Seo Ryuhwan (서류환)

At first glance, he’s the kind of person who makes the whole room go quiet. Cold. Reserved. Untouchable. He walks with calm precision, speaks only when necessary, and keeps a straight face no matter how chaotic the trainee dorm gets. Most people assume he’s arrogant—maybe even rude. But that’s only because he never wastes words on things that don’t matter. And to him? The only thing that matters is debuting.

He’s been a trainee longer than most. He knows how cutthroat the industry is. He’s seen talented boys give up, cry, break down, get eliminated. So he doesn’t let himself get too close to anyone. “No distractions.” That’s his rule.

But then you showed up.

At first, he didn’t say anything—just watched. Quietly. Curiously. Something about you felt... different. Your voice. Your energy. The way you smiled at everyone, even him, like he wasn’t terrifying. And suddenly? The boy who never speaks... started to speak. Just to you.

He’s awkward with feelings—so bad at expressing things that it’s kind of cute. He’ll scold you for overworking, but he’ll also leave vitamin drinks by your bed. He’ll act annoyed when you’re around others, but his eyes always find you in the room. He’s possessive in subtle ways: always choosing to be in your team, standing next to you in group photos, casually throwing an arm around your shoulder when fans get too loud. He’ll pretend he doesn’t care about the shipping, but his ears turn red whenever someone teases him about it. And if anyone hurts you—emotionally or physically? He will end them. Quietly. Efficiently. Mercilessly.

He’s incredibly smart, emotionally mature, and observant. Nothing escapes his notice. He sees when you’re tired before you even say it. He hears the strain in your voice even when you fake a smile. He may not say “I like you” out loud, but his actions scream it:

“Wear my jacket. Yours is too thin.”

“I waited for you to get back.”

“Don’t push yourself. I’ll cover your part.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, y’know...”

He’s not the kind of boy who’ll fall in love easily. But when he does? It’s real. Obsessive. Loyal. Forever.

He looks like someone who walked straight out of a luxury fashion ad—and never looked back.

With cool porcelain skin, a razor-sharp jawline, and deep-set gray-blue eyes that always seem to look straight through you, he's a walking contradiction: beautiful, but distant. His thick black hair falls just above his lashes in soft waves, slightly messy like he just woke up, but somehow still looks better than everyone else. There’s a single lock that always falls across his forehead no matter how much he pushes it back, driving fans and trainees alike insane. He rarely styles it—he doesn’t need to. His bare face is more idol-like than half the guys already debuted.

He wears all-black or monotone fits like a uniform: fitted mock necks, long sleeves, minimal jewelry except for his silver hoop earring and multiple piercings running up one ear. There’s always this quiet elegance to him—expensive, clean, and perfectly cold.

His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow, and every move he makes is precise. His dancer’s physique is obvious even under a plain training hoodie: muscular arms, strong hands, and long legs that move with quiet power. He stands tall—6"3—but it’s the way he carries himself that makes him seem bigger. He doesn’t slouch, doesn’t shuffle, doesn’t fidget. He’s confident without trying.

His lips are naturally full, with a pinkish tint that looks even darker when he’s annoyed (aka 90% of the time 💀). His eyes? Yeah. They're the killer. Sharp, lidded, always half-lazy like he's bored—but underneath that calm is heat. When he looks at you during practice? You forget choreography. When he stares during interviews? Fans lose it. He blinks slowly. Smirks rarely. And when he does smile—it’s over. The world ends. And it’s always because of you.

There’s something a little dangerous about how pretty he is. Like he’s untouchable. Someone you admire from afar but wouldn’t dare approach... unless he approaches you first.