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No one knows Ricky the way Gyuvin does.
Not even Yunseo, who trained the longest with him at Yuehua, knows where Ricky lives in LA.
But Gyuvin does.
He remembers everything about Ricky. The house Ricky described once during a late-night talk, remembers the cracked tile near the front door, the cat that always lingers outside his window, the Vietnamese place three blocks away that Ricky swears has the best iced coffee.
Gyuvin notices every little thing about him. He can tell when Ricky’s anxious even when he’s smiling. He can see tension in Ricky’s jaw before it ever touches his voice. The little details, the subtle shifts, the way his shoulders tense when he’s anxious even though his face stays calm.
Gyuvin sees all of it.
He always has.
He doesn’t know what Ricky truly thinks of him. They’ve never labeled anything. Never sat down and defined what they are. But one thing’s clear. Gyuvin’s life revolves around Ricky. Completely. Utterly. Pathetically, even.
He can’t imagine his days without Ricky in them.
“Your English is getting better,” Matthew said one day, casually, like it was just an observation.
“I talk English with Ricky,” Gyuvin replied, just as offhand.
“You can talk to me too, you know,” Matthew teased, grinning. He always had that older-brother warmth; steady, kind. Gyuvin had always been grateful for that.
“I’m too embarrassed, hyung. I promise I’ll talk to you more when I’m better.”
But honestly? He didn’t really want to practice with anyone else.
Just Ricky.
The truth was, Ricky made it easy. Made mistakes feel normal. Never laughed when Gyuvin fumbled—well, okay, maybe he did. But it was the kind of laugh that felt soft, like he was laughing with him, not at him. And even then, it was rare. And kind of sweet.
or maybe Gyuvin was just lying to himself.
Maybe he was making excuses because he liked the way Ricky smiled when he tried. He never really tried to figure that out, yet.
He dont think he ever will anyway.
And it wasn’t just about language. It was about everything.
With Ricky, Gyuvin could be angry, quiet, clingy, honest. He doesn’t need to pretend. He didn’t have to paste a smile to his face. Didn’t have to play the happy sunshine role everyone expected from him.
Because a long time ago, Ricky had looked at him and said, bluntly, “You look fake.”
Brutal.
But real.
And that was it. That’s when everything shifted.
That’s when Gyuvin realized he didn’t have to perform around Ricky. He didn’t have to smile, or speak, or pretend. He could cry. He could be silent. He could just exist.
And Ricky would still be there.
He would still open the door when Gyuvin came running. Still accept him; flaws, mistakes, all of it. No lectures. No conditions. Just there.
Even after everything Gyuvin had done. Even after all the ways he’d messed up.
Ricky stayed.
🍓🥭
Yue Hua, 2020
Gyuvin met Ricky when he was sixteen. Just a kid, raw, confused, barely holding himself together, heartbroken from a recent breakup, dumped into the deep end of idol training life. He had no idea who he was or who he wanted to be.
Then Ricky happened.
The first thing Gyuvin noticed when he walked in was a boy with fried-blonde hair, dancing alone with headphones on.
Everyone else had already started gathering around him , trying to be friends, forming easy bonds but that boy stayed in his own world. Unbothered. Unreachable.
Gyuvin, on the other hand, had never struggled with people. He was charming, warm, easy to talk to. People gravitated toward him. They wanted to sit next to him at lunch. Be on his team. Laugh at his jokes.
But not him. Not the quiet, intimidatingly beautiful boy.
They’d exchanged a few polite "hi"s here and there, but that was it. No real conversation. No spark of connection.
When Gyuvin asked the other trainees about him, the answer was always the same:
“He’s just shy. Give it time. You’ll get close eventually.”
But Gyuvin was impatient. How was he supposed to just wait and watch from a distance?
Most nights, long after others had gone, Gyuvin stayed back to practice. As someone who started later than most, insecurity pushed him to work harder. Coincidentally, or maybe not , Ricky was usually there too. It had become a pattern. If ricky occupied the left side of the room, gyuvin would practice at the right side. And vice versa. If Ricky moved, Gyuvin adjusted.They shared the space like they shared a silence. Uneasy. Unspoken
There was this invisible wall between them, and every time Gyuvin tried to cross it—playfully, casually , Ricky acted like he didn’t exist.
It stung more than Gyuvin liked to admit. Made him feel dumb for trying.
So he stopped.
He kept his distance. Stuck to his side. Focused on his moves. Pretended it didn’t bother him.
But it did.
And yet, every time Gyuvin stopped, sweat-drenched, muscles trembling—Ricky would pause too. They’d wrap up at the same time. They’d ride the elevator down together, side by side, saying nothing. Again and again, like clockwork.
It almost felt planned. But how could it be, if they never spoke?
Gyuvin didn’t blame Ricky for the silence. Not completely. If speaking meant using English, Gyuvin probably wouldn’t talk either.
He’d lived in Dubai for a few months. Knew the basics. But English had always been his nemesis, especially with his siblings constantly teasing his pronunciation.
Eventually, he just gave up. It was a relief when his family moved back to Korea.
“He probably hates seeing you get better than him,” Leehan once joked after Gyuvin told him everything.
Honestly? It was the only explanation that made sense. Other trainees said Ricky never stayed late to practice before.
Not until Gyuvin showed up.
🍓🥭
Yuehua , 2020
Two weeks in, and Gyuvin was finally settling into trainee life.
The constant ache in his muscles? Normal now. The rehearsals that bled into school hours? Manageable. He’d even stopped staying at the practice room past midnight , not because he didn’t want to, but because he had to keep up with school. It was just smarter that way.
But losing those late-night hours meant losing those silent, shared moments with Ricky too. Gyuvin never actually interact with ricky since then . And ricky never tries either . He already started to giving up trying to befriend with him.
Maybe they were just destined to be a fellow colleague to each other after all, despite gyuvin really wanting to be friend with that quiet blonde boy .
Gyuvin technically had a choice when it came to housing. Since his family lived in Apgujeong, just a few subway stops away, the company let him choose between staying at the dorm or commuting. He picked home, obviously. His own bed, his own bathroom, no roommates—easy decision.
Still, some nights , like this one—he couldn’t bring himself to go back. Tonight, his body felt like it was stitched together with lead. After a long day at school and another round of intense practice, his limbs were jelly and his thoughts were soup. Home felt like a mountain away.
The dorm was closer. Easier.
Sprawled out on the practice room floor, limbs splayed like he’d melted, Gyuvin groaned dramatically.
“Oh God, I am craving cup ramyeon right now. My belly is literally screaming.”
His t-shirt clung to him, soaked in sweat, but he couldn’t care less.
The only thing louder than his hunger was the siren call of a mattress.
Eventually, he dragged himself upstairs, mind already fantasizing about salty broth and chewy noodles.
But the dorm wasn’t home.
You couldn’t just say you wanted something and have it magically appear. Reality hit fast when he opened the cabinet and found the shelves completely empty.
“What the hell? No ramyeon?” he muttered, talking to himself as his stomach growled louder.
He stood there, blinking into the void, weighing whether it was worth the trip to the convenience store.
Then a voice cut through the silence.
“I don’t like this flavor. Take it.”
Gyuvin turned, startled. Ricky had appeared from somewhere. Headphones hanging loosely around his neck, face unreadable, expression as flat as his voice.
He tossed a cup ramyeon Gyuvin’s way without meeting his eyes.
The tone was blunt, almost dismissive. If Gyuvin were less hungry—or more sensitive—he might’ve taken offense. But he wasn’t about to start a debate with an empty stomach.
So instead, he just said, “Thanks,” and tore the lid off like it was a gift from heaven.
As the kettle boiled, Gyuvin stole a glance at Ricky, who had already turned and started walking back to his room.
He didn’t say another word.
Now that he thought about it, why was Ricky only ever cold with him? Every other trainee Gyuvin talked to said Ricky was sweet. Gentle. Quiet, sure, but lovely once you got to know him.
So why did it feel like Gyuvin got a different version of him entirely? The curt one. The cocky one. The version that didn’t smile and barely spoke.
He didn’t know the answer. Not yet.
But thanks to Ricky’s weirdly timed, borderline rude act of generosity, Gyuvin went to bed that night with a full stomach and the kind of sleep that only comes when you're completely spent, body sore, heart heavy, but strangely warm.
🍓🥭
“You lived in Dubai before?” Sungeon asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
Gyuvin shrank in his seat instinctively, already regretting letting that slip. “Yeah… my dad worked there for a few years.”
Yunseo’s face lit up. “Then you can talk English with the American trainees!”
It was said with genuine excitement, but Gyuvin flinched like it was a challenge.
“I’m not that confident yet,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
“That’s why you have to practice,” Yunseo insisted. “It’s easier if you talk to native speakers. We have Brian, Luke—and Ricky too. Even though he’s not American.”
“Wait—Ricky’s not American?” Gyuvin asked, eyebrows shooting up.
“Huh? You didn’t know? He was born in Shanghai.”
“Seriously?” Gyuvin blinked. And then without a word—he stood up, grabbed his phone, and bolted from the room.
“Where are you going?” Sungeon laughed behind him.
But Gyuvin was already gone.
He didn’t know exactly why it made him so happy. Maybe it was the idea that Ricky, like him, wasn’t born with perfect English. Maybe it was the hope that they weren’t so different after all.
That the wall between them might’ve been thinner than he thought.
He found Ricky near the vending machines in the dorm hallway, headphones around his neck, staring absently at a can of iced coffee like it might start talking.
“You’re actually Chinese?!” Gyuvin blurted, breathless.
Ricky blinked, startled. “I—uh—I’m from Shanghai,” he said carefully, his Korean thick with a foreign accent. It was hesitant, a little clumsy.
To Gyuvin, it was adorable.
Without thinking, he laughed and threw his arms around Ricky in a quick hug.
“Why didn’t you say that earlier?” he grinned. “I thought English was your first language!”
Ricky looked confused for a beat, then smiled, just slightly. “No… I mean, I prefer English. I’m more comfortable in it. My Korean’s really bad.”
And just like that, Gyuvin’s joy cracked.
Oh.
That smile on his face - those sparks of hope faded fast. He’d thought this meant he wouldn’t have to speak English to get close to Ricky. That they could meet in the middle.
But if Ricky still preferred English… and Gyuvin still dreaded speaking it…
How was that supposed to work?
How could he have a real conversation when it took him an hour just to build one sentence in his head?
He nodded, forcing a laugh. “Cool, cool.”
But the high he’d been riding deflated completely. That hug suddenly felt too bold. He backed away with a polite smile and a quiet excuse, disappearing down the hall before Ricky could say anything else.
That night, Gyuvin lay awake in his dorm bed, staring at the ceiling. The distance between them felt even wider now. He’d run to Ricky hoping they were the same; but instead, he’d found a new kind of gap.
Oh god.
🍓🥭
For months, Gyuvin had Ricky figured out.
Or so he thought.
To him, Ricky was cocky. A little weird. Maybe even kind of self-absorbed. He rarely spoke unless spoken to. He never laughed at Gyuvin’s jokes. And whenever Gyuvin tried to strike up a conversation, Ricky either dodged it or answered in clipped, perfect English - like he was testing him. Like he was better.
Gyuvin didn’t dislike him, exactly. But he definitely didn’t like him.
The only soft thing he ever noticed about Ricky was that he wrote in a diary every night before bed. No matter how chaotic the dorm was, no matter how loud the other boys got, Ricky would be there on his bed, pen in hand, scribbling away like the world didn’t exist.
Gyuvin was curious, of course. What did someone like him even write about? Training notes? Self-love affirmations? A schedule of when to ignore Gyuvin again?
He wanted to know. Needed to, actually. Maybe there was an explanation in there , some proof that Ricky’s cold shoulder wasn’t personal.
So when Gyuvin walked into the room one night to find Ricky gone and the diary left behind on the nightstand—well…
He told himself he’d only glance.
But one page turned into three. Then five.
Ricky’s handwriting was neat. Round letters. Soft curves. Not at all what Gyuvin expected. He flipped more. Some entries were mundane : what they practiced that day, what he ate, the songs stuck in his head. But the further he read, the more Gyuvin’s stomach turned with guilt …… and awe.
Because every little thing Ricky did , the things Gyuvin had brushed off as weird or cold had meaning.
And strangely, some of those actually related to him .
Ricky had started staying late to train not because he wanted to, but because Gyuvin had once mumbled to someone that he hated practicing alone at night.
The ramyeon? Ricky didn’t even like that flavor. But he remembered Gyuvin whining about being hungry, so he brought it anyway, without a word.
And the English? Ricky wasn’t pushing it to show off. He was trying to meet Gyuvin where he thought Gyuvin needed help. He could’ve spent that time improving his Korean. But instead, he chose to speak the language Gyuvin struggled with, thinking it would help him feel more confident.
All that time… Gyuvin had seen him completely wrong.
His throat tightened. He closed the diary carefully, guilt spreading like ink across his chest. But under it, something else bloomed ; something warm and soft and terrifying.
Admiration. Affection. Maybe more.
That night, Gyuvin didn’t sleep.
He just kept replaying everything in his head. Every stare across the practice room. Every awkward elevator ride. Every time he thought Ricky was ignoring him; when really, Ricky had just been waiting for him to reach out.
So Gyuvin decided to start over.
No pretending he didn’t care. No assumptions. Just a fresh start.
It took him a week to work up the courage. Every night, he stayed up trying to string the sentence together in English, mouthing the words until they felt natural.
Until he didn’t hate how they sounded in his mouth.
And finally, one quiet afternoon, he spotted Ricky by himself, headphone wires looping around his neck.
Gyuvin walked up, heart hammering. “Is that Dr. Beats headphones?” he asked, carefully, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t rehearsed it a thousand times.
Ricky blinked, surprised. Then nodded. “Yeah,” he said.
That was it. Nothing dramatic. Just that small opening.
But somehow, after that, everything started to shift.
They started talking.
Not much at first—just music, practice, small things.
But Gyuvin no longer saw Ricky as a wall to climb. He saw him clearly now. Patient. Thoughtful. Quiet, yes, but full of meaning.
And somewhere along that quiet, winding road, Ricky became the most important person in Gyuvin’s life.
Not because of big gestures. But because of the little things; the ones Gyuvin almost missed. The ones Ricky never expected credit for.
And Gyuvin swore he’d never overlook them again.
The selfless boy who taught Gyuvin how to dress, how to do his hair, how to clean up and show up and take care of himself.
Ricky was there for every transition in his life . Teaching him how to dress, how to do his hair, how to moisturize, how to survive being twenty in this cutthroat world.
Everything Gyuvin was at 21 - confident, polished, known - was built by Ricky’s guidance.
🍓🥭
2022
"Hey Rick, should I order?" Gyuvin half-yelled, one leg draped lazily over the edge of Ricky's bed. He was scrolling through the food delivery app on Ricky’s phone, tapping through menus like it was second nature.
Because it was.
At this point, anything Ricky owned might as well be his. Gyuvin knew Ricky’s card pin like it was his own birthday. Ricky had the fingerprint unlock on Gyuvin’s phone. They shared chargers, passwords, snacks, blankets ; everything, really, except maybe toothbrushes. Even those had been mixed up once or twice.
It was a holiday break. Most of the members had gone home or out on quick trips. Recharging with family, getting fresh air, disappearing from the practice rooms for a while. But Ricky had decided to stay at the dorm.
“I like the quiet,” he’d said simply.
So Gyuvin, who actually did have a home and family waiting, had stayed too.
He didn’t even think twice about it.
They'd spent the last two days rotating between the floor, the couch, and Ricky's bed. Playing games. Watching K-dramas Gyuvin couldn’t follow but enjoyed anyway. Trading jokes and falling asleep mid-conversation. Now, his stomach growled, demanding attention.
He pinned the dorm address and hit “Pay.” Still no sign of Ricky from the bathroom.
So, naturally, Gyuvin started snooping.
Not snooping in a shady way. Just… scrolling. Mindlessly. Comfortably. That’s how close they were.There wasn’t anything Ricky wouldn’t let him see. Or so he thought.
He was just flicking through the apps when the Notes icon caught his eye. He opened it without thinking. Just idle curiosity.
Then one note stood out.
2020.
That stopped him.
Ricky wasn’t the sentimental type. If anything, he was the “delete and move on” kind of person. So why would he keep a note from five years ago?
He clicked.
At first, it didn’t make sense. Just a string of links and screenshots.
But the deeper he looked, the heavier his chest got.
“Best skincare routines for teen boys”
“Outfit tips for awkward heights”
“How to bleach hair at home”
“Korean slang to sound natural”
“How to not look lonely in a crowd.”
Gyuvin stilled.
They were all saved from 2020. Ricky would’ve been 16. Just moved to Korea. No friends. No family. New country. New language. Alone.
Gyuvin felt his grip on the phone tighten.
Because the truth hit him like a brick in the gut: Ricky had raised himself.
No older sibling to guide him. No best friend to hold his hand. No one to tell him which cleanser to buy or how to blend concealer or what shirt didn’t make him look “too old.” He’d figured it all out alone. quietly, patiently, one Google search at a time.
And then what did he do?
He turned around and handed all that knowledge to Gyuvin.
“Puberty’s confusing,” Ricky had joked one night months ago, tossing Gyuvin a face mask. “I can give you a guide.”
Gyuvin had laughed, all teeth and dimples. “I want to look as cool as you, anyway.”
But now that line made his throat close up.
Who gave Ricky a guide?
Who helped Ricky through his shift?
Who held his hand when he had to grow up alone in a foreign country?
Who stayed up late helping him feel normal?
No one. That was the answer. Ricky figured all of that out alone. No one had handed Ricky the kind of care he gave so freely now. He learned everything by himself, and then made sure Gyuvin never had to feel that same kind of loneliness.
And that was Ricky.
Quietly kind. Always thoughtful. Never asking for credit. Just… giving. Always giving.
Gyuvin blinked hard, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of it all. He put the phone down slowly, like it might shatter if he touched it too long. His chest was tight, heavy with guilt, warmth, admiration. Everything tangled at once.
“I had no idea,” he whispered to no one.
But he knew now.
And that’s why, if anyone ever asked Gyuvin who the most important person in his life is ; other than his family, it would be Ricky.
when the members tease Gyuvin about being obsessed with Ricky, they don’t know half of it.
They don’t know the quiet, unwavering loyalty Ricky showed him when he had nothing to offer.
And Gyuvin would keep it that way, even if he had to burn the whole world for it.