Offstage Secrets
Friendship Route – Chih En
Chih En is relentless in his pursuit of perfection. Whether it’s singing, dancing, or even something as simple as organizing the dorm, he holds himself to impossibly high standards. If a move isn’t sharp enough, he’ll redo it a hundred times. If a note is slightly off, he’ll replay it over and over until it’s flawless.
JL quickly realizes that while Chih En’s dedication is admirable, it often borders on self-destructive. Late-night practices, skipped meals, and sheer exhaustion become routine. JL does his best to step in—bringing him food, forcing him to take breaks, and, more often than not, physically dragging him out of the studio when he refuses to rest.
One night, well past midnight, JL walks into the practice room and isn’t surprised to find Chih En still there, drenched in sweat, replaying the same routine.
JL crosses his arms. “You do realize we have an actual performance tomorrow, right?”
Chih En, breathless but determined, doesn’t even turn around. “Exactly. Which is why I need to get this right.”
JL sighs, walking over and casually plopping onto the floor. “I’ve been watching you do the same thing for the past ten minutes. If it wasn’t ‘right’ the first nine times, what makes you think the tenth will be different?”
Chih En finally stops, placing his hands on his hips, exasperated. “It has to be perfect, JL.”
“No, it has to be good. There’s a difference.” JL pats the floor beside him. “Sit.”
Chih En hesitates, glancing at the mirror like he wants to keep going. But something about JL’s tone makes him sigh in defeat. He grabs a towel and sinks to the floor.
JL tosses him a protein bar. “Eat.”
Chih En groans but takes it. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet, here we are.” JL watches as Chih En unwraps the bar and takes a bite, looking every bit like a child forced to eat his vegetables. After a beat, JL speaks again, more serious this time. “You know you don’t have to do this alone, right?”
Chih En stares at the floor. “I just… I can’t afford to mess up.”
JL nudges his knee. “You won’t. You never do.”
Chih En looks at him then, something uncertain in his expression. “How do you know?”
JL shrugs. “Because I see you. I see how hard you work, how much you care. You’re already good enough, Chih En.”
The words hit like a punch, and JL can tell by the way Chih En tenses that no one has ever told him that before. Not like this. Not in a way that actually makes him believe it.
For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then, Chih En exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
JL smirks. “Nope. And lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere.”
Chih En rolls his eyes, but there’s a small, tired smile on his face now. He leans back on his palms, looking up at the ceiling. “You’re really annoying.”
JL smirks. “Yeah, yeah. Finish your protein bar.”
Chih En takes another bite, chewing slowly before glancing at JL. “You know… if you keep taking care of me like this, I might just fall in love with you.”
JL snorts. “That’s the exhaustion talking.”
Chih En hums, pretending to think. “Or maybe it’s your charm.”
JL claps a hand over his heart dramatically. “Wow. I didn’t know you felt this way. Should I start planning our wedding?”
Chih En deadpans. “At least let me survive this performance first.”
JL grins. “Fair. But just so you know, if you do fall for me, I expect you to buy me dinner first.”
Chih En groans, tossing the protein bar wrapper at JL’s head. “And just like that, I’m over it.”
JL laughs, dodging the wrapper. “Your loss.”
Despite the teasing, there’s something lighter in the air now. The tension in Chih En’s shoulders has eased, and for once, he looks less like a perfectionist chasing an impossible standard and more like… just Chih En.
From that night on, their friendship solidifies—not because JL “fixes” Chih En, but because he reminds him that perfection isn’t what makes someone worthy. And, for the first time, Chih En allows himself to believe it.
THE END.