Archive of Our Own

Jisung exhaled sharply while scrubbing a hand over his face.

You’re a grown-ass man, Han Jisung, act like it for once.

He walked over to his closet and surveyed his options with his hands on his hips and blew out another breath, sending his bangs flying upward. He grabbed a random mixture of suits, shirts, and ties, and tossed them onto the bed.

After several minutes of useless staring, he muttered an “ah fuck it” and pulled out his phone. Four and a half rings later, the face of a young man popped up on the screen.

“What is it,” the man greeted hoarsely as he struggled to pry an eye open, black hair sweeping over his forehead in multiple directions.

“Changbin hyung,” Jisung said. “Help.” He then switched the camera view to the sartorial mess on the bed. “I can’t decide on what to wear for the wedding tonight.”

The man named Changbin raised an eyebrow, eyes still screwed mostly shut. “What wedding?”

“What do you mean wh—Hyunjin’s wedding!”

“What? You’re actually going?”

“Of course I’m going,” Jisung said a little too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Changbin opened his mouth to respond and promptly closed it. “Nevermind. Whatever.” He broke into a squawking yawn which seemed to somewhat lift the sleep from his face. “Zoom in on the clothes, lemme see.”

Jisung ignored his impulse to make Changbin spill what he’d meant to say; his priorities lay elsewhere for now.

He advised that the dress code would be evening cocktail attire and after twenty minutes of back-and-forth, Changbin settled on a charcoal gray suit with a slim fit, white button-down shirt, and red glen check tie. Better to stick to safe options, he insisted.

“Wear black shoes. And socks that go over the calf.”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “I know that.”

The other man raised his hands defensively. “Just making sure. One never knows with your avant-garde fashion sense, Mister I-Wear-Wool-Socks-With-My-Birkenstock-Sandals.”

“Thanks for your help, hyung,” Jisung said with a plastered-on smile, pointedly ignoring the jab. “I’m gonna go get ready now.”

“Seriously, socks with sandals?” were Changbin’s last words before Jisung hung up.

* * *

“Isn’t that Hyunjin’s ex from three years ago? Why’s he even here?”

“Dude, he dated Hyunjin? Talk about aiming way beyond your league.”

“Poor thing, I heard he got dumped ‘cause he’s short.”

Jisung nearly nicked himself with his razor in a moment of distraction as his mind swirled with hypothetical conversations he might overhear later on. He was possibly paranoid, yes, but he was also aware of how gossip proliferated among wedding crowds.

He regarded himself in the bathroom mirror, sporting a patchy beard of shaving cream. It was true that he was no adonis like Hyunjin and height wasn’t his strong suit, but he wanted to think that he made up for it with other traits. He had a fairly decent personality with matching sense of humor; he liked to laugh and make others laugh. He knew all of the classic cat memes by heart. He was genetically blessed with a full head of shining hair and cheeks that ninety-nine point nine percent of the population would find endearing (the other point one percent being Changbin hyung). Plus he wasn’t too shy to admit that his body was in pretty good shape.

If you’re such a catch, then why haven’t you found anyone since Hyunjin?

Jisung scowled and shooed the familiar voice from his head.

He had a long evening ahead of him and there would be plenty of time to wallow in self-doubt later. For now, he focused on cleaning up the rest of his face.

* * *

The first thing that came to Jisung’s mind as he stepped out of the cab was the relief of having arrived with a few minutes to spare. The second thought that followed was that he should have rolled up in a horse-drawn carriage instead of a Kia sedan.

Jisung knew that Hyunjin and Seungmin were meticulous planners and the wedding would not disappoint, but he didn’t expect to step into an actual fairy tale.

Forgetting the fact that he was barely on time for the ceremony, Jisung lingered deliberately at the edges of the venue to take in the view. A hedge path cut through a sprawling green lawn and led to a brick manor, with two symmetrical staircases that curved up toward the balcony and over the main entrance that was nestled in the middle. The building facade boasted a row of arched windows which were bracketed by an enormous window jutting on each end. The sun shone boldly in the early evening sky whose blue was tinted with golds and pinks.

It made sense. Hyunjin had always been a prince, and he deserved a wedding befitting his persona.

A little girl screeched laughter as she bumped past Jisung’s leg, sprinting toward the manor and jostling him out of his reverie. An older woman, presumably the mother, smiled apologetically at him as she walked by and called after the girl.

The bright sound of giggles fading down the hedge path was such a contrast to the familiar ache that bloomed in his heart.

With his hands in his pockets, he headed toward the entrance.

* * *

The wedding ceremony was mostly a blur to Jisung despite it having ended fifteen minutes ago.

The only part that wasn’t a blur was Hyunjin. Hyunjin with his strong-shouldered silhouette, no hesitation or doubt that lingered in his face as he walked down the aisle and joined hands with Seungmin. He spoke his vows like he’d always known them in the back of his mind.

Following the ceremony, he ran into a few of Hyunjin’s friends from their college days, whom he had barely considered acquaintances when he and Hyunjin were dating. That didn’t stop them from regaling him with their career ambitions and prestigious doctorate programs and far-off places they’ve traveled to. They had accomplished so much in life already, while he had little to show for other than an arts degree and a string of temporary jobs that rendered said degree useless.

Now he was sitting at an unmanned bar in the cocktail section of the venue, doing a swell job of not mingling with the other guests.

He pushed down the tangle of emotions that threatened to surge from his chest and chastised himself.

At that moment, he found the distraction he needed among the array of finger foods and pastries across the room.

A single miniature bungeo-ppang lay on the corner of the snack table: his salvation. But too many bodies blocked his path, so he lowered himself and gingerly squeezed an arm between a couple who seemed more absorbed in their conversation than the grown man contorting his body to reach the last fish-shaped pastry.

Just as he was millimeters away from his goal, a tiny hand whisked it away. He craned his neck and saw a girl—the same one who’d ran past him outside—smiling brightly at the fish-shaped prize in her hand and bounding away into the crowd.

He crouched down on the floor and stared up at the now-empty snack tray. Tonight was already a lot to handle. Let’s not add to that by holding a grudge against a 5 year-old girl, he told himself.

He returned to the bar area where the throng had thinned out in favor of bunching up near the hors d’oeuvres section. He snatched a pink drink from the tray of a passing wait staff to keep himself occupied until dinner would be announced.

And soon he was on his second glass of the pink concoction.

“Jisung hyung!” a familiar voice rang out behind him. He put the drink down and turned around to see a boy approaching who was all sharp cheekbones and a sharper smile.

“Jeongin?” A weight was lifted from Jisung’s chest as he got up from the bar stool and returned the smile, pulling the other into a hug as soon as he was within reach. “You’re here!” He stepped back to regard Jeongin more closely. “And whoa, you got your braces off! Congrats.”

“That was like over two years ago,” the younger waved off the compliment.

“You graduated since I last saw you, right? Civil engineering?”

Jeongin nodded. “Now I’m working at Hyunjin’s dad’s construction firm, at least for a little while.”

Jisung was thrown off-kilter by the mention, but his smile didn’t falter. He shouldn’t have been surprised; Hyunjin was a catalyst for many good things for those lucky enough to be in his orbit. He was the reason Jisung knew Jeongin in the first place, having lassoed the shy younger into their friends group during college. Jisung couldn’t begrudge Jeongin for sticking by Hyunjin these past years.

Still, he didn’t realize how much he’d missed Jeongin until he saw the other before him, in the flesh, instead of as an abstract symbol from a life he thought he’d left behind.

“It’s really good to see you,” he said sincerely. “You were such a baby back then, now look at you all grown up.”

“Psh, I’m only 4 and a half months younger than you, hyung.”

“Mm, still cheeky with your elders I see.” Jisung set his mouth in a hard line which came off more as a pout. Jeongin laughed.

“What about you, hyung,” he asked. “Are you still writing music?”

Jisung couldn’t find a convenient way to explain that it has been months since his last gig and that his guitar was collecting dust in his parents’ home attic—at least not without wanting to curl up in the fetal position—so he replied with, “Here and there.”

The conversation turned into a game of catch-up and dissecting their current musical tastes, which occasionally turned spirited, because they both had a natural passion for music.

Inevitably, Jeongin asked if he was seeing anyone.

“Nope. Just me and my dazzling personality.” Jisung attempted a cheesy wink to which Jeongin reacted with a fake gag.

“You haven’t changed a bit, hyung.”

And maybe that was the problem. He didn’t, not in any way that mattered.

They engaged in some more friendly banter before someone beckoned Jeongin from across the room. The younger departed with an apologetic word and Jisung was once again left alone to nurse the mysterious pink drink in his hand.

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”

He turned to his right, toward the new voice. It was attached to a male stranger who was leaning against the bar counter like he expected Jisung to draw a secret out of him. He tilted his head toward Jisung’s glass.

“Too late,” Jisung said, “I’m already on my second one.” He swished the liquid around in the glass and stared at it thoughtfully. “It’s fruity, I like it.”

“And therein lies the problem.” The man sat down on the stool next to him, leaning forward on an elbow. “It lulls you into a false sense of security, letting you think that you’re chugging down fruit juice before hitting you like a semi truck half an hour later.”

Jisung narrowed his eyes. “I’m not drunk.”

He was admittedly a bit tipsy, but he remained well in control of his faculties. If he were truly drunk, then how was he coherent enough to notice the stranger’s pretty eyes and long lashes? Or discern a minute detail like how his upper lip was curved in a slight overbite causing his front teeth to peek through beneath? Or appreciate how nicely his navy blue suit fit his body?

Jisung’s collar suddenly felt stuffy.

“Um, not to be rude,” he said, “but can I ask why you’re here? Did Hyunjin send you to monitor my alcohol intake?”

The man laughed a bit shyly. “No. Just wanted to give you this.” He placed a pair of safety pins on the counter.

Jisung stared at the offering, then at the other man. Was this supposed to be part of some elaborate pick-up line?

The stranger bit his lower lip and gently tapped Jisung’s right shoulder, and Jisung reflexively turned his head to where the touch had landed. His eyes grew comically wide at the tear along the shoulder seam of his suit.

“Oh shit,” he hissed. “Shit shit shit shit shit.” When the hell did this happen? His mind jumped back to twenty minutes ago when he’d reached across at an awkward angle to grab at the last miniature bungeo-ppang.

Damn his weakness for delicious pastries.

“It’s nothing that a couple of these can’t fix,” the stranger said, tapping the safety pins on the counter. “Pin the seams from the inside and no one will notice. Just try not to move your shoulder around too much for the rest of the evening.”

Jisung collected the pins and looked around to see if anyone else had noticed his wardrobe malfunction.

“There’s a men’s restroom down the hall over there,” the man supplied helpfully, pointing toward the direction.

Jisung nodded a thanks and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he walked through the maze of people, effectively sticking out more due to his stiff movements. He quickly slipped into the bathroom and shrugged off his jacket.

Five minutes later, he stepped out with a more relaxed gait, the tear no longer a mar on his otherwise crisp suit.

He returned to the bar to thank the kind stranger, but the man was already gone.

* * *

The wedding guests were ushered into the main reception hall, and an orderly chaos ensued of people being seated at their respective places. Jisung found his table situated in the corner. His name was written in beautiful calligraphy on his place card, as if it were reserved for another person named Han Jisung, someone classier and more respectable than he was. He politely greeted the others at his table; there was no face he recognized, so he turned his attention to his phone and scrolled through his news feed.

The newlyweds arrived soon after and began making their way around the room to greet and thank the guests individually. Jisung sat up straighter in his chair when he saw Hyunjin inching his way toward his vicinity.

So wrapped up in nervous anticipation was he that he nearly jumped out of his seat when Seungmin approached him first.

“Hello,” the groom bowed to Jisung. “Thank you so much for coming, it’s wonderful to see you.”

Instinctively, Jisung searched for traces of sarcasm but was met by kind eyes and a sincere smile.

Seungmin was impossible to hate, and maybe Jisung resented him a smidge for that.

“Congratulations to you and Hyun,” he said with a smile he hoped wasn’t unnatural.

“Thank you.” Seungmin looked like he wanted to say something more but decided against it. “Please enjoy your dinner.” He briefly placed a hand on Jisung’s shoulder before moving on to the next person.

Jisung glanced at Hyunjin who was now heading in the opposite direction. He lingered longer than was necessary around a group of middle-aged women who cupped his face and fawned over how handsome he was. Even on his wedding day, thought Jisung, Hwang Hyunjin was such a ham.

* * *

Screw this wedding.

When Jisung was hungry he became a petulant child, and not even the strict formality of a wedding could make him see reason. He scrolled through his phone with a restless thumb as the elder guests were given first pickings of the food.

After a prolonged wait, the rest of the guests were finally encouraged to queue up and Jisung made a beeline for the buffet.

He surveyed the culinary display before him. He made heart-eyes at the braised short ribs adorned with yam, and the spicy marinated pork spoke to his soul, as did the stir-fried noodles… Anything his eyeballs scanned was going straight to his stomach, he decided. An assortment of side dishes stretched across the table and toward the end, rice cakes were laid in a kaleidoscopic pattern of pink, green, and white.

He was placing several kimbap on his plate when two hands came from behind to touch the bend of his elbows. He spun around and nearly crashed into a tuxedo-clad torso.

There stood Hyunjin looking like a gorgeous, immovable force of nature.

“Hey,” Jisung croaked, mindful not to drop his plate.

“Hey yourself.” Hyunjin flashed a brilliant smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course I came! You know I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Hyunjin looked at Jisung as if to measure the truth of that statement. 

“The wedding turned out beautifully, Hyun. You did an incredible job.” Despite whatever reservations he had about the wedding before, standing in front of the boy he once loved, he knew his words were honest.

Hyunjin gently squeezed Jisung’s elbow. “Thank you. But I can’t take the credit. This,” he gestured to the lavish room around him, “was mostly Seungmin’s doing.”

“Okay. Give me back my compliment so I can give it to him instead.”

Hyunjin stuck out his tongue at that, and for a split second Jisung believed nothing had changed between them at all.

“The food looks freaking delicious by the way,” Jisung said, his eyes becoming cartoonishly large for emphasis.

“We all know that’s the real reason you came,” Hyunjin laughed. “You should eat up before all the good stuff is gone.” A pause. “I recommend the tteok-bokki.”

Hyunjin’s smile turned wistful and Jisung recalled late-night trips to their favorite corner restaurant to share a plate of tteok-bokki, Hyunjin pushing the boiled egg to Jisung’s side, their fingers ever laced together.

“Well, enjoy your dinner,” he said with a final squeeze of Jisung’s elbow. “I’ll see you later?”

The groom flitted off to continue his tour of meet and greet. Jisung returned to his seat with his plate of food, digging in only after his breathing had calmed down.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Jisung snapped his head up at the voice. It was the stranger with the safety pins from earlier that evening. He grabbed a nearby chair and swung it to Jisung’s table, settling down and adjusting his navy blue suit jacket in one swift motion.

“Uh, go ahead,” Jisung said through a mouthful of stir-fried squid. The stranger smiled, probably at the way Jisung stored food in his cheeks when he ate.

“It’s looking good,” the man said. “Your suit.”

Jisung thought he was being hit on and glanced down at his body, feeling his neck heat up, before realizing the man was referring to the aftermath of the wardrobe mishap.

“Oh, right. Thank you for your help, by the way, you really did save my life back there.” Jisung gestured vaguely with his chopsticks. “Or my dignity, I should say. But in a roomful of strangers I suppose they’re the same thing.”

“Don’t mention it.” The man offered his hand to Jisung. “I’m Lee Minho.”

Jisung shook hands, hurriedly swallowing the food he was chewing. “Han Jisung.” He resumed digging into his plate while Minho stared at him like he was an enigma to decode. Jisung’s neck refused to cool down, so he adjusted his collar.

“Aren’t you going to queue for dinner?” Jisung asked, hoping the other would take the hint.

Minho seemed to turn something over in his head, before scooting his chair closer and leaning forward, ignoring Jisung’s question in favor of his own. “Hey, can I tell you a secret?”

Jisung lowered his chopsticks, nodding slowly, and the other leaned in further.

Minho’s whisper tickled Jisung’s ear. “Technically, I’m not supposed to be here.”

Jisung furrowed his brow. “You mean as in, existentially not here? Or like, ‘I crashed the wedding party’ not here?”

“Shhh, not so loud.”

“What the hell,” Jisung hissed incredulously. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Minho looked at him for a beat too long before turning his gaze toward the sea of guests, shrugging. The spark of intrigue in his eyes from earlier dimmed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t eat the food. I have morals,” he said with a rueful smile.

“That’s like saying it’s okay to rob someone’s house as long as you wipe your feet at the door.” Jisung knew he should be ratting him out or telling him to leave, especially not knowing his true motives, but the sound of Minho giggling so easily at his dumb comment appeased him for some reason. He thinks I’m funny; maybe he can stay.

“So if you’re not here for the free food, then what’s the point?” The dumpling that was raised to Jisung’s mouth froze mid-way. “Wait. You’re not actually going to rob anyone, are you—or maybe you’re here to steal the wedding money.”

“No,” Minho rolled his eyes and nudged his knee to Jisung’s, “and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. The grooms requested that everyone make charity donations in lieu of wedding money or gifts. How do I know this and you don’t?”

“I knew that.” Jisung’s bit into his dumpling to mask his embarrassment and cleared his throat. He made a mental side note to donate to the animal shelter later. “So I take it you don’t know either Seungmin or Hyunjin?”

Minho shook his head. “No, but they seem like good people.” He eyed the two grooms across the room. Jisung followed his gaze, and the couple was huddled close and talking with family members, judging by the ladies who wore han-bok. Hyunjin’s hand rubbed soothing circles on the small of Seungmin’s back.

Jisung put his chopsticks down on his plate.

“Which one’s the ex?” Minho asked.

Jisung blanched. “What?”

Minho was observing Jisung, propping up his head with his elbow on the table. He quirked the corner of his mouth up, but his expression was neither teasing nor unkind. “It’s obvious by the way you’re looking.”

Jisung left the question hanging long enough that Minho began to apologize.

“Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“No, it isn’t.” Jisung stared at a blotchy stain on his napkin like it was a Rorschach test. “It’s Hyunjin,” he said anyway, unable to pinpoint why he trusted the stranger with this information. He waited for a laughing reaction, or a dig, or a comment about how much his ex was out of his league, but none came.

“But that was three years ago,” Jisung continued. “I don’t think of him like that anymore. We’re good. We’re friends now.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Minho and he didn’t broach the subject further.

After Jisung finished eating, he leaned back in his chair and pushed away his plate which was still one-third full of food. He groaned at how much he had stuffed himself.

Minho picked up Jisung’s chopsticks and grabbed an egg roll from the plate.

“Hey,” Jisung protested, “what happened to having morals?”

“I’m just cleaning up your mess,” Minho said simply. “All of this food would’ve gone to waste otherwise.”

Jisung tried to think of a witty retort, but it proved difficult while slipping into a food coma. He watched as Minho chewed thoughtfully on a roasted pork belly.

He was absolutely not staring at his pretty mouth.

* * *

Plates were cleared, toasts were made, and the DJ was brought in. Most importantly, the wine kept flowing. Lively music soon filled the hall and the guests who were either brave or enebriated just enough made their way to the dance floor.

As expected, when “Electric Boogie” blasted through the speakers, Hyunjin led the choreography and people both young and old flocked into a formation behind him. Some knew all the steps by heart while others were happy to vaguely follow along. Seungmin rolled his eyes at the clichéd scene; nonetheless he joined in beside Hyunjin, his movements surprisingly smooth.

Jisung was trying to hail a wait staff to refill his wine glass when a hand grabbed his wrist and he was being pulled toward the dance floor at an alarming speed. When he regained his balance, Minho’s face was unexpectedly close to his.

“What are you doing?” Jisung shouted over the music which was now decidedly more EDM-flavored.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who thinks they’re too cool to dance,” Minho said, still holding onto Jisung’s wrist. He rolled his body to the rhythm of the music and made it look easy, but Jisung knew he’d look a damn fool if he attempted those moves himself.

“Too uncool to dance, more like. Besides, I’m not supposed to move around too much, remember?” He pointed to his right shoulder and the precarious situation with his jacket seam.

“Then use your hips instead.” Minho released Jisung’s wrist to settle both of his hands on the latter’s waist. “Do you want me to show you?”

Jisung’s face flushed hot, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from the half glass of wine he just had. He wasn’t aware that his hands were pressed against Minho’s chest until he felt a rapidly beating heart under his palm through the smooth fabric of Minho’s suit.

Minho regarded him with hooded eyes as he awaited an answer.

“I…” Jisung struggled to speak. His gaze fell to Minho’s mouth which was slightly parted, the tip of a tongue darting out to wet the bottom lip. As though of their own volition, Jisung’s fingers wrapped around the lapels of Minho’s jacket, and the muscles in his arms tensed, unsure of his next move.

Instead of pulling closer, Jisung released his hold and stepped back. Minho’s hands fell from his waist.

“My stomach’s not feeling so good from all the food." The lie was acrid in his mouth. “Thanks, but I’ll sit this one out.”

He thought he saw a flash of disappointment in Minho’s expression, but before he could pursue it, Minho was smiling brightly again. “Suit yourself. Have fun warming your seat.”

The music thumped louder, and Minho soon lost himself in the groove. Jisung slipped back to his seat, loosening his shirt collar and the knot of his tie. With his glass refilled he tried to focus on the flavor of the wine, but his eyes kept finding Minho on the dance floor, mesmerized by the graceful lines of his body. Another stranger shimmied up to Minho and whispered something in his ear, and Minho was laughing, their bodies touching with each synchronised movement.

Jisung bore his focus back onto the drink in his hand and took a long swig.

“Hey Jisung!” He turned to the familiar voice and saw Hyunjin approaching, his forehead damp from dancing earlier. Plebeians sweated, but Prince Hyunjin glowed. Jisung raised his glass in acknowledgement.

“Can you do me a favor?” Hyunjin crouched down next to him.

“Okay,” Jisung stretched out the word in uncertainty. “What is it?”

An eager smile spread across Hyunjin’s face. “I’m going to bring out the live band soon, and I’d love it if you could sing for us, with accompaniment.”

Jisung’s eyes grew wide. “Me? Are you sure?”

“Stop pretending to be humble. You know you have a great singing voice.”

“Your words, not mine.” Jisung fluttered his eyes which earned a playful punch to the arm. “Ow! Okay, okay. What song did you have in mind?”

"‘Amazing You’. You remember it, right?”

Jisung stilled at the understatement, searching for the right way to answer his request.

“You know how much I love that song,” Hyunjin said with a pout forming on his lips.

“Alright,” Jisung said before his brain could catch up. If Hyunjin caught his hesitation, he didn’t show it.

“Awesome! I actually requested it to the band in advance, so they know the arrangement and everything. All you have to do is sing. They’ll be ready in ten.”

Hyunjin patted Jisung’s arm and went off to set the stage; the latter was left to contemplate what he’d gotten himself into.

Moments later, the music from the speakers died down and the crowd dispersed to the edges. Hyunjin was introducing the musicians, who had set themselves up to the side of the dance floor, and Jisung whom he referred to as “his super talented friend”. He then waved Jisung toward him.

Jisung drew a deep breath as he got up and crossed over to the main floor. He felt Minho watching from the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze forward, the edges of his vision wavering slightly. Hyunjin passed him the microphone.

The intro of the song flowed from the piano, and he gripped the microphone, knuckles turning pale, no sound coming out of his mouth. The pianist threw a look at him when he missed his cue for the first verse, so the chords looped back to the beginning, but Jisung missed it again.

Instead his mind flashed back to singing the song to Hyunjin, bodies warm under the covers, hands finding the soft hair that meets the nape.

He wasn’t stupid enough to pine over a relationship that had long ago expired, but there were bits and pieces that he’d kept sacred, as a reminder that he had once been worthy of love. Giving away a part of himself like this, before the eyes of hundreds of strangers, was something he couldn’t do.

The piano chords stretched on long enough that tension started to replace the cordial anticipation in the room. Hyunjin and Seungmin looked at Jisung, then at each other, unsure of what to do.

After repeating the intro a third time, the pianist stopped, and all eyes were on Jisung.

He expelled a shaky “I’m sorry” before setting the mic aside and brushing past the grooms, unwilling to look at them. He let his legs carry him through the crowd and out of the venue and into the spring night.

* * *

Jisung was at the fringes of the wooded area behind the manor, pacing back and forth in front of a stone bench when Minho found him. The man’s ability to hone in on Jisung’s whereabouts was impressive, but in this moment, a goddamn nuisance.

Minho stopped when he was five paces away. “Jisung?”

“Please don’t ask me to go back.”

“I won’t. But if you need to talk, I’m here.” Minho stepped closer with his palms out in an open gesture.

Jisung shook his head and tensed his jaw. “Why are you even here?”

Minho put his hands in his trouser pockets, his shoulders barely rising in a shrug. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Seeing how you just left your friends hanging back there?”

“And have you considered that none of this is any of your business.”

Minho regarded him with an inscrutable expression. “Fair enough. But unlike you, I have nothing to lose tonight. So let me help, if I can.”

Jisung stopped pacing, and wrapped his arms around himself. He sat down on the stone bench. The fuschia bloom of the tree he was under, undulled by the night, was a contrast to the darkness that imbued his face.

He wasn’t sure how long the silence lasted before he finally spoke. “It was our song.” His voice was small and strained.

“And this is his wedding.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Jisung said curtly, before tightening his arms further around his torso. He took a deep breath. “He shouldn’t have asked me to sing it. He should know it’s all I have left of him.”

“Are you still in love with him?”

The question made the hairs on the back of Jisung’s neck stand up in anger. Minho didn’t know him; who was he to throw such an accusation? He looked up at Minho who met him with a defiant expression of his own.

“No,” Jisung said, then repeated it more emphatically. “No. It’s not about that. It’s… Everyone around me… People don’t stay in my life.” He spoke like it was a truth that should’ve been obvious to Minho. “They leave, and they move on so easily to bigger and better things in their lives. And I’m sick of being left behind, of giving away pieces of myself to others only to watch them disappear on me or decide that I’m not worth it or, or—”

“Get married?”

The slope of Jisung’s shoulders fell, and his tone became hushed once more. “It’s just a song. One song. Why can’t I keep this one thing for myself?”

Minho sat next to Jisung on the bench and rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers lacing loosely together. Jisung eyed him expectantly.

“When I was little,” Minho began, looking down at his hands, “I had this bicycle. It was green and white with a basket on the handles, and I rode it until I was ten.

“A few years later, I came home one day to find that my mom had given it away to the girl who lived down the street. Her family was struggling at the time and couldn’t afford to buy her a lot of things.

“But I got so angry at my mom. Even though I hadn’t touched the bike in years, there were a lot of memories attached to that thing, you know? Riding all day in the summer with friends. Falling on my ass trying do some stupid bike trick to impress a crush.” A faint smile was drawn upon his lips as he reminisced.

“I was in such grief that my parents bought me a skateboard to replace what I had lost. And one day I was riding my board down the street, and that’s when I saw my neighbor—the girl—riding down the same street, on my bike. She was with her friends and had the biggest, happiest grin on her face. I’ll never forget it.”

“Let me guess,” Jisung said in an exasperated tone. “That’s how you learned that if you love something, you should give it away?”

“Hell no,” Minho said. “It’s how I learned that skateboards are so much cooler than bikes.”

Jisung couldn’t stop the huff of disbelief that escaped his lips. It bubbled into genuine laughter and soon Minho was joining in.

As their laughter tapered off, something in Jisung’s chest shifted almost imperceptibly, like a misaligned puzzle piece clicking into place and breaking apart the fragile bond that had kept all the other pieces together. He became quiet and looked away from Minho, pressing the back of his jacket sleeve to his face as though that could halt the flow of tears.

“That was a shitty story,” he mumbled into his sleeve, because he couldn’t bear to be so vulnerable in front of a stranger.

“Sorry. I never claimed to be much of a storyteller.”

Jisung felt a tap on the shoulder and when he turned around, he was met with an expression that was close to fondness. Minho pressed a handkerchief to Jisung’s hand.

“You don’t even know me. Why are you being so nice to me?” Jisung spoke to the cloth after wiping his damp cheeks a few times. It smelled of Minho’s cologne, smokey and comforting.

“A gentleman should always carry a handkerchief.”

Jisung snorted. “Not what I meant.”

He knew there was more behind the silence that followed, but he didn’t push for an explanation. Instead he took in the sight of Minho who was leaning back on his hands with his gaze fixed somewhere on the horizon. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and wisps of black hair fluttered over his eyes. He was the epitome of the ‘accidental model’ and Jisung had to hold back a smile at that.

Faint sounds of laughter and cheers erupted in the distance, no doubt coming from guests making drunken merriment on the manor balcony.

“Can I tell you another secret?” Minho said with eyes turned skyward.

“Yes,” Jisung replied. Anything, he wanted to add.

“Today was my wedding day, too.”

It took a moment for Jisung to process those words, and any subsequent response he could conjure was jumbled by confusion. “Wait, really? Then why are you…”

“Crashing someone else’s wedding?” Minho reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a gold band. Two lines ran parallel along the length in a delicate milgrain pattern. He twirled the ring between his thumb and forefinger, the gold glinting in the moonlight with each movement. “This was for my fiancé. Well, ex-fiancé now.”

Jisung remained silent as Minho put the ring back inside his jacket pocket.

“I don’t know if ‘wedding’ would be the right word,” Minho continued, “since it was going to be just him and me getting married at city hall. Nothing close to anything grand like... this.” He motioned around him.

“Anyway, I arrived at the hall and waited for him to show up for the ceremony. And I waited, and waited, and waited some more.” His voice tapered to almost a whisper. “You can guess how the rest goes.”

"Minho," Jisung said under his breath. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Minho turned to him with a small smile, then looked away, a sheen forming in his eyes. “I’m the one who should be sorry, seeing as I shouldn’t even be here. I was on my way home when I saw that your friends were getting married here and… I don’t know, something came over me. I wasn’t in my right mind to simply barge in, but I couldn’t face going home, either. It was easier to pretend to be someone else—someone who could be just another happy face in the crowd and dance like nothing mattered, who didn’t have to feel what I was feeling.

“And I guess a part of me wanted an affirmation that not everyone’s story ends like mine did.”

But your story hasn’t ended, Jisung wanted to say, but the words hung heavy in his chest.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, looking toward the manor that had boasted extravagance in daylight and now sat in a humble glow under the night sky.

Minho nudged Jisung’s foot with his. “Come on, let’s head back in.”

* * *

The musicians were in the middle of playing an upbeat jazz tune when Jisung and Minho returned to the venue hall. The guests, seemingly unfazed by the earlier incident courtesy of Jisung, were buzzing joyfully with drinks in hand.

The newlyweds were off to the side of the room, joined at the hip. Seugmin whispered something to Hyunjin and the latter threw his head back, cackling silently while playfully pushing the other away. It was a habit that had once annoyed Jisung years ago, but it clearly delighted Seungmin who swayed into Hyunjin to join the laughter. Hyunjin brushed the stray hair away from Seungmin’s face and leaned into a kiss.

Jisung hesitated to approach them.

Minho, who had been walking behind him, touched his fingers to Jisung’s palm as if to say I’m right here and gently nudged him toward the couple.

“Hey, Hyunjin,” Jisung started slowly. “Seungmin.” Their chattering dissolved as their attention fell to him.

“I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier,” he continued. “I can’t blame it on nerves, or even alcohol... There’s really no excuse. But if it’s alright, I’d like to try again and sing for you guys.”

He risked a glance at Hyunjin, whose expression was mild, then at Seungmin who was harder to read.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Jisung hastened to say. “I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

Surprisingly, it was Seungmin who spoke first, and sympathy colored his voice. “I appreciate the apology, Jisung. And we’d be honored if you would sing for us.” Hyunjin nodded in agreement. He made his way over to the band to murmur instructions to the pianist, who then cued his musicians to stop playing. The abrupt silence drew the guests’ attention to them. Hyunjin passed the microphone to Jisung, his large hand squeezing Jisung’s smaller one before letting go.

The pianist started the intro melody once more, and this time Jisung joined in without missing a beat. At one point during the chorus he felt his breath waver the slightest, and instinctively, his eyes found Minho in the crowd who anchored him with a smile. He then closed his eyes and trusted his voice to carry him through the song, up to the last sustained note from the piano.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with applause and cheers and two arms enveloping him in a tight hug.

“Jisung!” Hyunjin practically lifted him off the ground, then let go to flash a bright smile, eyes crinkling into crescent moons. “You were incredible.” He gestured a chef’s kiss with his hand. “Bellissimo.”

“Maybe I’ve found my true calling as a wedding singer,” Jisung joked but couldn’t dull the rush of relief and gratitude.

He turned to Seungmin, who surprised him with a hug of his own.

“Thank you,” Seungmin said, and Jisung knew that he meant it in more ways than one.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the newlywed couple destroyed a good portion of the wedding cake trying to smear it on each other’s faces.

Then came time to distribute the cake and surely this would have been the highlight of Jisung’s evening, except he couldn’t stop eyeing the empty chair beside him that Minho had once occupied. He hadn’t been seen anywhere since Jisung’s solo over an hour ago.

Jisung was poking absentmindedly at his slice of cake when Jeongin came to sit next to him.

“Hey, hyung,” his warm honey voice was a welcome distraction. “You sang really well. I’m honestly impressed.”

“Such high praise?” Jisung said, putting on a more cheerful face for his dongsaeng. “Who are you and what have you done with our maknae?”

Jeongin gave him a playful shove.

“Really though, thank you.” Jisung put an arm around Jeongin’s shoulder. “And why didn’t you sing, too? You know what, next wedding we gotta do a duet, you and me.” The younger scrunched up his face at the notion and wriggled out of Jisung’s grip. Jisung faked offense, laughing.

They resumed their earlier conversation about everything and nothing, which was punctuated by discourse on K-pop and which girl groups were the most underrated.

“Hyung,” Jeongin said after a pause, sounding a bit more serious than before. “I know that things became awkward after you and... Hyunjin hyung... broke up. And I’m sorry that you and I lost touch since then. But I hope you know that I wasn’t trying to choose sides. I was… I don’t know, too awkward to reach out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jisung assured with a trace of resignation. “I know everything got weird after the break up and honestly, it took some time before Hyunjin and I were okay again. Don’t blame yourself.”

“If it’s alright with you, can we stay in touch this time? And hang out more, like we used to?”

Jeongin’s request was imbued with such sincerity that Jisung felt his eyes well up.

“Of course, Jeongin. That would be more than alright.”

* * *

The celebration was winding down, and the guests started exchanging their goodbyes, carrying leftover cake in tin foil shaped like swans and gathering up sleepy children in their arms.

Minho was still nowhere to be seen. None of the other guests whom Jisung had asked knew his whereabouts, either. But why would they? He was a stranger who crashed the wedding at the last minute; he might as well have been a ghost. The longer he waited, the more Jisung was starting to believe it.

The people from his table left one by one, and he channeled his restlessness into making an origami flower out of his place card.

Enough people had left by now that Jisung could have singled out Minho from a distance. He checked both wings of the manor; most of the areas were cordoned off but that didn’t stop him from trying to turn over every stone. He went back to the cocktail room, and his gaze lingered over the empty bar counter where they’d first met. Something in his chest tightened.

After returning to the main hall and looking over the guests once more, he wandered onto the balcony and spotted a man in a dark blue suit, about Minho’s height, looking outward with his hands on the railing. Jisung’s heart raced as he walked toward the figure.

Minho’s name vanished from his tongue when the man turned around with an unfamiliar face.

Having combed the manor's interior, Jisung once again stepped outside into the night and walked by the clusters of people spread over the lawn, scanning for any clues to the familiar face. The moon hung above him, splendid and impartial, shining light on everything except what he was looking for.

He turned the corner of the building and in the distance a small figure caught his eye, near the water fountain by the entrance of the hedge garden. It was the little girl again, the one who had relieved him of the bungeo-ppang earlier that evening. She was perched on the edge of the fountain, clutching something to her chest as her mother spoke to her. Jisung approached them, unsure as to why he felt compelled.

“But I found it,” the girl said in the kind of a drawn-out whine that kids do when defending themselves.

The mother gathered up her long dress and knelt down before her daughter. “Sweetie, just because you found something doesn’t make it yours to keep.”

The girl turned to Jisung with glistening eyes, as if asking him to back her up, effectively lassoing him into the conversation.

“Don’t bother the nice gentleman,” the woman said, and glanced at Jisung with a small smile.

“Is everything alright?” he asked anyway.

“I found it first,” the girl said, dangerously close to tears. She uncurled her hand to reveal a gold ring on her tiny palm. The color, the pattern, the glint—they were unmistakable.

He hastened to kneel down. “Can I ask where you found this?”

The girl pointed next to her, on the stone surface of the fountain.

“I know who that ring belongs to.” He hoped his tone came out gentle enough to avoid upsetting the child.

“See?” the mother said. “It belongs to someone else. Think of how sad they must be feeling, having lost their ring. Why don’t you give it to the nice man so he can take it to the owner.”

The girl’s eyes were glassy with tears, and she possessively closed her hand over the ring.

Suddenly Jisung had an idea; he reached into his pocket and pulled out his origami flower.

“I’ll trade you for it,” he said, showing her the delicate petals of powder blue.

The girl smiled shyly, instantly enamored by the offering before her. “Okay.”

After the successful barter, the mother ushered her daughter back toward the building. Jisung smiled to see that the girl put the paper flower in her hair.

With the gold band in his hand, Jisung was again filled with hope. He eyed the arched entrance to the garden; Minho had to be in there.

Jisung slipped past the arch and followed into the hedge path. It was not exactly a maze, nonetheless it seemed to meander in the darkness, the shadowed path broken up only by the soft lights embedded along the shrubbery close to the cobblestone.

He reached what appeared to be the heart of the garden, and there was a large circular stone fountain in the middle from which flowers sprouted instead of water. String lights were strewn across the topiaries that surrounded the fountain.

From the center of the garden several paths radiated outward like tendrils, and Jisung followed each one to a series of dead ends. He returned to the circular fountain, wondering if he was too late.

“Jisung?”

He turned around, and his heart stilled at the familiar silhouette. Minho stood near a tall stone pedestal, the outline of his features traced warm by the string of lights around them.

“Minho,” Jisung exhaled, suddenly forgetting every other word he’s ever known.

Minho didn’t ask him what he was doing here, but the question was etched in his face anyway. Jisung willed himself out of his stupor and opened up his hand to reveal the gold band.

Minho stared at it for several moments, keeping his distance.

“It’s yours,” Jisung stated the obvious.

“That I see.” The other gave away nothing in his tone.

Jisung regarded him curiously. “Don’t you want this back? I mean, I know you meant to give it to your…” His words trailed off and he cleared his throat. “Still, it belongs to you. A little girl found it lying on the fountain, actually. She drove a hard bargain before giving it up.” Jisung tried for a smile.

Minho’s impassive gaze shifted from the ring to Jisung’s face.

“I left it there for a reason. The reason being that I don’t need it anymore.”

Jisung reflexively closed his hand over the ring, his arm slowly dropping.

“But—”

“Keep it, if you want.” Minho’s smile was strained and didn’t reach his eyes. “Or throw it away, it doesn’t matter. Actually, I recommend you sell it. It’s worth a pretty penny.”

Jisung’s hand was now hanging by his side; the ring lay heavy against his palm.

“Minho, I can’t just take this.”

“You don’t have to. Throw it away, like I said.”

Faced with an impasse and with no map to guide him, Jisung searched for a sign that the man he knew was still there.

It was true that throughout Jisung’s life, people often left him behind. But did he ever ask them to stay?

“Let’s forget about the ring, then.” Jisung steeled himself to meet Minho in the eyes instead of looking to the ground. “All I know is that I’m glad you crashed the wedding, and I’m glad that I met you. And I’d like to meet you again, outside of this place.”

Minho’s expression shifted, the tension leaving the line of his mouth.

“Jisung… I don’t know if I’m ready for… It’s too soon.”

“I know,” Jisung took a step closer. “I want to give you the time and space you need. Even so, you can say no and walk away forever, and I’ll accept that. But I have to at least ask. I don’t think I can live with the regret of not knowing if there’s a chance to see you again. Some time, anytime. Whenever you’re ready.”

The words hung in the air between them. Minho became quiet, but he didn’t break eye contact. “I have a lot of baggage.”

“Yeah, and? We all do. I mean, have you seen me tonight?” Jisung punctuated with a breathy laugh.

As Minho slipped his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned against the pedestal, Jisung saw a hint of the same glimmer from when they’d first met. He wanted to draw out every secret from him, over and over.

“So,” Jisung began softly, “what’s the chance of me seeing you again?”

Minho pushed off the pedestal and closed the distance between them, until he was close enough that Jisung could count the lights reflected in his eyes.

Minho touched the shoulder seam of Jisung’s suit that had held together all night. “It’s looking good.”