing it onto the foot of his bed. Snowflakes melted into damp patches on the grey fabric. 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 caught his reflection in the hallway mirror. A little tilt of the head. A quick wink.

“Like usual,” he murmured, “Seokie’s back.”

Nozomu watched from the doorway, already changed into an oversized t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. “You and that blazer. It’s like a superhero suit.”

“It’s better than a superhero suit,” Beom-seok said, flipping his hair. “It’s a Bomsok suit.”

“Hai, hai. Now come on, let’s see what chaos the others have gotten into without us.”

They wandered into the living room. The glow of Min-ho’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. Min-ho had just gotten back from a winter-themed 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 set and straight into their messy dorm.

A soft sigh escaped his lips. “Yeesh… again with this,” he muttered.

From the floor, Ha-joon 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.

Min-ho didn’t look up. “Another one. Typing ‘BTS’ for behind-the-scenes clips, drowning in our fancams instead. Gets mad in the comments.” He tilted the screen. “Honestly, I’ve lost count.”

Ha-joon winced, rubbing his neck. “Okay, to be fair… back then, I didn’t think we’d ever be this famous. I just liked the meaning.”

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.

“Speaking of meanings, hyung,” Beom-seok said, leaning against the counter. “I still remember our naming moment, 'The ‘Star’ in our name… it was for Starline,' you wanted us to be the superstars who put this company on the map.”

Ha-joon’s expression softened, touched by the memory. “Yeah. ‘Be The Superstar.’ Felt right. Sentimental, maybe, but… it was our dream.”

Kang-min was slouched at the far end of the couch, phone in hand, a soft pink hoodie enveloping him. He didn’t look up from his manhwa. “And then Min-ho hyung happened.”

A ghost of a smirk touched Min-ho’s lips. He didn’t deny it.

Beom-seok picked up the story, his eyes twinkling with fond mischief. “Hyung just leaned back and said, ‘Joonie. You do realize if we go by BTS, the entire internet will think we’re a behind-the-scenes blooper channel, right?’”

He did a pitch-perfect imitation of Min-ho’s deadpan. Ha-joon groaned, sinking deeper into the floor as if trying to disappear, his ears turning pink even now, years later.

“So,” Beom-seok continued, grin widening, “our brilliant leader said, ‘Th-then we’ll add a B! For Boys! BTSB—Be The Superstar Boys! That fixes it!’”

Nozomu cackled from the doorway. “He was so proud! He thought he’d outsmarted the internet!”

Min-ho, without looking up, muttered, “And then the fans named themselves ‘Be The Supporterstar.’ BTS. You added a letter, Joon-ah. They took it right back off. It’s poetic.”

The glorious, full-circle irony hung in the air. No matter how many Bs Ha-joon added, they were forever linked to behind-the-scenes content.

Ha-joon buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled. “We’re a misdirection. A beautifully intentioned, emotionally resonant SEO disaster.”

Beom-seok peeked over the back of the couch, his vanity momentarily forgotten in the warmth of the shared memory. “It suits us, though, doesn’t it? A group that started from behind the scenes, trying to become the superstar. The name tells our whole story.”

Kang-min finally glanced up, his deadpan gaze sweeping the room. “It also tells the story of our leader’s eternal suffering. Which, I must admit, is a core pillar of our group’s charm.”

“Yah!” Ha-joon protested, but he was fighting a smile.

Beom-seok smirked, the familiar rhythm of dorm life settling around him like a favorite blanket. “Well, obviously. The second they saw me as the face of the group—OW!”

A pillow smacked him squarely in the face.

Kang-min 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,” Kang-min muttered.

Min-ho chuckled, pulling his laptop back onto his lap. “Honestly, we should just embrace the chaos. Our name is SEO-optimized for misdirection. Free exposure.”

Beom-seok peeked over the pillow, unable to help himself. “And at least our fandom’s acronym is supportive. ‘Be The Supporterstar.’ Very wholesome.”

Kang-min raised a brow. “Wholesome until someone tries to Google bloopers and ends up watching your fancam with sixteen heart filters.”

Beom-seok’s grin was blinding. “You’re welcome.”

Another pillow flew across the room.

“OWIE!!!”

Ha-joon sighed, but it was fond. “Okay, okay. Let’s not break Seokie’s nose before the comeback. But… he’s right. BTSB… it’s us. Blooper channel or not.”

"Thank you!" Beom-seok grinned triumphantly, then looked around, a soft, contented expression on his face that had nothing to do with his reflection. “Jae-min hyung’s not back yet, huh?”

Nozomu popped his head out from behind the fridge door, a juice box in hand. “Well, Jae-niki has a private life. But don’t worry—” He winked. “He’ll be back by morning. He always is.”

Beom-seok nodded, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. Yeah. Jae-min hyung always came back.

Ha-joon stretched, yawning widely. “Alright, chaos crew. Let’s not stay up too late. You Seokie have drama set to attend at morning.”

“Yes, Umma,” Kang-min muttered without looking up from his manhwa.

“I am not Umma,” Ha-joon protested, though a smile was tugging at his lips. “That’s Jae-min hyung’s job.”

Nozomu cackled, tossing his empty juice box toward the recycling bin. It bounced off the rim and rolled under the couch. “Face it, Joonie-chan. You’re Dad Leader. He’s Mom Composer. We’re a well-balanced household.”

Min-ho finally closed his laptop with a soft click, his expression unreadable but his eyes warm. “And I’m the cool Ahjussi who reads the comments so you don’t have to.”

Beom Seok flopped onto the couch between Kang-min and Ha-joon, his blazer still perfectly crisp. “And I’m the golden maknae who makes us all look good.”

Another pillow came flying, this time from Ha-joon.

“OW! HYUNG, THIS IS SEOKIE ABUSE!”

“That was for the ‘face of the group’ comment earlier,” Ha-joon said innocently, already heading down the hall. “Goodnight, kids. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Yes, Tou-chan!” Nozomu chirped.

Ha-joon’s groan echoed from the hallway.

Beom Seok rubbed his face, but he was smiling. As the others gradually dispersed—Kangmin to his room, Nozomu to raid the kitchen again, Min-ho to his mysterious late-night scrolling—Beom-seok stayed on the couch for a moment, looking around at the quiet, lived-in mess of their dorm.

As he finally stood to head to bed, his phone buzzed, a reminder for tomorrow’s shoot. His role as Park Si-eun awaited. But for now, he was just Beom-seok, in a cream blazer, in a home full of laughter, still tasting the ghost of hot chocolate and a name that wasn’t his: Bomb Sock Defender.

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