Chapter Text
—one—
JONGHYUN
(Christmas, 2027)
“Hyung, what are you doing out here?”
Jonghyun startles, dropping his cigarette and stabbing it pointedly with his foot, pasting a smile on his face as he turns. He would recognise that voice anywhere, and while Jihoon would kill him if he thought Jonghyun was protecting him from anything—
“Needed a bit of fresh air,” Jonghyun says easily, retracting the hand stuffed into his pocket. The kid (he’s a man now, really) looks a little worried, a little embarrassed. “It’s getting a bit too noisy for me in there. I’m old now, you know.”
The quip pays off because Jihoon smiles, eyes crinkling. Jonghyun notes the lift in his ears and sighs inwardly in relief.
“Thirty-two is not old, hyung,” Jihoon chides. “You’re at the prime of your life!”
And it’s true. Jonghyun is thirty-two now, and he’s never peaked so high in his life before. He’s travelled to almost every country in the world, worked with the most amazing performers, helped to raise an entire generation of industry newcomers, and now owns a loft apartment in Gangnam. A loft. In Gangnam. He shrugs.
“Let’s get back inside, shall we?” he prods, and Jihoon stands a little to the side as Jonghyun steps back into his apartment. A wave of warm hair blasts him in the face, and he huffs at the pure energy in the room. Distantly, he hears someone call for Jihoon to leave the balcony door open for ventilation. He surveys the room with a rueful smile on his face. Guanlin is still at the karaoke machine, crooning out a series of love songs, arm wrapped around Seonho, who has tissue paper stuffed into his ears. He used to be like that too, once, when he was younger. Much younger, with—He cuts himself off from that train of thought.
He hasn’t thought about him in years. He hasn’t thought about what used to be, nearly a decade ago. It’s strange that he’s thinking of him right now, after ten years, in what is supposed to be a company Christmas party for a dozen of idols who can’t afford to go home for the holidays.
“Hey,” Minki sidles up to him, nudging his hip with his own. “I haven’t seen that look on your face for a while now.”
“What,” Jonghyun is distracted by the offer of beer, “are you talking about?”
“You know,” Minki says casually, “the look you get when you’re thinking of Mi—”
“Don’t,” Jonghyun murmurs around a mouthful of beer, swallowing the bitter liquid down.
“It’s been ten years, Jonghyun-ah.”
“I know,” Jonghyun says resolutely, and damn Minki if he thinks he doesn’t know. He knows exactly why he’s thinking of Hwang bloody Minhyun today of all days, in the middle of the night.
“Jonghyun-ah—”
There’s a swirl of thoughts in his head, about his hands and his hair and the way he smiles and the pain in his heart when he walked out of the door. And Jonghyun is furious, because Hwang Minhyun has no right to make him feel this way again, after the past ten fucking years. As if he walked out of the door yesterday, and not ten years ago. As if he threw away the twenty-two years they’d known each other for… for something Jonghyun couldn’t —wouldn’t—
“For God’s sake, Minki,” he snaps, annoyed, knocking the cup back and dropping it on the floor, “just leave it, okay?”
Minki shuts his mouth and picks up the cup. Jonghyun briefly registers the utter silence in the room and flushes dully, spinning on his heel and grabbing his coat from its special hook, opening the door.
“Sorry,” he mutters, not looking anyone in the eye. Carefully, he closes the door and stuffs his feet in his boots, slamming the button for the lift.
“Hyung,” someone says. And all Jonghyun can think of is: Minhyun never calls him hyung. “Hyung, come on—”
The lift doors open, and Jonghyun grins, smile slipping off his face when he sees the look on Hyunbin’s face. And Hyunbin presses his lips together when he sees the angry tears on Jonghyun’s face, stepping forward and passing him a handkerchief. Jonghyun smiles again, and steps into the lift.
MINHYUN
(Christmas, 2016)
“You should call me hyung, you know,” Jonghyun grumbles, turning in his grip to look at his face. “I’m two months older than you.”
“Wow,” Minhyun deadpans, eyes flicking down to meet his before glancing back at the movie. “Two months. How revolutionary.”
Jonghyun frowns and buts him in the head gently. Blue grumbles from her spot on Jonghyun’s stomach, shifting around. “Sorry, sweetheart,” Jonghyun whispers to the tiny kitten, and Minhyun can’t help the smile that quirks at the side of his mouth.
“Hush,” he chides, “Kiki is going through her crisis now.” Jonghyun mutters under his breath in annoyance, fingers brushing through Blue’s fur. Minhyun glances away from the movie to look down at the both of them, his little family.
It’s then, he realises, in the light of the cheap strings of fairy lights they loop around their furniture instead of a Christmas tree they can’t afford, in the middle of cheap throws they knit themselves, with a kitten they found in the dumpster behind their tiny, one-room apartment with the television they salvaged from the previous owners, that he would never leave the two of them. He would hold on to the person he loved the most in the entire world, to the tiny kitten that wormed her way into their hearts, to this stupid, cramped apartment with a crackling television, to the knitted throws with little nubs in it from all the times they missed a stitch. He would.
JONGHYUN
(Boxing Day, 2027)
He meets the band he’s travelling with at the airport, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt to his elbows.
“Hi,” Seongwoo says, eyebrows raised. Jonghyun responds softly, eyes darting away when Seongwoo asks if he’s cooled off enough. “Okay then.”
Daniel loops an arm around his shoulders, telling Seongwoo to knock it off. They check in together, catching Jaehwan before he runs off too far and pulling Woojin away from the display of Royce chocolates. Jonghyun makes a mental note to buy him those from the duty-free section when they land in Japan.
The flight is dull and boring, and the kids knock out as soon as the plane lifts off, predictably. Eyeing the dark circles beneath their eyes, Jonghyun sighs and makes another mental note to get them some health supplements when they land. He has another hour or so of free time, so he opens up his Instagram and checks the Explore page, ignoring the flutter of activity on his own account. He thumbs mindlessly on it, then stops when he sees a beautiful picture of a cafe, diffused with natural lighting. The caption is Japanese, but Jonghyun manages to decipher enough of it to interpret that the cafe has a bookstore concept, with a little shop next door. Clicking on the profile, he screenshots the address, noting with pleasure that the store is open twenty-four hours and is located near their hotel. The profile shows him more pictures of their collection of books, of cute kitten latte art, and of unique, wooden tables scattered across the cafe with a little bar for the later hours of the night. He makes up his mind to go and closes the app, leaning back and closing his eyes.
Their arrangement is easy, Jonghyun thinks, pacing the kids through their dance practices and making sure they have enough water and food to stay sharp. He's been working as a dance instructor, sometimes manager, for this band ever since their debut. He follows them around when he doesn't have any other artists to attend to, because they're his kids.
He's arranged for a longer stay in Japan after the awards ceremony, so he can relax and unwind a little before the new year. The beginnings of every year are often hectic, overwhelmingly so, with the staff members of multiple agencies contacting him about meetings and booking for their artists’ comebacks and stages and whatnot.
And Jonghyun is grateful for the work. He really is. He knows how hard it is to stay employed in this industry, and he has no desire to return to the days of his early twenties when he was broke and studying his ass off. And his brain is veering dangerously close to the… topic he's been trying to avoid, so he calls all the kids back and tells them to practice more before he heads out.
The cafe is located a few minutes walk away from the dance studio. Jonghyun unbuttons his coat and walks against the wind, the cold biting at his cheeks. It's comforting, Japanese winters. Not as chilling as Korean ones, but pleasantly cold enough to remind him that it is Winter. There's a soft yellow light going out of the windows as he approaches, and he has to duck a little to slip into the cafe. Inside, he appreciates the decor before scrutinizing the menu, finally deciding on a flat white and choosing a spot near the window. He leans back into the seat and stares out, watching the people walk by. Occasionally, an interested passer-by peers through his window and offers him a quick smile.
The barista brings him his coffee, steaming, and he thanks him quickly before taking a picture and uploading it on Instagram. Placing the phone down and ignoring the entry of multiple notifications, he takes a sip and relishes in it. Somehow, it's exactly what be needs, the warmth from the coffee seeping into his bones and relaxing him after his long day.
Jonghyun continues to watch, frowning when he sees someone familiar passing by. The person he thinks he knows looks into the window and spots him at that moment, and he nearly drops his cup of coffee. Opening his mouth, he nearly calls out for him before realising that he won't be able to hear him through the glass anyway.
Dongho understands anyway, and he beams, slipping into the cafe and knocking his forehead against the low ceiling.
“Ouch,” he complains, settling, content, into the seat opposite him. “Hey, Kim Jonghyun. It's been a long time.”
“Hey, Dongho,” he responds, setting down his coffee and observing his old friend. “It has.”
He met Dongho through Minhyun, really. Two struggling School of The Arts students meet through one Medical Science student, and they connect through their hardships with unprofessional lecturers and failed critique slot bookings. It's basically the narrative of any college based K-drama these days.
Dongho looks good, tougher, harder, a little rougher around the edges. He's a composer now, flying all over the world. They haven't met in five months since their last meeting, and Jonghyun is surprised to find him here, of all countries. Dongho fills him in on the news: he's been nominated for Best Producer at the Awards Ceremony tomorrow. Jonghyun grins and congratulates him, shaking his head as he thinks back on where they were in life just a decade ago.
They chat for a bit, dithering on industry gossip and small talk. It doesn't take Dongho that long to press about Minhyun.
“Are you happy, Jonghyun-ah?”
“I am content,” he replies firmly, “and that is enough for me.”
He swallows the last mouthful of coffee, and strangely, the taste that lingers is startlingly bitter.