The bus jolted forward. A girl wearing a hoodie plopped down beside him without hesitation—frizzy hair, a slight scowl, one hand gripping a plastic umbrella, the other steadying her phone. He almost shifted into his usual idol posture, but stopped himself. Too much swagger. He slouched, forcing his shoulders to relax, just enough for Nozomu-hyung's voice to stop echoing in his head.
Beom Seok adjusted the clean, nerdy glasses on his nose and tugged the collar of his hoodie higher, hiding more of the crisp white dress shirt underneath. His fingers brushed the stiff fabric, straightening it out of habit. Crisp white, pressed smooth this morning — and completely wasted under all that gray cotton. A shirt like this belonged with its partner: the blazer folded neatly in his backpack, its smooth lining and tailored shoulders a quiet weight against his leg.
Every bump of the bus made him itch to peel the hoodie off, square his shoulders, and stand the way he always did. But that was the problem. That would be too much like him. And on this ride, he couldn't be him. Not fully.
Behind them, a high schooler's phone blared loud music. Something familiar. Beom Seok froze for a second—oh. It was BTSB. His fingers twitched automatically toward the beat. No finger hearts. No choreography. He curled his hand into a fist instead. The lyrics hit the chorus and his lips almost moved on instinct. Don't lip-sync to the music. He clamped his jaw shut.
He glanced at the girl beside him. She let out a tired sigh and yanked out one earbud.
"Tsk."
Beom Seok hesitated. "Why are you annoyed? Do you... dislike BTSB?"
She turned to him, one eyebrow raised. "BTSB? What—behind-the-scenes bloopers?"
"…No. Not blooper reels. I mean the idol group."
"Oh." She paused, genuinely puzzled. "Well, no. I don't hate them. But a lot of girls talk about this BTSB idol thingy, and I just assumed it stood for behind-the-scenes bloopers. Unique group name, if you ask me."
He blinked slowly over the top edge of his medical mask, his eyes narrowing slightly before his expression smoothed again. The mask hid his mouth, but his gaze betrayed the faintest ripple of disbelief.
"You... really don't know them?"
She tilted her head thoughtfully. "What? It makes sense! And there's always that one name floating around—Bomb Sock, right? Which is hilarious. Bomb means '폭탄 (poktan)' and sock is '양말 (yangmal)'. Imagine naming yourself Bomb Socks. That's bold."
He nearly choked on air. "It's... not Bomb Sock. It's Bomsok. Like how you pronounce Beom Seok."
She shrugged. "Not into idol stuff. I'm more of an anime girl—VA deep-dives, fan theory forums, that kind of thing. So all that idol chatter just goes whoosh over my head."
"…Have you at least heard of the members?" he asked.
She waved a hand. "Sure, the names get thrown around. There's—um, Nope—"
"Hope," he corrected.
She frowned. "Really? I thought it was Nope since I only caught the -ope part. Figured Nope was right."
"It's Hope. Like... optimism." He said, trying not to sound defensive. Her confidence in her wrongness was... astonishing.
Admittedly… in Hajoon hyung's words, Nozomu hyung is "hopelessly in love with teasing," the kind that leaves everyone in despair. That's why Hajoon hyung once said he should've been called "Nope" instead of "Hope." Still, what a weird coincidence…
"Oh." She paused. "Okay."
He sighed quietly.
She kept going. "Then there's Luwo."
"LUO," he muttered. "It's Seoul reversed. Kind of. Stylized."
"Right," she said, clearly unimpressed. "Idols and their stage names."
Beom Seok silently reevaluated everything.
She wasn't done. "And then there's that Bomb Sock guy, obviously—"
He winced. "—Secretary? Or is it just S? And, uh… Jaemin or maybe Baek… ah right, maybe Baek Jaemin? Surprisingly normal name, with how it sounds."
He stared, utterly stunned.
"What?" she said flatly. "I'm not trying to offend. I'm just not into K-pop. I'd rather finish season four of my Naruto rewatch than memorize a list of stage names."
"They're two different people," he said, his voice dropping slightly.
She looked up. "What?"
"They're two separate people," he repeated. "Jeon Jaemin and Baek Kangmin. They each use part of their names as their stage names," he added, with a visible stiffening.
She shrugged but looked faintly apologetic. "I don't even see them. I just hear their names when girls squeal at bus stops. It's like being surrounded by static—with fangirl subtitles."
Beom Seok just watched her, speechless.
"What?" she said, entirely unbothered. "I know Naruto's voice actor by heart. That counts for something."
"You're really Korean?" he blurted, before he could stop himself.
She slowly turned to him. "Did you just question my nationality because I don't know your favorite idol group?"
"I—okay. That was unfair." Bad Seokie.
He chuckled awkwardly and tried again. "Well... what about Bomsok? He's the golden maknae. You must've heard of him."
She squinted. "Golden maknae?"
"That means he's the youngest with blond-dyed hair, right?"
"…Not necessarily," said Beom Seok, who currently had black, undyed messy hair and wore clean glasses under a medical mask to hide his identity. ₩15,000 sneakers. Shuffle, don't strut. Hoodie zipped halfway up—enough to hide the crisp white dress shirt beneath. Because even undercover, some habits die hard. His backpack sat at his feet.
"So do you fantasize about him or something? Is that why you're shocked I don't know BTSB? I bet your bias is Bomb Sock."
"Bomsok," he corrected gently, failing to hide his grin under the mask.
"Sure," she said. "That Bomb of Socks guy."
The bus wheezed to a stop, pulling him from his thoughts. She reached up, pressed the bell, then glanced sideways again.
"Seo Jin-ah," she said, introducing herself.
"So, who are you really?" she added as he coughed, maintaining his disguise as a sick college student, "Medical Masked Man?"
He looked at her—and decided to take the risk. Just this once.
"Jang Beom Seok."
She paused at the door, blinking. "Whoa. No wonder you sounded offended when I said the name wrong—your name sounds like that idol's. Bomsok, right? Not Bomb Sock guy?" she teased.
*Don't smile like a CF model*. Still, his cheeks lifted under the mask anyway. He couldn't help it—he laughed.
Completely unaware she'd been mocking the very idol she was sitting next to, she stepped off the bus. She disappeared into the misty gray, leaving a very amused Beom Seok behind.
She was gone. Just like that—off the bus, into the mist, umbrella swinging like she didn't just wreck his entire stage persona in under five minutes.
"Bomb of Socks," she said. Bomb. Of. Socks.
I've performed in stadiums. Sung live on national TV. Lived under spotlights, cameras, and the screams of fans for most of my life. And now? I've been reduced to footwear with explosive properties.
And yet…behind the mask, he was grinning like an idiot.
Because she wasn't afraid of me. She didn't ask for a photo. She didn't whisper, "Is that really Bomsok under that mask?" She didn't even try to be polite. She just… talked. No filter. No pressure. No agenda.
She called Minho-hyung "Secretary," for crying out loud. Nozomu-hyung became "Nope." Jaemin and Kangmin-hyung got merged into one person because their stage names sounded "too normal" to distinguish.
God. 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 next to 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. I've been a commercial baby, then a child actor, now an idol-actor hybrid. Maybe this is what normal actually is.
Because for once, someone looked me in the eye and didn't see a brand. Didn't see perfection or fantasy. Just a guy on a bus with bad timing.
And maybe… I want to talk to that kind of person again. Even if she thinks my stage name is Bomb Socks.
The bus wheezed to his stop, pulling him from his thoughts. Time to walk back to the dorm.
He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt beneath the hoodie — crisp, white, and wasted under all that gray cotton. He adjusted his backpack, the blazer inside feeling heavier than it should, like a part of his identity waiting to be restored.
Mask on. Hoodie up. Head down.
The streets were quiet except for the sound of his sneakers on wet pavement. The air smelled faintly of rain and street food from a late-night cart. He passed the corner convenience store, the vending machine that always ate coins, the alley shortcut only locals used.
A coded knock on the dorm's side door. Three quick raps.
The lock clicked, and the dorm's side door opened a crack. A half-asleep face peered out, framed by tousled silver hair and a pair of glasses that sat slightly askew on his nose. Kangmin, in a loose pink T-shirt, shuffled aside, his expression a deadpan mix of exhaustion and mild annoyance.
"Oh. It's you."
Beom Seok slipped in, trading his sneakers for dorm slippers. He shut the door quietly behind him.
The mask came off, revealing his face.
The hoodie followed, uncovering the crisp white dress shirt that had been suffocating under all that gray cotton. He tugged at the collar — the same way he had on the bus, back when he'd been hiding it — and finally let the fabric breathe.
From his bag came the light blue blazer. The moment the sleeves slid into place, his shoulders squared and his chin lifted.
And that's when it slipped out — a quiet laugh. Not for Kangmin, not for Nozomu, not for anyone but himself.
Bomb of Socks.
The girl's voice replayed in his head exactly as she'd said it — casual, unfiltered, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He shook his head, smiling wider.
His hair — still technically messy — now seemed to fall into place on its own. Not for a stage. Not for a camera. Just because this was him.
Kangmin just stared at him. "You literally couldn't wait two seconds to get to your room?"
"Two seconds is too long," Beom Seok replied, smoothing an invisible crease from his sleeve.
From the hallway came the lazy shuffle of slippers. Nozomu appeared, his vibrant, eye-catching blue hair a messy halo around his head. He wore a loose, baggy t-shirt, and he clocked the blazer instantly and smirked.
"Already in uniform, Seokie? 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. "And I exist just fine without one."
That's when Beom Seok's grin sharpened, remembering the conversation he'd just had.
"…You know, hyung," Beom Seok said slowly, "some people really do think your name is 'Nope.'"
Nozomu blinked, clearly amused. "And I love every single one of them."
Beom Seok laughed under his breath, brushing past him toward the common room. "Figures."
He caught his reflection in the wall mirror and stopped, tilting his head just enough for the light to catch the sharp lines of his blazer. "Mm. Perfection. If I were any hotter, they'd have to start charging admission just to look at me." He winked at himself before adjusting his collar.
Kangmin, still trailing behind, let out a sigh. "Really? That's your first sentence after walking in? At this rate, my quota for hearing your vanity will hit the limit."
Beom Seok pouted, though the smug glint in his eyes didn't fade.
Nozomu burst into laughter. "Classic Seokie-chan answer! 100% ego, 200% sparkle!"
Kangmin shot him a look. "You're not helping, hyung."
"I'm not trying to," Nozomu grinned.
Beom Seok winked at his reflection. "Good. I'd hate to think I'm the only one enjoying this."