Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A month after it’s officially over, Jihoon agrees to meet up with Soonyoung at their barbecue place. It’s not theirs per se, but it is; they’ve been regulars since high school, when they used to stumble in after every exam season to eat their hearts out, wearing the uniforms they’d undoubtedly fall asleep in.

This time, Soonyoung shows up a little late in polished dress shoes and a dark blazer in the crook of his elbow, the shirt he’d worn underneath crisp with a few buttons undone. As the grill heats up between them he keeps trying to peer at Jihoon’s face, dark under his well-worn cap.

After a few minutes of Soonyoung trying to be discreet, Jihoon whips it off and shakes out his hair.

“Alright, how do I look.”

Soonyoung pauses in the middle of pouring him water. “Huh?”

“How do I look?”

“Oh. Fine? I mean, you look like you slept, I guess.” Soonyoung presses his lips together, cutting himself off. His face is at utter odds with the styled hair, the tailored clothes. The expensive-looking watch on his wrist that he clearly didn't buy.

“Thanks. You look like you slept, too, I guess.”

Soonyoung’s mouth quirks. He relaxes a little, and so does Jihoon. “You bet. I recently discovered something amazing.” He clasps his hands together. “There’s this thing called memory foam.”

“Sure,” Jihoon says, though he’s certainly never used it. Anything that might make his bed more comfortable than it already is is dangerous knowledge.

Soonyoung gapes as a waiter slides their meat and veggies on the table. “Wait. You knew about memory foam and never told me?”

“You like it that much?”

Usually Jihoon would man the grill but he sits back today. Soonyoung shakes his head, carefully rolling up his sleeves. “You’ll see when you come over. You still haven’t been to my new place yet.”

Soonyoung puts meat on Jihoon’s plate, then his own, a light sheen of sweat forming on his temple. He’s always warmed up easily. It’s one of the reasons why he’s never liked suits and ties. Soonyoung loved loose things, layers, soft jackets. He was a dancer, sure, but above all he craved comfort. They were similar that way.

“How was the date?”

Soonyoung looks up a second too slow. If Jihoon hadn’t been watching his face, he wouldn’t have noticed. “Date? It was fine.” He starts a ssam, stuffing it with pork, kimchi, rice, garlic, more pork. “It wasn’t a date though.”

“Where did you go?”

“A bar nearby.” Soonyoung holds out the giant wrap he’d made. “Say ‘ah.’”

Jihoon picks up his chopsticks. “Put it here.”

“It’s too heavy. ‘Ah.’”

Maybe he’s annoyed, or tired, or sad, or some combination of those things and the fact that he hasn’t seen Soonyoung for over a month, but he opens his mouth and lets Soonyoung feed him.

“How big do you think my mouth is,” Jihoon chokes out. The syllables are unrecognizable but Soonyoung, grinning ear to ear, understands him somehow.

“Your mouth is as big as you want it to be.” His smacks his lips like he’s imagining the taste. “Is it good?”

Jihoon doesn’t bother responding. He slaps something of everything into a big perilla leaf and lunges across the table to stuff it into Soonyoung’s mouth, ignoring his yelp of protest.

Within seconds Soonyoung’s eyes start tearing up from the peppers inside. He chews it like he’s holding in a sneeze.

“Is it good?”

“Humna,” Soonyoung says, covering his mouth, and Jihoon cackles. He puts a cup of water in Soonyoung’s hand when it flounders around in search of relief.

Later, he realizes it was the first time he’d laughed in weeks.

As they’re walking off the meat at Gyeongui Line Park, Soonyoung cracks the question.

“How are you doing?”

Jihoon breathes in and sighs. His phone is heavy in his pocket, full of things he doesn’t want to deal with yet.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Soonyoung is slowing his step to match Jihoon. Left with left, right with right. “I just want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine. Things aren’t that different really.”

Soonyoung stares at the ground.

“I can hear you thinking,” Jihoon says, breaking the silence. “You’re being awkward.”

Soonyoung elbows him. “I’m trying to be considerate! It’s hard.”

“Dude, you think I hang out with you because you’re considerate?”

“Fine. Get ready.” Soonyoung rolls his shoulders, heated. “First of all, I was worried. We were texting for a month and you pretended everything was okay. I mean, I get it. You probably didn’t want to talk about it. But I had to find out from Wonwoo. Since when did you talk to Wonwoo?”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” He takes in the frown on Soonyoung’s face. He hadn’t meant to shut him out, and the guilt softens whatever walls had survived the night. “I would’ve told you eventually, but you found out before I could.”

“That’s even shittier. Who was talking behind your back?”

He sounds so offended on his behalf that Jihoon snorts. “I’m not the only one with friends, you know.”

“Ugh!” Soonyoung shouts, scattering several birds into the night. “What an asshole!”

“What are you so mad for?”

“I’m expressing it for you because you won’t do it yourself.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just…”

He trails off and Soonyoung cools down, fast. He’s not mad, but the right word eludes him. Is he disappointed? Regretful? Sad? The tangled ball inside his chest is all and none of those.

Soonyoung saves him from going there. “Forget it. Just let me treat you to ice cream before I really start screaming.”

“Awesome. Two birds with one stone,” Jihoon says, and makes a run for it with Soonyoung hot on his heels.

He remembers one Friday night, long before it was over, when Soonyoung invited him out to dinner. He had a real motive this time, Soonyoung said, all sweaty from his dance class. He was finally going to learn how to drive and wanted Jihoon to come with. Jihoon had no interest in learning how to drive. In fact, neither of them had ever so much as touched a steering wheel outside of KartRider and he reminded Soonyoung of that fact while they gorged on jjampong in Mapo, but for some reason, he wouldn’t budge.

“You should ask Seungcheol to teach you,” Jihoon suggested a few hours later, over the sound of him absolutely kicking Soonyoung’s ass at DDR.

“Shut up,” Soonyoung had roared, “don’t distract me!”

The conversation repeated itself as they made their way through the arcade, and by the time they got to the claw machines, Jihoon had resorted to groaning, “Why me,” every time he lost a prize just to piss Soonyoung off.

Soonyoung slipped away sometime between the fifth or sixth groan and came back with two soft serve cones.

“Do you hate it that much?”

Jihoon took the peace offering and licked it. “Hate what?”

“You know. That. Comingwithmetomydrivinglessons,” Soonyoung said very quickly.

“Oh, we’re talking about it now?”

“I was trying find the right opportunity. Look, I even brought ice cream to butter you up.”

“This is stupid. Why even pay for lessons? I’m sure Seungcheol would teach you for free.”

Soonyoung cringed. “I already asked him. He said no.”

“What? Why?”

He covered his eyes. “He said I’m unteachable.”

Jihoon leaned against the nearest claw machine, threw his head back, and laughed.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you anything!” He tried to muffle Jihoon with one hand but he didn’t have two to hold him down, so they just kept trying to out-grab each other’s faces.

“You’re so obnoxious,” Soonyoung grunted, trapping Jihoon’s leg against the coin slot. He changed tactics and snapped his teeth at Jihoon’s melting ice cream. It was hard to keep it out of reach and the tussle ended when he demolished half of it with one big chomp. To top off his victory, he wiped his sticky hand down Jihoon’s T-shirt.

Jihoon was disgusted. “Do you want me to come with you or not?”

Soonyoung bit his lip. “Yes.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes, jerking his head towards the bathroom. Soonyoung trailed him like a kicked puppy.

They washed their hands like civil human beings, because someone was shitting in one of the stalls.

“I won’t be as nervous with you there,” Soonyoung said softly.

Something tugged in Jihoon’s gut. He kept his eyes down, rinsing off soap that wasn't there anymore. He could feel the pressure of Soonyoung staring at him in the mirror. “Alright, geez. I’ll be there.”

Soonyoung perked up and did a little silent cheer. Jihoon laughed. He really hadn’t changed a bit since high school.

They crowded around the tiny hand dryer and Soonyoung gave him a nudge. “It was the ice cream, wasn’t it? You liked that, huh?”

Jihoon shook his head, smiling still. “Sure. You got me.”

A few days after barbecue with Soonyoung, Jihoon walks into the café near his studio and immediately spots Mingyu standing in line. He tries to duck out without being noticed, but in addition to being annoyingly tall, Mingyu has a creepy knack for sensing fear. It probably comes in handy in vet school. Jihoon could really do without it.

“Hyung! Jihoon-hyung!”

It’s too late now. Mingyu is making urgent “I see you” and “I’ll meet you over there at that table” and “Give me two minutes” gestures with his long arms. The girls in line behind him are starting to look a little terrified so Jihoon waves him off, sitting down by the window.

Minutes later, their lattes in hand, Jihoon speaks. “What is it?”

Mingyu takes a deep breath. He looks like a walking spring catalogue, and Jihoon wonders idly if he’s been scouted today. It used to happen all the time in high school. “You know what I’m going to say,” Mingyu begins gently, “but I have to say it.”

“I have no idea what this is about.”

“Scratch that. You won’t want to hear this, but hear me out.”

He woke up this morning to a phone call demanding last minute edits and he hasn’t even had a drop of coffee yet. This day is already too long. “Mingyu. Spit it out.”

Mingyu shrinks a little before sitting up again. “Okay. I think it might be a good idea to talk to You-Know-Who.”

Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please use his real name.”

“Hyung.” He feels the table shift when Mingyu leans forward. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you. I’m guessing Jungkook put you up to this.” Jihoon stands, cradling his latte. “But let me be clear. It wasn’t a mistake.”

“I know,” Mingyu touches his arm. “But Jungkook didn’t ask me. It’s me. I’m asking.”

“Why.”

“I don’t know. Because you’ve been acting miserable for a month–” Jihoon clenches his jaw. “–and maybe you need closure?”

“You’re the one who told Wonwoo,” Jihoon realizes.

Mingyu groans. “I swear I didn’t mean to! Jungkook was over and he overheard us talking.”

“Soonyoung found out from Wonwoo.” Jihoon sits back down. “Who else knows?”

“I’m sorry. Hyung, look at me.” Jihoon does, very reluctantly. “I’m really sorry. It’s none of my business and I didn't tell anyone who didn’t already know. I was only talking to Jungkook because he was worried.”

“Don’t tell me You-Know-Who’s all torn up about it,” Jihoon says, but it sounds mean, even to him.

Mingyu shifts. “Well. He’s been drinking a little too much. But don’t tell anyone I told you that.”

Jihoon studies the grain on the table. “You think talking to him would fix things?”

Mingyu considers it. “No,” he admits eventually. “I don’t.”

“Yeah. It won’t. He drinks because he has a drinking problem.” That’s not exactly true. When they were together he had been fastidious about avoiding alcohol, and it hurts, just a lingering vague kind of hurt, to hear he’s turning back to old habits.

But that’s none of Jihoon’s business anymore. He gets up. “I’m not mad at you, so stop looking like that.”

“Looking like what,” Mingyu mumbles, picking at the lid of his drink.

“Like Sad Mingyu.” Jihoon fishes some change out of his pocket and slaps it on the table. “Thanks for the coffee. I’m off.”

He hears Mingyu sigh behind him. “Hyung, let’s get dinner sometime. Without Soonyoung.”

“Yep,” Jihoon calls, and then he’s out the door, doing the thing he’s just so good at doing — walking away.

Jihoon tells people they met at a party neither of them had signed up for, but that’s not quite it.

To be fair, Seokmin had only brought Jihoon along that night because it was a music major thing and all of his other more sociable music major friends were preoccupied (read: heartless assholes). Whoever invited Seokmin had invited just a few other friends to their apartment, and Seokmin had been too nice to turn them down but too nervous to go alone. Jihoon felt slightly bad for him. He was also interested in some free booze after spending hours laboring over unnecessary details for his composition final.

“You didn’t bring anything?” Jihoon asked, maybe a bit too late, on their way up. To say he was sleep deprived was an understatement. He left his dorm in the same hoodie he’d been living in for the last three days and had thrown on a hat to cover the unfortunate state of his hair — and just, his entire face, for good measure.

Seokmin froze, deer in headlights. “Am I supposed to? Oh no. I’m supposed to.”

Jihoon shrugged. His shoulders ached from being hunched over. “I don’t think it matters. We’re college students.” He waited for Seokmin to knock on the door.

“No, hold on. Do you think I can buy something from the store really quick? Really quick. I’ll be back in like, five seconds.”

“It’s not that big of a–”

“Now that you brought it up, it’s going to kill me if I don’t.” Seokmin’s already headed for the elevator. If it were anyone else Jihoon would think they were being dramatic, but this was Seokmin, who cried after his first musical because he’d missed his cue. “Sorry! Wait for me, hyung.”

Jihoon wasn’t going to hover outside a stranger’s door so he slipped into the stairwell. It was unexpectedly drafty and smelled like tobacco. He leaned over the railing. One flight down, a guy in a black hoodie and bleached-to-hell blonde hair was smoking with the window cracked open.

The guy glanced up then did a double take when he realized Jihoon was looking at him. “Can I help you?”

The smoking probably violated some kind of code, but it wasn’t Jihoon’s business. “I didn’t realize someone was here. Don’t mind me.”

The guy took one more drag before putting out his cigarette. He pulled a crumpled box from his pocket and stuck the stub back in. “Sorry,” he said quietly, but his voice was rough and low and it hung in the air. “I’m trying to quit.”

Amused, Jihoon pocketed his phone, having sent a text to Seokmin to let him know where to find him. “Good to know. You don’t have to apologize though. I don’t live here.”

The guy raised his eyebrows, and it dawned on Jihoon what else he might be thinking. “I’m older than I look,” he added defensively.

Cigarette Guy laughed, crossing his arms — not like he was posturing, more like he was actually feeling cold. “How old do you think you look?”

Jihoon clicked his tongue. “No comment.” He leaned his arms on the railing. “How old are you?”

“Younger than you think I am.”

“Twenty-six.”

“Ddaeng.” He looked pleased that Jihoon got it wrong.

“Twenty-three.”

“If only.” He leaned against the wall, his hair so pale it could almost blend in with the white. “Twenty-five.”

“How old do you think I am?”

The guy cocked his head and studied Jihoon, inhaling slowly through his teeth. “Let’s see… twenty?”

Jihoon grinned. “Twenty-two.”

“University student?”

“You?” Jihoon asked in lieu of answering.

“Grad school. I just started at Hanyang.”

“Oh,” Jihoon lifted his hand. “Hanyang. Second year.”

Cigarette Guy seemed wistful. “Undergrad. Those days were a different time.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you seem old because you talk like you’re fifty?”

“Why don’t you come down here and tell me yourself, you little punk?”

Jihoon held in a laugh. “Nah, I’ll stay here. Take your time getting up the stairs.”

The guy sniffed, shrugging further into his hoodie. “Pass. I don’t fight losing battles.”

Jihoon was about to ask what he meant when Seokmin burst through the stairwell door, out of breath. “Hyung! Thanks for waiting.” He held up a bag full of snacks. “Let’s go.”

“Finally.”

“Hey, I ran as fast as I could!”

Before he left, Jihoon glanced over his shoulder, but Cigarette Guy was busy staring out the window again.

He couldn’t have predicted that ten minutes later, he’d find him nursing a beer in the tiny apartment’s kitchen.

“It’s you.”

“It’s me.” The guy cleared his throat, also startled. “You’re a lot shorter up close, huh?”

“Didn't ask,” Jihoon grunted. He stuck his head in the fridge and pulled out a beer, twisting the cap off with his hoodie as a buffer. He took a swig.

“You study music then? These are all music people.”

“Yeah. Composition.” Jihoon was interested again. “Do you?”

“No. Architecture.” He smiled ever so slightly when Jihoon tilted his head to make sense of it. “I make music on the side,” he explained.

“Oh, cool.”

The guy cupped a hand around his ear. “What was that? I’m cool, you said?”

Jihoon shrugged. He hoped he was being infuriating because this was kind of fun. “Maybe. I’m Jihoon, by the way.”

“Didn’t ask.” Still, the guy set down his drink and extended a pale hand, oddly formal, but fitting. Jihoon took it, and felt the vibration of his voice as he said, “Min Yoongi."

Chapter Text

Jihoon almost dropped his entire convenience store haul when his phone started buzzing in his back pocket. It never rang out loud anymore, a habit he picked up from being in the studio so often. He answered after checking the ID, holding it between his ear and shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“Oh! I didn’t think you’d answer,” Seokmin said, sounding way too bright for 2 a.m. Jihoon caught some laughter in the background. “Are you still doing work?”

“Kind of. I’m taking a break actually.”

“I’m with Seungkwan and a few other guys right now and we’re taking a study break. Wanna eat with us?”

Jihoon had met Seungkwan a few times. He was nice enough for a freshman and was a voice major with a theater focus, like Seokmin. They were a little like oil and water, but seemed to hang out all the time. “Sorry. I think I’m going to check on hyung.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah. But I don’t think he’s left the studio for two days.” Jihoon cut through the engineering quad to save some time.

“Wow, this sounds familiar. Remind me, how many times did Mingyu have to carry you home freshman year?

“Anyway,” Jihoon said, “I’ll eat with you guys next time.”

Seokmin let him slide. “Next time then. Oh, and… tell Yoongi-hyung I said hi,” he added shyly.

“Mm. Talk to you later.”

Seokmin had only seen Yoongi in passing since they met last semester, and he was still a little intimated. Jihoon knew now that Yoongi kept to himself, but mostly because he got nervous with people.

(“I glitched that day we met,” Yoongi said once, while they were walking to the computer lab at the university library. “If you caught me on any other day we wouldn’t have said a single word to each other.”

Jihoon had scoffed. “Well, yeah. For the record, I really don’t like cigarettes.”

“Maybe it was the cigarette,” Yoongi mused. “I was in a good mood.”

“How’s your mood now?” Jihoon watched his face. He liked watching people’s faces. Yoongi wasn’t super expressive, but his face actually said a lot.

“Right now I’m hungry.” Yoongi steered Jihoon away from the library and towards the noodle shop down the street. He had this thing about only eating Korean food that Jihoon found funny. “Let’s eat first.”

It was a diversion, but it was hard to say no. “Your treat.”)

When Jihoon got to the music building he headed to the third floor where the recording studios were and peered through every closed door. At last, he spotted a shock of white hair and punched in the generic passcode they handed out to all the music majors.

Yoongi was curled up under his coat on the two-seater against the wall, his socked feet hanging off the edge.

“Hyung,” Jihoon said. He set his stuff on the ground. “Wake up.”

He poked him and Yoongi jerked, groaning. He rolled over and squinted up at Jihoon. It took him a second to come around. “What time is it?”

“Past two.”

“AM or PM?”

“AM.” Jihoon dug through one of the plastic bags and pulled out a neon drink. “Here.”

Yoongi sat up and turned the bottle over in his hands, examining the label down the bridge of his nose like one would a fine wine. “What’s in this?”

“Liquid energy,” Jihoon replied very seriously. The neon stuff had kept him functional through countless all-nighters when he was too tired to go get food. He’d been trying to lay back on drinking so much since Mingyu started nagging him about his trashy diet and showing up at Jihoon’s dorm to take him out on aggressive salad runs. Sometimes he got the feeling Mingyu treated him like his pet dog. At least Jihoon was being fed occasionally.

Yoongi took an experimental sip and made a face. “Jihoon-ah, you shouldn’t be drinking this shit.”

“Haven’t died yet.” He handed Yoongi one of the prepared dinners he’d grabbed at random from the store, and then sat himself at the desk. “Hold on. I’m going to check a file really quick.”

Yoongi leaned back, his eyes slipping closed. “You’re so energetic,” he slurred. “Why are you so energetic?”

“It’s the springtime of my youth,” Jihoon murmured.

“It’s the springtime of our youth,” Soonyoung was saying, barely needing the handle to keep his balance on the bus. It was as if all other motion in the world didn’t affect him. “Wouldn’t it be fun if we went on a road trip after finals?”

They’d fallen into the habit of leaving school together and grabbing a snack, Jihoon on the way to hagwon and Soonyoung to the dojang nearby. Jihoon kept a firm grip on Soonyoung’s open coat as the bus turned. He would literally die if he fell into an old woman’s lap again.

“Who’s going to drive?”

“Neither of us, so we’ll have fun for sure,” Soonyoung smirked. “Maybe we can get Seungcheol to do it?”

“Aren’t university students super busy all the time? Where would we go anyway?”

Soonyoung hummed. “Well, we could go to Busan. Gwangju? Yeouido? Jeju?”

“What about South Korea,” Jihoon suggested.

“Sure, why not? It’s a road trip. It’s like, romantic.”

“Can’t we just stay home? I want to stay home.” They squeezed their way to the door, thanking the driver on their way out. The bus drove off with a hiss and Jihoon finally let go of Soonyoung’s jacket. “We could travel a hundred– a thousand worlds watching anime.”

Soonyoung scuffed his sneakers on the sidewalk. “Anime is great, but it’d be fun to explore new places together. In my opinion.” He straightened and wiggled his fingers. “Think about it. There are a limited number of good animes, but an unlimited number of good memories we could make together.”

Jihoon nodded slowly. Knowing Soonyoung, he must’ve watched a movie about a road trip that got him fired up, but he seemed a little down lately and Jihoon didn’t want to say no just yet. Besides, the good anime to bad anime ratio was definitely very skewed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Heh.” Soonyoung threw an arm around him. “You won’t regret it.”

Jihoon shrugged him off with some difficulty. Soonyoung really underestimated how strong he was sometimes. “Wait. Isn’t your competition after finals?”

“Hm? Oh, that.” Soonyoung sniffed. “I’m thinking of quitting.”

“What, the competition?”

He shook his head. “Taekwondo.”

Jihoon stuck his thumbs under the straps of his backpack. He had had a sneaking suspicion Soonyoung would quit sooner or later. He didn’t even know why he had that thought, because though he would never say it to his face, Soonyoung was talented and hardworking when it came down to it. He’d even won regional awards.

As he tried to piece it together, he realized Soonyoung was watching him. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”

Jihoon raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Uh. Are you asking me why I quit or are you asking me why you should ask me why I quit?”

Jihoon squinted. “The latter?”

“Oh. You don’t think it’s weird that I’m quitting?”

“Well,” Jihoon shrugged. “If you don’t like it anymore you should quit, right?”

“Yeah, but you know. My parents were thinking I could go pro and everything.” Soonyoung scratched his head, laughing a little. The sound was melancholy and Jihoon frowned. “I’m not really good at anything else to be honest.”

Before he could stop himself, Jihoon grabbed Soonyoung’s sleeve. Soonyoung was so caught off guard that he stumbled back a few steps.

“Hold on. It’s true that you’re definitely no Korean Bill Gates. Or president. Or doctor. Or lawyer–”

Soonyoung squeezed his eyes shut.

“–but you’ll be fine. I mean, at least you’re not going to do music. You’ll be better off than me for sure.”

Soonyoung opened his eyes again, and Jihoon could see the thoughts swirling inside them. He felt himself being sucked in, trying to grasp at all the strange colors he could see in there, trying to read his mind. At last, Soonyoung sneezed.

The spell broke. Calmly, Jihoon dried the spit off his face and made sure to wipe it off on the uniform under Soonyoung’s coat.

“Okay,” Soonyoung said. “I’m telling my mom you told me to do it.”

“Sure.” Jihoon pointed at the convenience store across the street. “If you want my silence then buy me food.”

Soonyoung heaved a sigh, and Jihoon followed as he crossed the street and shouldered the door open. “Why am I even friends with you?”

“Hyung,” someone called over the low din of the restaurant.

Jihoon glanced up from his phone. “Mm, you’re here?”

Mingyu was already shedding his coat, sliding with some difficulty into the small booth. It was unbelievable but he must’ve grown taller again. He huffed, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater. “I’m starving. I literally had to run to my exam this morning because I almost overslept. When did you get here?”

“Not long,” Jihoon said, scrolling through Naver. “My exam just finished before this.”

Mingyu rapped his knuckles on the table. “Hey. This is bonding time. Shouldn’t you put your phone–”

“Heya,” Soonyoung chirped, back from the bathroom. He settled next to Jihoon. “Oh, I like the hair. Did you… style it?”

Mingyu flattened his bangs self-consciously. “Ugh. Don’t look at it, it’s gross. What are you even doing here? I saw you last week.” He rounded on Jihoon, who was utterly engrossed in a gossip article about some celebrity divorce. “Did you invite him? Again?”

The truth was Jihoon hadn’t thought twice about inviting Soonyoung when he texted him about dinner last minute. They all knew each other and had to eat anyway; it seemed silly to do it separately. Jihoon opened his mouth to say as much, but Soonyoung beat him to it.

“Sorry, I only came for the food.” He covered his face with his hands. “Look, I’m not even here. Go ahead and bond.”

“It’s not the same,” Mingyu grumbled, rummaging through his coat pockets. “I’m trying to get him to talk...”

“I talk,” Jihoon interjected. But touché. He put down his phone.

Soonyoung sipped his water, eyes roving. “Get him to talk about what?”

Mingyu had managed to fish out his own phone and was typing vigorously. When he was done, he beckoned Soonyoung closer and stage-whispered, “His love life.”

Jihoon froze for a second. He could feel his ears getting hot and tried to keep them under control.

“Love life?” Soonyoung repeated too loudly. Or maybe it just felt that way to Jihoon. “You’re dating?”

“No. Don’t listen to him.”

Mingyu mouthed something to Soonyoung behind his hand.

Some? Soonyoung mouthed back incredulously.

“I’m right here,” Jihoon snapped, snatching a menu. “Let’s order. I thought you were hungry.”

Mingyu sat back and crossed his arms, all too smug. The damage was done. Jihoon could tell Soonyoung had a million questions bubbling inside him, but he was pretending to be nonchalant.

After another uncomfortable fifteen minutes, during which a waitress and waiter both came over to take their order and ogle Mingyu, Wonwoo came in with Seungcheol in tow. They were both dusted with snow and windswept. Soonyoung immediately scooted over to make room, squishing Jihoon against the wall.

“Hey. I was with Cheol-hyung so I brought him along. I thought you were eating alone?”

Mingyu looked up at them gratefully. “I needed backup.”

“Is this a high school reunion?” Wonwoo joked as he filled the space Soonyoung made. Seungcheol took the spot across him. “A little too soon, isn’t it?”

“It’s been three years almost,” Seungcheol said thoughtfully. His hair was shorter now, cropped. “Time flies by so fast.”

“It’s only been two years for us, old man.”

Mingyu raised his hand. “One for me.”

“Whatever.” Seungcheol made a face. “I remember now why I don’t like meeting up with you guys.”

Soonyoung was absorbing all this while absently putting things into his mouth. He hadn’t noticed he’d cleared nearly two whole side dishes, so Jihoon subtly shifted the rest out of the range of his chopsticks.

“How have you been doing, hyung?” Jihoon piped up. “Did you get the car?”

“Oh, yeah,” Seungcheol’s face melted into a grin. “I didn’t drive it here today, or I’d give you a ride.”

“He gave me a ride a few days ago,” Wonwoo told the group. “It’s exactly the car I’d always imagined him driving.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“I know what you mean,” Mingyu said. “Like an SUV. But with a flashy color, like red or something.”

Wonwoo smiled. “It’s a blue SUV.”

Seungcheol was eyeing Mingyu. “That’s really creepy. I wanted to get red, but my parents are helping me pay for it and they chose blue.”

As they went on, Jihoon nudged Soonyoung. “Hey, you can beg him to take you on that road trip now.”

“Nah,” Soonyoung said, still chewing. He’d slid a few of the side dishes back towards him. “The timing isn’t right.”

Jihoon laughed. “Timing?”

“Yeah, that's the most important part. Maybe I should learn how to drive,” Jihoon thought he heard him mumble at the end, but Seungcheol’s voice drew his attention.

“Jihoon-ah, what have you been up to?”

Soonyoung’s leg twitched where it was pressed up against his. Jihoon gave him a questioning look that he didn’t return. “Nothing much. Working on a few personal projects.”

“I bet,” Mingyu muttered. Jihoon stared him down and Mingyu stuck out his tongue like the oversized kid he was.

Seungcheol leaned forward, interested, as a waiter brought two more place settings and menus. “What’s going on?”

“Is this about the new hyung?” Wonwoo asked. Jihoon’s face must’ve said, How the hell did you know? because Wonwoo explained himself. “Mingyu mentioned something.”

“Before I get murdered, I just want to clarify that I didn’t say say anything. Verbatim, I said, ‘Oh, Jihoon? He’s busy with his new hyung.’ Someone get this on record.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows climbed up. “What, so there’s really something going on?”

“There’s nothing going on.” Jihoon felt flushed. “There’s just a grad student I met last semester. He makes music on the side so we’ve been working on some projects in our free time.”

“That’s nice,” Wonwoo said, silently battling Soonyoung for the kimchi. “Mingyu made it sound so scandalous.”

“I didn’t make it sound like anything! He just talks about him all the time. And I have a sense for these things.”

Seungcheol studied Jihoon over Soonyoung’s arm as he tried to flag down a waiter. “How old is he exactly? What does he study? Is he on social media?”

Jihoon didn’t even blink. “Twenty-five, architecture, no.”

“Architecture?” Seungcheol leaned into Mingyu. “Don’t architects make loads of money?”

Mingyu shrugged. “I guess? I mean, it seems hard so they must pay them enough.”

“Hm. Not bad.”

Wonwoo snorted and Jihoon smiled at him, daring him to laugh some more. Wonwoo knew danger when he saw it and quickly cleared his throat, ducking for cover behind Soonyoung.

“Hyung,” Mingyu soothed. “Be honest. If you can look me in the eyes and say you guys are just friends, then I’ll shut up about it. Come on, look at me.”

“How many times do I have to say it? You won’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” Soonyoung said. Jihoon turned to him. “I do. You’ll tell us when you’re really dating, right?”

He said it so calmly, like he trusted him without a doubt. Jihoon opened his mouth, closed it. And then, with dawning horror, he realized he felt guilty. “Yeah,” he swallowed. “Of course.”

Soonyoung’s mouth quirked. “Okay, now that that’s settled, when can we eat? I think my stomach’s starting to talk to me.”

“Yeah? Mine’s been yelling at me all day.”

“Please. Mine called me a–”

At that moment, the food came. They didn’t speak much afterwards.

“Is this a date?” Yoongi asked, amused.

He was clearly joking, but Jihoon shrugged. It was a bit strange to show up at someone’s dorm room and invite them out for a drink at midnight. They had spent virtually the entire weekend together, heads bent over each other’s lyrics, swapping the pages back and forth to share feedback upon feedback. That was something close friends did, Jihoon told himself. Spend time together. Though there really was no reason why he had the urge to hear Yoongi’s voice in the middle of the night, or why he felt a little excited seeing him in an old, stretched out T-shirt, hair mussed, lounging in one of the metal chairs outside the business school.

Avoiding the question, Jihoon admitted, “I’ve actually never dated before.”

There was a moment of quiet. It was starting to get humid now as the spring bled into summer. Yoongi had told him he would be staying on campus to work and do research for his thesis, which meant they’d undoubtedly be seeing more of each other. It seemed inevitable at this point.

Yoongi slowly turned the can of herbal tea on the table between them. Jihoon had initially grabbed a beer for him at the convenience store, but he refused.

“I have, but barely,” he said eventually. “I like doing things my way. I’m not romantic. Actually, I’m probably the opposite of romantic.” It sounded like he was repeating something someone once told him.

“Really? I think you’re a romantic though. Like, you know…” Jihoon contemplated the foggy moon overhead. “You’d write an emotional poem and keep it in your drawer.”

“You’re not wrong.” Yoongi considered him. “Not bad.”

Jihoon bowed graciously.

“Well, anyway, I’m hopeless. What’s your excuse?”

“Me?” Jihoon drew his knees to his chest, weighing just how honest he should be. “I don’t like most people and they can tell. The end.”

Yoongi laughed. It made Jihoon a little giddy. “What, you’ve never liked anyone? I don’t believe it.”

“I didn’t say never.” He sipped his beer. “Unrequited feelings. I’m pretty good at that.”

A student passed them on a bike and Yoongi rested his arms on the table. “Me too, actually. But nothing too serious. Have you ever confessed?”

Jihoon shook his head. “The timing wasn’t right.” The phrase reminded him of Soonyoung, and he chuckled.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just thought of a friend. He’s funny.”

“Someone I know?”

“No, he goes to another university. A high school friend. Do you keep in touch with any friends from high school?”

Jihoon didn’t know much about Yoongi’s friends. He’d only met Jungkook so far, a baseball player at the national sports university who had a great voice.

“Yeah, I have one good one. We fight a lot, but he’s… You know the kind of person who’s just born with talent? He’s that. But not obnoxious.” Yoongi shook his wrist, jostling a simple silver chain. “He gave this to me. Part of the proceeds went to charity apparently. He likes that kind of stuff.”

“You seem close,” Jihoon said lightly.

“Two sides of a coin, maybe. Like I said, we fight about stupid things.” They looked at each other, not sure where to continue, until Yoongi bumped his herbal tea against Jihoon’s beer.

“What was that for?”

“To good friendship. You don’t like it? I can take it back.”

“It’s not that.” Yoongi still had his can pressed to Jihoon’s, so Jihoon knocked it lightly. “Are we friends then?”

Yoongi licked his lips. They were slightly chapped. “If not what? Are we sunbae, hoobae? That sounds weird.”

“No.” Jihoon wrapped both hands around his can, pushing it against Yoongi’s until it slid back to the center of the table. Jihoon glanced up at him and down again. He felt bold, the beer warm in his veins. “Being equal. I like that.”

“You’re blushing,” Yoongi said, voice low. Jihoon didn't think he’d ever forget the way he sounded, the way he spoke.

Jihoon ducked his head. “That happens.”

“Funny timing,” Yoongi murmured, and he pressed the back of his hand to Jihoon’s cheek, as if to take the temperature. His skin was cool and Jihoon leaned into it inadvertently. He grabbed Yoongi’s wrist.

Jihoon didn’t know where to look. He flitted between the features on Yoongi’s face, settling finally, with some kind of magnetic pull, to his mouth.

“Hyung,” Jihoon managed. He leaned forward, but couldn’t reach any further with the table digging into his ribs. “To be honest–”

“Fuck friendship,” Yoongi agreed, cupping Jihoon’s face and closing the gap.

It’s a long day at work as usual. Working for an indie label means they have less money and, consequently, less time. While Jihoon didn’t appreciate being so out of touch with artists when he interned for a big label his junior year, he’s come to realize he misses the structure. There’s a freedom that comes with not having to worry about things outside your pay grade.

To top it off, Beomju had told Jihoon over soju last week that he was planning to enlist soon, and wanted Jihoon to fill in as a full-time producer. He’s trying not to think about it when he boards the train to Gangnam, but the more tired he is, the more he can’t stop.

Myungho is leaning on the wall outside the dance studio when Jihoon shows up. The surprise clears his head.

“Hey.”

Myungho looks up from his phone. He’s as tall and slim as ever, fashionable in a plain T-shirt and ripped jeans, bangs hanging over his eyes. They’d hung out a few times during university when Soonyoung remembered to bring his friends around. “Oh, hey,” he smiles. “Long time no see.”

“Are you waiting for Soonyoung?”

“Kind of. We had lunch earlier and I left something. He’s almost done.”

Jihoon stands next to him. Right on cue, a bunch of students, mostly adults, start trickling out of the studio entrance. “What are you up to nowadays?”

Myungho toes the ground. “I’m interning at a makeup company.”

“Fancy.” Jihoon doesn’t know him that well, but Myungho always struck him as the rebellious, artsy type.

“Yeah. I’m also trying to join a breaking crew for fun, but…” His smile turns sheepish. “It’s not easy.”

“Doesn’t Soonyoung know anyone?”

“He’s been helping me out, but he’s been busy lately with his new gig. Do you know anything about it?”

Jihoon stuck his hands in his pockets. “Why would I?”

Myungho’s phone buzzes, and he pushes himself off the wall gracefully. “Aren’t you his best friend?”

Am I? Jihoon wants to say. He hasn’t felt like a very good friend to Soonyoung lately. Hell, he didn’t even know he got another job. “You’ll have to ask hi–”

“Myungho!” Soonyoung pops out the door, damp with sweat all over with a large gym bag over one shoulder. He tosses a jacket into the air and Myungho catches it. “Sorry, we ran a bit over. Did you wait long?”

“Thanks, you’re the best.” Myungho rearranges Soonyoung’s hair so he looks less like he just braved a minor hurricane. He steps aside when he’s done. “Look who found me.”

“Hey,” Soonyoung says. “What are you doing here?”

Jihoon scratches his neck. “Wanna grab dinner?”

“Sure.” Soonyoung turns to Myungho and Jihoon bites his lip. Of course Soonyoung would invite Myungho; he’s right there. “Are you hungry?”

“Ah, Junhui’s plane arrived a bit early so I have to pick him up. We’ll see you soon anyway.” Myungho pats Soonyoung’s waist and waves to Jihoon. “Enjoy dinner.”

“Take care,” Jihoon waves.

 Soonyoung hefts his bag higher up his shoulder. It seems heavy. “Where to?”

“Do you want to drop that off first? I don’t really care where we eat as long as there’s meat involved.”

“Delivery?” Soonyoung suggests. “We have to take the train to my place anyway.”

“Your amazing new place?” Jihoon teases as they head towards the station.

 “Maybe lower your expectations a little bit.”

It’s the tail end of rush hour when they board the train, just crowded enough that there aren’t seats. Soonyoung stands near the door and sticks his bag between his feet. Jihoon grabs onto a pole nearby.

“Eight stops,” Soonyoung says, leaning down to make himself heard.

Jihoon nods. “You take this every day?”

“No, I cut back my hours. Maybe three times a week? I added a class in Nowon.” A group of rowdy students board at the next stop, jostling Jihoon from behind, and Soonyoung pulls him closer by the arm.

“Is that your new gig?”

“What new gig?”

“Myungho said you’ve been busy with a new job.”

“Oh, that.” Soonyoung runs a hand through his hair, messing up Myungho’s good work. “It’s just some stuff on the side.”

“Okay, keep hiding it. See how long it takes me to figure it out.”

“Don’t. I mean, not that you can’t, because I have nothing to hide.” Soonyoung’s bottom lip sticks out and Jihoon wants to poke it. He has him cornered, literally. “As if you tell me everything.”

Jihoon lands a punch to his bicep.

“Ow… Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.” Jihoon hooks his elbow around the train pole. “It’s fine. We can trade secrets if you want.”

“My thing isn’t a secret. I have my reasons.”

“I don’t have any secrets either. You know everything already.”

“Not everything.” Soonyoung points outside, signaling that this is their stop. Out of habit Jihoon grabs the back of his sleeveless tank as a small herd of people spill onto the platform. Soonyoung glances over his shoulder and grins when he catches Jihoon dropping his shirt. He offers Jihoon the crook of his arm, and when he refuses, offers him his hand.

Embarrassed, Jihoon twists his arm behind his back and shoves Soonyoung forward.

“What do you think you don’t know?” Jihoon asks. He’s genuinely perplexed. “I’m sure whatever I left out you’ve already heard from Jeon Wonwoo.”

“Gosh, that wasn’t even my fault,” Soonyoung grumbles. “And that's not what I meant. I mean that you… never mind.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes, but lets it go. “We’ll play trading truths. How does that sound?”

“Better.” They climb the stairs and Soonyoung drops his bag when they reach street level, rolling his shoulder.

Jihoon picks it up — and almost falls over. He steadies himself before Soonyoung notices. “Holy shit. Do you have a dead body in here?”

“Dude, if I had a dead body why would I put it in there?”

They pause to smile politely at an old couple passing by. Soonyoung reaches for his bag. “Gimme. I can handle it.”

Jihoon steps out of reach. “Just tell me which way we’re going before I dislocate my shoulder. Seriously, what’s even in this thing?”

Soonyoung heads the opposite direction, pausing so Jihoon can catch up. “It’s just extra clothes and things.”

“Right. Whatever, I’ll just ask you later.”

“I’m not scared. I eat truth for breakfast,” Soonyoung says with bravado, walking backwards. He points at Jihoon. “You, on the other hand. Get ready for a cleansing.”

Fifteen minutes later, they arrive at Soonyoung’s apartment. Jihoon has to catch his breath in the doorway.

Soonyoung pats his shoulder. “Aw, you worked hard. You can just leave it there.”

Jihoon lets the bag slip down with a thump. “Great. I don’t think I can carry it any further.”

“You volunteered,” Soonyoung reminds him. He disappears into the kitchen to grab delivery menus probably and Jihoon realizes then how nice the place is. It’s definitely an upgrade from Soonyoung’s old studio, where everything was cramped into one room. He has a quaint living room space with a couch, an economic kitchen, and a bedroom with a real door.

Jihoon asks him about it when they have their jjajangmyun and fried chicken spread out on the coffee table. Soonyoung has a coffee table, Jihoon marvels.

“I just got lucky with timing,” is his vague answer. “No one was looking for a place in the middle of winter except for me.”

“Isn’t the rent expensive?”

Soonyoung stuffs two slices of radish into his mouth. “It’s higher than before, but I’m okay.”

Jihoon takes a minute to inhale half his noodles and swallow some Coke. “Okay. Let’s begin the game. What’s the side gig you don’t want to talk about?”

“Hold on, you can’t just start.” Soonyoung scoots around so they’re facing each other, and presses a hand to his heart. “I swear that I’ll speak the truth and only the truth. Your turn.”

Jihoon mirrors him. “I swear.”

“The whole thing.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “I swear that I’ll speak the truth and only the truth.”

“And now, insurance.” Soonyoung holds out his pinky until Jihoon promises.

“You can’t stall anymore,” Jihoon says. “Tell me about the gig.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung breathes in. “Okay. You have to promise you won’t tell anyone. Or yell at me. I really don’t want to be yelled at.”

“When have I ever yelled at you?”

“You kind of yelled just now,” Soonyoung argues timidly. Jihoon sits back and presses his lips together. “Do you agree or not?”

Jihoon nods and pulls the front of his hoodie up to his eyes, muzzling himself. He gestures for him to continue.

“So… I wasn’t really making too much from freelancing so I started to look for another job. And I saw this ad.” Soonyoung pushes his noodles around. “For a male escort service.”

“What?!”

Soonyoung frowns at him and Jihoon slaps a hand over his own mouth. He shakes his head emphatically.

“I swear there’s no weird stuff. It’s just dinner at fancy restaurants, and I’m just trying it out.” Soonyoung hides his face in his arms. “The money’s killer.” He lifts his head, ears blazing red. “Sometimes after my class in Gangnam, I meet my clients around there.”

Your clients?! Jihoon almost blurts, but thankfully he can’t yell through his hand.

“That’s it. You can talk now.”

Gingerly, Jihoon pulls his hoodie down. “Are you okay?”

It isn’t what Soonyoung had expected him to say. “What?”

“You have, what, three jobs? Sounds to me like you’re pushing yourself.”

Soonyoung watches him carefully. When he’s convinced that Jihoon isn’t going to flip over the table, he relaxes a little. “I’m fine. I think I’m kind of… good at it,” he mumbles at the end. “Anyway, now you know why I can’t tell anyone.”

An image of Soonyoung dressed the way he was at the barbecue and flirting with a beautiful woman nearly his mom’s age fills Jihoon’s mind and he flushes, shaking it out. “I get it. You don’t have to feel so bad about it though. It’s just a job.”

“Not to most people,” Soonyoung protests. Jihoon thinks he sounds a bit relieved underneath.

“Don’t listen to most people, listen to me.” Jihoon smirks, thinking back to the day Soonyoung had told him he was quitting taekwondo. “Thanks, by the way. I expect free dinner in Gangnam at least three times a week. You can afford it now, right?”

Soonyoung grabs a drumstick, still red but a smidge smug. “Maybe. But now it’s your turn.”

Jihoon clears his throat and sits back. “I told you, there’s nothing you don’t know.”

“Really? How about what actually happened?”

“What’s there to say? We broke up.”

“Just like that. For no reason.”

A lot of reasons rise to the tip of Jihoon’s tongue, the familiar cold and cutting things he’s felt too comfortable spewing to shield himself, no matter how unfair they were. The truth; the truth is that he feels like shit for acting like Yoongi didn’t matter.

He looks at Soonyoung, who’s patiently sucking on a chicken bone, and for some reason that makes him burst out laughing.

“Oh my god, he’s lost it,” Soonyoung says, immediately putting his hands together in a prayer. “While you’re at it, please make him forget what I just told him.”

“Not a chance,” Jihoon gasps. “We promised.” He falls into Soonyoung’s lap, banging his chin on his knee. “Ow,” he whines.

Soonyoung wipes his greasy fingers on several napkins. “You’re a bigger mess than I am.”

“You’re just realizing that now?” Jihoon dabs at the corners of his eyes and tries to regulate his breathing. In and out. In and out. Truth it is.

“It didn't end a month ago. Not to me.”

Soonyoung starts nibbling on a wing, but Jihoon knows he’s listening. Jihoon’s grateful for it because he thinks he might bail if he has any more attention. He focuses on his socked feet.

“We worked too well together, you know? I mean, all we did was work. It was music, so it was fun. It was easy, when we were both at school. But I don’t think that’s how relationships work.”

“I don’t think there’s a rule,” Soonyoung says.

“Yeah, but you should keep in touch at least. We… I’m bad at that, calling and texting and stuff. You know.” Jihoon’s not laughing anymore but he has to force himself to breathe. He feels impatient, like he’s running out of time to make Soonyoung understand that things weren’t that simple. How much he respected Yoongi and valued his input; how no one before him had ever told Jihoon his music mattered; how hard Yoongi tried to be a better person; how he lit up when he spoke about his dreams, like he knew they would come true.

“After graduation… after graduation we met up a few times. Then his older brother came back from America and hyung was in Daegu all the time. I don’t even know what for. Whenever he came back, he spent most of his time with his other friends.” He sighs, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “But so did I.”

He hears the rustle of Soonyoung stretching out his legs under the table. “Do you feel guilty?”

“Maybe? I don’t know.” He lowers his hands, vision blurry, and grips the rug beneath him. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. We just didn’t work out. I understand that. Really.”

And then, to his utter humiliation, he starts crying.

Distantly, he registers Soonyoung calling his name, panicked. “Jihoon-ah, Jihoon-ah,” he’s saying, wiping Jihoon’s tears with the backs of his hands. “I’m so bad at this. What do you want me to do? Do you want a tissue? Should I hug you?”

Jihoon groans and blindly grabs the air until he gets a fistful of Soonyoung’s shirt. He yanks him closer and presses into his front, letting Soonyoung awkwardly pat his back. When a moment of sanity returns to him, Jihoon turns his face to the side so he’s not drenching his shirt, and listens to his heartbeat.

“My mom used to sing when I cried. Wanna hear?” After a wobbly hiccup that Jihoon catches loud and clear, Soonyoung starts singing.

“Baby cow, baby cow, spotted baby cow…”

It’s so stupid that it makes Jihoon cry even harder. At some point, after thoroughly dehydrating himself, he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Soonyoung was nodding off.

Jihoon watched the back of his head jerk every few seconds, rolling off his palm. It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon in Korean history class and Jihoon’s brain was fogging up in the warmth. He wasn’t even listening to the teacher anymore, just waiting for the moment Soonyoung would inevitably face-plant into his textbook.

When his face did smash into his desk with a bang, Jihoon flinched and pressed a pained smile into his fist. Across the room, Wonwoo coughed conspicuously.

Soonyoung got called to the teacher’s office afterwards for the first time ever and through the window, Jihoon saw him standing with his head down, hands behind his back. He came out five minutes later very deflated. He’d seemed lighter lately, after quitting taekwondo, so the contrast was obvious.

Jihoon stuck his hands in his pockets. “How’d it go?”

Soonyoung sighed. “I fall asleep one time…”

“You know they’re just trying to scare you.”

“I know.” He kicked lightly at the floor. “Did you eat already?”

“Not yet.” Jihoon had already started walking towards the cafeteria. “All the good stuff is probably gone. Why do teachers have so much to say? They already talk all day.”

Soonyoung let out a short laugh. “Say it a little louder, would you?”

Jihoon glanced at him. “Why did you even fall asleep?”

“Oh, I…,” and that was all the warning Jihoon got before Soonyoung took off down the hall, leaping with impressive agility onto poor Mingyu’s back, bending him nearly in half. When Jihoon caught up, Mingyu had Soonyoung’s face between his huge hands and was shaking him by his head, Soonyoung grunting and smiling at the same time.

“Are you enjoying this?” Jihoon asked him.

“Mrgh,” Soonyoung garbled, massaging his cheeks after Mingyu finally spared him. “Don’t tell me you ate already.”

“Not yet,” Mingyu said, hands on his hips. “I swear, if you try that again I’m going to throw you out the window.”

“I’d take you with me,” Soonyoung shot back.

Mingyu flexed his nonexistent biceps. "Try me."

Soonyoung bit his arm and before Mingyu could howl, Jihoon sped his way out of there.

They managed to grab whatever was left at the counter and tried to find Wonwoo, but he was chatting with their literature teacher in a corner of the cafeteria — about what, Jihoon couldn’t fathom.

“What are they even talking about?” Mingyu echoed out loud, peering over everyone’s heads to find seats.

"Probably something nerdy." Soonyoung turned to Jihoon. “That reminds me… can I borrow your notes?”

“What for? Oh, right. You fell asleep.”

“One time,” he hissed through his teeth. Miraculously, Mingyu found an empty end of a table and Soonyoung squeezed in beside Jihoon, switching tactics. “Come on. I’ll let you copy my notes next time.”

“No thanks. No one can understand your notes except you.”

“Then what? Do I have to ask Wonwoo?”

They all knew Wonwoo liked writing in shorthand so short it was practically code. Often there’d be huge sections missing in his notes where he didn’t feel the need to write anything down at all. At this point, Jihoon was 80% sure he was actually a robot.

“You can copy mine,” Jihoon said after inhaling half his jjigae and rice. “After school today.”

Soonyoung sucked on the ends of his chopsticks. “Aren’t you going to be late to hagwon?”

“It’s fine. I have time.”

Mingyu raised his head. “Since you’re not doing taekwondo anymore, are you going to join any clubs?”

Soonyoung stole a piece of Mingyu’s kimchi. “Isn’t the timing kind of weird?”

“It’s not weird. Just, make some friends and have fun.”

Jihoon and Soonyoung exchanged looks. “Easy for you to say,” Jihoon told Mingyu.

“What, am I wrong? It really is easy! I get embarrassed too but you just have to power through it.”

“That’s the right mentality,” Soonyoung acknowledged, picking limp scallions out of his jjigae. “But I don’t even know what club to join.”

“Don’t you have anything you’re interested in?”

Soonyoung hummed. “A lot of stuff sounds interesting.” He leaned forward. “How do people pick a club to join?”

Mingyu blinked. “What do you mean? Either they like the club or they want to socialize. Or both.”

“Why did I even ask you…”

Jihoon swallowed his mouthful. “Don’t you think it’s kind of meaningless to join a club for the sake of joining a club?”

Mingyu got ready to disagree, but Soonyoung, still picking at his food, said, “A little, but I feel like I should find something though.”

“You don’t have to.” He remembered Soonyoung and his shallow laugh, the self-deprecating way he said he wasn’t really good at anything. Jihoon tried again. “You know, like, don’t run if you don’t have a destination or whatever.”

Mingyu snorted. “Right, that proverb.”

“Pretty sure I read that in a book somewhere,” Soonyoung added, holding out an imaginary microphone. “But remind me one more time.”

“...Nah,” Jihoon said into it.

Soonyoung dropped the mic and Mingyu giggled.

Later, Jihoon and Soonyoung pushed two desks together in their empty classroom and Soonyoung struggled to decipher Jihoon’s tiny handwriting. It felt nice to have someone look so carefully at what he wrote and make use of it, even though Jihoon truly couldn’t give two shits about history. He watched Soonyoung add little doodles and symbols in his own notebook to help him remember things, his lips sticking out unnecessarily, and if Jihoon showed up at hagwon a little late that day no one was the wiser.

Jihoon pulled off his headphones and leaned over Yoongi’s shoulder where he was hunched over the table, scribbling on a piece of paper. He wrote in cramped, neat lines, like he organized his thoughts before they came out of his mind.

“Lyrics?”

“No, a letter,” he said, closing a sentence definitively.

“Letter? To who?”

“My older brother.” Yoongi straightened, tilting his head to review what he’d written. “He lives in America.”

Jihoon was always learning new things about him it seemed. “How much older?”

“Five years.” Yoongi looked over at him and narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Jihoon snapped his laptop shut and stuffed it in his backpack. They were meeting Mingyu and Jungkook outside the library at six and it was past time. “I was just imagining what your older brother would be like.”

“He’s more fun than me,” Yoongi assured him, folding his letter carefully into an envelope he’d already prepared. “I’m the black sheep of the family.”

Oddly, it was when he said things like that that Jihoon felt the years between them. “I think I am, too.”

“You think?” Yoongi hefted his tote bag over his shoulder. “You’ve never looked in the mirror before?”

“Well… I don’t like thinking that I’m all that different from them just because I like different things.”

They meandered through the shelves towards the exit. “In my family, it’s not about what we like. It’s about who we are.”

“In that case,” Jihoon thought of how he was little more than a carbon copy of his mother on the outside and his father on the inside, “I don’t think I’m the black sheep.”

Yoongi reached over and ruffled his hair, cooing when Jihoon batted him away, only for him to catch Jihoon’s hand and link their fingers. “You’ve done well,” he said cryptically.

Jihoon’s eyebrows cinched, ears getting hot. “Done what well?”

“Just accept the compliment.”

Jihoon was glad to feel the cool breeze when they stepped outside. Mingyu and Jungkook were already sitting on a bench by the entrance, heads bent together over something interesting on Mingyu’s phone and giggling together.

Yoongi seemed just as taken aback. Mingyu and Jungkook had literally met for the first time last week. “…Did I miss something?”

Jihoon shook his head, walking over. “No, but I should’ve known.”

“Oh, hey,” Mingyu grinned, wiggling his shoulders. “Guess what? We’re best friends now.”

Yoongi crossed his arms. “And how long did that take?”

“Mingyu works fast,” Jihoon explained, before turning to Jungkook. “Is he annoying yet?”

Jungkook snickered. “I’m still deciding.”

Reproachful, Mingyu stood up — and up, and up. “I hate how you all gang up on me. Yoongi-hyung, let’s go.”

“Lead the way,” Yoongi drawled, except he was still holding Jihoon’s hand, so Jihoon was tugged along.

Jungkook followed easily with his long legs, laughing lightly. They had only hung out a few times since Jungkook was almost always at baseball practice, but Jihoon liked the way he was soft-spoken, grounded, and a bit unpredictable. “I haven’t seen hyung like this in a while,” he commented.

Jihoon waited for him to continue. Jungkook pointed his chin at Yoongi. “He was being cute just now.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything, but there was something in his face, like he didn’t hate it. Jihoon scrambled to mark it down in his mind. It felt like he could never write fast enough.

Jihoon hasn’t been avoiding Seokmin, but it takes seeing him in person to realize just how much he hasn’t told him.

The last time they met up was a few months back at a dumpling shop in Myeongdong. It had been right after a huge deadline for an EP, so the only thing Jihoon remembers about that day is the funky retro windbreaker Seokmin had worn, and how he said he’d dyed his hair lighter to audition for a few musical roles, and something about being stressed that his mom was pushing him to “find a proper girlfriend.” Jihoon can’t recall if he contributed anything useful to the conversation really.

A while after the dumpling shop, the break up had happened. He never got around to telling Seokmin.

And now Jihoon is desperately trying not to make eye contact as they meander down a crowded street in Hongdae, with Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Hansol leading the way to karaoke.

Back in college, Jihoon used to feel a little like the odd one out between them, especially since he met Seungkwan through Seokmin, and Hansol through Seungkwan, and they all hung out together way more than they did with Jihoon. The discomfort that’s churning in his gut right now doesn’t help that feeling at all.

“We really don’t have to go to karaoke,” Seokmin says, for the third time that night.

Seungkwan types out a response on his phone. Apparently, he had agreed to help out a few other students with their year-end recitals and strained his voice when rehearsals kicked in all at once.

He shows Hansol his screen.

“‘Shut up and let me sing vicariously through you,’” Hansol reads. He gets a pat on the head for a job well done.

By this point they’re literally outside the karaoke bar, and Seokmin metaphorically wrings his hands. “Well, we’re here…”

“Even if you don’t sing, I will,” Jihoon says, cutting to the chase. His voice comes out hoarse like he hasn’t used it in a while. He turns away quickly when Seokmin looks at him, trying to ignore the curiosity and concern radiating in his direction.

Hansol saves him, patting Seokmin’s shoulder. “Me too. If you still feel guilty, you can take the tambourine.”

Seungkwan waggles a finger and links arms with Seokmin. The tambourine is mine, he mouths. I want to hear you sing.

That breaks down any of his leftover reservations, and the duo hoists him in, Jihoon trailing behind. They book a room for two hours and round the hallway, nearly crashing straight into a guy coming out of the bathroom.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” the guy exclaims as Seokmin waves him off good-naturedly. “Wait… have we met?”

Everyone swivels to stare at Jihoon. Belatedly, he realizes the question was directed at him, and his brain goes into overdrive, shuffling through faces and names like a slot machine. Someone from school? Someone he’s worked with? Everything’s still spinning when the karaoke room behind Hansol clicks open.

“Chan, they wanted to order more… Oh.” Myungho’s eyes widen. He shuts the door behind him, cutting off a K-pop throwback, and maybe it’s a trick of the colored lights but his expression seems to flicker before it smooths over into a polite smile. “We meet again.”

What are the chances, Jihoon thinks. He shifts, slightly on guard though he doesn’t know why. “Yeah.” Chan’s face suddenly comes back to him. He was one of Soonyoung’s friends from university, another dancer. “Are you guys having a reunion?”

“Yep.” Chan brightens with recognition. “That’s right, you’re Soonyoung-hyung’s friend? We met like, once, I think.”

“We did,” Jihoon smiles slightly. “Someone back in town?”

“Yeah, Junhui.” Myungho scans over Jihoon’s group. “Well, we don’t want to take up your time. Hope you have fun.” Taking that as his cue to exit, Seungkwan waves goodbye. Jihoon finds himself dragging his feet as his friends move along.

“Could you order some soda?” He hears Myungho ask.

“See, I said they’d want soda! Why’s Soonyoung-hyung pretending to be healthy?”

The last thing Jihoon catches out of the corner of his eye is Myungho tapping a finger against his lips.

Jihoon decides he’ll have one beer, and that’s his first mistake.

He kicks their session off by singing a few of his go-to ballads to very raucous applause, then sits back as Seokmin warms up his throat with full-body stretches and Seungkwan instructs Hansol to put his film degree to good use and record everything from five different angles.

One beer becomes two. He’s snacking as he drinks but Jihoon’s always been a bit of a lightweight. It’s easy to sink into the couch, beer and shrimp chip in hand, and watch Seungkwan be Seokmin’s double-tambourine cheer squad. Third beer down. Everyone hypes up Hansol when he puts on Drunken Tiger.

The music begins to sound like a comforting blanket of noise. Jihoon lies down to close his eyes for a second. He’s just so tired.

Hyung… Hyung!

Jihoon groans as someone sits him up. He immediately flops against the nearest warm object. It must be Seokmin’s back, because he can hear his laugh and then his voice. “What do we do?”

Some more mumbling. Click, clack, thump. The draft feels nice.

Then there’s a soft pat on his back. “Jihoon-ah,” someone says gently. Soonyoung. “Come on.”

Jihoon turns his head towards his voice, eyes stuck closed. He can’t seem to open them. “You’re here?”

“I’m here.” They must’ve planned to go somewhere, so Jihoon makes an effort to stand up but sits right back down again, leaning his forehead on Soonyoung’s maybe-shoulder.

“I don’t think I can walk,” he says glumly, but his mouth won’t move right.

Jihoon lets himself be maneuvered around a warm, solid form and he clamps on. He feels the vibrations of Soonyoung’s laughter and then a groan when he’s lifted and Jihoon realizes he’s on his back. Distantly, he hopes he doesn’t drop him.

“Hold tight,” Soonyoung warns.

Jihoon holds tighter. “Where are we going?”

“We’re taking you home.”

“Why?”

They start moving and Jihoon presses his cheek to Soonyoung’s neck. He’s wearing a necklace or something and the chain tickles. Jihoon relaxes as things start fading out again. Someone that sounds like Myungho says, Want me to go with you? and Soonyoung answers, No, it’s fine. I’ll text you guys.

I’ll text you, another voice says, rougher and deeper. They’re talking on the phone. When I get back to Seoul. It might be a week or so.

Sure, Jihoon says, realizing with a cold crawl up his skin that he’s starting not to care. Take care, hyung.

They’re sitting beside each other, riding the subway back to campus. What kind of music did you listen to in high school?

Hiphop mostly. Yoongi pulls out his phone. Want to listen?

You have it with you?

Yeah. Jihoon takes the offered earbud. I like to keep them close. They keep me motivated.

The train car is practically empty, but Yoongi leans against him and goes through the playlist, explaining each song in a low voice. Jihoon pinches himself periodically to stay awake, trying to commit everything to memory, but after a while he can’t help but drift off to sleep.

I like your voice, Yoongi says suddenly. Jihoon has heard that before, many times, but never so seriously. It feels like a confession coming from someone like Yoongi. You know how to use it, too. Have you thought about being a singer?

You’re the one with the voice, Jihoon wants to say. Not really. I just sing to compose mostly. 

Yoongi sighs, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair. What can’t Jihoon do? It must be nice being him.

It must be nice dating him, Jihoon quips. He shuffles the papers strewn all over the desk, and then the embarrassment hits him. Anyway, let’s focus.

I am, Yoongi teases. They dive back in.

Jihoon is scarfing down midnight takeout on the dance studio floor at Soonyoung’s university. It feels like he hasn’t eaten for days, trying to wrap up project after project with Yoongi all afternoon, and the food tastes amazing.

He lets out a long moan and Soonyoung smiles into his own bowl as he slurps. What? Jihoon splays out on the floor like a starfish, skin sticking to the hardwood from the humidity. It’s so good.                                                                                                                                 

I can tell. That was almost PG-17.

Jihoon’s phone buzzes, and he checks the screen thinking it’s Yoongi, but it’s not. It rarely is.

You know what would really make it PG-17? He turns to look at Soonyoung sideways.

Patbingsu, they say at the same time. Jinx–

I thought you said you didn’t drink. Jihoon hefts him onto a bench. They were so focused on walking away from the bus stop that they ended up by the riverside.

Yoongi puts his face in his hands. I don’t.

So what happened?

It’s nothing, I shouldn’t have let them talk me into it. I just need some time. He rubs his temples. Shit, everything’s spinning.

It’s not nothing, clearly. Jihoon sits beside him. It feels like a turning point. You can talk to me... He’s bad at this. He doesn’t know how to finish.

Thanks. Just so you know, I hate drinking, Yoongi says, wincing. It’s just sometimes I hate other things more.  

Like what?

Yoongi slides sideways and puts his head in Jihoon’s lap, closing his eyes and curling up like a child. Just know that they exist sometimes.

Okay. Delicately, he reaches down to run his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, and Yoongi turns into his touch drowsily, letting him touch. They were like a seesaw, always working in tandem, but never level.

You two match well, Seungcheol comments, slowing to a stop at the intersection. Jihoon is warm and half asleep in the passenger seat, Wonwoo passed out in the back. Isn’t this what people call soulmates?

Jihoon watches their high school pass by outside, then tilts his head to look at Seungcheol. You believe in that stuff?

Seungcheol purses his lips. I don’t not believe in it. I think it’s possible.

I don’t think I’ll ever be that lucky.

They ease into an empty spot in front of Jihoon’s dorm. You don’t think you found him already? You and Yoongi spend pretty much all your time together. You’re passionate about the same things. You can understand each other. Seungcheol folds a finger, and another, and another.

Is that what soulmates are? Jihoon muses.

If not, then what? Seungcheol shakes his head. Actually, don’t answer that. I feel like you’re going to say something that actually makes sense and it’s going to ruin my mood.

Jihoon lets out a dry laugh and Wonwoo stirs in the back. Of course I don’t have an answer. A soulmate… it would be a feeling, wouldn’t it? Like a feeling you’ve never felt before.

Seungcheol considers him for what feels like an eternity. Why do I feel like you’re telling me something I shouldn’t be hearing right now?

Jihoon stills, frowning. What do you mean?

Never mind. It’s nothing.

i’m near your school, Soonyoung texts him in the middle of an aural exercise, and the professor pins Jihoon with a sharp look. do you want your hoodie? 

sure, later, class, he types back. His phone buzzes three more times and Jihoon has to stash it in his bag, glimpsing the screen before he does.

oh, sorry, cool!

Soonyoung’s waiting outside his dorm building when he gets there.

How did you find my dorm?

Soonyoung taps his nose. I have my ways. He pulls out the hoodie Jihoon had lent him two days ago after he spilled pasta sauce over his shirt. I washed it, but it’s kind of dusty because our washing machines suck.

Jihoon is about to say it’s fine, but Yoongi walks out the front door in yesterday’s clothes, his hands in his pockets, and it happens in slow motion, two worlds colliding at once.

Soonyoung follows Jihoon’s line of sight and Yoongi pauses, caught.

Hey, Jihoon breaks the weird silence. You just woke up?

I forgot my keys, actually. Yoongi glances at Soonyoung, who’s blowing out his cheeks. Hi. Are you Jihoon’s friend?

Soonyoung smiles and bows a little. Hi. Are you Yoongi-ssi?

I guess I am, Yoongi says, ruffling his fringe, and you are?

Soonyoung, Jihoon blurts, and he can feel Soonyoung turn to look at him. Jihoon turns to look back in spite of himself and sees those colors in his eyes again, saying things he can’t quite name.

This is Soonyoung, Jihoon says, stopping over his desk. Soonyoung looks up from his textbook, blinking the math out of his eyes, and Jihoon nods at the student who had asked to see him. He was looking for you.

Hey, the guy steps closer. I’m from Class 3-3. I heard you’re good at taekwondo?

Well, yeah, Soonyoung scratches his neck. I quit though.

That’s fine. Actually, that might be better. We’re performing for the spring festival and Kwonho, this guy on our dance team, he hurt his leg. Do you know how to do flips and stuff?  

Uh... I can do tornado kicks?

Wow, okay! Can you join our team? Please? The guy bows down ninety degrees. You just have to practice with us and kick a few times near the end.

Soonyoung’s eyes are wide and he turns to Jihoon in a silent plea for help. Jihoon shrugs.

Okay, Soonyoung says finally. Sure.

I’m sorry. Yoongi’s elegant hands fold down a corner of his napkin, his coffee untouched between them.

Jihoon wants to run away, but he’s frozen in place. You had expected this, he tells himself. For a while now he had played this conversation out in his head, had planned his own responses. He’s supposed to be mature, calm, dignified.

That’s it? He can hear his own voice shaking quietly and he’s scared that Yoongi can hear it.

Yoongi keeps his gaze on the ground. You mean a lot to me. I want you to know that.

In Jihoon’s imagination, neither of them gave up so easily. I’m sorry too.

Please don’t be sorry, Yoongi says, finally glancing up at him, eyes dim. We can’t change who we are.

The auditorium is hot and sweaty and gross. Wonwoo is busy twiddling his thumbs and smiling creepily to himself, so Jihoon leans over to Mingyu. Hey, is the air fresher up there?

You’ll never know, Mingyu sniffs primly, immediately wrinkling his nose. Oh look, it’s starting.

A hiphop mash-up crackles over the speakers and rainbow lights swirl over the black figures moving on stage. It’s not bad. Jihoon is watching it but not watching it, until Soonyoung flies into the air, landing on all fours like a wild animal, and bouncing back to his feet to twist and spin like he’s weightless. He’s wearing black like everyone else but it’s like the light is drawn to him and his intensity, how quickly he moves, how much fun he seems to be having.

When it’s over, they find him surrounded by a circle of admirers in the crowded hallway. Soonyoung breaks away, soaked and still a bit breathless, and skids to a halt in front of Jihoon with a huge grin on his face. There’s a feeling in Jihoon’s chest that feels like happiness, but bigger, something he has never felt before.

I found it, Soonyoung tells him. He’s radiant.

A ringing phone wakes Jihoon up in the morning.

It’s his own, and he slaps it until it shuts up, but not before it tells him it’s 10 a.m. and Saturday. Jihoon’s first thought is that his mouth is dry. He pats around blindly and finds a convenient bottle of water on the bedside table. After guzzling half of it, he starts to laugh because he’s not feeling the effects of a hangover — just a really good sleep.

Gradually, he notices that the bed he’s in is much nicer than his own, and that this is not his room at all. There are boxes and suitcases piled against one wall. When Jihoon wanders outside, the hallway is familiar, and it leads him to Soonyoung, knocked out on the couch under one of the overly puffy jackets he loves to wear. He has one arm up shading his eyes from the sunlight, the other hugging a cushion.

Jihoon hunts around for a piece paper and a pen, but Soonyoung must not use those things because it takes Jihoon a good fifteen minutes to dig up a wayward receipt in the kitchen and a permanent marker lying by one of the boxes in the bedroom.

It occurs to him that he could just text Soonyoung, but it feels like an asshole move this particular morning.

Thanks, he writes squeakily on the back of the receipt. This is an IOU. Save to redeem from Lee Jihoon.

There’s a bunch of unopened mail on the coffee table, so Jihoon places the receipt on top of Soonyoung’s coat. He changes his mind and moves it over Soonyoung’s face, on the floor, on the kitchen counter.

Eventually, Jihoon decides to roll it up and stick it into Soonyoung’s loose fist. He stands back to admire this pointless thing he just spent thirty minutes on. He wastes another two minutes watching Soonyoung’s exhales ruffle the fluff on his jacket.

He has a feeling Soonyoung was in his dream. Jihoon can’t remember what exactly it was about, but it wasn’t a bad dream.

On his way home, he wonders how far Soonyoung carried him on his back last night.

One Sunday Jihoon was crouched on the kitchen floor nearly elbow-deep in kimchi, when his mother said, “He won’t say it, but your father is worried.”

“About what?”

“Your future.” She started to pack the kimchi into smaller containers. “I’m worried, too.”

Jihoon pushed his hair out of his eyes with a clean sleeve. He didn’t like where this was going. “Don’t be. We’ve already talked about this.”

“Jihoon-ah,” she looked at him pleadingly across the plastic basin. “We can’t stop you. I don’t know about your dad but I don’t have the energy to stop you. As your parents we’re just doing what we can to make sure you choose the best life for yourself.”

“I know.”

She stood up. “You all think you know at this age. I heard Soonyoung quit taekwondo? He’s so talented, and his parents wasted all that time and money on his lessons.”

Everyone just couldn’t stop talking about Soonyoung quitting taekwondo, and Jihoon didn’t get it. “It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t you think it’s better that he quits now instead of quitting ten years later when it’s too late?”

“At least he would’ve put those ten years to good use, Jihoon. He would be living comfortably. Ten years later he could do anything he wants because he can support himself.” She slid a container in the fridge and shut the door. “But who knows what will happen now?” 

Jihoon got up and threw his plastic gloves in the trash. He could feel his hands shaking a little. She didn’t see Soonyoung at the spring festival, the sweat dripping down his brow, and his smile. “Mom, Soonyoung doesn’t need your approval. And I made my decision to study music, whether you and dad like it or not.”

She sighed, long-suffering. “Fine. Do what you want. I’m just a messenger in this household.”

It took a few minutes of deep breathing, standing there in the kitchen, before he clenched his jaw and hefted a container of kimchi into the fridge. He held the door open for his mom so she could stack the last one.

“So what’s Soonyoung planning to study?”

“Dance,” Jihoon responded warily. He was still frowning and tried to reign in his face.

“Dance? Well, he’s a hard worker for sure.” His mom shook her head and almost laughed. “It’s really true. You can lead a horse to the stream, but you can’t make him drink.”

“We’re not horses, mom. We’re people.”

“Yes, yes,” she patted him on the shoulder. “I hope you two stay friends for a long time. You need a friend when you go off the beaten path. As people.”

“Don’t worry,” Jihoon said. “I couldn’t get rid of him if I tried.”

Chapter Text

going shopping with mingyu for his cousin’s wedding, Soonyoung texts him Friday afternoon, a week after he’d hauled Jihoon back to his apartment. wanna come?

Jihoon sticks his lunch — leftover Chinese takeout — into the studio’s lounge microwave.

come to the wedding?

haha very funny
shopping
he said he’s too scared to ask you
why is he scared???

i really don’t think i can help mingyu with fashion

he just wants company
let me guess
he was the one who told wonwoo

The microwave beeps and Jihoon bites his lip, transferring his hot food to the table.

yeah
but i told him i wasn’t mad

well prove it
we’re meeting at lotte world in sinsadong
7:30pm

i’ll think about it
will wonwoo be there?

he’s getting his wisdom teeth removed >< lolol
did you put a curse on him or something
??
????
wait serious question

nah that’s just karma i think

“Hyung,” Mingyu gapes, when Jihoon shows up at the mall at 7:30 in his work flannel and ripped jeans. “What are you doing here?”

“I invited him,” Soonyoung grins, pleased with himself. “I told him not to bite.”

Mingyu, who has a better sense of self-preservation, doesn’t look so sure. Jihoon snaps his teeth and laughs when he actually flinches a little.

“Why do you look so worried?” Jihoon thumps Mingyu’s back on his way in. “I’m not hungry right now.”

Before Mingyu can even process that Soonyoung launches into an interrogation. “Are you looking for something casual or fancy? Where’s the wedding? Is there a theme?”

If his intention was to make Jihoon and Mingyu break the ice, then Soonyoung is certainly the right icepick. Mingyu’s brain switches gears immediately. “Something medium formal? Not a suit. Maybe a vest or something… I’ve always wanted to try a vest.”

Jihoon leans forward to talk past Soonyoung, who had strategically inserted himself between them. “Are you sure you’re not shopping for yourself?”

“I can shop for myself and the wedding,” Mingyu insists. He looks Jihoon in the eye though, and it’s an improvement.

They cycle through a few shops with Mingyu naturally taking the lead. It’s been so long since Jihoon’s gone shopping that he’d forgotten how nice it is to just walk around and empty his mind. The great thing about Mingyu is that he’s decisive and usually knows exactly what he wants. Soonyoung, on the other hand, disappears after the fourth store and Jihoon shoos Mingyu ahead so he can circle back to collect him.

He finds Soonyoung trying on hats in the discount section. “Hey, when did you wander off? We almost left without you.”

Soonyoung sets down a ridiculous feathered fedora that clashes terribly with his athleisure and runs his fingers through his hair, a little furry from the static. “I’ve been wanting to get more accessories lately, but maybe I just need a haircut.”

“For your side gig?”

“…Right,” Soonyoung tugs up the collar of his windbreaker, hiding the bottom half of his face. He probably does need a haircut — his bangs are falling into his eyes. “I forgot I told you.”

“Too bad you did.” Jihoon reaches up to muss Soonyoung’s hair even more, but instead of trying to defend himself Soonyoung just grabs Jihoon’s wrist and uses his hand to comb out his hair. It’s surprisingly soft considering how many times Soonyoung had bleached it to get to silver.

“You better pay up if you want my silence,” Jihoon reminds him, reclaiming his arm.

Soonyoung makes a face as they leave the store. “Can I use your IOU to cancel the debt?”

And there it is. For the past week Jihoon had heard nothing from Soonyoung about the receipt, no photo, no gloating; he was beginning to think it had accidentally fallen under the couch or something.

Jihoon feels strangely relieved. “If you want. There’s only one of those, just saying.”

Soonyoung contemplates for a second. “I’ll save it.”

“If you want,” Jihoon repeats.

“I’m not gonna use a Master Ball on any old pikachu.” Soonyoung clenches his fist. “I’m saving it.”

“Then I want sushi this week. Omakase.” Jihoon takes stock of his expression. Despite having seen Soonyoung’s new place Jihoon wonders whether he can actually afford it.

Soonyoung just spreads his arms out wide. “Your wish is my command.”

“Oh,” Soonyoung blurts when they spot Mingyu standing by a bench near some fake trees, absorbed in his phone. “You go ahead.”

“Why?”

“I wanna check out a store really quick,” Soonyoung says evasively, and Jihoon senses what this is about.

“I can go with you — it’s not like he’ll know which store we went into.”

“Nope, no, you can’t.” Sure enough, Soonyoung’s ears are pink. “Just cover for me.”

Jihoon squints after Soonyoung’s back as he slips away into a flashy menswear shop, before reluctantly approaching Mingyu.

“Hey. Did you buy it?”

Mingyu lifts his haul, his grin boyish. “Yep. Had to get new slacks too since my old ones were too short. I think I passed 188 cm last month.”

“Careful, if your head gets any bigger you won’t fit in the doorway.”

“I’m very good at ducking, thank you very much.” Mingyu looks around. “Where’s Soonyoung?”

“He said he’ll meet us at the food court.”

He sneakily texts Soonyoung to let him know and is hit with déjà vu when Mingyu finds them a place to sit amidst all the teenagers hogging the tables. Mingyu even pulls out a chair for Jihoon, and Jihoon raises his eyebrows.

“Do you want ice cream?” Mingyu offers casually, crossing his legs at the ankles — sideways, because they’re freakishly long like the rest of him.

“Not really. Why, were you going to treat me?”

Mingyu shrugs. “It would make me feel better.”

“I already told you,” Jihoon rolls his eyes, “I’m over the Wonwoo thing. I’m not mad.”

“I don’t know… you paused for a second.”

Jihoon takes in all bright signs advertising pizza and extra cheesy tteokbokki and castella cake. He wishes the tables weren’t so close together.

Jihoon tugs on his earlobe, where the scar of a piercing had healed shut. “I trust you.”

Mingyu points at himself and looks around like, Who, me?

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

“I know,” Mingyu finally says, his lips pursed like he’s trying hard not to smile. “I believe you.”

Right then Jihoon spots Soonyoung, sneaking up behind Mingyu cartoon-style. “So… besides the slacks, what did you get?”

“Oh, I found this really nice sh—”

“Boo!”

Mingyu hugs himself and Jihoon cackles. “Oh my god, I knew it, I could hear you breathing behind me.”

“Nice try, I was holding my breath,” Soonyoung singsongs, folding himself into the chair next to Jihoon. He slides a nondescript bag underneath the seat.

Jihoon will admit he’s a little curious about what Soonyoung wears to his secret gig. Does he change up the theme? How terrible do they get? Why did he try on that hideous fedora earlier?

Jihoon tilts his head to get a better look and Soonyoung kicks him under the table. Hey, he mouths in warning, when Mingyu gets distracted by a pair of rowdy toddlers running by.

What, Jihoon mouths back.

Soonyoung pulls out his phone and Jihoon’s buzzes in his back pocket. He struggles a bit to shimmy it out. Soonyoung’s text reads:

don’t look

Jihoon texts back discreetly in his lap.

why
weren’t you wearing this kind of stuff at bbq that time

that was diff
different
you didn't know what it was for

what difference does it make
forget it

you forget it first

shut up
you first

you
first
you

stop

first
you

stop it

first
you
first

Jihoon realizes Mingyu’s watching them with his arms crossed. “Why are you guys glaring at each other while you’re texting?”

Soonyoung smoothly zips his phone into one of the many unnecessary pockets on his jacket. “Does anyone want ice cream?”

“Is it your treat?” Jihoon asks.

Soonyoung narrows his eyes. “…Sure.”

“Mint choco for me,” Mingyu chimes in. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Get me vanilla in a cone,” Jihoon adds, though Soonyoung’s already walking off.

Mingyu rests his chin in his hand. “I thought you said you didn’t want ice cream?”

Jihoon jerks his head at Soonyoung standing in line. “He’s paying.”

“Good point.”

“Guys,” Mingyu says. He’s been staring wistfully at the students hanging out with their friends, clearly reminiscing about high school. He pauses for a moment in front of a huge ad for an upcoming rom-com. “Remember Soonyoung’s epic crush on Jihae?”

“Hey, that was nothing to be ashamed of! In an alternate universe we would’ve totally dated.”

“Your overconfidence is so attractive,” Mingyu sighs, irritated but fond. “But that’s not what I meant. I just thought of all the stupid things we used to do to figure out if she liked you back.”

“The bread incident.” Jihoon shakes his head. “That was a fail.”

“The sock incident was way worse,” Mingyu groans. “I still don’t know whose sock that was. Who even takes off their socks for physical ed?”

Soonyoung looks up at him wonderingly. “What sock incident? Why don’t I remember this?”

Mingyu pats his head. “It’s okay, we know you don’t have much room up there. Anyway, it was a shame it didn’t work out. She was too cool. Wonder what she’s doing now?”

“She’s getting married actually,” Soonyoung says, tapping his chin. “In Paris I think? Her girlfriend is a model.”

“How do you know? Oh right, I forgot you follow each other on social media.” Mingyu slumps. “Man, I’m jealous.”

Jihoon snorts. “You model, why are you jealous?”

Mingyu waves a dismissive hand. “I’m talking about Jihae. She literally dropkicked that bully in our second year, do you remember that?”

Soonyoung clutches his heart and swoons. “Please, don’t remind me.”

“You wasted so many hours of my life talking about how you two were destined to be,” Jihoon gripes. “Give them back.”

Maybe it’s the subject matter but Soonyoung glances at him, just for a split-second, like he’s gauging whether he’s actually upset. Jihoon hates when people do that, when they check on him like they can’t ask him outright, but he finds he doesn’t mind. He bumps into Soonyoung to let him know he’s fine.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Mingyu is saying. “Like let’s say soulmates do exist. How will I know when I meet my soulmate? Am I just supposed to know?”

Soonyoung really thinks about it. “Isn’t that the point? That they’re different from everyone else?”

“Yeah, but how? Am I scientifically more attracted to them or something? Are we supposed to like all the same things? Do I find out when I catch them picking their nose and I think that’s cute?”

Jihoon lazily catalogues the shop displays as they walk past and sees Soonyoung’s reflection shrug. “I don’t know. Isn’t it just a feeling?” 

Jihoon whips around. Mingyu crosses his arms. “What feeling? Be specific.”

Soonyoung’s face scrunches, and Jihoon catalogues that. “Like an amazing feeling you’ve never felt before?”

“Huh? Isn’t that just love?”

Jihoon holds his breath.

“No… I don’t know.” Soonyoung shrinks further into his jacket. “Why are you asking me?” He turns to Jihoon like he’s going to ask him instead, but goes silent when he catches him staring.

Jihoon turns away. “Don’t look at me for answers.”

“Hm,” Mingyu says, supremely unimpressed. “You two are no help.”

Soonyoung puffs out his chest. “I can be helpful. Go on, hit me with another one.”

They’re outside now, and Mingyu pinches his cheek. “Aw, some other time. I have to head to the clinic.”

Jihoon waves goodbye after Mingyu as he trots off to the subway station, and Soonyoung rubs his cheek. “He does realize I’m older than him, right?”

“He has his life together,” Jihoon reminds him gravely. “He’s older than the both of us.”

Soonyoung rests his arm over Jihoon’s shoulders. It’s gotten chillier after sundown, so he allows it. “Life would be so good if Mingyu were our hyung. Being old blows.”

“So in an alternate universe,” Jihoon says, delineating with his hands, “you’re dating Jihae and Mingyu is your hyung?”

“Correction, I would have dated Jihae. She looks really happy with her fiancé… It’d be kind of sad if they didn’t get to meet in another universe.” Soonyoung covers his eyes dramatically. “I can’t be the one to hold her back from true love.”

“Write a novel,” Jihoon laughs, “I’d read it.”

“You’re the only one who’d read it anyway.” Soonyoung stretches, dangling the mysterious shopping bag in the air almost tauntingly. “Might as well tell you in person.”

They stroll past kids swarming a cotton candy machine and a sizzling bungeoppang cart making the air sweet, young couples spilling out of open store fronts. Eventually Jihoon nudges Soonyoung, letting him know that it’s getting hard to walk, and Soonyoung drops his arm.

Jihoon tries to stick his hands in his pockets out of habit, but realizes he’s wearing jeans. “What’s the big deal about the clothes?”

Soonyoung cradles the bag protectively against his chest. “Why do you want to know? You never care about what I wear.”

“That’s because we pretty much wear the same thing.” Jihoon eyes the bag. “Does it bother you that I know?”

“No. Well, a little, but that’s not it.” Soonyoung stops hugging the bag. “It’s weird because the fancy clothes and everything, they’re… not me. They’re like a costume.”

Jihoon dodges a small family pushing a baby carriage. “You’re worried a costume is going to change how I see you? Am I a kid?”

“No, you’re not.”

He’s deliberately not looking at Jihoon anymore, and Jihoon watches the shadowed underside of his jaw. It’s hard to tell with the sun already set but he could be a bit warm around the ears.

“Forget it,” Soonyoung mutters. He pulls out what’s in the bag and shows Jihoon — a folded pair of deep red slacks, a long skinny scarf of some kind, something satin black. “You’re right. It’s just stupid clothing.”

Jihoon feels like a dick. “I was just joking.” Soonyoung nods, but he’s quiet. Jihoon wants to him to say something, anything. He plucks a topic off the top of his head. “What was it you said earlier?”

Soonyoung glances over. “About what?”

“…Soulmates.” Jihoon shrivels internally.

“What about them?”

“Do you really believe in them.”

“Why not?” Soonyoung is still looking at him, not so much incredulous as he is curious. “Do you?”

“Haven’t really thought about it,” Jihoon hedges. “I don’t know if it’s a science though, like Mingyu thinks.”

“Ew, science,” Soonyoung gags. “Of course it’s not science. Honestly I was saving my breath earlier, but I don’t think anyone can know for sure that they’ve met their soulmate. It’s sub…” He trails off.

Jihoon smirks. “Subjective?”

“Subjective. Like maybe someone thinks they’ve met their soulmate but they’ve just never met someone better. Or maybe someone could have many soulmates. I like that idea.”

“You would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just mean you–” Jihoon stops himself. What does he mean? That Soonyoung has enough energy for it? That doesn’t sound right. That he’s easy to love? Jihoon flips that one over to dissect later, on his own.

“You have… a big heart?”

Soonyoung laughs at him.

“What?”

He shakes his head, the giggles gradually petering out. His hand brushes Jihoon’s back, a passing touch, feather light. “You too.”

Jihoon spends most of Sunday hunched over his laptop at home, trying to figure out what’s keeping him from finishing this one song (file name july2219_draftb.cpr) he just can’t seem to finish. He doesn’t love it yet and maybe that’s the problem. He adjusts the track so many times that at some point in the evening his old laptop just gives up and crashes Cubase. Thankfully Jihoon always saves every five minutes so he doesn’t lose any progress — if playing the same two seconds over and over again even counts as progress.

He whips up some ramen easy and decides to go on a run to clear his head, which, after that day at the mall, he’d realized is a thing he should do from time to time. It’s cool outside so Jihoon pulls on some loose shorts and an old hoodie, puts a pop-y playlist on shuffle on his phone, and heads for the Han River.

It’s around 6 p.m. on the riverside and the trail he’s on is populated with bikers, elderly couples with weights, and other lonely joggers like Jihoon. It’s been a while since he’s worked on cardio. Every other song or so he has to slow to a walk and catch his breath.

He’s walking again, almost by the bridge, when it comes on.

The recording is raw. He hears his own voice and the muffled keyboard accompaniment he’s playing in the background. And as he slows to a stop he remembers Yoongi sitting on the bench beside him, his right hand managing the pre-recorded loops, his left on the lower keys, and then at the bridge, the rap he’d hidden from Jihoon until this recording because he said it was supposed to be a gift.

Jihoon pauses the song. His thumb hovers over the trash icon.

For some crazy reason he has the urge to call Soonyoung and ask what he would do, which is completely ridiculous. It’s that thought that makes Jihoon finally hit delete and continue scrolling down the list of recordings he’d dreaded opening until now, deleting every one.

Technically, they’ll still be in the trash for another two months because phones are a little too sympathetic to mistakes nowadays. But he did it. He cleared the folder.

Jihoon takes a deep breath and jogs back home.

He isn’t prepared to run into Wonwoo in the headphone aisle of his go-to electronics store, but before Jihoon can decide to back out of any social interaction, Wonwoo looks up and says, “Oh.”

They stand there for a good minute, sussing each other out. Jihoon can hear the tinny girl group song from the headphones on Wonwoo’s head.

Wonwoo takes them off. “This place has a big selection. I don’t really know what to pick.”

Jihoon ventures over. “What are you looking for?”

“Just good headphones. Soybean chewed up my old ones.”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. “Soybean?”

“Oh, yeah. I adopted a cat.” Idly Wonwoo scratches his cheek. “I’m bad with names.”

“It’s easy to remember,” Jihoon offers and Wonwoo cracks a smile. “Seungcheol-hyung’s cool with it?”

Wonwoo picks up another pair of headphones, smiling wider. “He keeps trying to pick her up and she hates it.”

“I should drop by sometime.”

“You’re welcome to,” Wonwoo says, setting that pair of headphones back on the display as well. His good cheer fades. “I’m sorry, by the way. I heard I said something I shouldn’t have. Soonyoung lectured me over the phone already so you don’t have to waste your breath, but you can if you’d like.”

Jihoon feels like he’s had this conversation fifty times already, and everyone seems to think it’s okay for him to treat them like his personal punching bag, just because he might be feeling sad. Case in point, Wonwoo had texted Jihoon weeks ago asking if he was doing okay, and Jihoon had never gotten around to responding. He left him on read. For weeks.

Jihoon sighs. “I should be saying sorry. I don’t care—” He rephrases. “I’m not upset. It’s my fault for not wanting to face the truth.”

“You know it’s not your fault either, right?” Wonwoo crosses his arms, and he’s probably wearing the same outfit he slept and gamed in all week but just by having his glasses on he looks stern. “Everyone sucks at dealing with breakups. I’m sure it’s even harder when you have to tell people what happened over and over again.”

“Is it?” Jihoon eyes Wonwoo. “It’s not just because we suck at dealing with these things?”

Wonwoo pushes up his glasses. “Maybe. I can’t say I’m being 100% objective, but that still doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He lets out a short laugh. “‘These things’? You mean emotions?”

“You understood me.”

Wonwoo puts his hands on his hips and Jihoon curses Mingyu for having passed that habit on. “Okay, sure,” Wonwoo begins, “I haven’t cried in front of someone since the third grade, but I cry all the time when I’m alone. Soybean sees everything.”

Jihoon reels back. “Ew. Didn’t ask.”

“You disgust me. What I mean is, you have your Soybean and that’s all you need. Apparently, there’s no right way to deal with ‘these things.’”

“Great, I’ll just go adopt a cat.”

“You have Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says.

Jihoon instantly tenses as the memory of his humiliating breakdown on the floor of Soonyoung’s living room flashes across his vision. He fights to keep a straight face. “Did he say something to you?”

Wonwoo smiles a kind of patronizing smile. “Don’t be too surprised, but we all grew up together.” He tilts his head a fraction, tone faux nonchalant when he asks, “Why, did something happen?”

Jihoon shrugs in quiet relief. “Just asking.”

Wonwoo squints almost imperceptibly and Jihoon turns to the headphones on display. “I have a few good recommendations if you want my help.”

“Thanks, that’d be great.”

“Okay,” Jihoon points down the aisle. “We should start there for something more affordable. You’re looking at all the newest releases right now.”

“Got it.” As Wonwoo passes Jihoon he mutters something under his breath, part of which sounds suspiciously like “ask Mingyu.”

“Go ahead,” Jihoon tells him.

“What?”

“Oh, I said you go ahead.” Jihoon knows he’s won this round. “I’m going to grab something first.”

He hums a lighthearted tune on his way to the dongle section, feeling suddenly generous, like he could treat Soonyoung to two rounds of barbecue.

Chapter Text

Beomju doesn’t spring the dinner on Jihoon so much as he subtly hints at it over the slow course of two weeks. When Thursday evening arrives (Jihoon’s ears verging on painfully oversensitive from being subjected to all sorts of sounds), Beomju shrugs on his jacket and waits ominously for him to also grab his things.

Jihoon scrolls through the mix again, saves, resaves, and finally gives in, looking over his shoulder.

“Hyung.”

“Jihoon,” Beomju says, “I know you haven’t decided yet, but come with me.”

“Do I even have a choice?” Jihoon picks at a loose thread his T-shirt, before ripping it off.

“No.” Beomju’s mouth quirks. “Are you worried we’ll gang up on you?”

That, Jihoon thinks, but moreso that he isn’t confident he can say no to any job offer they might make him after being plied with food and drinks by Beomju, who he respects immensely, and their label’s CEO, who’ll probably be paying for said food and drink.

Jihoon sighs internally out of politeness and shuts off the monitors. “Who else will be there?”

“Just a new director who’s worked on a few of Nabi’s music videos. I wanted to meet her. Saw some of her work, really creative.” Beomju grabs his keys off the table to lock up. “I promise you this isn’t anything definitive.”

He lets Jihoon stew in his own thoughts on the train ride to Apgujeong, which is a testament to their well-oiled work dynamic. The bar is a five-minute walk from the station, and once they’re outside, Jihoon looks up at the minimalistic wooden sign hanging above the door. Definitely one of those trendy, East-West fusion places, and most definitely expensive.

“I’m a little worried about the drinking part,” Jihoon hedges.

Beomju slaps him on the back. “I’ll take care of that.”

They both know there’s not much he can do, but Jihoon can’t help but feel better with him here. It’s yet another thing to think about — potentially getting promoted, getting more work, and doing that work without Beomju.

Their CEO and the music video director are waiting in one of the half-moon booth seats lining the wall. They exchange pleasantries, learn the director’s name (Seo Insun), and let CEO Kim pour them wine. Beomju slides in first to chat with Insun, leaving Jihoon on the edge of the booth, face-to-face with their boss.

“Jihoon, you’re a Hanyang alumnus, right?”

Jihoon nods as he takes a baby sip of his wine, wishing he had beer instead. “I majored in composition.”

Kim smiles. “I know a lot of Hanyang alumni, though I didn’t go there myself. I did advertising and PR at Chung-Ang.”

Jihoon perks up, surprised. “I know a few people from Chung-Ang.”

“Music majors?”

“Dancers.”

“My wife’s best friend was principal at her ballet company,” Kim says, casually surveying the interior design. “Toughest person I’ve ever met.”

Jihoon follows his line of sight, taking stock of the sloped ceiling, peculiar lamps, and the long bar that stretches the length of the opposite wall, tall stools occupied by people who are casually, but very well, dressed.

“I know what you mean,” he says, and just as the words leave his mouth he spots a familiar gray (“silver,” Soonyoung’s voice interjects) head bobbing its way along the bar and stopping, bending down, to speak to a woman in a red blouse. Her earrings glint in the low light and she whispers something back.

“Jihoon?”

Jihoon almost jumps. He snaps his jaw shut and glances around the table. Beomju raises his eyebrows ever so slightly and Jihoon clears his throat. Insun had asked him something. “Sorry. What was that?”

“I was just saying it’s a small world,” Insun says, her voice low and smooth. “We’re connected through a friend of a friend.”

“We are?” Jihoon asks, his mind still reeling from what he’d witnessed. Then, just to confirm: “You and I?”

Thankfully Insun doesn’t seem offended, just amused. “Yeah. Does the name Kim Namjoon ring a bell? He said you know Gloss.”

Oh.

CEO Kim snaps his fingers. “The rapper Gloss? He made some waves with that mixtape last year, didn’t he?”

“I didn’t know you kept up with the underground,” Beomju says, and Jihoon finds it easy to look across the room to the bar, searching for something specific that would distract him from this conversation, but the silver and red are gone.

“Oh, you know… I keep my ear to the ground.”

“Was that a dad joke?”

Jihoon takes a long gulp of wine.

Turns out Beomju does manage to fend off a few refills of Jihoon’s glass by distracting CEO Kim with 80’s music trivia, but in lieu of participating in the conversation, Jihoon eats and drinks more than he intends to, glancing every so often at the bar. Beomju and Insun switch seats at one point and Jihoon learns that in college she spent a semester abroad in Italy studying art history and philosophy, which certainly explains why she and Namjoon are friends.

“I’ve helped him with a few small video projects for his mixtapes,” Insun says, twirling her glass the way Jihoon’s probably supposed to. “I know he and Gloss go way back, but I haven’t met him. How did you two meet?”

“…In university,” Jihoon replies after a pause. “I’ve never met Namjoon either.”

Insun smiles thoughtfully. “Funny, isn’t it? The way we’re all connected but so far apart sometimes.”

“Right.” Jihoon suddenly feels everything he’s consumed tonight catch up to him. “I have to— Excuse me for a second.”

Jihoon makes a beeline towards the restrooms, rubbing his forehead. He has a migraine or something, he can’t quite tell. He could really do with some fresh air, but the exit is in plain view of their table and that would just be rude.

Inside, he splashes his wine-heated face with cold water and stands there, letting it drip back into the sink. He stalls enough that they probably think he’s at least mildly constipated, and then readies himself for more draining chitchat and the mental gymnastics of figuring out whether Insun actually knows he’d dated “Gloss” but is just too polite to say it.

The door swings outward as Jihoon reaches for it and he walks straight into a chest. Hands grab his elbows to steady him and Jihoon gets a whiff of cologne before he pulls back.

“Ah,” he cradles his nose, “sorry, I wasn’t…”

He looks up.

Soonyoung’s hair is done up again, parted to fall over his forehead on one side, but he’s wearing something flashier than the standard blazer and button-up: a complicated, striped shirt hangs loose on his frame with a long ribbon tied around his neck to match, the shirt tucked into faux leather pants. As realization dawns on Soonyoung’s face, Jihoon instinctively grabs the end of the ribbon, tugging Soonyoung inside the bathroom before he can flee.

“I knew it,” Jihoon blurts, hushed. Soonyoung’s hands hover over his own neck and Jihoon quickly lets the ribbon go. “Shit, sorry — did I hurt you?”

Soonyoung swallows, straightening the knot. “No.” He looks a little dazed though, eyebrows furrowed. Jihoon notices he’s even wearing something on his eyes, like makeup. That’s a new revelation. “Am I dreaming right now?”

Jihoon pokes his cheek. “Nope.”

Soonyoung groans. He spins to face the wall, pressing his hands and his forehead on the tile.

“You—”

“Give me a minute.” True to his word, Soonyoung heaves a deep sigh, clearing his lungs, and turns around. “Okay. What are you doing here?”

“Drinking with my boss.” Jihoon cocks an eyebrow. “You?”

Soonyoung’s ears get pinker and he regards Jihoon warily. “Really? You’re really here with your boss?”

“I didn’t come here to catch you.” He gives the flashy outfit another obvious onceover. He’s not even trying to get a rise out of Soonyoung when he says, “You did a good job though.”

Despite knowing Soonyoung would never dress like this, it still suits him; it’s his confidence or maybe his posture or both. Jihoon can’t quite pinpoint it.

Soonyoung struts up to the sinks and checks himself out in the mirror, pretending to slick back the sides of his hair. “Seriously, I look so good I almost don’t recognize myself.”

There’s an honest edge to it and Jihoon steps closer. “Please. I knew it was you from across the room with the lights barely on.”

Soonyoung scrunches his nose. “That’s because it’s you.”

“What about me?”

“Just, you know…” Soonyoung tosses his head but his bangs don’t move, stiff with product, and Jihoon stifles a laugh. Soonyoung starts laughing too when he catches him in the mirror. “Hey — I tried so hard not to move my head the whole night, my neck hurts.”

Jihoon reaches up to pinch a lock of hair and rubs his forefinger and thumb together. “What’d you use?”

Soonyoung stares up at his own bangs, his mouth curving upside down like that would help him see better. He waves a hand. “This and wax.”

“You did good.”

Soonyoung grins, slow and wide. “Is there a hidden camera in here or—”

Just then they hear an agitated voice outside the bathroom door. Panicking, Jihoon herds Soonyoung into a stall and locks the door right in time.

“—Yes, Father. I know,” CEO Kim says. Jihoon peeks through the crack of the door to make sure, and there he is, standing by the sinks looking frustrated. Jihoon exhales with his nose and leans delicately against one wall of the stall. Damn his instinct to hide — now it’s ten times more awkward.

What? Who is it, Soonyoung mouths, bewildered.

Jihoon shakes his head. My boss.

Soonyoung grimaces. They both glance over when Kim speaks again.

“No. I’m not giving this up. The label’s doing well right now, our artists are happy. I’m happy. If you and mother are upset about the money you lent me then I’ll pay it back in full.” A pause. “Listen, I— Let’s discuss the dinner another time, I’m out with my colleagues. I’m hanging up.”

Kim’s long-suffering sigh echoes on the tiles before the faucet hisses to life, and Jihoon hadn’t noticed how close Soonyoung had come to get a glimpse through the wider crack on Jihoon’s side of the door until he gets a whiff of the cologne again, spiced and sweet. He turns around and Soonyoung backs up so fast he nearly bumps into the toilet paper dispenser.

Jihoon slaps a hand over Soonyoung’s mouth to muffle his gasp. Soonyoung slaps a hand over his to secure it, eyes squeezed shut.

With bated breath they listen to CEO Kim crank out some paper towels and leave, the bathroom door thumping shut behind him. Jihoon exhales and pulls his hand away. Right in the middle of his palm is a faint pink mark. He holds it up for Soonyoung to see.

“What is this?”

Soonyoung smacks his lips. “Lip tint.” He smirks, preening a little. Now that he mentions it, Jihoon notices the color on his mouth. “I did good, right?”

Jihoon feels like he needs air again. He wipes the tackiness off on his jeans and unlocks the stall.

“Why were we hiding from your boss?”

Jihoon opens his mouth and closes it. “I don’t know. I panicked.” He scratches his ear. “We’ve been in here too long. Isn’t someone waiting for you?”

Soonyoung sniffs, shifting uncomfortably. “She had to take a phone call, so I left the room.”

Jihoon nods. Everyone at the table is probably wondering where he is now, and at some point CEO Kim is going to realize Jihoon was supposed to be in the bathroom, but — “A private room, huh?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Soonyoung pleads.

“I told you, I’m not judging.”

“Right…” He squints at Jihoon’s face. “Hey, did you drink a lot? You’re red.”

Jihoon’s hand flies up to feel his cheek. It’s very warm. “Just some wine. My tolerance is getting worse.”

“You should listen to your body,” Soonyoung chides, wandering over to the sinks. “Anyway, you go first. I need to kill some time in here.”

“Alright.” Jihoon commands his feet to move. “Have fun at work,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Mm,” Soonyoung says, and then the noise of the restaurant swallows up the sound. Jihoon steels himself before heading back to the table.

CEO Kim doesn’t comment on Jihoon’s whereabouts, though Beomju does give him a funny look when he finally slides into his seat; in fact, dinner ends not long afterwards with the conversation in safe territory. Kim foots the bill (probably eager to go, Jihoon thinks) and even calls two taxis to take them home.

Just as Jihoon’s about to relax, Kim speaks up. “Join me?”

Jihoon glances over at Beomju and Insun as they get into the other car, before nodding yes. Kim must sense his reluctance because he laughs heartily, which does ease Jihoon’s nerves a bit.

It’s terribly silent in the backseat for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Kim finally says. “You must’ve heard that call I took in the bathroom. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Jihoon shakes both his head and his hand vehemently. “Not at all. Really. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but…”

“Bad timing, I understand.” Kim smiles at him kindly. Beomju had told Jihoon that the CEO was in his late thirties, but he definitely seems older, even fatherly. Jihoon wonders vaguely whether he has kids. “Well, to give you some context, I come from a family of entrepreneurs. My parents would rather me do business, but… music is my calling.”

“I get that,” Jihoon says, rueful. A bit surprised too, that CEO Kim cares more about the music than the business.

“I appreciate that. I do like you, Jihoon-ssi.” Jihoon cocks his head and Kim explains, “Beomju has a lot of faith in your abilities. So do I. I really do hope you’d consider filling in when he enlists.”

Jihoon considers his words carefully. “I’m considering it seriously. I think I just need a little more time.”

Kim nods. “We’re happy to have you however long you stay.”

“Thank you,” Jihoon murmurs, and he means it. He eases into his seat a little more, and as the streetlights flash by he swears he can see some pink still staining his palm, like a bizarre good luck charm.

The encounter at the electronics store erased any reservations Wonwoo might’ve had about reaching out to Jihoon, because he starts texting Jihoon nonstop. Soon, Jihoon is being harassed every hour or so for advice about shoe laces, cushions, jumbo extension cords, plastic plants that look real, and other random objects Wonwoo needs to buy.

One Saturday morning, Jihoon heads straight to Dongdaemun Market where they’d agreed to meet. He doesn’t even bother saying hello when he finds Wonwoo in front of a leather goods stall, bent over a table lined with toys and knickknacks.

“Are you trying to replace your whole apartment?” Jihoon demands. “Am I your home shopping channel?”

“Hey.” Wonwoo holds up stick with a string and a leather fish attached at the end. “Do you think Soybean will like this?”

“I don’t like this,” Jihoon manages, with as much calm as he can muster. “Why am I here?”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I should’ve explained better. Soybean’s been chewing on anything she can find and there are a few things I need to replace before Seungcheol notices.”

“You’re fucked,” Jihoon tells him bluntly.

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Not yet. I have about one more day, max. Please help me out?” When Jihoon doesn’t budge, he adds, “For the cat?”

And because Jihoon had been brainwashed by all those cute pictures Wonwoo sent over, he groans. “For the cat.”

If there’s one saving grace, it’s that Wonwoo had come prepared. He seems to know exactly what he needs to buy and is quick to haggle, snagging deal after deal with the aunties in particular. He even buys a cable organizer to store his wires and cords. While Jihoon still thinks it would be easier to just get rid of the cat, he has a feeling that Wonwoo would sooner get rid of Seungcheol.

“Why do you even need me here?” Jihoon asks over an hour later, trailing Wonwoo in a flower shop.

“Moral support?” Wonwoo suggests. He rubs the leaf of a stout plant and smells it. “Oh, this is nice. Lemon balm.” He holds the pot out to Jihoon, who sniffs it cautiously.

“If you don’t need me, I’m going.” Jihoon’s too drained to be mad. “I have things to do.”

Wonwoo smells another plant. “I won’t keep you against your will. Just give me a second — I want to get something that won’t accidentally poison Soybean.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Do you guys even keep plants at the apartment?”

“We did,” comes Wonwoo’s voice from behind a rack of herbs. His head pops up to clarify. “But the humans killed them, not the cat.”

Jihoon chuckles at that. “It’s a miracle you two haven’t killed each other after living together so long.”

Wonwoo emerges with another small plant, this one fuzzy with the leaves rimmed bright purple. He hands it off to the cashier. “Cheol-hyung’s fun,” he says ominously. “We don’t bother each other.”

Jihoon didn’t mind his dorm roommate in university, but he can’t imagine going back to sharing a space now that he’s had a taste of living alone. Maybe he just hasn’t found the Seungcheol to his Wonwoo.

“Don’t you ever want to try living alone?”

Wonwoo shields his face from the sunlight when they step outside, looking down the bustling line of open stalls. “Of course I do. But I trust I’ll know it’s time to move out when I actually want to move out.”

“Huh,” Jihoon says, just as Wonwoo says, in that infuriatingly calm way of his, “Oh, look, it’s Soonyoung.”

It actually is Soonyoung, there, further down the street in an oversized T-shirt. He’s running a hand through his hair and bowing, backing up as the enthusiastic shop owner attempts to loop another scarf around his neck. He gives in, of course, and ends up getting half smothered.

Jihoon snorts. “Should’ve escaped while he could.”

“He’s easy prey,” Wonwoo agrees.

It’s like watching a nature documentary, but infinitely more entertaining. The shop owner wraps Soonyoung in another scarf and throws a straw hat on top as a bonus, then manhandles Soonyoung in front of a mirror by the entrance, urging him to go inside.

Jihoon is about to suggest they go rescue him, when a lanky figure smoothly sidesteps the old man and loops an arm around Soonyoung’s shoulders. Myungho guides him away and plucks off the hat and the scarf, using deft fingers to fix his hair the same way he did outside the studio. It strikes Jihoon, suddenly, that it must be something he does often.

Soonyoung follows the path of Myungho’s hands as they comb over the collar of his white T-shirt, picking off invisible threads, and Jihoon feels… overwhelmingly inadequate. It’s an ugly feeling. There was a term Hansol used to use — “friend envy” — to describe the way Seungkwan got prickly whenever Hansol spent too much time with his other friends. Back then Jihoon thought it was childish, not because he couldn’t understand it, but because he understood it all too well having grown up as an only child who never grew up sharing.

It ticks him off that he can still feel this way.

Jihoon looks away. He’s getting ready to say he’ll be heading home now, but Wonwoo cups his hands around his mouth and hollers, “Kwon Soonyoung!”

Jihoon loses his balance for a second. Wonwoo adjusts the array of bags and the plant he’s toting. “Forgot to tell you — I’m supposed to meet Soonyoung right now. Wanna join?”

“What,” is all Jihoon can say.

“You know Myungho, right?”

And then Soonyoung and Myungho are standing right in front of him.

Soonyoung gawks at Wonwoo’s haul. “Wow, how much did you buy?”

“More than I need,” Wonwoo admits. “Jihoon helped me out. Hope you don’t mind if he tags along.”

Jihoon clears his throat. “No, it’s fine. I should go.”

“We don’t mind,” Myungho interjects softly. He glances at Soonyoung like he’s checking for his approval, and Jihoon thinks there must’ve been a conversation there at one point, about them minding.

Soonyoung turns to Jihoon. “Are you busy?”

Jihoon tries to speak but nothing comes out.

“He told me he’s free all day,” Wonwoo supplies. “Jun’s not here yet?”

“He’s meeting us at the dessert place,” Myungho says. “We were going to head there now.”

They start walking. Myungho falls into step beside Soonyoung, occasionally making comments about interesting things in the shops and laughing about something or another. Jihoon is forced to follow their lead with Wonwoo for company.  

“Did you set this up?” Jihoon asks him abruptly. “I don’t know why you would, but this is ridiculous.”

“Set this up? What did I set up?”

“This,” Jihoon gestures around them with his chin. Soonyoung and Myungho have gotten further ahead, and between the gaps of the crowd Jihoon can see Myungho’s arm wrapped around Soonyoung’s shoulders again.

“Us hanging out together?” Wonwoo struggles to push up his glasses and Jihoon pointedly doesn't offer to take anything off his hands. “Why, does it bother you?”

They’re both speaking to each other while looking straight ahead, but Jihoon feels no less scrutinized. “Why would it bother me?”

“I don’t know,” says Wonwoo. “Does it?”

Thankfully, the dessert shop stops them there. The store seems new, the décor minimalistic and clean, customers sparse. Jun/Junhui, who Jihoon remembers meeting once or twice, is tapping away on his phone at one of the tables, a spoon in his mouth.

The group migrates over to the counter to order and Soonyoung asks, “How long do you think it’ll take him to notice we’re here?”

Myungho snickers. “Just don’t say his name. You’ll trigger his animal instinct.”

Wonwoo cups a hand around his mouth, bags rustling, and whispers, “Jun!”

Like magic Jun perks up. He spots them immediately and waves.

“Impressive,” Jihoon says.

Myungho sighs dramatically as Soonyoung orders some sort of strawberry cake. “He’s a handful.”

In the end Soonyoung’s the only one who orders something — Myungho claims he’ll mooch off of Jun’s ice cream sundae — and they join Jun at a table that’s entirely too small for five people. Jihoon finds himself stuck between Wonwoo and Soonyoung, and feels a migraine come on when Wonwoo unloads his bags all over the floor and sets his furry purple plant on the table.

“That’s cute,” Soonyoung comments, leaning over Jihoon to see it better. “It looks like the Joker — green and purple.” He pets the curled up leaves with a finger.

Wonwoo smiles fondly down at it. “Right? It’s safe for cats, too.”

Soonyoung rests his cheek on a palm. “Do you have any plant recommendations? I want some for my apartment.”

Jihoon lifts an eyebrow. “So you finished unpacking?”

“…If I had some cute plants, you know, I might be more motivated to.”

“I’ve always wanted a fiddle leaf fig,” Wonwoo says.

“A what?” Jun asks, licking his spoon on Wonwoo’s other side. He has this alert but lazy demeanor about him, his light brown hair hanging almost too long over his eyes. “Are we talking about weird foods? Because I have a lot to contribute to the conversation.”

“We’re discussing house plants,” Wonwoo informs him, then looks at Jihoon. “I didn’t know you’ve been to Soonyoung’s new apartment. How is it?”

Soonyoung wraps a hand around Jihoon’s elbow. “Don’t you try to get information out of him.”

Past Soonyoung, Jihoon notices Myungho considering their exchange, absorbing the information.

“His place is a mess,” Jihoon says, before he can stop himself. He’s aware the second Myungho’s attention flits to him. “He barely let me in the door. I mean, how bad could it have been?” Jihoon shivers for effect. “Plants don’t stand a chance.”

Soonyoung’s hand squeezes his elbow — in thanks, Jihoon hopes.

Wonwoo smiles knowingly at Soonyoung, and then, like he’d accomplished his mission, turns away. “So,” he asks Jun, “tell me all about the weird foods.”

Soonyoung shows Jihoon his clenched fist under the table. “One of these days,” he seethes.

Jihoon rolls out the tension in his neck in agreement. “We’ll use your gym bag.”

They’re wandering the streets again by late afternoon, moving away from the market and into the mainstream retail area by Doota Mall.

“Oh, hyung,” Myungho says to Soonyoung when they pass a beauty supply store, “did your sister like the samples I gave you?”

Jihoon watches closely out of the corner of his eye as Soonyoung answers, a tad too casually, “She said they were pretty good. Actually, if you have anything else, she’d like to try it.”

Thoughtful, Myungho taps his top lip. “Okay, I have a few things in mind. I’m helping out with a brand shoot on Wednesday so I can ask the makeup artist there.”

Soonyoung bumps his shoulder playfully. “Gosh, you’re so professional.”

Myungho laughs. “Tell my boss. I want a raise.”

Wonwoo matches pace with Myungho and Soonyoung. “How much do they pay interns nowadays?”

“Just enough…” Myungho searches for the words. “Just enough to keep you hungry for more?”

Soonyoung tickles his waist and Myungho twists fast to fend him off, the intensity melting right off his face. “That’s why you’re so skinny, huh?”

Jihoon turns to Jun, who’s staring blandly ahead. “How long are you staying in Korea?”

“Uh,” Jun shrugs the large cardigan further up his shoulders. “Until Tuesday? I’m just visiting Ming— Myungho and them, so there’s not much for me to do.”

Jihoon assumes ‘them’ means Soonyoung and Lee Chan. He hums in understanding, tucking his hands underneath his armpits. “You guys could always hang out in China.”

“With these workaholics?” Jun scoffs. “I’ll just wait until Chinese New Year and ambush Myungho at his parent’s house when he finally gives himself a break.”

Jihoon can’t tell whether Jun’s actually done that before, but either way he wouldn’t put it past him. Soonyoung and Myungho have finished their cute tickling fight and Jihoon notices with distaste that Myungho’s taken some of the bags off Wonwoo’s hands.

“This might sound rude…” Jihoon starts. Jun waits expectantly for him to continue. “But I’ve always been curious. Why is Myungho here?”

It sounds worse than it did in his head, and it’s a good thing Jun gets what he means. “I know, right?”

That surprises Jihoon. “You don’t know?”

“Oh, I know,” Jun laughs jerkily. He keeps his eyes firmly on the ground and adds, “You know, too.”

When Jihoon doesn’t react, Jun finally looks up and tilts his head towards Myungho. Jihoon frowns and looks over.

Oh. Not Myungho.

Soonyoung.

“Oh,” Jihoon says intelligently.

“Oh,” Jun echoes. His mouth quirks to one side, not quite a smile. “You really didn’t know?”

“No,” Jihoon murmurs, and with a sinking feeling, he watches Myungho and notices anew the way he smiles when Soonyoung talks. He watches Soonyoung and it’s like he’s seeing him through Myungho’s perspective, the low afternoon sun making his hair glow white, glimmering in his eyes when they shift to look straight at Jihoon. Jihoon glances away, though he knows he’s been caught.

“Well… yeah,” Jun concludes, sighing self-deprecatingly. “China doesn’t stand a chance.”

No, Jihoon thinks. His face feels very warm.

Chapter Text

Jihoon keeps thinking about Myungho and Soonyoung.

(At first he wonders whether it’s because he needs the distraction, but thoughts of Yoongi surprisingly don’t disarm him like they used to anymore. He supposes it’s progress that he can let them wash over him now instead of feeling the stifling urge to run.

To prove it to himself, he sends a text informing Seokmin that he won’t, in fact, be bringing a plus one to the opening night of Seokmin’s musical. Because Seokmin is kind and tactful, he simply asks for a rain check for coffee sometime and nothing more. The extra ticket goes to Seokmin’s brother-in-law.)

But Jihoon is still thinking about Myungho and Soonyoung a week later when it pours on opening night. Everyone waiting in line outside the theater is handed a free plastic poncho, which Jihoon uses to keep his small bouquet dry. When he finally makes it inside Seungkwan waves him over to the seats near the front of the stage.

Their row is only half full, and as Jihoon settles down he hears the distant sound of thunder outside. He tucks the flowers for Seokmin underneath his chair.

“You made it! The weather is crazy."

“Yeah,” Jihoon checks out the crowd. “I’m glad so many people showed up.”

“Hey hyung,” Hansol says, his head appearing over Seungkwan’s shoulder, only to disappear again, attention back on his phone.

“What’d you get?” Seungkwan peers at the bouquet under his chair and Jihoon shifts his foot so he can get a better look.

“I’m not really sure actually. I just asked them to pick something bright.”

Seungkwan shakes his head. “I was even looking at Instagram flower arrangements and everything, but thanks to this one over here,” he tips his head in Hansol’s direction, rolling his eyes, “we were late so we just left it to the flower shop noona.”

Jihoon snickers and Seungkwan points to the front. “I think there’s a whole row of Lee’s over there.”

Sure enough there’s five or six people who vaguely resemble Seokmin sitting several rows ahead. As they’re trying to figure out who’s who, a familiar voice cuts in.

“What’s this?”

Jihoon has to blink a few times to make sure he’s actually seeing right. “Hyung. What are you doing here?”

Seungcheol lifts his eyebrows. A guy (friend or date) is standing behind him, looking at Jihoon curiously. “To see a musical. What are you doing here?”

“My friend is one of the actors.”

“Oh?” the friend/date says. He has a delicate face and Jihoon can’t place where he’s seen it before. “My roommate’s also in the show — Lee Seokmin.”

“What a coincidence!” Seungkwan pipes up, charming and friendly. “We’re here for Seokmin-hyung, too. We’re his friends from college.”

Everyone introduces themselves. Jihoon learns the one with the face is Jeonghan, a psychology grad student and Seokmin’s current roommate, which explains why he looks familiar. Jihoon has definitely seen him in photos with Seokmin.

“How do you guys know each other?”

“Same university,” Seungcheol says, then clarifies for Seungkwan and Hansol, “I’m getting my master’s in sports science. We met in child psych, didn’t we?”

Jeonghan looks amused that Seungcheol asked for confirmation, but answers anyway. “Yeah. Around the same time Seokmin and I started living together, actually.”

“Small world,” Seungkwan marvels. He gestures between Seungcheol and Jihoon. “And you guys?”

“High school,” is Jihoon’s curt response.

Seungcheol turns to Jeonghan with a footnote. “That’s Jihoon.”

And Jeonghan doesn't seem to need any further explanation. “Ah,” the syllable expresses volumes, “that Jihoon?”

“Jihoon is sitting right here," Jihoon says pointedly. "You’ve been talking about me?”

Seungcheol shrugs, one cheek dimpling. “All good things. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s nothing embarrassing,” Jeonghan offers. He’s more animated, like he’s loosened up now that he knows who everyone is. Jihoon can relate. “Just stories from when you went to school together. Cute stuff.”

“Speaking of cute stuff,” Seungcheol says, “Soonyoung told me you guys hung out without me last weekend?”

At the mention of his name — out loud and not in his head — Jihoon shifts in his seat. “Don’t worry, we didn’t invite Mingyu either.”

Seungcheol crosses his arms, contemplative. “You’re not avoiding me, right?”

With perfect timing the lights dim overhead and the audience starts to hush. More comfortable now that it’s dark, Jihoon just tells him, “Let’s talk after,” and decides he’ll jump that hurdle when he gets there.

After the show they wait backstage and converge on Seokmin when he emerges from the dressing room, his hair falling out of its hairspray hold and his face fresh and clean of stage makeup. Seungkwan rushes over to hug him and ropes all of them into it too.

Seokmin is a little teary-eyed but blames it on the makeup wipes. He has to run off to a cast dinner but of course, has to hug them each individually before he can go. Jihoon stiffens up when Seokmin clasps his hands in his and tells him very sincerely, “Thanks so much for coming, hyung.” A considerable amount of back-slapping and subtle eye-wiping later they usher him off and Seokmin turns back one last time with a huge smile, waving goodbye with his flowers.

Seungkwan sighs. “Well. He’s amazing and I have to go home immediately to reflect on myself.” He turns to Hansol. “You coming with?”

Hansol shrugs, and before any of them know it, Jihoon, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol are the only ones left standing in the hall.

Seungcheol stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets. “I’ll drive you guys home?”

Jeonghan grins. “I was just about to suggest that.”

“Yeah, I could see it on your face.” Seungcheol glances over at Jihoon as Jeonghan leads the way to the exit and Jihoon nods. He’d said they would talk after and to Seungcheol, that’s as good as a promise.

Jeonghan insists on sitting in the backseat. “This is where I usually sit when Seungcheol drives,” he explains once they’re all piled into the blue Hyundai Venue and Jihoon laughs at the way Seungcheol adjusts the rearview mirror so he can look Jeonghan in the eye.

“Keep pushing your luck,” he warns, starting the engine. Jeonghan makes a face at the back of his head.

“He just made a face didn’t he,” Seungcheol asks Jihoon, and Jihoon dutifully shakes his head.

“Didn’t see anything.”

Jeonghan smiles coolly. “Jihoon, we should totally hang out sometime — with Seokmin, too. What’s your number?”

“Sure.” They trade phones. Jeonghan inputs himself into Jihoon’s contacts as Jeonghanie-hyung.

“This was a mistake,” Seungcheol declares, (most of) his focus on the road. “I should’ve stayed home. They’re probably watching action movies with Soybean right now.”

“Wonwoo and Soonyoung?” Jihoon guesses.

“Yeah, they’re having movie night or whatever. While I’m conveniently not there,” Seungcheol adds a bit sullenly.

“We’re hanging out right now.”

“By accident!”

“Was he like this in high school, too?” Jeonghan comments from the back.

“We saw a lot of each other in high school so he wasn’t this…” Jihoon lets the word ‘clingy’ go unsaid and Jeonghan chuckles knowingly. “Our moms became friends so we got pretty close. How much have you heard already?”

Jeonghan is vague. “Just stories here and there. I’ve met Wonwoo a few times, and I’ve heard a lot about you and the cute one.”

“Soonyoung,” Seungcheol clarifies, when Jihoon turns to him.

“Yeah, the cute one,” Jeonghan says.

“Right. So how what exactly have you heard?”

“I heard about the sock incident, of course.” Jihoon nods. That one’s a must. “Oh, the other day Wonwoo told me a funny story about how you and Soonyoung became friends.”

Seungcheol cocks his head. “Do I even know this story?”

“Honestly, it was really complicated. I don’t think I understood half of what he was saying.”

Jihoon clicks his tongue. “Wonwoo probably told you about all the weird things that happened—”

“Ah,” Seungcheol taps the wheel, “that time you both got nosebleeds at the same time during P.E.?”

Jeonghan leans forward. “I heard about the time you two switched indoor shoes by accident and didn’t realize until the end of the day.”

“It’s actually not that complicated,” Jihoon says. What he remembers is before all of that: a noisy classroom one muggy morning in late spring, trying to fall asleep during break only to feel a tap on his shoulder; Soonyoung wordlessly passing him a worn iPod with a pair of earbuds wrapped around it and Jihoon putting his head down to Naul’s ‘Memory of the Wind’ and rousing moments later to ‘Living in the Same Time,’ their homeroom teacher knocking on the blackboard to get everyone’s attention; he remembers passing the iPod back and Soonyoung laughing at the imprint of tangled wires on his cheek.

Seungcheol slows to a stop outside Seokmin and Jeonghan’s apartment building.

“Thanks,” Jeonghan tells him. He pats the back of Jihoon’s seat as he scoots out the door closer to the entrance. “I’ll have to hear the real story next time.”

“Of course.”

Once Jeonghan disappears inside, Seungcheol selects Jihoon’s address on the navigation and starts driving. They sit in silence for a long while. Jihoon watches Seungcheol’s university pass out the window and can’t shake the feeling that this has happened before and maybe he’s just reliving his life in cycles.

“Did Wonwoo tell you?” Jihoon asks with no preamble.

“No!” Seungcheol seems offended by the mere suggestion. “When you dropped off the face of the earth, I figured something must’ve happened. And Wonwoo and the others were obviously hiding something so I knew you were probably threatening them.”

Jihoon lets his head loll on the headrest. “Thanks.”

“For dealing with you all? You’re welcome.”

Jihoon scoffs. “For not asking about it.”

Seungcheol doesn’t comment until the next intersection. “So how are you doing now?”

“Better. Really,” Jihoon insists when Seungcheol gives him a look. “I’m so okay I’m starting to wish I’d told everyone when it first happened.”

“Notice how you still haven’t said it. What’s ‘it’?”

Jihoon lifts his head. “We broke up. Yoongi and I.”

Seungcheol nods approvingly. “I guess you are doing better.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“True.” He parks outside Jihoon’s building, his hands still resting on the wheel. “Man, I miss the days when you used to tell me everything first.”

Jihoon unbuckles his seatbelt. “I told you one thing first and you want to hold it over my head forever.”

“It was a big thing,” Seungcheol argues.

“And it’s been, like, six years.”

“And you’re still out, so technically you’re holding it over your own head!” Eventually the ridiculousness of his own argument gets to him and Seungcheol deflates. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re alive I guess. Come visit sometime. You have to meet the cat.”

Sensing his cue to leave, Jihoon hops out the car. “You know she’ll hate me.”

He slams the door shut as Seungcheol shouts, “Come on, that’ll make me feel better!”

Jihoon is camped out alone at the studio that Saturday afternoon when he’s startled by a knock on the door. Soonyoung breathes on the glass and draws a smiley face with lines for eyes in the condensation, and Jihoon definitely hadn’t prepared himself to see Soonyoung so soon after Dongdaemun because something flip-flops inside him. He motions that the door is unlocked.

Soonyoung slips in, setting down a bag of something that smells like deokbeokki on the coffee table, and Jihoon’s stomach immediately expresses its interest.

Soonyoung snickers. “I knew it. You didn’t eat yet, did you? You didn’t answer my texts either.”

“Oh.” Jihoon checks his phone. He’d forgotten to turn it off Do Not Disturb after he finished a recording session yesterday and there are several notifications from Soonyoung asking do you want to go somewhere, also i’m hungry, then where are you, then i’m coming to the studio, get decent. “Sorry, missed it. I need to finish something really quick — you can start first.”

“Are you sure your stomach won’t growl at me?”

“No promises.” Jihoon tweaks the reverb on one of the loops and, at the same time, tracks Soonyoung’s footsteps as they travel to the door.

“Is the vending machine still by the bathroom?”

“Yeah. Get me something too,” Jihoon calls after him and Soonyoung’s noise of assent echoes down the hall.

A few minutes later, he sets down a can of Coke by Jihoon’s elbow and bends over Jihoon’s shoulder to peer at the screen. “You’re really doing work on a Saturday?”

“This is mine. It’s just easier to get things done with all the equipment here.”

Jihoon has never really noticed what kind of shampoo Soonyoung uses, but it’s the absence of the cologne from that night at the bar that suddenly makes him pay attention. Today Soonyoung smells like mango and deokbeokki, and then underneath, there’s something familiar and distinct that’s just his own.

Curious, Soonyoung leans further into his space, and Jihoon tries not to inhale too deeply. “Do you need glasses or something?” he grunts.

“Honestly, I might.” Soonyoung straightens and takes his warmth with him. “You know the other day I asked Wonwoo to take off his glasses while we were watching a movie and I don’t think I could see much more than him.”

Jihoon hums, fiddling with the controls, but his focus isn’t there anymore. He’s listening to the leather couch crinkle behind him and imagining Soonyoung pulling his legs up, turning himself into a ball — the way he’s always liked to sit on any surface large enough to accommodate him. One time in high school after studying at Jihoon’s house, Soonyoung told him sitting like that felt better for his lower back, but Jihoon still thinks it just helps Soonyoung feel comforted, the same way he feels comforted hugging things to sleep.

Jihoon gives up, saving the file onto a USB and turning off the monitors. He spins his chair around. “So where did you want to go?”

Soonyoung actually does have his legs pulled up on the couch, and he’s staring out the small window in the studio (it has no real view and only lets in the sunlight sometimes). He shifts like Jihoon had caught him being too comfortable. “I was hoping you’d have an idea?”

Jihoon rolls his chair over to the coffee table and starts unpacking the food. “I thought you were hungry?”

“I was.” Unfolding himself, Soonyoung grabs the pair of wooden chopsticks Jihoon offers him. “I’m a little tired I guess.”

Jihoon mixes one container and pushes it towards him. “Then go home and sleep.”

“Not that kind of tired. I just…”

“What is it?”

Soonyoung takes a bite and huffs at how hot it is, taking a hasty gulp of his vending machine juice. “I was just working on some choreography earlier and I got stuck.”

“For your classes?”

“For Chan, actually,” he says, his face all scrunched up. He digs in again, cautiously this time. “He’s going to be performing in the spring showcase and I’m helping out for part of it.”

“Wait, Chan’s still in university? Is he a senior now?”

“Oh no, junior.” Soonyoung shakes his head. “Sometimes I still forget that we don’t know all of each other’s friends anymore.”

“Well,” Jihoon says, “that can happen.” Extended friend circles are too complicated for Jihoon to keep track of. Soonyoung actually wants to remember people, but they just don’t stick in his head.

Soonyoung rolls up his shirt sleeves and takes another sip of his juice, the spice clearly getting to him already. “Anyway, Chan asked me to be his guest performer. Myungho’s going to find out sooner or later.”

Jihoon focuses on chewing. “What? You think he’s going to be upset?”

“I think secretly he’d be a little disappointed? I mean, I guess him and Chan aren’t as close anymore… but still.”

“If they’re not as close anymore, then it’s probably not a big deal. Myungho seems pretty laid-back.”

Soonyoung cracks open a plastic cup of kimchi. “Myungho acts chic, but he actually cares a lot. He looks after me more than I look after him.” He pauses. “Why does this seem like a trend now that I think about it?”

“Because it is,” Jihoon supplies around his mouthful. “You seem like you need it so people take care of you. Haven’t you noticed?”

“I guess,” Soonyoung heaves a sigh, all put-upon. He glances at Jihoon. “I wonder why it doesn’t work on you?”

The first thing Jihoon thinks about is Myungho and how openly, in retrospect, he adores Soonyoung, and then the uncomfortable feeling solidifies inside him, all tightly wound like a ball of string. It feels strangely like desperation.

Before he can dissect that, Jihoon has already said, “It does.”

Silence. “Come again?”

Jihoon swallows his food. “It does. Work on me. But I also know it’s a sham.”

“Wow, this is…” Soonyoung pulls out his phone and taps play. It’s a video filming the black of the couch but Jihoon’s eyes narrow when he hears his own voice. It does. Work on me. Soonyoung scoots forward, buzzing with glee. “This is revolutionary I think?”

Jihoon can feel his ears getting hot. “That doesn’t even mean anything out of context.”

“Sure,” Soonyoung acquiesces, “but I bet it would make a great ringtone.”

Jihoon lunges across the table and snatches the phone of his hands. He hits the trash button on the video, right before Soonyoung manages to snatch it back.

Soonyoung frowns at his phone. “What did you do? Did you really delete it?”

Jihoon doesn’t say anything about the recently deleted folder. “It’s gone.”

Quiet, Soonyoung taps around for a second. “Oh, I found it.” Jihoon groans internally as Soonyoung scratches his head. “But how do I set my own ringtone?”

“I’ll tell you.” Jihoon snags his own phone off the desk behind him when it buzzes with a text. “First, call a taxi. Then ask them to drive you to the river. Then, when you get there, walk to the edge of the water and throw your phone in.”

“Not listening,” Soonyoung sings, sinking into the couch.

Jihoon sends a text back and takes a breath. “Hey.” Soonyoung tilts his head to look at him. “Want to go to a café? Seokmin just asked to meet up.”

“Seokmin? Oh yeah, he was really nice. What kind of café?”

“The kind where you get drinks.” Jihoon starts sticking the empty containers back into the plastic bag they came in.

Soonyoung sits up and gathers the chopsticks, wrappers, napkins. “Sounds good.”

“Sounds good?” Jihoon echoes, laughing to himself. It infects Soonyoung for some reason, and when they dump out the trash in the hallway it almost ends up outside the trashcan because they’re too busy shoving at each other and smiling like idiots.

“Is Jun back in China?”

Soonyoung rocks back on his heels as they wait for the red light to turn green at the intersection. “Yeah. How did you know?”

“He mentioned it last time,” Jihoon says offhand. “Does he come visit often?”

Soonyoung closes his eyes against a sudden gust of wind. The weather’s been up and down lately, like it doesn’t know whether it wants to give into spring or not. “It’s been a while since he came. His parents are…” Soonyoung makes a face. “Well, let’s just say it’s not easy for him to leave.”

Jihoon tests the waters. “But it’s easy for Myungho?”

Soonyoung turns serious for a moment. “I don’t think so.”

It’s a mysterious answer, one that Jihoon would like to probe more into, but they cross the street and Soonyoung points at the café ahead. “That’s the place?”

“Yeah.” The sign is all too familiar to Jihoon.

“Don’t think I’ve been here before.”

“The coffee isn’t bad.” In fact, the coffee is pretty strong and they deliver on late nights during finals season with a special discount for university students. They still have the same bell hanging over the door that jingles when they walk in, and because he’s distracted, Jihoon walks straight into Soonyoung’s denim-jacket-covered back.

He sidesteps him. “Dude, what…”

The café isn’t large so Jihoon spots Seokmin easily, sitting beside a window. Almost at the exact same moment Seokmin meets his eye, Jihoon notices the two people standing over Seokmin’s table.

Jihoon doesn’t know what he’d expected to feel, but it’s not this — a dull pang and then a wash of calm, as if he’s looking at something very far from himself. His first thought is that Yoongi looks well. Black hair suits him. The dark circles hanging under his eyes seem lighter than Jihoon remembers them to be, though he recognizes the pale ripped jeans and loose black button down. Past him, Jungkook is staring at the back of Yoongi’s head like he’s waiting for it to explode, but Yoongi doesn’t look anywhere close to exploding. He’s still and calm, like Jihoon, waiting to see who’ll make the first move.

And then Soonyoung does something odd — he shifts, ever so slightly, to stand in front of him. Jihoon doesn’t think he’s even aware that he moved, because Soonyoung jumps when Jihoon touches his back. Jihoon gets a glimpse of his face, his eyebrows drawn together.

Yoongi nods to Seokmin before heading for the door, pausing a few steps away from Jihoon. His usual iced Americano is half empty in one hand. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah.” While he’s a lot less upset than he’d expected, Jihoon has never planned this far. What is he supposed to do in this situation? He jerks his head at Soonyoung. “This is Soonyoung, if you remember.”

Faintly, Yoongi smiles. He nods at Jungkook. “Jungkook, if you remember.”

At the mention of his name, Jungkook glances nervously at Jihoon but doesn’t say anything, his jaw locked tight.

Jihoon nods, wracking his brain for what to say next. The weight of two hands resting on his shoulders brings him out of it. Startled, he looks up at Soonyoung, whose pleasant smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Excuse us. If you don’t mind, our friend is waiting.”

Yoongi’s gaze shifts from Jihoon to Soonyoung and back, and whatever he sees in Jihoon’s expression sets him into motion. “Right,” he says roughly.

As Yoongi and Jungkook pass them by Jihoon almost wants to say Take care, but it feels too much like a goodbye that has already been said. Soonyoung steers him gently by the shoulders and sits him down at Seokmin’s table.

Seokmin is practically oozing concern. Voice small, he asks Jihoon, “Hyung, is everything okay?”

Jihoon shakes his head to get rid of the daze. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Not long after an incredibly awkward conversation on Jihoon’s part, Seokmin leaves to prep for another show. Soonyoung sucks his iced latte dry, save the ice, and stands. “Let’s go.”

The strange calm from earlier is still clinging to Jihoon like a thick lethargia. He’s in no state to argue so he follows Soonyoung outside. “Where?”

“Somewhere else,” is Soonyoung’s answer.

He leads the way down the street with the map open on his phone, dodging small clusters of university students who are taking the opportunity to enjoy Saturday night with their friends. Soonyoung isn’t walking particularly fast, but Jihoon feels slow, and after two blocks he pinches the back of Soonyoung’s jacket so he won’t lose him.

Around sunset the crowds start getting thicker. They’d wandered into the middle of a small arts fair and Jihoon glimpses paintings and giant tapestries as they thread through the crowd. Soonyoung stops when they reach a row of benches off to the side, facing the cluster of white tents. “Wanna sit?” Soonyoung asks, and Jihoon realizes he’s still gripping onto Soonyoung’s jacket. He lets go.

They sit. Soonyoung turns to look at him a few times, until Jihoon feels the need to tell him, “I’m fine.”

“I know.”

“Really? You seemed more upset than I was.”

Soonyoung squirms under Jihoon’s stare.

“Did I look that pathetic to you?” He asks, but there’s no heat behind it.

Soonyoung splutters. “What? No! I just, I don’t know… I wasn’t thinking.”

Jihoon doesn’t respond immediately, and Soonyoung slowly leans away from him. “Hey… don't tell me you actually wanted to keep talking to him?”

“Hell no,” Jihoon grunts and Soonyoung relaxes.

“Good,” he mutters. Soonyoung rests his elbows on his knees, the glow of the fair warming his face. Where they’re sitting, they can hear the crowd, but it all seems so far away.

“He hasn’t changed.” The words hang the air. “It surprised me, that’s all.” Jihoon studies his thumb, the nail he’d accidently cut too short. “It really couldn’t have ended differently. I think I just realized that.”

Soonyoung hums, sitting back and folding his arms. “Then maybe you just need someone completely different. Someday, I mean.”

Jihoon looks at him, then really looks at him. “Maybe.”

Soonyoung’s mouth quirks. He gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “Can I show you something?” The denim jacket must feel restricting because he swiftly takes it off and lays it over the back of the bench. He fiddles with his phone for a minute before setting that down, too.

“Chan choreographed a solo and we’re turning it into a duet,” Soonyoung explains as a woman starts singing in English over an atmospheric backing track. He faces Jihoon, the light from behind silhouetting him, and indicates the ground before his feet. “Imagine him sitting here.” Jihoon nods. “He’s the protagonist. And then I…”

He looks up at the sky, arms spreading wide. It’s easy for Jihoon to let all the weird feelings inside him fall away and focus on Soonyoung, absorbing his every movement. One moment Soonyoung becomes a bird, then he’s the breeze, the sunrise.

The beat in the song builds and Soonyoung leans over to pause it, catching his breath.

“I got stuck here. I can’t decide what happens next.”

Jihoon turns over what he’s seen so far in his mind. “What were you thinking?”

“Um,” Soonyoung picks up his phone and frowns, trying to rewind the song but playing another by accident. “It’s hard to explain?”

Jihoon holds out a hand and Soonyoung obediently passes his phone over. “I’ll play it for you,” Jihoon says. “Show me what you were thinking.”

Soonyoung bites back a grin. “My own personal DJ? I’m getting a little nervous now.”

Jihoon smiles, shaking his head. “Just for today.”

Chapter Text

Scraps of new melodies float through Jihoon’s head as he keeps a steady running pace along the Han River. Lately, he’s been going home after work with songs itching to put themselves together. He’s not even running to music today; all the sounds crowding inside his head are like liquid energy.

“Hey!”

Jihoon slows to a stop. When Seokmin catches up, he bends over to catch his breath. “I thought,” he gasps, forehead crinkled, “I thought you said we’d take it slow?”

Jihoon runs a hand through his hair. He’d gotten a trim yesterday and hasn’t gotten used to how short it is. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, “I didn’t realize I was going that fast.”

In better shape, Seungkwan jogs over to rub Seokmin’s back. He shakes his head at Jihoon. “We literally watched you disappear into the distance. Have you considered going for the triathlon?”

“I guess I’m used to running alone… Are you okay?”

Seokmin laughs good-naturedly. “I need a minute. My legs feel like spaghetti right now.”

Seungkwan offers Seokmin his fancy water bottle. “Drink. You have to keep your pipes watered.”

“You’re doing well,” Jihoon tells Seungkwan, impressed.

“Oh, my lungs are burning,” Seungkwan assures him. He dabs at the sweat dripping down his neck. “But I asked you to exercise with us so that’s my bad. How long do you usually run for?”

Jihoon shrugs. “Until I want to stop?”

Seungkwan nods understandingly. “That’s scary and I wish we’d known beforehand.”

“I told you he was athletic,” says Seokmin, passing the water bottle back to Seungkwan. Seungkwan offers it to Jihoon, but Jihoon declines.

Seungkwan pouts. “You don’t want water? You need water.”

Jihoon checks his watch — 9:04 p.m. “I’m hungry actually. Wanna grab some food?”

Seokmin and Seungkwan exchange looks. “I’m good, thanks,” Seungkwan says. “I let Hansol study in my dorm room since it’s quieter and I should probably make sure he didn’t fall asleep.”

It sounds like a flimsy excuse but they let Seungkwan jog off to catch his bus. Jihoon and Seokmin keep walking, taking their time cooling off.

“So?” Jihoon asks imploringly as they cut through Yongsan Family Park. He makes a spooning motion, the universal gesture for food.

Seokmin shakes his head. “I should head home soon. Rehearsal tomorrow morning.”

“Tough.” Jihoon rolls out his neck.

“And I have another blind date.”

“Any luck?”

“Ah, everyone’s been really nice! At first it was a little weird, you know, my mom set it up and everything… but it’s gotten better, I think.” Seokmin looks up at the white cherry blossoms arching overhead, then shrugs. “I don’t really have anything to complain about.”

“That’s good.”

They walk in silence for a moment, before Seokmin speaks up. “Can I ask you a question? A personal one.”

“Shoot.”

It takes Seokmin another minute. “When you came out… how did your parents react?”

Jihoon hesitates, caught off guard. He thinks back to the day he’d left for university, the text he’d sent his parents from his new dorm room. “It wasn’t too bad.” He smiles dryly at the memory. It’s scabbed over at this point, no longer raw. “I argued with my mom a lot at first, but she’s fine with it now. I think my dad is still waiting for me to grow out of it. I haven’t exactly asked him.”

Seokmin looks pained. “Sorry. I’m just…”

“Thinking about it?”

Seokmin eyes him furtively. “…Well, it doesn’t even really matter. Pretty sure I’m straight.” Honest to a fault, he sighs. “Mostly.”

This conversation is verging into heart-to-heart territory and Jihoon would very much like to change the subject. Restraining that urge, he scrolls through appropriate responses in his head.

“It matters,” he decides, no nonsense. “And you really don’t have to tell anyone anything. That’s your choice.”

They emerge from the other end of the park, lingering by the curb. Seokmin studies him, a bit apprehensively, but perceptive nonetheless. “I have to tell someone eventually, don’t I?”

“Does it make a difference whether they know or not?”

“I guess not,” Seokmin concedes. His brow furrows. “I think I’d rather tell them though. I mean, do they really know me if they don’t know that part of me?”

Jihoon wants to disagree. He’s never liked thinking about it that way, because at the end of the day it’s impossible for anyone to know everything about you anyway. Something holds him back. “Like I said, it’s up to you. Don’t worry about it.”

Eyes wide, Seokmin points to himself. “Me? I never worry.” He keeps up the act until they both can’t help laughing. “Thanks, hyung,” Seokmin says quietly. “You know you can talk to me anytime, right?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon doesn’t really feel like he did anything, but he figures accepting it will make Seokmin feel better. “Don’t mention it.”

Thirty minutes later Jihoon finds Soonyoung loitering outside a pojangmacha in a hoodie and sweats. Jihoon waves a hand between Soonyoung’s face and his phone, and Soonyoung flips the screen around to show Jihoon the stupid Naruto meme he was looking at.

It’s actually a good one and Jihoon chuckles, just a little. Soonyoung pockets his phone looking proud of himself.

“You know, when I asked if you wanted to get food, I wasn’t thinking about drinking,” Jihoon points out.

Soonyoung balls up his hands in the front pocket of his oversized hoodie. “Me neither. This is quick though.”

“Lots of places are quick. Barbecue is quick.”

“Well, I don’t mind where we go. You wanna wait for the meat to cook?”

Jihoon ducks under the tent flap, Soonyoung following close behind him. There are about four tiny tables inside with two men occupying one at the far end, the meager space between them crowded with soju bottles. Jihoon grabs the table the furthest away and they order whatever comes to the top of their heads.

Without hesitation, Jihoon starts on the dakbal. “Not that this isn’t good, but I thought our deal was that you’d buy me expensive food.”

Soonyoung doesn’t reply. He’s watching the two strangers taking shots. “Man, I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Complain about work at a pocha. My dad used to tell me we’d go and drink together when I got a job, but now we’re both busy.” Soonyoung takes a gulp of hot broth and releases an appreciative, distinctly middle-aged-man noise. “Ugh, I’m sweating already.”

“Relax,” Jihoon snickers.

Soonyoung takes a deep breath and rolls up his sleeves. He pulls an odeng stick out of the broth. “Did you go on a run? You’re wearing sporty clothes.”  

Jihoon glances down at his outfit. A black Nike shirt and black joggers — as sporty as it gets, he supposes. “Yeah, with Seokmin and Seungkwan. They wanted to train their endurance or something.”

“Seungkwan…”

“He’s a vocal major. You met him once or twice.”

“Oh,” Soonyoung says, setting aside a clean wooden skewer. “I remember. That time at karaoke, he came into our room asking if we knew where you lived.”

“Ah.” Jihoon tries not to think too carefully about that night or the IOU Soonyoung probably still has lying around somewhere.

Soonyoung surveys every plate and settles on a shish kabob. “It’s not that I don’t want to spend money on you,” he explains, and it takes Jihoon’s brain a minute to realize what he’s talking about. “I’ve just eaten so much fancy food lately. I think I’m tired of it.”

Jihoon frowns. “…Is that possible?”

“I guess it is,” Soonyoung manages through a huge mouthful.

Jihoon figures he must be eating fancy food during his wining and dining gig. Has he been picking up more work outside of his dance classes? Soonyoung doesn’t look particularly tired, but Jihoon admits he isn’t always the best judge of that. “How much have you been working exactly?”

“I’ve been a bit busier lately,” Soonyoung says, focused on the food. “It’ll cool down next week.”

“Mm.” Jihoon steals the odeng bowl from Soonyoung’s side to take a sip of the broth. He considers the two men across the tent. “Since you want the full experience — should we drink?”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Soonyoung says after thinking on it. “I might have to carry you home again.”

Jihoon picks up another stick of odeng from the bowl and calmly shakes it off. “Your loss.”

Soonyoung grins. “Well, it was cute. You were all clingy.”

Feeling warm, Jihoon throws a wad of tissues at his face. “Wipe off your sweat.”

As they clear the kebab plate together and start work on the deokbeokki, the sound of shot glasses clinking lightly a few meters away, Jihoon turns the conversation with Seokmin over in his head.

“Hey,” he begins, faltering, “Just so you know… I’m gay.”

Soonyoung takes a big bite. He blinks. “I know?”

Jihoon tugs on the hem of his shorts. “I just, I realized I never told you. Explicitly.”

“Pretty sure you did. Like, years ago.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t.”

“Huh.” Soonyoung chews and stares into the fried veggies. “Was it telepathy then?”

Jihoon tilts his head. “Have you lost your mind?”

“If you didn’t tell me, then how did I know?” Soonyoung squints at Jihoon and puts his fingers to his temples.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to read your mind.”

“And?” Jihoon prompts when he doesn’t let up. “What am I thinking?”

“Mm,” Soonyoung breathes in through his teeth. “That I look stupid right now?”

Jihoon cackles and gives him a well-deserved round of applause. “What else?”

Soonyoung studies Jihoon for another minute, but ultimately lowers his hands. “Nothing. The reception isn’t that good today.”

“You ran out of witty things to say, didn’t you?”

“I just don’t want to embarrass you.”

“How kind of you.”

Soonyoung scrunches his nose. “You’re welcome.” Idly, he stirs the deokbeokki. “I always assumed you knew, too,” he goes on. Jihoon waits for him to finish, blood rushing in his ears. Soonyoung licks the red off his lips. “That I’m bi.”

“I know,” Jihoon tells him, and as he says it, he realizes it’s true. He’s not sure when and how, but perhaps he had once seen this part of Soonyoung among all the other myriad parts of him and subconsciously stored it away. Soonyoung meets Jihoon’s eye and there’s just relief, a knot untangling and revealing a straight path leading from point A to point B. It’s incredibly simple.

Jihoon is waiting for Soonyoung outside of his dance studio, leaning against the same wall where he’d met Myungho a few weeks ago. The day has been overcast, which is why he’s standing right under the protection of a protruding sign and hoping it doesn’t suddenly pour. It crosses his mind that he only just saw Soonyoung three days ago and that maybe they've been seeing each other a little too frequently. If it starts raining, maybe Jihoon could head home and it’ll be like he never came.

But no magical storm blows overhead, and before he knows it, Soonyoung is locking the studio door behind him, his monstrous gym bag in hand. Jihoon calls out to him and it takes Soonyoung another second to focus. By now, Jihoon’s noticed the bold red slacks and the matching jacket over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Soonyoung says, plucking at his white button-up. “Did you text me? I haven’t checked my phone.” His hair is wet again — but when he steps closer, he smells like mango shampoo and cologne instead of sweat. There must be a shower in the studio.

“No, I just stopped by.” Soonyoung nods slowly in response. “I guess you have work?”

“Yeah.” Soonyoung pauses. “I’m meeting a client.”

Jihoon rubs his ear. “Sorry. You said you were going to be busy this week. I wasn’t thinking.”

Soonyoung knocks on Jihoon’s chest, and Jihoon looks up at him. “It’s alright.” His eyes seem clearer. “Dinner this weekend?”

Jihoon shakes his head in a whatever kind of way. “We don’t have to make plans or anything. It’s not—”

He makes eye contact with Soonyoung again before he can say like it’s a date, and Soonyoung raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to finish. The time window for it to be funny passes. Jihoon swallows the words down, suddenly awkward, and for some ridiculous reason, worried that Soonyoung can read his mind.

“It’s not like I don’t eat everyday,” he concludes, after a too-long pause.

Soonyoung accepts it easily enough. “‘Kay. Then I’ll text you when I’m free.”

“Okay.”

Soonyoung hefts his bag up onto his shoulder and Jihoon winces just remembering how heavy it is. “Cool. Well, I have to get going.”

“Right. See you.”

Soonyoung goes on his way and Jihoon lets out a sigh. That was… odd. On a whim, he texts Seungcheol and Wonwoo to see if they’re home. A few train stops later, he’s sitting in their living room, watching a little black cat stare apathetically at Seungcheol as he dangles a familiar-looking leather fish in front of her.

“Have you eaten yet?” Wonwoo asks, settling beside Jihoon on the couch. Soybean promptly determines that Jihoon is the perfect shortcut between her and Wonwoo and leaps into Jihoon’s lap.

“Not yet,” Jihoon replies, barely breathing, but she just makes herself comfortable as she bats at Wonwoo’s fingers.

Wonwoo chuckles at his discomfort. “Want to grab dinner?”

“Sure.” Jihoon turns to Seungcheol, who merely sets down the cat toy with the grace of someone who’s been spurned countless times.

“I’m down.” He rises to his feet. “Should we ask Soonyoung? Mingyu? Haven’t seen those two in a while.”

“Mingyu’s at a baseball game,” Wonwoo says. Jihoon knows he must be there to see Jungkook. “You’ll have to ask Soonyoung. His schedule is all over the place.”

“I’ll ask,” Jihoon offers, pulling out his phone. He realizes immediately that he should’ve just said Soonyoung was busy instead of having to pretend to ask him, but it’s too late to regret it now. Seungcheol heads into his room to change and Soybean leaps off Jihoon’s lap like she wants to follow after him.

Jihoon opens his text chat with Soonyoung, only to see the bubble on Soonyoung’s end indicate that he’s already typing. It starts and stops, starts and stops.

“Guys, it’s raining outside,” Seungcheol informs them, circling back to the living room. “Should we order delivery?”

“Delivery will probably take longer. Do we have enough ramen?”

“You want to eat ramen again?”

At last, mysteriously, the typing bubble disappears. Jihoon looks up when he feels eyes on him, waiting for him to respond. “Sorry, what?”

“What do you want to do?”

Jihoon glances down at his phone. Still no message. Something about it bothers him. “Actually, I should probably go. I need to finish something for work. It’s kind of urgent.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol says warily. “You’re still going to eat dinner, right? Like, real food?”

“Yes, dad.”

At the door, Wonwoo looks pensive, but it’s probably just his face because he asks, “Do you need an umbrella?”

“It’s fine,” Jihoon tells him, wondering why the lies are coming so smoothly. “I’ll call a taxi.”

Jihoon can see that it’s pouring when he makes it downstairs to the ground floor. He stands by the glass entrance and texts Soonyoung, hoping to allay the strange sense of uneasiness. Soonyoung told him the job wasn’t risky or intense. He was probably just… taking a break and wanted to send Jihoon a meme or something.

how’s it going

Soonyoung responds almost immediately, which is concerning.

are you busy?
right now

are you done already?

not really
kind
*kind of
sorry can’t type
i think i need some cash

?? where are you

After a while, Soonyoung sends over his location and Jihoon calls a taxi. They roll up to a convenience store a short ten minutes later. Jihoon asks the driver to stay put as he braces himself for a drenching and dashes inside.

He finds Soonyoung crouched down in the first aid aisle.

“What’s going on?” Jihoon asks, crouching down beside him. “Antibiotic cream?”

“There’s a brand we used to use at my house,” Soonyoung mumbles. “I was trying to find it.”

Jihoon picks one and holds it up. “This one works. They’re all the same anyway.” But when Soonyoung turns around, it’s clear why he needs it. The corner of his mouth is bruised and bleeding, his bottom lip slightly swollen.

“What the fuck,” Jihoon hisses. “Did you get in a fight?” He pulls him up by the arm and scans him for any other injuries, but he can’t spot anything else, just that his blazer is missing.

Soonyoung takes the cream from Jihoon. “Hey, you should see the other guy,” he jokes, but it falls flat. He shrugs. “It was one-sided. I left right away.”

“What other guy?” Jihoon grabs a box of bandages and some cotton swabs off the shelf. Soonyoung follows close behind as Jihoon picks up a bottle of cold water from the fridge.

“Her husband.”

Jihoon (accidentally) slams the bottle down on the counter and the cashier jumps.

“Sorry,” Soonyoung tells her.

“Don't apologize,” Jihoon says firmly. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s okay,” the cashier squeaks. “That’ll be 14,300 won.”

Luckily, Jihoon has just enough cash, and as he pays he catches Soonyoung checking his reflection in the storefront glass. Jihoon nudges him to get his attention and instructs him to hold the water bottle to his face.

“Thanks.” Soonyoung reaches for the plastic bag, but Jihoon moves it away. Soonyoung tries again and Jihoon dodges again. “Hey, I said thank you. I’ll pay you back later.”

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

Soonyoung pauses for a beat too long. “What? What stuff?”

“Everything. Your bag. Your wallet.”

“I didn’t bring it with me.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes and Soonyoung gulps. “Really? So I can tell the driver to take you straight home?” Soonyoung doesn’t reply so Jihoon heads out the door. “Let’s go then.”

Soonyoung calls after him, raising his voice over the rain outside. He climbs into the car after Jihoon. “Wait a minute…”

Jihoon tips his head towards the driver. Sighing, Soonyoung gives an address that’s definitely not his apartment. The drive takes ten another minutes, which means he must’ve called a taxi with his phone when he left. He didn’t just step outside — he’d wanted to get away.

(And then he had wanted to be found.)

“Wait here,” Soonyoung orders cagily, slamming the car door. Jihoon tells the driver to wait again before heading into the restaurant after him. It’s a fancy Chinese-style place and the smell of food makes Jihoon’s mouth water. Soonyoung is speaking to the host, and Jihoon takes in the miniature fountain by the entrance as he eavesdrops.

“We were here earlier,” he’s explaining, not very well it seems like. “In one of the rooms. I just need to go in and get something.” The man gives Soonyoung and Jihoon dubious onceovers and only then does Soonyoung notice Jihoon.

Jihoon decides it’s a good time as ever to step in. “Is the room occupied right now?”

The host shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to confirm your reservation before—”

“Where is it,” he asks Soonyoung under his breath. Soonyoung frowns, but catches on quickly. He flicks his eyes over towards the far left where a hallway branches off the main seating area.

Jihoon cuts the host off with a raised hand. “It’s fine. I know my way.”

“Sir—”

“I’m so sorry,” Jihoon hears Soonyoung gush behind him. “Our CEO is a very impatient man, as you can see—”

Jihoon dodges several waiters balancing precarious steaming plates and slips into the hallway. As he stalks down the row of private rooms, peeking into each window, he’s reminded of midnights in the university music building, searching the recording studios for a hint of an elusive person.

The room is empty when he finds it, food practically untouched on the table. In a moment of vulnerability Jihoon considers stealing some of the food, potentially with his mouth, but quickly shakes himself out of it.

He snags Soonyoung’s red blazer from the back of a chair and checks the vicinity for anything else he may have missed. There’s one chair against the wall that's slightly askew, and Jihoon imagines Soonyoung and his client having dinner; her husband bursting in maybe with assumptions about an affair; Soonyoung getting punched and falling to the floor. The anger in Jihoon is so intense, he almost wishes they were still here so he could appall them by flipping over the table.

He makes it back just as Soonyoung is running out of steam, surrounded by the host and two waitresses.

“Oh, Mr. CEO sir, you found it—” Jihoon drags him out the door as Soonyoung shouts, “Thanks for the help!”

Back in the taxi, Soonyoung digs through the pockets of his blazer. Everything must be there because he voluntarily gives the driver another address, a train station, and shrugs the blazer on. “Where’d you learn to act like that?”

“From you,” Jihoon says. They both burst into giggles, adrenaline fueled, and Soonyoung gasps when it pulls on his wound. He pokes it with a finger.

Jihoon grabs his wrist. “Don’t do that.”

“But it feels weird.”

“Just bear with it a little longer.” He hands Soonyoung the water bottle again, though it’s not as cold anymore.

Jihoon doesn’t notice he hadn’t let go of Soonyoung’s arm until they stop outside the train station and Soonyoung pulls away, assuring Jihoon he’ll be right back. He soon returns with his gym bag in tow. Apparently, he’d been storing it in luggage lockers whenever he had to meet a client.

“You’ve been doing a lot,” Jihoon says, on their way to Soonyoung’s apartment. He doesn’t know whether that properly conveys what he means — that Soonyoung’s given a lot of himself to this job, more than he’d bargained for.

Soonyoung lays his head back. The rainstorm has passed now, the remnants splattered on the window. “Is that why I feel tired?”

“It’s nice to hear you admit it.”

Soonyoung snorts. “Dude, all of our friends are workaholics. No one admits it.”

“Well… you got me there.” Beside him, Soonyoung laughs lightly. Jihoon looks out his own window. “I get tired, too,” he says. “Do I have to tell you every week so you remember to take a break?”

“If you weren’t so high maintenance, maybe I wouldn’t have to work so hard to feed you.”

“I’m high maintenance? I literally had to schedule dinner with you.”

“Says the person who lives in his studio. If it were up to me, we could have all the time in the world! We could get dinner every day!”

There’s a brief weighted silence, in which Jihoon can’t bring himself to look over at Soonyoung because he’s almost sure that he’s pink in the face.

“I’ll remember you said that,” Jihoon replies evenly. It’s the easiest thing to admit.

Jihoon follows Soonyoung up to his apartment and Soonyoung doesn’t ask him why. He helps him bandage up the wound, knowing Soonyoung could very well do it himself now that he’s home. You’re tired, Soonyoung reminds him, and though it’s strategic, Jihoon lets Soonyoung coerce him into eating leftovers Soonyoung digs out of his fridge, into washing up in his bathroom; he lets Soonyoong pull him by the wrist into the bedroom and Soonyoung’s too-large bed, until he’s drowsily listening to Soonyoung change into his sleep clothes.

“Don’t hug me when you sleep,” Jihoon warns him, mind wandering back to that one field trip in high school. “That was so annoying.”

“No promises.” Soonyoung flops onto the mattress. “That happened one time, why are you so hung up on it…”

Why indeed, Jihoon thinks, before consciousness fades away.

When Jihoon comes to in the morning, Soonyoung is already awake, eyes barely open against the sunshine in his face. It freezes Jihoon in place. Something about eye contact with Soonyoung feels piercing. It’s hard to describe; scary some days, comforting on others, or exciting, to be confronted by something so accepting.

Jihoon speaks first, voice thick from sleep. “What are you thinking?”

“Something gross,” Soonyoung murmurs against his pillow. He sits up abruptly. Jihoon grabs a fistful of his old, stretched out T-shirt and yanks him back down, unleashing a yelp. Soonyoung turns his head to face the wall, and in the light Jihoon can see his red ears as bright as day.

“What is it?”

Soonyoung's middle is as ticklish as ever and Jihoon attacks without a second thought, trying to get Soonyoung to look at him. Eventually Soonyoung pushes back on his hands with a war cry and it turns into a wrestling match. Despite having quit long ago, Soonyoung is still a fourth-degree black belt in taekwondo and he quickly gains the upper hand, pinning Jihoon flat on his back with an arm across his collarbone.

Above him Soonyoung’s eyes are bright, roving over Jihoon’s face. There’s some color still on his cheeks, but the bruise on the corner of his mouth is shockingly dark in comparison, patchy and deep purple, spilling out from the bandage Jihoon had patched over the cut. It so obviously doesn’t belong.

“Does it hurt?” Jihoon asks.

Soonyoung releases him and sits back on his heels. He tries to move his mouth around. “Not too bad.”

“I’ll put on a new one for you,” Jihoon offers, getting out of bed. Soonyoung grabs his arm.

“It’s fine. I can do it after I wash up.”

“Oh… right.”

Soonyoung smiles, mostly with his eyes. “Thanks though.”

“Anytime.” Jihoon clears his throat. “I should head home. It’s…” He squints.

“Saturday,” Soonyoung supplies, climbing off the bed as well. “You can wash up first if you want.”

Jihoon glances over at the mess of sheets all tangled together over Soonyoung’s shoulder and the full reality of what occurred last night hits him. What do people call this? A sleepover?

“You go first,” Jihoon says. Soonyoung nods and shuffles off. After what feels like seconds but must’ve been minutes later, Soonyoung tells him it’s his turn, and Jihoon washes up on autopilot. Does it really matter what it is? he wonders, brushing his teeth with an extra toothbrush Soonyoung had unearthed from the cabinet. Maybe the bigger question is, why aren’t they sick of each other yet?

When he emerges, Soonyoung’s bent over the desk in his room, scribbling something.

“What are you doing?”

“Here,” he says, handing Jihoon the convenience store receipt from yesterday. On the back is a handwritten IOU, redeemable from Kwon Soonyoung. “It’s only fair.”

“You didn’t have to…” But at the expectant look on Soonyoung’s face, Jihoon doesn’t have the heart to turn it down. He studies the note carefully, and against his better judgement, he asks, “Where’s the one I gave you?”

“Oh.” Soonyoung ruffles through the red blazer he’d thrown over the back of a chair and pulls out his wallet. He slips a small folded square out of one of the slots. “I keep it here just in case.”

There’s that relief again, the warmth. Jihoon supposes he's glad Soonyoung didn't leave it laying around after all. “Just in case what?”

Soonyoung tucks Jihoon’s IOU back inside his wallet, and shrugs. “There’s only one in the world, right?”

Chapter Text

“I’m going to accept the promotion,” Jihoon says. Beomju locks up the studio and beams, slapping Jihoon on the back on their way to the elevator. Jihoon only stumbles slightly.

“That’s great. What made you change your mind?”

“I just… think I’ll be able to handle it now. The job, along with my personal projects.”

Beomju tosses his empty coffee cup in the trash. The building is mostly empty at 7 p.m., and the elevator arrives right away. “Well, I’m glad. I know you’ll do great while I’m gone.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Don’t miss me too much,” Beomju warns him.

Jihoon keeps a straight face. “I’ll try my best.”

“And just because I’m enlisting doesn’t mean I won’t be watching. I’ll call the moment the quality slips.”

“Then I’ll make sure you never have to call.”

The elevator doors slide open at the ground floor, and Beomju tugs on his beanie with a satisfied smile. “That’s the attitude.”

Soonyoung’s already outside, leaning by the entrance in pale jeans and a loose long-sleeved shirt. Jihoon pops his head out and takes in the bright cartoon character bandaid Soonyoung had patched over the corner of his mouth. It makes the bruise — and Soonyoung — look way too harmless.

“Your friend?” Beomju asks, emerging behind him.

“Ah, yeah... Soonyoung, this is Beomju-hyung.”

Soonyoung bows, lips pressed together, as Beomju says, “I think I’ve seen you somewhere. Did you stop by the studio before?”

Jihoon turns slowly to look at him.

“Ah, did I?” Soonyoung rubs his neck, chuckling meekly. “That was a long time ago…”

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Beomju says. He’s already backing down the street, busy texting. “Have a good night.”

“Mm,” Jihoon answers absently. Without further ado, Soonyoung heads off in the vague direction of the new restaurant they had agreed to try out. The sun is only starting to set a little, the sky light blue. Spring six years ago, they were racing each other to the bus stop after school and blowing their combined allowance on snacks. The fact that they’re walking together now, still, is kind of fascinating to Jihoon.

He poses the question casually. “You came by the studio?”

“A few months back. When I moved into my apartment.” Soonyoung licks his lips and makes a face when he accidentally licks Pororo, too. “I was going somewhere and ended up outside your studio. And then you weren’t there, so I left.”

It all sounds so matter-of-fact when Soonyoung explains it. But why were you looking for me, Jihoon thinks, is the better question.

“You could’ve texted me beforehand.”

Soonyoung brushes it off. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted…” Jihoon’s mind cycles through a number of ways that sentence could end. “…to tell someone. In person. It’s a really nice place,” he adds defensively.

Jihoon studies Soonyoung’s profile and glances away before Soonyoung can catch him and attempt to out-stare him. “Text me, next time.”

He can almost hear Soonyoung absorbing that. “I will.”

Down the street, Jihoon spots the line curving out the door of the restaurant they had chosen. The thought of having a conversation in a noisy, crowded room suddenly seems utterly unappealing. “Wanna do takeout instead?”

“Why, all of a sudden?”

Jihoon shugs. “It’s more comfortable. And my place is a few blocks away.”

“Your place?”

“Yeah.”

Soonyoung pauses. “More comfortable?”

“Stop repeating what I said as questions.”

“What you said?” Soonyoung’s obviously trying to pick a fight and Jihoon gives it to him, grabbing his arms and crossing them over his chest. After virtually tapping out, Soonyoung huffs, “Fine. Let’s play rock paper scissors.”

Jihoon cracks his knuckles in preparation. “For what?”

“Loser has to carry the food.”

“That’s too easy.”

“What then?”

Jihoon hums, gears spinning. “How about the winner carries the food, and the loser has to carry the winner?”

Soonyoung winds up his right arm and pretends to spit into his palm before curling it into a fist. “Deal.”

Thirty minutes later, after they bypass the line and pick up their takeout, Jihoon crouches down and ignores odd stares from pedestrians as Soonyoung climbs onto his back.

Jihoon groans the moment he straightens his knees. The last time he was mildly close to carrying Soonyoung was probably in high school, when he was bony and awkward from his late growth spurt. He hefts Soonyoung up by his thighs and Jihoon discovers his hands barely span their width now. It makes him feel slightly odd.

Unaware of all this, Soonyoung drapes his arms over Jihoon’s shoulders, their takeout dangling from one hand, and clamps onto Jihoon’s waist with his legs. Jihoon could compare the sensation to being slowly squashed to death by a very warm and excitable rock.

Soonyoung shifts to get more comfortable. “You’re not going to die, are you?”

“If I do, I’ll haunt you forever,” Jihoon grunts, taking a few halting steps. Their height difference makes everything feel off-kilter, but Jihoon manages to find his balance after the first block.

“Pit stop?” Soonyoung suggests.

“I don’t think… I can stop.” Jihoon is about to add that he’s sure there’s a law in physics for why large objects propel smaller objects forward (probably because they’re so damn heavy), but decides to save his breath.

With two more blocks to go, Soonyoung fishes his phone out of his jeans, and then Sung Sikyung starts singing ‘On the Street’ under Jihoon’s chin.

Jihoon readjusts his grip. “Having fun?”

In reply, Soonyoung croons the chorus right into his ear.

“I haven’t been to your apartment in a while,” Soonyoung comments when Jihoon finally unlocks the door. His place is nothing fancy — it’s a one-room, one-bathroom studio with just enough space for a work desk, a stout coffee table, a bed, and kitchen area, neither cramped nor spacious. Jihoon’s never particularly cared for décor, so the walls are pretty much bare, his table space adorned with necessities. The flashiest thing he has is the stereo system he’d set up on his desk.

Jihoon, still feeling the imprint of Soonyoung’s weight on him, floats over to the sink to wash his hands. “Nothing’s changed.”

Soonyoung hums and surveys the room like he doesn’t really believe him. In truth, it’s been a while since anyone’s been over. The space seems to shrink with Soonyoung standing in it, and Jihoon turns up the air conditioning.

They camp out on the floor on either side of the coffee table, dinner spead out between them. The table is small enough that Soonyoung’s socked feet poke out on Jihoon’s side when he stretches out his legs.

He wiggles his toes at Jihoon. “Do you want to come to the spring showcase?”

“Ah, your performance with Chan?”

“Mm.” Soonyoung stirs the noodles in his bowl. “You helped me choreograph it after all.”

“I helped DJ,” Jihoon corrects. “When is it?”

“Next Thursday night.” Casually, Soonyoung adds, “You don’t have to come if you’re busy. It’s really Chan’s performance and I’ll only be on stage for the first two minutes.”

“I’ll come. I haven’t seen you perform since—”

“University,” Soonyoung finishes seamlessly. “Senior year.”

Jihoon takes a careful breath. “Right.” He was hungry on the way here but that has faded into the background. Maybe Soonyoung feels the same way, judging by how he’s been stirring his noodles. “You can eat,” Jihoon reminds him.

“So can you.” Soonyoung peels off his bandage. Underneath, his skin is yellowing and green — healing, but ever so slowly.

“Are you still seeing clients with that?” Jihoon gestures at his face.

Soonyoung takes a tentative bite. “I’m taking a break for now.”

Jihoon nods. He can’t stop glancing at the bruise, especially when Soonyoung keeps making small pained sounds when the spice irritates the hidden abrasions inside his mouth. Which is why when they finish up, Jihoon reads Soonyoung’s lips at the same time he hears the words, “Do you have a band-aid I can use?”

Jihoon tears his eyes away. “…Sure.” He returns with a bandage from his bathroom cabinet. “I only have the grown-up ones.”

Soonyoung laughs. “That’s okay. I like all bandages equally.”

After watching Soonyoung struggle to peel it open, Jihoon tuts and sits down beside him. “Give it to me.”

“What?”

“I’ll do it. Give it to me.”

“Why,” Soonyoung gapes, as Jihoon plucks the band-aid out of his hands, “what’s in it for you?”

Jihoon is mildly offended. “Just stay still.”

Despite his protests, Soonyoung closes his eyes, a picture of trust, and it makes Jihoon unreasonably nervous. Jihoon sticks the bandage on, fingertips ghosting over Soonyoung’s bottom lip and tingling when they part. With near hyperfocus, Jihoon takes note. He didn’t know it could feel like that, when he touched Soonyoung. Then again, what does it usually feel like? He can’t seem to recall anything different.

“Done.”

Soonyoung’s eyes slip open. For a moment, he’s still. Then he leans in a few centimeters. Jihoon tries not to scramble backwards. “What is it?”

“Eyelash,” Soonyoung mumbles.

“Where?”

Soonyoung lifts a hand and drags his thumb under Jihoon’s left eye. The tingles spread like wildfire, as far down as his neck, so intense that his eyes water. Soonyoung sits back slowly and blows on his thumb. “There.” He keeps looking at Jihoon though, sparkly and expectant, like he’s waiting to be reprimanded but also curious as to why he hasn't been.

Jihoon pictures a spiral and the two of them walking along the line, getting closer and closer to the center. “We should clean up,” he says, somewhat desperately.

“Alright,” Soonyoung allows.

Chung-Ang University Art Center is a bulky red building, a visible landmark even to non-students. Jihoon has a pretty vivid memory of it from two years ago, the night of Soonyoung’s senior showcase. That day Jihoon had fallen asleep in a recording studio and woken up with a jolt to a student knocking insistently on the door. Beside him Jihoon found a can of lukewarm herbal tea and a note from Yoongi, saying he’d reserved the studio until 6 p.m. in case Jihoon didn’t wake up before then. Jihoon had slept way past that, having worked on his thesis composition for nearly two days straight. With barely enough time to catch the train, he had to run the rest of the way to Chung-Ang, bursting into the hall minutes before Soonyoung’s performance.

So when Jihoon passes by a flower shop on his way to the spring showcase on Thursday, he pauses.

“Hi,” the clerk says when Jihoon jingles the doorbell, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Uh—” Jihoon wracks his brain. “—I’m looking for a small bouquet. Something simple. And congratulatory.”

The clerk, most likely a college student hanging onto her last thread of sanity, shoots Jihoon a bland smile. “Well, we have some fresh gerberas. They’re great for spring showcases.”

Jihoon smiles blandly back. “That works.”

As she wraps an assortment of gerberas in foil, Jihoon taps his fingers on the glass counter. “Is there anything that says ‘sorry’ and… ‘thank you’?”

She adjusts her glasses. “Giving someone flowers can say that in general. Depends on who it’s for though.”

“A friend.” But that’s too simplistic. “A close friend. Someone I’ve known for a long time.” Jihoon can’t pin down why he’s even trying to explain this to a complete stranger, except that the right description is important.

“I’m going to be very blunt,” the clerk interjects mildly, “because you seem like the kind of person who would appreciate it. Instead of asking me, why don’t you just pick what you think your friend will like?”

Jihoon blinks. “Oh. Sure.”

Maybe it’s his imagination, but her expression softens. “Great. Let me know when you find something.”

Of all people, the last person Jihoon expects to bump into is Myungho. He’s cradling a bouquet of his own up the front steps of the Art Center, his long plaid coat sweeping behind him like the cape of a shoujo manga prince on his way to woo the protagonist.

Jihoon doesn’t regret the comfort of his worn T-shirt and ripped jeans, but he does wonder whether Myungho dresses so nicely for every occasion. He wonders who the roses are for.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Myungho says, as they join the sparse crowd filing inside.

“Same to you.” Jihoon curses internally when he remembers they’re here to see Chan perform with Soonyoung, without Myungho.

But Myungho only flicks his bangs out of his eyes. “Hm? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Never mind.” Jihoon pulls together an excuse. “I forget not everyone works late nights like I do.”  

Myungho glances at Jihoon’s flowers knowingly. “Except today?”

Jihoon’s grip on them tightens. “Coincidentally.”

He follows Myungho into the auditorium, which sounds more packed than it actually is because of all the conversation. Myungho is stopped twice by his former professors, and even chats with one of them in what Jihoon assumes is halting Chinese.

“Does everybody know each other?” Jihoon asks him, after they find seats off to the side.

Myungho hums, looking around. “Mostly, yeah — everyone here is in contemporary dance.” He rests his bouquet of roses in the empty seat beside him. “You’ve been here before, for Soonyoung’s senior performance.” It’s not a question.

“Yep.” The stage is still imposing — huge and entirely black, from the curtains to the smooth tile flooring. He snickers. “I remember his K-pop mashup.”

Myungho laughs melodically. “People were still talking about that after he graduated. Contemporary and K-pop…” He shakes his head. “Only Soonyoung could pull that off.”

“What about you? You graduated last year.”

“Ah…” Myungho purses his lips. “I wrote my own music, actually. It was nothing impressive, but it was fun to try.”

“The fact that you wrote it is already impressive,” Jihoon tells him seriously. “That’s really cool.” Not for the first time Jihoon thinks he could get along with Myungho if they had the chance. Myungho’s returning smile seems to say the same.

Chan steps onto stage last in the lineup, clad in all white. Jihoon would’ve missed Soonyoung if he hadn’t been looking for him so closely, and when Chan gets into a sitting position, Jihoon realizes why — Soonyoung’s hair has been dyed black to match his clothes. Standing with his back facing the audience, Soonyoung blends right into the stage; the only thing obvious against the backdrop are his hands, his bare feet, and the partial profile of his face visible from where Jihoon is sitting.

As the music begins, Jihoon can see the barebones of the choreography Soonyoung had showed him forming into a complete narrative. Chan, the main character, wakes up and is greeted by Soonyoung, Mother Nature — the shining morning sun, the fluttering birds, the breeze that floats by. At times they come together, almost mirroring each other before breaking apart, Soonyoung spinning and tumbling around Chan with such athleticism that Jihoon wonders how he makes it look so easy. Eventually, the song shifts into another and Soonyoung leaves Chan to explore the world on his own.

The rest of the performance passes in a blur. Even to someone with barely any knowledge about dance, Jihoon can tell Chan is an excellent performer. It’s not any fault of Chan’s that the afterimage of Soonyoung that night — sillouetted by the warm light of the fair, his arms spread wide against the sky — just won’t leave Jihoon alone.

Afterwards, some members of the audience immediately head backstage to chat with their fellow dancers. Others, like Myungho and Jihoon, wait for them to emerge. Chan finds them first, still donning his white shirt but with jeans and shoes on.

“Hyung!” he calls brightly. With an easy grin, Myungho pulls him into one-armed a hug. If it hadn’t been clear before that there were no hard feelings between them, it certainly is now. It seems Soonyoung had been worried for nothing.

“You worked hard,” Myungho says, presenting Chan with a dozen roses.

“Wow, it’s not even my graduation?”

Myungho ruffles his hair. “You deserve them now.”

Jihoon takes the chance to hand Chan his gerberas. “I know we’ve only met twice, but congrats. You were great.”

Chan accepts them, eyes wide. “Oh, wow.” His whole demeanor softens. “Thank you.”

At that moment Soonyoung swoops in and lifts Chan off his feet, shaking a few laughs out of him before setting him down. Unlike Chan, Soonyoung had changed out of his entire stage outfit into a T-shirt and shorts. Soonyoung’s new hair is spiky with perspiration and he has a tissue still stuck to his forehead to soak up the sweat.

“You left your stuff behind,” he tells Chan, gesturing to the bags he’d set on the floor.

“Ah! Sorry…”

And then Soonyoung faces Jihoon with a glimmer in his eye, arms open in an invitation. Jihoon fervently shakes his head as Soonyoung takes a step closer.

Jihoon shoves his remaining bouquet into Soonyoung’s chest to keep him at bay. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Soonyoung gazes down at the yellow daffodils, all the brighter against his dark T-shirt. “For me?”

“No, your clone.”

Soonyoung ignores the comment. He tucks the bouquet into the crook of his elbow like a baby, and pins Jihoon with an intense stare.

“No,” Jihoon says emphatically.

Soonyoung snorts, eyebrows lifting. “I didn’t say anything?” He promptly turns to Myungho and shows him his scalp. “My sweat is still gray.”

“It should stop after you wash your hair some more.” Myungho frowns and points to the corner of Soonyoung’s mouth. “What’s that? There’s some color there.” He reaches out as if to wipe it off, but Soonyoung subtly dodges.

“Ah, I used some foundation to cover up a pimple. I think it was the wrong color though.”

Smooth, Jihoon thinks. Did you prepare that beforehand?

“If you asked me, I could’ve helped,” Myungho admonishes, and sighs. “Chan, are you hungry? I’ll treat you to dinner.”

Chan breaks into a mischievous smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. You guys, too,” Myungho offers to Jihoon and Soonyoung. “If you want to come.”

“Sweet,” Soonyoung replies, before Jihoon can even consider declining. “Let’s go.”

When they emerge outside, the air has grown even more humid, like Seoul is working up to another cathartic rain. Chan pulls out his phone to choose a restaurant as they walk leisurely towards the intersection.

Myungho nods at Soonyoung’s flowers. “What are those called in Korean?”

“Daffodils, I think.” Soonyoung peers into the bouquet, but when the flowers neither confirm nor deny their name, he looks at Jihoon. “Right?”

“Yes,” Jihoon answers, matter-of-fact. For a second Soonyoung’s expression twists to say How was I supposed to know? and Jihoon makes a silly face back.

“They’re pretty,” Myungho notes. “In China, the white and yellow ones are special. We buy them for Chinese New Year.”

“Oh, really? Do these have any special meaning in Korea?” This time, both Soonyoung and Myungho turn to Jihoon expectantly.

“I don’t know,” Jihoon says helplessly. “I just… bought them.”

“Ey,” Soonyoung nudges him. “No way.”

Chan saves Jihoon by announcing the restaurant he’d found. As Myungho and Chan pore over the directions on his phone, Jihoon catches Soonyoung staring at the flowers again. Something about his open admiration makes Jihoon flush.

He’s compelled to explain. “It’s because I didn’t get you any senior year.”

“You didn’t? I don’t remember.”

Of course Soonyoung doesn’t. Regardless, it’s too late to take them back now. “Well, I do.” Jihoon shrugs. “Just consider it a weight off my conscience.”

“Alright,” Soonyoung responds coolly. “But if you were feeling so guilty, you should’ve told me. I can think of lots of other things you can give me.”

“Ah. So you don’t like the flowers?” Jihoon nods. “Cool. I’ll make sure to write that down.”

“We’re taking the train,” Chan informs them from up ahead.

Soonyoung answers distractedly, before refocusing on the issue at hand. “No, wait — I like the flowers. A lot.”

It would be no fun to let him go that easy. “Oh no,” Jihoon insists. “You don’t have to lie to me. I understand. Look, there’s a trash can right there if you want to—”

Soonyoung stops in his tracks. After a few strides Jihoon looks back at him, face carefully blank.

“I love them,” Soonyoung declares adamantly, hugging the bouquet to his chest. The daffodils are starting to look a little too smothered with love. “They’re the best flowers I’ve ever received in my life.”

Slowly, Jihoon raises his hand. “You swear?”

Soonyoung mirrors the gesture. “I swear.”

Jihoon gives him a solemn nod and starts walking again. When Soonyoung catches up, he throws an arm over Jihoon’s shoulders like he’s done a thousand times before. Only this time, Jihoon notices things that he hadn’t noticed before — Soonyoung’s skin pressing against the back of his neck, Soonyoung’s hip bumping into his every other step, Soonyoung’s fingers brushing over Jihoon’s clothed bicep.

“It’s hot,” Jihoon groans, forgoing the specific reasons why.

“Just put up with it for a little while,” Soonyoung cajoles.

He’s in such a good mood that Jihoon bears with it for a few more minutes until he’s forced to tickle Soonyoung’s side, sending him scuttling off in a fit of giggles.

They’re waiting for the broth to boil for hot pot when Myungho suggests they do something special for Soonyoung’s birthday.

Soonyoung is bewildered. “My birthday? Why?”

Next to Jihoon, Myungho turns up the heat for the stove on the table. “It’s coming up, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Hey hyung, what about my birthday?” Chan’s clearly teasing. “It was in February.”

Unruffled, Myungho says, “We can celebrate that, too.” He deflates a little when he realizes everyone at the table is staring silently into the not-yet-boiling pot. “I just thought we could do something fun together. Is that weird?”

“Of course not,” Soonyoung refutes quickly. “It could be fun. What would we do?”

“It’s your birthday,” Jihoon tells him across the table. “What do you want to do?”

“Hm… I’ve never really done anything special for my birthday before.”

Chan pauses in the middle of taking a sip of water. “Never?”

Soonyoung thinks about it. “Well, once my dad took me to my grandparents’ farm to milk a cow. We also cleaned the chicken coop and harvested potatoes. It was supposed to build character, I think.”

“And was your character built?” Jihoon asks, amused.

Out of sight, Soonyoung taps his foot playfully against Jihoon’s. “Dude, my character is ripped. He’s six feet tall and has an eight-pack and is super handsome.”

Chan snickers. “You sure that’s not your ideal type?”

“Nah,” Soonyoung says evasively. “Hey, it’s boiling!”

Cooking the food as soon as possible distracts them for a good twenty minutes. Once they’ve all padded their stomachs, Myungho brings it up again.

“What do you think about a road trip?”

“What?”

Jihoon glances at Soonyoung, who looks as surprised as he is.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?” Soonyoung asks.

Myungho pushes the food around his plate. “It’s just a suggestion. I think… it’s a good time to do something you really want to do? At this age.”

Jihoon taps Soonyoung’s foot under the table, and Soonyoung looks up at him. If telepathy really exists, Jihoon hopes Soonyoung is tuning in. Is the timing right? he asks him.

Soonyoung’s mouth quirks. What do you think?

Dinner winds down after an hour. Soonyoung suspiciously slips off to go to the bathroom, and when he returns, Myungho does the same. Jihoon expects the outburst, but not Myungho's stormy expression.

“Why did you pay?” Myungho demands, brandishing his wallet on his way back to their table. He seems genuinely upset that Soonyoung had stolen the bill. His voice is tight. “I said I would pay.”

“It’s fine,” Soonyoung says around the waiter clearing their plates. “I’m the hyung after all.”

Myungho’s frown deepens. “But…”

Chan returns from the bathroom then, eyes darting between them. “Is everything okay?”

Soonyoung smiles, but Jihoon can tell it’s purposeful more than anything. “Sorry, Myungho. I’ll let you treat us on my birthday.”

“You better.” Myungho takes a breath. By the time he lets it out, he seems more himself. He even offers up a fleeting smile. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little tired.”

“I get it.” Soonyoung ruffles his hair, and Myungho splutters, fixing his fringe right away. “Hey, if you want to pay so bad, I’m not complaining.”

Myungho laughs softly. When they finally part ways, Chan practically herds Myungho off to the train station, leaving Soonyoung and Jihoon together. They start walking though Jihoon is pretty sure it’s not towards home for either of them. Soonyoung cradles the droopy bouquet in his arms, calmer and quieter, as he always is, now that they’re alone.

“Do you think I should quit the escort thing?”

Jihoon studies their overlapping shadows casted by the streetlights. “You should do whatever you want to do.”

“I missed dancing,” Soonyoung admits. “I don’t want to eat fancy food and pretend I can hold an interesting conversation anymore.”

“You’re interesting,” Jihoon assures him. “Too interesting, actually. I think the word is bizarre.”

“Not when I’m talking to rich, middle-aged wives.” Soonyoung scuffs the sidewalk with his sneaker. “I turn into… I don’t know, just some guy.”

Jihoon laughs. “I don’t think anyone could meet you and think you’re ‘just some guy.’”

Soonyoung falls silent and Jihoon gradually sobers.

“Myungho feels the same way, probably,” Soonyoung says, and Jihoon’s pulse stops entirely until he clarifies, “About dancing.”

“…Yeah.” Jihoon doesn’t know Myungho nearly as well, but he doesn’t need to know him to recognize something he himself has felt before — the frustration of having a passion and not being able to feed it. Myungho had certainly seemed stressed, among other things. Jihoon sneaks a look at Soonyoung. He sets aside the questions he can’t ask.

“They reminded me of you,” Jihoon says instead.

“Hm?”

“The flowers.”

The plastic wrapper of the bouquet crinkles. “How?”

“Well, first of all, they’re bright. And they look like this,” Jihoon sticks his lips out.

Soonyoung makes a kissy face and holds the daffodils up to compare.

“Right. You look exactly alike.”

“That’s pretty cute I guess—”

“But also,” Jihoon plows ahead, ears warming, “you can plant them in the fall and they’ll bloom in the spring, even after a cold winter.”

After a pause, Soonyoung chuckles bashfully. “Aw, what, are you saying I’m beautiful and resilient?”

“More like ‘hard to get rid of,’ but sure.”

A sudden tug on the back of Jihoon’s shirt nearly makes him stumble backwards.

“Thanks for coming today,” Soonyoung says, letting go.

Jihoon swallows. “You paid for dinner, so I’ll consider it a fair trade.”

“I’m supposed to pay for your dinner anyway.”

Even without looking at Soonyoung directly, Jihoon can feel the intense barrage of Can I? Can I? Can I? Please? Can I? blow over him like hot desert wind.

“Fine—”

He lets out an oof when Soonyoung hugs him, the flowers coming around to tickle Jihoon’s hair. Jihoon pats Soonyoung on the back and keeps his chin above Soonyoung’s shoulder so he won’t drown in him.

“How long is this going to last,” Jihoon wheezes.

Soonyoung’s arms tighten around him almost imperceptibly, resting his head against his. As Jihoon’s pulse settles back into an even rhythm, his pats turn into short, comforting strokes.

“You did good,” Jihoon says. He’s not sure why, but it feels like Soonyoung needs it.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Beomju comments on their way back to the studio with a haul of three iced coffees. He’d asked Jihoon to join his weekly meeting with CEO Kim last minute, to get Jihoon ‘acquainted with his responsibilities.’ Jihoon will learn whatever he has to, but it doesn’t mean he likes being reminded of the fact that Beomju will be leaving in a few months.

It’s unexpected that Beomju thinks he’s in a good mood. “Am I?” Jihoon asks, holding the door open for Beomju and the drinks.

“Yeah. I heard you humming in the hallway this morning.”

Jihoon hits the button for the elevator. He hadn’t realized he was humming.

“Hey,” Beomju shrugs, when Jihoon doesn’t elaborate, “none of my business who you’re dating.”

“I’m not dating anyone?” Jihoon says a little too heatedly. He dials it back. “I was just brainstorming a topline.”

Beomju raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were writing Sung Sikyung’s ‘On the Street.’” Jihoon groans internally. “But keep at it. I have a feeling it’s going to be a hit.”

“Hyung, it’s not what you—”

With a ding, the elevator doors open and someone steps out. Beomju scoots aside to let them pass, but then he makes a noise of recognition.

“RM?”

“Oh,” the guy says. He’s tall and long-limbed, and he takes off his sunglasses to be polite. “Sorry, have we met before?”

“Ah, no,” Beomju chuckles heartily. “I’m just a fan of your music. You’re quite well-known.”

RM dips his head, cheek dimpling. “Thanks so much. I’m surprised you know what I look like though.”

Beomju grins. “I’m a real fan. What are you doing here? Our studios are upstairs.”

“You work for Ground K?” RM folds his sunglasses into the front pocket of his T-shirt. “I just finished a meeting with CEO Kim.” He scratches his forehead. “I’m looking to sign with you guys, actually.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all month,” Beomju declares and RM laughs. “No offense, Jihoon.”

“None taken.”

Beomju extends a hand, which RM shakes. “I’m Kye Beomju, by the way. I’m one of the in-house producers here. This is my assistant Jihoon, though he’ll be getting promoted soon.”

“Great to meet you.” RM reaches over to shake Jihoon’s hand, and Jihoon notices the simple silver chain on his wrist. “I go by RM, but you can also call me Namjoon.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, help me out,” Soonyoung implores over the beep of the convenience store microwave.

Jihoon removes his rice and carries it over to where Soonyoung’s babysitting their sodium-heavy unmentionables by the window. As soon as his rice is safely deposited on the countertop, Jihoon latches onto a bottle of soda to cool his fingertips.

“Why do I have to help you plan your own birthday trip?”

“Because you’re brilliant and have amazing ideas?”

“You don’t have any ideas?” Jihoon cracks his Coke open and takes a sip.

Soonyoung watches Jihoon drink. “If it were up to me, we’d just go grab dinner or something.”

“So tell Myungho you want to grab dinner and let him pay the bill. Everyone’s happy.”

Soonyoung sighs and says, “I don’t know,” then snags Jihoon’s soda and pours it straight into his mouth.

“Watch it,” Jihoon warns him. Soonyoung stops once his cheeks are bulging, and he dries his mouth roughly on the back of his hand. He’d come straight from the dance studio wearing a sleeveless tank and Jihoon can see the gooseflesh on his bare arms from the air conditioner blasting inside the store. Highly unnecessary, in Jihoon’s opinion. It’s not even that hot outside.

At the chime of Soonyoung’s phone alarm, they peel the lids off their ramen.

“Do you still like road trips?” Jihoon asks. “Be honest.”

“I’m sure I’d like it if you planned the whole thing… or not,” Soonyoung amends quickly. “I still like the idea of a road trip. It feels like something adults do, you know? You get go wherever you want with your friends and everything.”

Jihoon tries to see past his own face in the storefront glass, but it’s too dark outside. His attention shifts to Soonyoung’s reflection blowing carefully on his noodles.

“Anyway, the best part of a road trip is the road part,” Soonyoung says, meeting Jihoon’s eye. Jihoon blinks as if that would clarify things.

“You mean the journey?”

“No, the road part.” Soonyoung’s reflection is ever so earnest. “The part when you’re all in the car.”

Primly, Jihoon slurps his ramen; he understands that ocasionally it’s best to give Soonyoung room to be an unknowable creature. “In that case, you could hop on the bus for a day and get the same effect.”

“Sure, if you all come with me.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Jihoon muses. At least buses and trains won’t get them lost, wherever they’re going. “Better than you driving.”

“Oh yeah? At least I have a license.”

“I don’t need a license to know you barely passed the test. I was there.”

Jihoon smoothly dodges the sideways grab for his neck.

Soonyoung turns back to the radish slices. “But what if we can’t sit together on the bus?”

“What do you mean? We see each other all the time.”

“I mean, what if we all can’t sit together? There’s, what, seven of us?”

Feeling a warm prickle of embarrassment creeping up his neck, Jihoon hops off his stool and goes on a self-imposed hunt for napkins. “Since when were there seven of us?”

“I was thinking Chan, Myungho,” Soonyoung rattles off out of sight, “Wonwoo, Seungcheol, Mingyu.” When Jihoon rounds the shelf again, he doesn’t expect Soonyoung to be looking straight at him, and it almost makes him take a step back.

“Me and you,” Soonyoung concludes, his complexion pink from the ramen steam. He’s got that expression again, expectant, like Jihoon has the answer to a question.

Soonyoung turns back to his food and Jihoon’s knees slowly unlock. He sets the stack of napkins between them. Had they always been sitting so close? “We could book seats ahead of time,” he offers. “So everyone can sit together.”

“Hm,” is all Soonyoung says. Wrong answer.

Wrong question, corrects a voice in Jihoon’s head. Jihoon shushes it. “Stop thinking about what everyone else would want to do. What do you want to do?”

“This trip isn’t only for me though. It’s for all of us.” Soonyoung braces a hand on the stool between his legs. “I just… I think it’d be nice if all of us had a good time.”

Jihoon thinks for a second. “Let’s keep it simple then — we can pick a place we’ve already been to before. We each make a list and compare.”

“Wait, so you’re helping me?”

Jihoon dumps his rice into his leftover ramen broth and breaks it up with his chopsticks. He slides the cup over to Soonyoung, knowing he’ll want a taste. “Someone has to save you from your own brain.”

Soonyoung pats his own head. “Shh, there, there. Don’t listen to him.”

After a finicky recording session drags on for three hours, Beomju calls for a sanity break. Jihoon slips out of the stuffy studio, intent on tackling the vending machine, only there’s someone already there — tall and visible in a tan trucker jacket and a black hat. Jihoon pauses. Namjoon doesn’t notice him though, too busy puzzling over the display.

Jihoon observes him for another minute before approaching warily. “You have to hit ‘select’ again. It only works the second time.”

Namjoon sighs in relief when his peach juice tumbles out. “Thanks. You want anything?”

“It’s fine.” Jihoon waves his wallet. “I’ve got it.”

Instead of walking away like Jihoon had hoped, Namjoon makes himself comfortable on the small bench nearby. Jihoon selects his drink, all the while tracking every sound and movement: Namjoon cracking his juice open, Namjoon resting his elbows on his knees.

Jihoon straightens and turns the cold bottled tea over in his hands (he’s been trying to cut back on the soda a little bit), and swipes his thumb across the condensation. He notices the silver chain on Namjoon’s wrist again, glinting in the setting sunlight. “Did you… always go by RM?”

Namjoon looks a little like he got caught. “I changed my stage name last year actually. Did you hear about it somewhere?”

From Yoongi. “Ah. I think Beomju-hyung mentioned it.”

“People did warn me that a name change would be confusing,” Namjoon scratches his ear, “but it was something I had to do. I outgrew it.”

Jihoon leans against the vending machine. “As long as the music is good, I don’t think an artist’s name really matters.”

Namjoon smiles. “Hey, I agree. Jihoon-ssi, right?”

It’s an innocent question, like one would ask any practical stranger. Only Jihoon isn’t sure how much Yoongi confided in Namjoon, if at all — from what Jihoon could gather, Yoongi’s history with Namjoon had been extensive, but complicated. It didn’t help that Yoongi had a habit of making everything seem shallower than it really was; a habit that he and Jihoon shared, unfortunately.

“Congrats on the promotion by the way,” Namjoon is saying, “I didn’t get to tell you last time.”

“Thanks.” Jihoon hesitates before he tips his tea to him. “Welcome to Ground K.”

Namjoon shakes his head though he looks happy. “You don’t seem much older than me, but you’re already on track to be a full-time producer. That’s really impressive.” After that open-ended statement, he studies Jihoon curiously.

“I was born in ’96,” Jihoon says. It triggers a wave of déjà vu.

Namjoon huffs out a breath. “Man, I guessed ’97. We’re only two years apart though.”

“Still a better guess than most people.”

Namjoon points at his own face as if it’s betrayed him many times. “Tell me about it.”

“You too?” Namjoon nods gravely. “Older or younger?”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. People always think I look older.”

Jihoon shrugs. “I don’t see it.”

“It wouldn’t offend me if you did, you know.” With a glance at his watch, Namjoon stands and looks around for a place to set down his drink. He eventually decides to cap it first before putting it on the ground, then works on straightening out his bunched up skinny jeans. “I think it’s kind of nice when people think you're a different age. It’s like you’re living a little more than the average person.”

Jihoon doesn’t quite get it, but he nods, sensing the conversation coming to a close. “You have a meeting?”

“Yeah. It’s official today.” Namjoon signs the air — the contract.

“Cool,” Jihoon says lamely.

Namjoon nearly walks away without his juice and Jihoon is starting to see a theme. He can almost imagine how Yoongi and Namjoon might clash on a regular basis, albeit fondly. “Can’t forget your gift,” Namjoon says sheepishly, shaking the bottle. “Thanks again. Looking forward to working together.”

He disappears down the hall, and Jihoon tries to parse out how exactly he feels about that.

“Alright, this is it.”

They settle behind the wheel. Soonyoung shucks off his jacket and Jihoon cracks his knuckles.

“When you lose,” Jihoon says, “I get to call you a bad driver all I want.”

“When I win, you have to get your driver’s license.”

“Ha. Deal.”

The screen counts down to one and they shoot off into a pastel candyland. Soonyoung makes all sorts of inhuman noises everytime he rounds a turn, nearly cussing when a turtleshell derails his lead on the second lap. He’s so noisy that Jihoon unleashes a victory cry when he beats him to the finish line, just to rub it in.

“That didn’t count,” Soonyoung splutters, “I haven’t been hit by an NPC since I was twelve!”

“Don’t feel too bad,” Jihoon says sagely. He gets up from his seat. “You can’t help being a bad driver.”

Soonyoung grabs his wrist, eyes aflame. “Best two out of three, you coward.”

Somewhere the midst of their best four out of six, a few kids start gathering round. Unfortunately, having an audience means Soonyoung starts focusing on the game rather than on being dramatic. After Jihoon loses the fourth match by a hair, bringing them to a tie, a girl with a bowl cut taps him on the shoulder. “Can we play now?”

“Oh.” Jihoon takes in the small group of children that had been waiting for the adults to stop hogging the machines. “Of course. Sorry about that.”

“How did it feel to slip on the most perfectly timed banana in the history of KartRider?” Soonyoung gushes as Jihoon herds him away. Soonyoung digs his heels in until Jihoon can’t push him any further towards the exit of the arcade.

“Are we leaving already? I didn’t beat you yet.”

Jihoon tsks. “Did you forget why we’re meeting up today?”

Soonyoung has to think for a second. “Oh, right. Birthday trip planning.”

“Yeah. We have to get to the planning or there won’t be a trip.”

Fingers wrap around Jihoon’s wrist again, catching his attention even though it wasn’t elsewhere. “Wait.”

“What?” Jihoon subtly tests Soonyoung’s grip. It’s not tight at all, but Soonyoung’s hand is almost supernaturally hot, two fingers pressed right over Jihoon’s pulse point. Jihoon tenses reflexively.

“Let’s play one more round. Winner takes all.”

Jihoon slips free, but the heat doesn’t leave, just travels in a fine shiver up his arm. He shakes it off and holds out a fist. “How about the old fashioned way?” Some teenagers playing DDR nearby holler in excitement.

Although he can very well see what Jihoon is suggesting, Soonyoung leans closer. “What did you say?”

Jihoon rocks forward and raises his voice. “Rock paper scissors.”

He doesn’t quite remember what they had bet on anymore, and that fact dawns on Jihoon. Because it’s one thing to know subconsciously that the result has never mattered and another to realize they’re both playing this game for the game.

What did Soonyoung say — that the road is the best part?

“One round?”

Jihoon nods. “Let’s make it quick.”

“Speed is my specialty,” Soonyoung concedes, readying his stance, which trips a laugh out of Jihoon. Jihoon’s laugh infects Soonyoung too, though really, he’s always laughed easily.

“That should be your motto.”

Soonyoung bumps Jihoon’s fist. “If you like it so much.”

Jihoon wins, scissors over paper, with little fanfare. His thoughts are elsewhere. The ghost of Soonyoung’s fingers on Jihoon’s wrist, for example, and how it seems to react to Soonyoung’s proximity. Jihoon puzzles through this new awareness painfully slow, like one might gather unraveled yarn, trying to trace his way to the starting point. Soonyoung’s laugh, Soonyoung on his back, Soonyoung’s cologne in the bathroom. Only, the harder he looks, the more he can’t seem to find the beginning.

Before he knows it, they’re sitting down on a bench by a public fountain, Jihoon hyperaware of the centimeters between them.

“Remember that trip we had in high school?” Soonyoung says, scrolling through what could be a list of road trip ideas on his phone — but who knows. “I forget what year. We did some hiking and we had an outdoor picnic? There were temples, I think.”

“Was it Gyeongju? That was year one.”

“That sounds… Actually, you’re right.” Soonyoung squints up at the sun. “I remember dropping my lunch on the way up the mountain.”

Jihoon scoffs. “The teacher made me share my lunch with you. And you didn’t have a cell phone yet, so I had to stick to you to make sure you wouldn’t get in trouble. You were a real pain.”

“Thanks for not pushing me off the mountain.” The breeze ruffles Soonyoung’s bangs, unnaturally black in the light. “It’s funny though. We were in the same class for three years. That’s pretty unusual, right?”

“Maybe not.” Soonyoung looks to him for clarification and Jihoon watches a toddler fish for coins in the fountain water. “I just mean, it’s hard to imagine that I wouldn’t have been stuck with you, one way or another.”

Soonyoung stretches his legs out and leans on his hands; one of them closes the distance halfway to Jihoon, wrapping around the edge of the bench. Jihoon stares at it.

“Even in an alternate universe?”

Jihoon has an answer, but he can’t say it out loud. It’s too simple and the simplicity scares him. It’s as if he had spent days studying for an exam and discovered that the only problem he had to solve was 1 + 1. That he had known the answer all along.

“What do you think?” he asks instead.

“In an alternate universe,” Soonyoung begins, before he falls silent for so long that Jihoon wonders whether he’d completely lost his train of thought. He then continues like nothing had happened. “In an alternate universe, we would’ve gone to the same university.”

That’s unexpected. “Why?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “We would’ve seen each other more often.” He studies the ground under his feet. “I would’ve knocked on your door whenever I got hungry at night.”

Jihoon laughs weakly. “I probably would’ve knocked first.”

“I would’ve given you rides in my dad’s Kia.”

“No thanks.”

“And I would’ve been there for you, I think,” Soonyoung adds quietly.

Jihoon can hear his own pulse thumping slow and irregular in his ears, which can’t be healthy. He breaks the illusion. “You were. In this universe.”

“Not all the time.”

“Don’t feel guilty,” Jihoon says, “especially not now.”

“I’m not,” Soonyoung shoots back. “I’m just… curious.”

“About what?”

Soonyoung keeps his gaze firmly averted, until Jihoon can tell that he’s trying to will the conversation away. The only reason why Soonyoung’s gotten away with this tactic is because people tend to let him off the hook.

But not today. “About what?”

“Hey, shouldn’t we share our trip ideas—”

“Look over here,” Jihoon interrupts.

Soonyoung glances at Jihoon’s chin and then away. “Yeah?”

Jihoon reaches out and tugs on a lock of his hair. “I said over here—”

Abruptly Soonyoung turns and his cheek bumps into Jihoon’s palm. On contact Soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut like he’s expecting a shock, slightly different from how he’d closed his eyes as Jihoon bandaged his face, but all the same, rather remarkable.

After a small eternity, Jihoon notices he’s being stared at. He jerks his hand away, too comically to be casual.

Jihoon tugs on his earlobe. “So trip ideas?”

“Trip ideas,” Soonyoung echoes, his face tinged pink from the late afternoon sun.

The weather gets hotter and hotter.

Jihoon steps outside on a Saturday after a solid 14-hour sleep and has to resist retreating into the cool, dark comfort of his apartment. Whenever summer rolls around he gets mildly nostalgic about Busan and the early childhood he’d spent by the sea. Since his parents had moved back to Suyeong to take care of his grandparents, Jihoon has made a habit of visiting several times a year on the important dates, but never long enough to enjoy it.

Briefly, he’d considered adding Busan to the list of trip ideas, but decided not to. If his parents caught wind of his visit they would want him to stop by, and then they might invite Soonyoung along, in which case Jihoon might very well spontaneously combust.

He’s mulling over why he exactly he feels so strongly about it when he gets to Ground K’s studios, and doesn’t think twice when the room he usually uses on the weekends is already unlocked.

Jihoon freezes in the doorway. “Sorry. I didn’t realize…”

Namjoon only flips his notebook shut and points to the monitor. “Do you need to work? I just came here to think.”

“It’s just,” Jihoon shifts the laptop bag tucked under his arm, “personal work. I can use another studio.”

“No, wait. I’ll leave.” Namjoon grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and scans the vicinity. His lunch is still laid out on the coffee table behind him. “I just need to find my keys and clean up—”

“It’s okay,” Jihoon says. He clears his throat and tries again, louder. “I’m okay with you staying here, if you’re okay with me. You can finish eating too.”

“Are you sure?” Jihoon nods. “Okay, thanks. I’ll be out of here soon.”

Finally, Jihoon steps inside and lets the door fall shut behind him. “I don’t mind the company today,” he admits, rambling a bit. “Sometimes it helps me…” He’s thinking about Soonyoung again. Jihoon switches tracks. “Well, as long as you’re not a chronic foot tapper, it’s fine.”

Namjoon pauses, a spoonful of fried rice halfway to its destination. “Ah… I’ve been told I can’t sit still though.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Namjoon seems nostalgic. “But I’ll try to sit quietly. I don’t mind company today either.”

Jihoon nods again and boots up his laptop, drumming his fingers on the desk as he waits. Namjoon’s notebook is lying on the coffee table, the cover not a solid color as Jihoon had initially thought, but printed to look like an architect’s sketch of an elaborate domed ceiling.

“I got that in Italy,” Namjoon says, startling Jihoon. “There’s a famous shopping center in Naples that was built in the 1800s. The ceiling is all glass.” Namjoon studies the cover thoughtfully. “Do you like architecture?”

“I know someone who does,” Jihoon says, watching the missing puzzle pieces fall into place.

“Really? Me too. Actually, this was supposed to be a souvenir for him, but I never got around to gifting it.”

Jihoon spins his chair around and enters his computer password. He gets it wrong, and tries again. “Why not?”

“Well,” Namjoon says behind him, carefully scraping rice off the bottom of his container, “I guess the timing wasn’t right.”

“I shouldn’t have taken a shower before coming,” Soonyoung groans when he meets Jihoon on the street corner late Friday afternoon. He tugs on the front of his T-shirt, clinging to his chest in the humidity.

They make their way to the bakery down the street. “Yeah, why did you?”

“Man, where do I start… So last night, a sunbae from my university suddenly called me up.”

Jihoon opens the bakery door, and they both take a second to revel in the cool blast of air. “What for?”

“She asked if I wanted to join a session at her dance studio. Her and some of the other choreographers were at the spring showcase, I guess,” Soonyoung keeps talking as he follows Jihoon around heaping displays of bread. Amused, Jihoon heads over to order something cold and fizzy at the counter. “I mean, these people are like… their resumes are no joke. How could I say no? So I said ‘Sure!’ and showed up at eight this morning.”

“And how was it?”

“It was fun,” Soonyoung answers without hesitation. “Intense though. I feel like I got stretched in places I haven’t stretched in a long time.”

“Sounds like what you need,” Jihoon quips, and Soonyoung laughs.

Once Jihoon gets his (too sour) drink, they head upstairs to the second floor seating area, filled with studious university students nursing coffees. Seokmin and Jeonghan waves them over to a table near the railing that overlooks the ground floor.

“Finally,” Jeonghan says, as Soonyoung takes the seat beside him. “We meet at last.”

Soonyoung points to himself. “You wanted to meet me?”

Jihoon grabs the seat across the table beside Seokmin, who waves brightly.

With a relaxed grin, Jeonghan leans against the railing. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he tells Soonyoung. “I also saw some photos.” Soonyoung makes a slightly confused Ah face and Jeonghan tilts his head. “I think you’re cuter in person though?”

Soonyoung sits up straighter. “No way…” He smiles shyly down at his lap and Jihoon raises his eyebrows.

“Really,” Jeonghan insists, in the kind of tone that could probably convince a lion to roll over and play fetch. “Sorry to make you guys come this far, by the way. I extended my office hours so I have to stay near campus.”

Now that Jihoon thinks about it, Sungkyunkwan University is right around the corner. “You’re a TA?” Jihoon asks. “What’s that like?”

Seokmin leans over conspiratorially. “He says office hours, but he just naps in there most of the time.”

“Hey, I need my energy to teach the students properly. It’s hard work!”

“Energy is very important,” Soonyoung pipes up. Jeonghan smiles at him.

Jihoon decides to talk to Seokmin. “Why are you drinking two drinks?”

“This one,” Seokmin lifts the fruit tea, “is to sooth the throat and this one,” he lifts the water, no ice with a lemon slice, “is to keep me hydrated. I have rehearsals for a new musical.”

“Wow, look at you. How’s the hydration coming along?”

“Very well.” Seokmin holds up a finger. “But first, nature calls.”

They turn to watch someone enter the only available men’s room, and Jihoon bursts out laughing. Seokmin slowly sinks back into his chair, biting his lip. “Don’t make me laugh,” he begs.

Jihoon tries to reign it in, but then he catches Soonyoung’s eye across the table, in the process of slurping what must be Jeonghan’s drink, and Jihoon only laughs harder.

He hears Jeonghan ask, “Is he okay?”

“Oh, this happens pretty often,” Soonyoung says airily. “He’s got a surprisingly low bar for humor. This latte is really good though.”

Once Jihoon lets it all out, he pats Seokmin on the shoulder. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.”

“You’re terrible,” Seokmin says, an octave higher than normal.

Soonyoung takes the opportunity to snag Jihoon’s unguarded drink. “Is it good?” he asks, already putting the straw in his mouth.

“Sour.”

Soonyoung grunts in agreement and slides the drink back to Jihoon.

Jihoon sighs as Seokmin makes a break for the bathroom. “Why do you only steal the drinks I like? Why don’t you ever help me finish the drinks I don’t like? That should be basic courtesy.”

“We have the same taste,” Soonyoung mumbles, his face still scrunched up. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Same taste, Jihoon thinks. And then something misfires in his brain and he flushes, for seemingly no reason at all.

Jeonghan, who’s been observantly swirling his latte, tilts his drink in Jihoon’s direction. “Does that happen pretty often too?”

“Huh?” Soonyoung looks up.

Acting fast, Jihoon takes a huge gulp of his drink, letting the sourness punch the flush right back where it came from. It induces a full-body shiver. “Ugh.”

“Okay, okay, Mr. High Maintenance,” Soonyoung says, grabbing the cup. “I’ll drink it, alright? Don’t ever say I didn’t take care of you.”

I’d never say that, you idiot, Jihoon wants to tell him, but his mouth has quite possibly gone numb.

By the time they’ve narrowed the road trip ideas down to two, the first heat wave of the season hits. All logical thought processes cease to function and Jihoon and Soonyoung stumble to the nearest ice cream joint.

The ice cream melts all too quickly and before Jihoon knows it, they’re back in Soonyoung’s apartment, where a vase of wilted daffodils greets them in the kitchen.

“You should probably throw those away,” Jihoon says, laying his torso down to dry on the cool countertop.

Soonyoung sticks his face directly into his fridge. “No way. I can’t just throw them out.”

“Just do it, I’ll get you new ones,” Jihoon mumbles before his brain catches up with his mouth.

“I want new ones,” Soonyoung tells his fridge. “Anyway, I’m gonna go shower.”

“’Kay.”

By the time Soonyoung’s done, Jihoon has relatively cooled off, inside and out. Soonyoung pads in wearing a fresh T-shirt and shorts. “Do you want to shower?”

Jihoon’s feeling too gross to be polite. “’Kay.”

Soonyoung peels him off the counter. Outside the bathroom, still warm from Soonyoung’s shower, he hands Jihoon some clothes. “It’s fine,” Jihoon says, handing them back, “I can wear mine.”

Soonyoung nudges him inside. “You can just give them back to me later.”

Jihoon stands there, just breathing for a while, before he strips and lets the hot water do its job. Eventually, he wakes up enough to spot Soonyoung’s mango shampoo sitting bright orange in front of him. It feels presumptuous, intrusive, to use — but that’s why you want to use it. Jihoon doesn’t have the energy to overthink. He pops the cap open and wonders when he started associating a scent with a person.

When Jihoon emerges ten minutes later, Soonyoung is sitting pretzel legged on the floor in his room, flipping through a large hardcover album.

“Don’t tell me that’s...”

“Our yearbook.” Soonyoung holds up a spread of silly senior group photos. “I found it in my parents’ house and brought it back with me.”

Jihoon peers over Soonyoung’s shoulder to take a closer look. Their photo together as a trio was one of the tamer ones, all things considered: Wonwoo was wearing Soonyoung’s retired taekwondo dobok and a bunch of gold medals around his neck; Soonyoung, a rose between his teeth, was touting Jihoon’s clarinet over his shoulder like a sword; and Jihoon had on Wonwoo’s glasses and was pretending to write in a notebook with Death Love Note scribbled on the cover.

“It’s not as bad as I thought.”

“That’s because no one else knew we were dressed up as each other. Someone literally asked me when I started playing clarinet.”

Skeptically, Jihoon inspects it again. “You’re clearly not the clarinet type though.”

“You’re right.” Soonyoung glances furtively at Jihoon. “I’m the charming type.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I’m not reacting to anything you say,” Jihoon informs him. “You just like the attention.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Soonyoung’s hair is little better than sopping wet. A steady stream of water makes its way down his neck and into his T-shirt.

“You didn’t dry your hair properly,” Jihoon notes.

“It’ll dry soon.” Soonyoung sniffs the air. “Wait, did you use my shampoo?”

Jihoon runs a hand through his own hair. “Was I supposed to use something else?”

“No, it’s just…” Soonyoung shrugs, eyes flitting down and away, then back up when he realizes Jihoon is still standing there over his shoulder.

“It’s nice,” Jihoon says. “The scent.”

A drop of water drips from his own fringe onto Soonyoung’s cheek. “You didn’t dry properly either.”

“My bad.” Jihoon wipes the droplet off with the heel of his thumb, and at the touch Soonyoung flinches.

He’s looking at Jihoon again, like he’s pacing the edge of the line they’d drawn and waiting for jihoon to give him permission to cross.

You don’t want to know what I was just thinking in the shower, Jihoon says.

Soonyoung flits over Jihoon’s features and settles on his mouth. Maybe I’ve always been curious.

At that moment Jihoon knows for sure that it’s not really the scent, but the fact that it belongs to Soonyoung, that he makes it sweet, and that Jihoon wants to taste it.

Jihoon leans in. Soonyoung’s breath hitches sharply, and then Jihoon closes the distance. There’s a thrill of surprise when their lips touch, the moment two magnets with the same pole meet each other, before heat travels everywhere else, incinerating every other thought and dragging Jihoon heavily onto his knees.

Jihoon grabs a fistful of Soonyoung’s shirt as Soonyoung’s hands draw up the sides of Jihoon’s neck; Jihoon keeps pushing forward, wanting to go deeper, driven by some newly awakened hunger, and Soonyoung hums when he falls against the stack of half-empty boxes he’s yet to fully unpack and wraps a hand around the sensitive nook of Jihoon’s knee, using it as leverage to push back. The other hand, twisted into the short hair at Jihoon’s nape, tugs him down at first, closer, then weakly away when Jihoon licks Soonyoung’s lower lip and kisses it, over and over and over.

At some point Jihoon feels like he might have to cry to let out everything welling up inside him, so he pulls away and drops his head onto Soonyoung’s shoulder. Soonyoung drops his head onto Jihoon’s shoulder, and for a long time, they try to remember how to breathe together.

Chapter Text

Anywhere from one minute to ten passes by as Jihoon and Soonyoung sit there next to each other on the bedroom floor, leaning against Soonyoung’s perilously stacked boxes. Jihoon’s pulse can’t seem to calm down no matter how much he wills it to. He almost wants to press an ear to Soonyoung’s chest to see if he’s any better off.

“Hey… what just happened?”

“I don’t know.”

God, Jihoon can still taste him. That shouldn’t be something you know about your best friend. He can literally feel Soonyoung’s body heat emanating beside him because, of course, they’re sitting too close again. There’s a rustle of fabric as Soonyoung draws his knees up to his chest.

In the ensuing the silence, Jihoon just keeps playing it over and over again in his mind, in exceedingly vivid detail. He’d felt more of Soonyoung today than he ever did and he is still feeling him, as if a barrier that had kept them separate before had been broken. He feels Soonyoung’s hands gentle but heavy on his neck, his blunt nails scraping the soft spot behind Jihoon’s knee; the vibration of Soonyoung’s voice when he bumped into the boxes; the split second of lucidity when Jihoon had caught him staring at Jihoon’s mouth between kisses and he had looked like he ached for it.

Jihoon curses under his breath.

“I think I’m coming down with a fever or something,” Soonyoung says, still staring blankly at the opposite wall.

Gingerly, Jihoon reaches out and feels Soonyoung’s forehead with the back of a hand. He is warmer than a human probably should be, but he’s always been a little warmer than most. “You feel fine.”

Soonyoung scans Jihoon’s face, until his focus narrows in on a very particular spot.

Jihoon pulls his hand away with some difficulty. “What is it?”

“Can I try?”

“Try…?” Jihoon asks as the answer dawns on him. He stills.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says, visibly swallowing.

“Why?” Was it Jihoon’s imagination or was Soonyoung inching closer? This must be how ants feel under the magnifying glass.

“You did it before.”

“Right,” Jihoon acknowledges a little deliriously, “it’s only fair.”

“It’s only fair.” And Soonyoung licks his lips, which makes Jihoon want to simultaneously push him away and pull him closer, but when they meet again thought just melts away. Soonyoung’s approach is innocent, patient and exploratory. He keeps his hands anchored on the floorboards. Jihoon’s body has no such self-restaint; his hand comes up to cup Soonyoung’s jaw of its own accord, and feeling the movement of something he’s seen for so many years sends a shiver down Jihoon’s spine.

This is Soonyoung. The thought almost makes him want to burst out the seams again. He pulls away to clear his head for a second, but when Soonyoung chases after his mouth, Jihoon laughs incredulously.

Soonyoung laughs too. Jihoon has categorized every one of Soonyoung’s laughs, and this one is reactionary, like he had only laughed because Jihoon laughed.

“I’m not done,” Soonyoung protests.

It’s Jihoon’s turn to scan Soonyoung’s face now; the sparse spots on his cheeks from faded acne, his barely-there eyelashes, his lips pink like the night he’d worn lip tint at the bar, but infinitely better.

“You said you wanted to try it,” Jihoon reminds him. “You still want more?”

Soonyoung leans back. “I can’t?”

“I didn’t say that.” Jihoon glances away, frustrated that he can’t properly explain himself. He would much rather show him, if he could. “I mean, how much more…”

Soonyoung takes a moment, perhaps to calculate. “How much more do you want?”

“Me?”

“Mm,” confirms Soonyoung.

Jihoon considers several answers, all of which make him sound entirely too desperate. Maybe he is. Jihoon tries to ignore the warmth creeping up his neck as he says, “All of it.”

Soonyoung lies down flat on his back and looks up at Jihoon. “Me too. All of it.”

The Earth doesn’t shatter. It spins on steadily and for a while they try to wrap their heads around that. Soonyoung’s hand plays with the back of Jihoon’s T-shirt. Do you really mean that? Jihoon wants to ask him, but it feels silly to ask, when he knows he does; so instead, Jihoon imagines what would happen if he leaned over and kissed him again.

A growl from Soonyoung’s stomach breaks the silence.

“Hungry?” Jihoon’s own stomach doesn’t feel far off.

Soonyoung gets to his feet and offers Jihoon a hand, pulling him up in one fluid motion. “Starving.”

They head out instead of ordering in as they usually do, and the walk to the local restaurant is bizarrely normal. Only once they’re seated, Jihoon keeps noticing the couples eating nearby and Soonyoung sitting within arm’s distance. Soonyoung usually doesn’t take up a lot of space, yet his legs brush against Jihoon’s under the table several times, subtly enough to pretend it’s accidental. Dinner is quick, quiet, and restless.

Afterwards, they walk off their bibimbap by the river.

“It’s between Geoje Island or Tongyeong,” Jihoon says. “Pick one.”

The temperature outside is only slightly cooler now than it had been during the day, but it feels practically refreshing to Jihoon.

“They’re both from your list.” Soonyoung plucks at the necklace he’s wearing to keep it from sticking to his skin. “See, I said you’d have amazing ideas.”

“Don’t get your hopes up — it could suck.”

“I doubt it.” Soonyoung stretches out his arms. “So… island or coast?”

“Well, Tongyeong has both. There are a ton of islands nearby.”

They process that. “Let’s go with Tongyeong?” Soonyoung suggests, just as Jihoon asks, “How about Tongyeong?”

“Jinx,” they blurt at the same time.

They stop walking and measure each other up. Soonyoung tilts his head. “Hold on, not jinx. We didn’t say the same thing the first time?”

“But we jinxed at the same time.” Jihoon grins. “So jinx. I win.”

Just as Soonyoung’s about to launch into a counterargument, a huge dog with a dangling leash comes barreling towards them, trailed in the distance by its frazzled owner.

When Soonyoung takes off, Jihoon follows him instinctively.

There’s nothing like a good run to help Jihoon de-stress; he matches Soonyoung’s pace and for a moment they’re racing each other instead of chasing the dog. Then the dog veers off the riverside path, slowing down on the incline, and Jihoon is diving for the leash. Soonyoung grabs the around its middle until the owner catches up. She thanks them profusely, lecturing her companion all the way out of earshot.

Jihoon plops down on the grass and Soonyoung stumbles over, collapsing with a heavy I’ve-reached-my-mid-twenties groan.

“You’re pretty fast,” Jihoon says between breaths. Soonyoung just tugs on the back of Jihoon’s shirt until he lands flat on his back.

Above them, the city sky is a starless deep blue. “What are we looking at?”

“The smog,” sighs Soonyoung.

Jihoon thinks about how they have seen this view, been to the same restaurants and places and done the same things a thousand times, yet somehow everything still feels new. “It’s pretty,” he says absently.

A breeze ruffles Jihoon’s hair and the grass, tickling his ears and arms and ankles.

“I don’t feel any different,” Soonyoung tells him, much like he’s sharing a secret. “Is that weird?” 

Jihoon pulse picks up. “Maybe. Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

Jihoon’s reminded by the conversation he’d had with Seokmin not too far from here, about whether certain things need to be said. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

“We did though.” Jihoon looks over at Soonyoung, and Soonyoung meets his eye. “Didn’t we?”

Jihoon turns back to the sky with a small smile. “Right.”

Soonyoung’s hand bumps shyly against Jihoon’s in the grass, and it settles there, sharing warmth through contact. Though it would be so easy to not put a name to it, Jihoon finds that he wants to this time.

“What do we call this?”

Soonyoung’s hand twitches against his, signifying he’d heard the question. He ponders it silently, and then opens his mouth: “Did you know that female praying mantises eat their mates?”

“…What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know, it randomly popped into my head. I accidentally saw a video once.”

Great, now it’s in Jihoon’s head. Suddenly lying in the grass doesn’t seem quite so appealing anymore, and he sits up with a small shiver—

—only to nearly jump out of his skin when there’s a pinch at the back of his neck. Soonyoung cackles and Jihoon wrestles Soonyoung’s arm over his chest.

“Don’t worry,” Soonyoung assures him, looking happy to be half-restrained on the ground, “everyone’s too scared to eat you.”

“I’m not the one who should be worrying,” says Jihoon.

The sentence sinks in for the both of them simultaneously; Soonyoung’s grin fades and Jihoon hastily lets him go.

The moment passes. Soonyoung sits up and scoots forward so that they’re next to each other but at a respectable distance. He clears his throat. “Is it because we’ve known each other too long? It’s hard to call you something else. You’re just Jihoon.”

“Wanna know what I call you?”

Soonyoung puts his fingers to his temples. “A bad driver?” he guesses.

That’s what Jihoon was going to say, but at the last minute he decides to be honest. “You,” he corrects.

“I don’t get it.”

With the adrenaline finally trickling out of his system, Jihoon’s starting to feel ridiculously warm and relaxed. The Han River looks like it’s sparkling under the street lights. “You’re just you, when I see you. That’s what makes sense.”

“Me and you,” Soonyoung says.

“Yeah.”

Eventually Soonyoung’s shoulder presses against Jihoon’s, barely detectable but constant.

Jihoon stares at the bowl of deonjang jjigae bubbling in front of him, and then stares at Namjoon as he takes a minuscule sip of his. 

“Soju? Makgeolli?” the owner asks them offhand as she clears a nearby table.

Namjoon sends a polite wave her way. “No, thank you.”

Jihoon tries to shake himself out of his daze. He’s grabbing dinner with Namjoon, no big deal. A perfectly normal occurrence between co-workers who happened to bump into each other at the train station.

“Are you okay with just water? I don’t really drink.”

Jihoon startles. “It’s fine.”

Namjoon leans forward and pitches his voice over the dinner crowd, “Hey, you really don’t have to use formal speech with me. Honestly, I’d like it if we could be friends — we’re close in age after all.”

“I’d like that,” Jihoon says, and he finds that he means it. He switches to informal speech. “I mean, I’d like that.”

Namjoon’s cheek dimples. “Cool.” With that settled, they start eating. “I was craving jjigae today, but I’m surprised you got it too.”

“I’m regretting it a little.” He wasn’t really thinking when he copied Namjoon’s order. The steam from his pot alone is cancelling out any air conditioning in the small restaurant. Jihoon picks up his spoon. “But food is food.”

“You’re pretty easygoing,” Namjoon observes.

“Only with food.”

That gets a laugh. “Well, that's not a bad thing.”

“Why do you…” Namjoon raises his eyebrows for Jihoon to continue. “Why do you not drink?”

“Ah.” He chuckles, stirring idly. “My stomach’s kind of sensitive. And I don’t really enjoy the whole ‘losing control’ thing. Do you drink?”

“Only beer sometimes. Low tolerance.”

“We were just dealt these cards, huh? Most days, I think it’s a blessing though.” Namjoon removes the lid on his rice bowl. “One less vice to worry about.”

“Drinking isn’t always a vice.”

“That’s true,” Namjoon says after a moment, watching Jihoon dump half his rice straight into his jjigae. “I guess I’ve seen it up close, so I can’t help but think that way.”

Jihoon pauses and Namjoon takes note.

“Ah, it’s nothing terrible.” He even smiles a bit. “It’s just… I’m thinking of my friend actually. The one I was supposed give the journal to.”

And there it is — the reason why Jihoon didn’t want to get dinner with Namjoon. All this pretending is becoming torture, helped no less by the fact that Jihoon had pretended his own way into this hole. Any more soul-baring and he might just accidentally say something incriminating. (His defenses have been at a record low lately.)

Namjoon is not done with the soul-baring though, because he goes on. “He had a tough time at university and I wasn’t really there for him.”

I would’ve been there for you, Soonyoung had said.

That does it. Jihoon sets down his spoon with a clink. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it? You’re serious all of a sudden.”

“Yoongi and I dated a while back.”

Namjoon chokes on his soup and Jihoon winces.

Once Namjoon regains his composure — Jihoon refilling his water cup to assist — he rubs at the frown between his eyebrows like he’s trying to iron it flat. “How long?”

Jihoon had been bracing for another question, so he has to recalibrate. “Almost three years.” It’s almost a relief to confess. “Up until this past winter.”

Namjoon sighs. “Now I want soju.”

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon murmurs, imbueing as much earnest feeling as he can into the word. He feels uncomfortable still, but much better honest. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

Namjoon stops rubbing. “No,” he lifts his head, enough to stare at the table. “I knew he dated someone, but… Well, I would’ve known the details, if I’d talked to him properly.”

Jihoon has to make sure he heard that right. “You haven’t talked to him?”

“We text every few months to check in. But it’s been years since we’ve talked.” Namjoon smiles, and it’s sad. Jihoon doesn’t feel like he has the right to see it. “We really fell out of touch when he went to grad school. You probably know him better than I do at this point.”

“No way,” Jihoon refutes swiftly. The sadness on Namjoon’s face recedes a little, surprised. “He talked about you a lot. Enough that I… Even I know you’re his closest friend.”

Namjoon scoffs. “I was.”

“You are.” Jihoon tilts his chin at the silver chain on Namjoon’s wrist, identical to the one that had lived on Yoongi’s wrist for as long as Jihoon had known him. It’s funny, he thinks, how clear things become from a distance. “And he’s still yours, isn’t he?”

Year-end performances are a regular thing for Hanyang vocal majors, and Seungkwan has a full roster leading up to his graduation in August. A while back he’d sent Jihoon and Seokmin a menu of events to choose from, and Jihoon had selected tonight’s: a student-run showcase featuring Seungkwan’s pop a capella group. In addition to Jihoon, Hansol, and Seungkwan’s eldest sister, turnout is great — partly due to the fact that earlier this year, Seungkwan’s quartet had gone viral on the school blog for serenading the grumpiest professors on campus.

“Drink lots of water, okay?”

Seungkwan seems equal parts flustered and happy as his sister hugs him in plain view of everyone trickling out of Paiknam Music Hall. “And get ready. I’m bringing the camera next week.”

“I know,” Seungkwan pouts, shaking out his bangs when she finally lets him go. “You told me five times today…”

His sister turns to Hansol. “Tripod. I’m counting on you.”

Hansol's reply is dead serious. “Of course.”

“Maybe bring one that isn’t so complicated, since I’ll have to—”

“Noona,” Seungkwan interrupts sweetly, “Doesn’t your shift start in an hour?”

“Two hours, actually, but I’ll get out of your way.” She pinches his cheek. “Have fun, kids!”

They wave. With a curt nod, Seungkwan starts leading them towards dinner, Jihoon and Hansol flanking him on either side.

“Your sister seems nice,” Jihoon comments. Hansol agrees.

“You know what’s not nice?” Seungkwan asks at large. “The fact that my friends team up with my family behind my back. You sell tripods now?”

“Not sell. I can borrow whatever equipment she needs for free,” Hansol says. “It would be a waste to buy one just for next week.”

“That’s not the—” Seungkwan pauses. “Wait, what do you mean ‘a waste’?”

Jihoon has never been more keenly aware of the phrase two is company, three’s a crowd than when he’s with Seungkwan and Hansol. Usually, he would wish Seokmin were here, but today Jihoon just marvels at what ten years of friendship looks like. He wonders what’s in store for his future.

As the benign argument winds down, they arrive at a new restaurant that had popped up near campus. It comes as no surprise when someone spots Seungkwan immediately.

“Hey, sunbae—”

“We really need to catch up—”

“Sit with us!”

Within minutes, tables are pushed together, food is ordered, and Seungkwan is being swarmed wholeheartedly by seven Hanyang students he seems to all know on a first-name basis. On one end of the elongated table, Hansol and Jihoon sit quietly, sipping their water.

“So how are things going with you?” Jihoon asks dryly.

Hansol smiles. “Fine. You?”

Jihoon’s about to say Nothing special, but he realizes with a rush that that’s not true. “Fine,” he answers instead, shifting in his seat. “Are you done with your short film?”

“You heard about that?”

By way of explanation Jihoon jerks his head at Seungkwan, who’s in the middle of recounting a story beside Hansol. Jihoon had heard about Hansol’s documentary-in-progress on more than one occasion; it seemed to be about art, family, home, and various other things that Seungkwan didn’t have the words to express.

“It sounds really interesting,” Jihoon tells him. “I’d like to see it when you’re done.”

There’s a pause as the food arrives, and then a longer pause during which they start digging in. Once he’s taken a bite, Hansol continues, “I’m almost done editing. It’s kind of a shame though.”

“Why?”

Hansol shrugs. “I met some cool people and now we’re all graduating.”

“Graduation isn’t the end. From now on, you know, you can decide when things end.”

Hansol raises his eyebrows. “Deep, hyung.”

Jihoon mirrors his shrug. “I mean it.”

At that moment Seungkwan leans over, eyeing Hansol’s gamjatang. “Is it good?”

“It’s good.”

Seungkwan snags a piece of pork before returning to his conversation. Utterly indifferent after years of conditioning, Hansol continues eating. The scene is so chillingly familiar that Jihoon stops chewing for a second.

“Is it ever difficult?” he asks suddenly.

“Is what difficult?”

“Just…” Jihoon licks his lips. “You guys are close, but you’re also really different. You disagree sometimes.”

Hansol scoffs. “Yeah, sometimes is an understatement. But I wouldn’t say it’s difficult.”

Jihoon tilts his head for further explanation.

“Mm,” Hansol looks up, thoughtful. “What do you mean by different?”

“Well. Different personality, interests, habits…” Jihoon’s brain comes to a halt. What else was there?

“I don’t think those things matter,” Hansol says as he extracts a chunk of bone from his soup. “Our goals, morals, and important things like that — those are the same. And that’s what matters.”

All Jihoon can manage to say is, “Deep.”

Deeply unimpressed with him, Hansol nods. “Just… don’t overthink things too much.”

“But that’s my specialty,” Jihoon says, which of course makes him think of Soonyoung, which makes him chuckle to himself because he’s slowly but surely losing it.

While he loses it, a pair of chopsticks makes its way over to Hansol’s bowl to steal another piece of pork. Hansol pretends not to notice.

Jihoon’s subconscious has apparently been keeping track of Soonyoung’s work schedule. He discovers this on a Wednesday afternoon, when after work, his fingers automatically look up the address of a Yongsan dance studio that he’d visited once before.

When he gets there, cold drinks in tow, Soonyoung lets him inside. Class had ended. “I still can’t believe you remembered this place.”

“Tell me about it.”

Jihoon looks around — last time he had only met Soonyoung outside the building but never came up to the fifth floor. The space is relatively small, with worn wooden floorboards, a mirrored wall, and two square windows overlooking the bustling street. Soonyoung’s trusty gym bag is sitting beneath one of them and Jihoon hefts it experimentally. It’s much lighter than it used to be.

“What happened to the body in your bag?”

“It ran away,” Soonyoung says, tasting his smoothie. He sits down on the floor and Jihoon joins him. “I just took out the clothes and shoes I used to keep in there.”

Jihoon watches Soonyoung stretch for a moment; he’s still wearing his sweats and a T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “You’re quitting the escort thing?”

As he kneads his quads, Soonyoung looks over at Jihoon. “Yeah. So you’re in charge of feeding me now.”

“As if. Your sunbae’s dance studio is going to hire you soon. Wanna bet?”

“No,” Soonyoung says, trying to hide his smile and failing. “I think so, too.”

There’s Soonyoung’s superpower — falling down and picking himself up again. “Confidence is everything,” Jihoon says approvingly. “You need to be even more shameless than usual. You’re good at that.”

“Yes, coach.”

“What was that?”

“Yes, coach!” Soonyoung yells at the ceiling.

“There we go.” Jihoon takes a sip of his latte, pulling out his phone.

Soonyoung rises to his feet. “Wow, I feel great. Have you ever thought about being a motivational speaker?”

Funny, when Soonyoung’s the one who should be the motivational speaker. “Nope. Sounds exhausting.”

“Think of all the good you’d be doing,” Soonyoung says, heading over to the stereo receiver.

“You’re the only one who thinks that way.”

“True.” A remix of some kind crackles to life on the speakers. “I’m pretty biased.”

The music proceeds to drown out the reply Jihoon didn’t have. As Soonyoung starts experimenting with new choreography, Jihoon scrolls through draft one-liners he’d jotted down on his phone. (Almost a year after he’d created july2219_draftb.cpr, he’s finally working on lyrics.)

Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to concentrate with the music blasting and Jihoon soon gives up. He leans against the wall and drinks his latte.

Soonyoung is so focused on monitoring himself in the mirror that it’s like Jihoon isn’t even there, and Jihoon gets to openly study Soonyoung’s thought process: which moves work and which moves don’t; how he repeats the same motions — a flick of his wrist, tilt of his head — in slightly different ways until he lands on something that feels right. The song loops again and Soonyoung starts connecting the pieces together. Seeing Soonyoung dance on stage is one thing, but here Jihoon can feel the reverberation of every step.

As Soonyoung runs a hand through his hair, he spots Jihoon watching him in the mirror. He turns down the music. “Are you bored?”

“No?” Jihoon answers around his straw.

In response Soonyoung stops the music all together and reclaims his spot on the floor. He mixes his half-melted smoothie, his bangs damp again from just moving around for the past ten minutes.

Jihoon pops the lid off his drink so he can crunch on an ice cube. “I said I wasn’t bored?”

“I’m just taking a break. We have half an hour before the next instructor comes in.” Soonyoung proceeds to suck up a third of his smoothie in one go.

“Is it good?” Jihoon asks.

Soonyoung holds it out to him.

Jihoon hesitates before he leans over and grabs the straw. It tastes exactly like Jihoon expects it to taste like — a strawberry smoothie. It’s not like you were really curious, he reminds himself.

“Could be sweeter,” is his verdict.

Soonyoung sets the smoothie down. He moves closer and pauses, millimeters away, to see if Jihoon will run, not knowing that Jihoon is far beyond the point of return. Jihoon closes his eyes.

He is kissed once, chastely. Then Soonyoung buries his face in Jihoon’s shoulder. Jihoon’s heartbeat is pounding so much in his ears, it could probably drown out the bass in this studio.

“Your heart is like, really loud,” Soonyoung informs him.

Damn it. Jihoon squirms. “You need to get your hearing checked.”

Soonyoung ignores the dig and grasps at Jihoon’s loose overshirt. “It’s pretty fast, too. This can’t be healthy.”

For a few minutes, Jihoon stays still and tries to calm down, during which Soonyoung grows heavier and heavier against him. “If you fall asleep on me,” Jihoon warns, “I’m pouring ice down your shirt.”

“Go ahead…”

They spend the rest of their time there mopping up the floor.

Chapter Text

The seven of them set off for Tongyeong on a Friday evening, three days before Soonyoung’s birthday. The sky is bright when they start the four-hour bus ride but that doesn’t stop Jihoon from drifting off to the lull of the engine.

He stirs awake an hour later.

Beside Jihoon, Seungcheol’s engrossed in a movie on his phone. Jihoon shifts and means to close his eyes again, but he spots Soonyoung’s arm reaching up in the row in front of him to adjust the fan over his head, and suddenly Jihoon’s alert.

He had forgotten that Soonyoung was sitting right in front of him. It feels all too close and too far; at the same time, Jihoon is hyperaware of Seungcheol on his left, and Mingyu, Myungho, and Wonwoo sitting across the aisle — as if they might look over and sense that something has changed.

It’s ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling any less wary of it.

Through the crack in the seats, Jihoon can see the back of Chan’s head slumped on Soonyoung’s shoulder, which explains why Soonyoung’s being so delicate about the fan. Jihoon has the urge to stand up and hit the button for him, but then Chan wakes up.

“Sorry… Did I fall asleep on you?”

“Yeah. Are you really tired?”

“Ah, I attended a workshop yesterday,” Chan explains, and Jihoon looks out the window to physically stop himself from eavesdropping like a creep.

As sprawling crop fields and mountains pass by out the window in relative silence, Jihoon isn’t sure this is what Soonyoung had imagined when he said he liked the road part of the road trip. Seungcheol had actually suggested bringing his car, but decided not to since it could only fit five people. Soonyoung had seemed slightly disappointed, yet recovered quickly.

("Well, it’ll be fun anyway,” he said over dinner at Jihoon’s apartment.

“When you get your own car, you can drive wherever you want,” Seungcheol offered over the phone.

“Thanks. It would’ve been nice if you’d taught me how to drive though…”

“You got your license just fine!”

“At the risk of my personal safety,” Jihoon cut in, spotting an opportunity to tell the story. When he leaned closer to be heard, Soonyoung moved the phone further away, so Jihoon grabbed his arm. “You’d think he was playing KartRider. You know when you hit the acceleration at the starting line? He practically drove into the traffic cones on purpose. I watched the examiner from the back and he was holding onto the handle the whole time.”

Seungcheol snickered. “Sounds kind of fun though?”

Soonyoung sat back, miffed. “When the zombies come, don’t expect me to drive you anywhere.”

“I’d call Seungcheol anyway.”

“Nope,” Seungcheol said cheerily as Soonyoung prepared to bite Jihoon’s arm so he’d let go. “You two can grab a taxi.”)

Eventually Seungcheol pauses his movie and nudges Jihoon. “Did you get him a present?” he asks quietly.

“No. I’ll treat him to dinner or something.” They rarely did gifts, and when they did, the gifts were gags more often than not.

“You do that every other day.” Seungcheol tilts his head back. “Do you have any ideas? Does he need anything at his new apartment?”

Jihoon pictures Soonyoung’s place — the boxes in his room, his lack of stationary, his bare walls. He recalls that time Soonyoung had slept on the sofa because Jihoon had passed out on his bed.

“A pillow.”

“What?”

“A body pillow. Like the kind you can hug to sleep…?”

“You seem kind of unsure.”

Jihoon adjusts his tone. “He’ll like it. Trust me.”

“Okay, I’m trusting you.” Seungcheol warily makes note of ‘body pillow, the kind you can hug to sleep’ on his phone. “Are you sure you don’t want to give this to him yourself?”

Jihoon pauses, then shakes his head. “He’ll like it either way.”

There’s a rest stop at Insam Land halfway that is surprisingly packed with tourists. Trot plays tinnilly over the outdoor speakers and the eatery smells heavenly inside, which is all that Jihoon could ask for.

After scarfing down galbitang and fried ginseng, the local specialty, Jihoon heads to the bathroom. When he’s washing his hands, Soonyoung takes the sink to his right and they glance at each other the mirror.

Jihoon can’t seem to formulate a question for what he'd really like to know, so he asks, “Are you okay?”

Soonyoung gently flaps his hands dry. “Yes?” On his way out, he swipes a wet finger down the back of Jihoon’s neck. Jihoon flings some water back in his direction — though of course, with perfect timing, it hits Wonwoo instead.

Wonwoo removes his flecked glasses. “Did I do something to you?”

“Sorry, wrong person.”

Wonwoo steps up to the sink to wash his hands and tosses some water into Jihoon’s face. “No worries.”

Outside, fringe dripping, Jihoon finds Soonyoung standing awkwardly by the line trailing out the women’s bathroom. Just seeing him there waiting warms Jihoon on the inside. It’s altogether different from what he’s been feeling since they got on the bus; there’s relief, and also, a small thrill. Something like happiness.

Jihoon has to stop in his tracks to process the emotion.

Soonyoung meets him there, wiping at the water on Jihoon’s forehead with the back of his hand. Jostled back into motion, Jihoon dries the remnants of Wonwoo’s revenge with his shirt.

They fall into step on the way back to the table.

“Are you okay?” Soonyoung asks carefully.

“Yeah.” Jihoon laughs through his teeth. They’re being ridiculous.

Soonyoung looks at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” He turns Soonyoung’s head by the chin so he’s facing forward again. “Watch where you’re going.”

Back at the table, Myungho and Mingyu are drawing battle plans while Chan and Seungcheol nurse their coffees and spectate.

“This would be closer,” Myungho insists, showing Mingyu the map on his phone. “Going from the art gallery to the harbor.”

“But we should eat between, don’t you think? That’ll take us at least three hours.” Mingyu swivels to Soonyoung. “Don’t you have any ideas? You’re the one who picked Tongyeong.”

Soonyoung shakes his head and points at Jihoon. “He picked it.”

They had also neglected to mention this, apparently, because everyone tunes in, including Wonwoo who had returned from the bathroom.

“Really?” asks Seungcheol. “Have you been there?”

Jihoon runs a hand through his still damp fringe. “During university. My composition class went to the Tongyeong International Music Festival.”

“I think I’ve heard of that,” Chan muses. “I saw this video online of dancers performing with an orchestra? Is that the right one?”

Jihoon tries to imagine how the stuffy TIMF crowd would react if dancers came on stage in the middle of a contemporary symphony. “Probably not?” There’s a pause as everyone waits for him to elaborate. “Anyway, that was in the winter and I didn’t really explore the city much.”

“We can all explore together then,” Myungho says. “It’ll be fun.” He smiles lightly at Jihoon, who feels undeserving of it.

He marvels at how easy things were a minute ago, when he and Soonyoung were alone.

“We can split up, too,” suggests Wonwoo. “If we can’t decide as a group.”

“It’s all good,” Mingyu assures him, as Myungho replies, “We decided.” They look at each other, like they can’t tell if they’re offended at having met two hours ago. Chan stifles a snicker.

Myungho turns away first. “Soonyoung can decide. It’s his birthday after all.”

“Ah,” Soonyoung says, clearly undecided. “I was thinking this could be like, everyone’s birthday trip. We all get to do what we want, you know?”

Mingyu raises his hand. “If it’s my birthday, I want you to carry me on your back for a day.”

Wonwoo raises his. “I want to be exempt from all the bills.”

“Wait,” Soonyoung protests.

The passengers on their bus are beginning to congregate in the parking lot, and Seungcheol points at Soonyoung as he makes for the door. “I want a room to myself at the guest house, okay?”

Chan shakes his head sadly, and Myungho throws an arm around Chan’s shoulders with a musical laugh.

Jihoon tsks. “You just love setting yourself up, don’t you?”

“The things I do for your entertainment,” Soonyoung sighs.

At the guest house, rock-paper-scissors sends Jihoon to one of the two rooms they’d rented, and Soonyoung to the other. There ends up being some switching around anyway, leaving Jihoon with Mingyu and Seungcheol in the room with a bunk bed and a futon.

After they’re all washed up and under the covers, Mingyu rolls around on the bottom bunk, jostling Jihoon above him. “Guys, how come we’ve never had a sleepover before?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Seungcheol warns from over on the futon, eyes glued to his phone. “This is a quiet zone.”

“Since when?”

“Since I said so,” he says, just as laughter erupts in the other room, audible through the wall. Jihoon wonders what the joke was.

Mingyu heaves a sigh and tosses around again. After a lull, Jihoon climbs down to the ground. Mingyu perks up immediately. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom.” Jihoon pulls the door shut behind him.

The house has three bedrooms total that all lead directly to a small living room and adjoined kitchen, currently empty. Everything is stone gray and off-white, fitting for the seaside. Jihoon can hear murmurs coming from the neighboring room, but short of pressing his ear to the door, he can’t decipher what they’re saying.

When the door swings open, Jihoon reels back and presses against the wall.

Soonyoung slips into the hall and laughs. “You scared me.”

“I was…” Jihoon jerks his thumb behind him. “Bathroom.”

“You can go first then.” Soonyoung takes a step back, but Jihoon catches his wrist and tugs him towards the living room.

Gently, Soonyoung’s hand twists to wrap around Jihoon’s wrist without breaking out of his hold. “What is it?”

“Should we say something? To them.” Jihoon inhales sharply. “About us.”

“Do you want to?” Soonyoung stares at him intently.

“I’m fine with it.”

“Me too.” Soonyoung presses his lips together and glances down. “Your hand is getting sweaty,” he whispers.

“So’s yours.”

They silently agree to let go.

Soonyoung scratches his neck. “I mean, if we don’t say anything, it’s not like they’ll be able to tell… right?”

“For now.” Jihoon presses his hands to his face and groans. “If I don’t tell Seungcheol first, he might never speak to me again.”

In the midst of imagining some other scenario, Soonyoung full-body shivers. “Can we tell them after the trip?”

Jihoon offers his pinky and Soonyoung hooks it. They press their thumbs together to seal the deal.

“Whoever breaks it has to tell all of our parents,” Jihoon mutters darkly.

Soonyoung slowly covers his mouth and heads back to his room without another word.

They hadn’t really planned excessively — or planned at all. Mostly because Soonyoung had been content with going anywhere and eating anything, as long as there were places to go and things to eat.

Jihoon knows Soonyoung is only agreeable until he forms an opinion. But on Saturday morning, he still hasn’t formed an opinion yet, so Mingyu and Myungho continue to lead the charge.

The path away from the guest house takes them past the harbor, where a row of colorful boats are moored, bobbing in the water. They’re heading towards a mountain or a market or a museum, Jihoon isn’t sure. He’s not really awake yet, and the humidity at barely 9 a.m. isn’t helping.

“Should we split up later?” Seungcheol wonders, as Soonyoung takes a familiar running leap onto Mingyu’s back and almost makes him drop his phone. A squabble ensues.

Seungcheol turns to look at Jihoon, Wonwoo, and Chan when no one answers him.

Chan rouses out of his morning funk. “Sorry — were you asking me, too?”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol chuckles at the way Chan’s trying to keep his eyes wide open. “I know I’m old, but you can be comfortable with us.”

Chan smiles, relaxing a bit. “I’m good at that, apparently.”

“We’re all friends here.” Seungcheol hooks his arms around Jihoon and Wonwoo’s necks. “Right guys?”

“I’m fine with splitting up,” Wonwoo says.

Muffled, Jihoon adds, “Me too.”

The Jungang Fish Market is in full swing when they get there. They spend thirty minutes wandering around, making note of the food they’ll circle back to and dodging wayward fishy water.

After breakfast — a quick affair — they narrow down two options for what comes next: explore the Gangguan harbor (Mingyu’s idea) or take a cable car up to Mireuk mountain (Myungho’s).

Everyone else falls in line. Soonyoung chooses the mountain, much to Myungho’s satisfaction and Mingyu’s visible disappointment. Chan, naturally, chooses to go with Myungho and Soonyoung. And then Wonwoo and Seungcheol join Team Harbor, leaving Jihoon the only one undecided.

Mingyu watches Jihoon polish off the last piece of kimbap. “Hyung, the suspense is killing me.”

All Jihoon’s considering is a nap right now. “You guys have fun. I think I’ll catch up later.”

“I’ll buy you a coffee if you come with us,” Mingyu offers shamelessly. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” Myungho laugh-coughs into his fist.

Seungcheol pointedly raises his eyebrows at Jihoon, which probably means something like, Please, you have the power to end this.

Jihoon sighs.

“Coffee and a soda,” he tells Mingyu.

Mingyu’s grin is this close to a grimace. “Deal.”

As the groups head in separate directions, Jihoon turns around and catches Soonyoung looking back at him. Soonyoung waves. Jihoon waves back awkwardly, and the next thing he sees, the late morning sun hot on his face, is Soonyoung beaming.

“Something wrong?” Seungcheol calls.

Jihoon shakes his head to clear it and catches up.

One of the places Jihoon had actually visited during his university trips is Dongpirang Village, a neighborhood decorated wall-to-wall with murals and sculptures like a children’s cartoon.

Jihoon sips his coffee and takes in the view at his own pace. Up ahead, Wonwoo is searching up historical context to share with Seungcheol; Mingyu is snapping a selfie while a group of tourists nearby subtly take photos of Mingyu.

Jihoon’s phone buzzes with a text.

It’s a photo of Soonyoung posing on a rock, high up on the mountain. Jihoon surrepticiously scans his surroundings before holding his iced coffee, half empty, in front of a happy bee in a flower field. He sends Soonyoung a reply.

He quickly pockets his phone when Wonwoo approaches. “Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Me too. I haven’t walked this much in a while.” Wonwoo studies the happy bee on the wall. “That’s cute.”

“Yep.” Jihoon clears his throat. “Let’s go eat then.”

“How was the mountain?” Wonwoo asks when they all regroup at a seafood restaurant for dinner. According to Mingyu, there’s a set menu in proportion to the amount of soju you order, which Jihoon’s body is already bracing for.

“Really refreshing.” Soonyoung does look refreshed, his hair distinctly windswept. “I didn’t think there’d be so much climbing though.”

“What else would you do at a mountain?”

Chan chimes in, “That’s what I said.”

The waiter leads them into a separate room with a bigger table, and Jihoon and Soonyoung end up sitting on the same side with Chan between them. It occurs to Jihoon that this feels odd because he’s gotten so used to seeing Soonyoung’s face when they eat together.

To his left he hears Soonyoung go on: “We visited a temple and an art gallery. And Myungho treated us to lunch.” Myungho smiles at that. “What did you guys do?”

Wonwoo has barely finished recapping when the stream of food begins. It doesn’t stop until the whole table is covered in dishes and the waiter drops off several ice buckets embedded with bottles of soju.

While everyone digs in, Chan leans over to Soonyoung. “We’re not the only ones who can’t drink, right?”

Soonyoung immediately looks at Jihoon, takes in the expression on his face, and starts shaking silently.

Chan turns to Jihoon. “You too?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon narrows his eyes at Soonyoung, who’s still laughing. “You think you’re any better than me?”  

“No,” he wheezes, “but at least I haven’t been carried home before?”

That interests Wonwoo. “Really? When?”

“Can’t remember,” Jihoon says, before anyone else can provide the details. He pours himself a shot and downs it with a grimace. Thankfully the burn kickstarts his brain, and he wisely passes his glass to Seungcheol to safeguard. He’d never live down a repeat of karaoke night.

Two hours and several rounds of birthday toasts later, Soonyoung slumps sideways into Chan.

“Gosh, hyung — hold on.” Chan sets down his chopsticks so he can use both hands to support Soonyoung’s weight.

“Thanks everyone,” Soonyoung mumbles. He’s not slurring yet, but his pronunciation is getting foggy, and his eyes are closed. “All of you, happy birthday… Jun too…”

Jihoon hasn’t seen Soonyoung this drunk before. It’s equal parts entertaining and concerning, and he’s glad he didn’t have any more to drink. Mingyu and Seungcheol are still going strong, but no one knows how long that’s going to last.

Soonyoung proceeds to profess his love for the room and Chan tries to shift him off to no avail. “Yeah, I love you too, but I need to go to the bathroom,” he pleads.

Jihoon settles down on the other side of Soonyoung. “Let’s switch.” After some strategic maneuvering, Soonyoung lands on Jihoon’s shoulder instead.

“I owe you one,” Chan whispers on his way out.

Soonyoung slips down and half-sprawls over Jihoon’s lap. Jihoon glances around — across the table, Wonwoo is staring emptily into the raw fish bibimbap and Myungho seems like he’s trying to meditate his way back to sobriety. No one’s paying any attention.

“This is bony,” Soonyoung grumbles, which makes Jihoon scoff.

“I didn’t invite you to sleep here.”

At the sound of Jihoon’s voice, Soonyoung’s eyes crack open. Apparently the sight is sobering, because he rolls onto his back and asks, “Where’s Chan?”

“Bathroom.”

Soonyoung rests an arm over his eyes to block out the light. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I don’t have energy to sit up.”

Why are you apologizing? “It’s fine,” Jihoon says. “Just stay still.”

Jihoon attempts to slip a hand under Soonyoung’s head for more cushioning, but Soonyoung mutters, “That’s bonier,” and rolls inward until his face is centimeters away from pressing into Jihoon’s hip. His relieved sigh heats Jihoon’s navel through his shirt and Jihoon suppresses a shiver.

Soonyoung is sound asleep by the time Chan returns. Jihoon decides not to wake him.

Jihoon pays of his own volition.

Everyone else gathers around the cashier in various states of consciousness; Wonwoo and Myungho are doing better now, enough that Soonyoung and Chan are using them as crutches. Soonyoung is finally awake, judging by the frown on his face.

As the waitress runs off to confirm their bill, Jihoon feels a tap on his shoulder. “You dropped something.” Myungho points at the floor.

By his foot is Soonyoung’s IOU, folded up into a square. Jihoon stays calm but quickly tucks the receipt back into his wallet. “Thanks.”

The waitress returns. “Sorry about that — you can insert your card here.”

As he does, Jihoon swears he spots Soonyoung’s mouth curl up out of the corner of his eye.

Sunday morning, much later than intended, they head down to the ferry terminal to catch a ride to a nearby island. Tourists crowd the open deck and bench space is scarce, so they take turns sitting down.

Soonyoung is quieter today. Throughout the hour he watches Soonyoung join in on the ocassional group photo, bend over the railing for a while to watch the water pass beneath them, and circle back to the bench. He keeps mulling over Soonyoung’s apology from the night before, and how Soonyoung had felt the need to apologize to Jihoon of all people.

At one point Mingyu comes to sit beside Soonyoung. “Does your head hurt?”

“Nah. I just couldn’t fall asleep for some reason.”

“Alcohol can do that,” Myungho says. “It makes the…” He struggles to find the scientific term, before bypassing it altogether. “It affects your sleep.”

“Do you want to rest when we get there?” Wonwoo asks.

Their combined concern is palpable and Soonyoung laughs in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Hey, I’m really fine! It’s not my first time being sleep deprived.” Which just makes them frown at him.

“It’s okay,” Jihoon says, peering out from where he’d been standing behind Wonwoo. “If he falls asleep, one of you can just carry him.”

The ocean wind whistles by, and then Mingyu pats Soonyoung solemnly on the knee. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

On Somaemuldo, they devour more seafood for lunch and gawk at the oddly-shaped rocks and other craggly protrusions dotting the island. The third time Jihoon almost bumps into Soonyoung, he calls him out on it.

“Sorry,” Jihoon says. He hadn’t even realized he was walking that close to Soonyoung. “I wasn’t looking.”

“Be careful,” Soonyoung chides, waiting by until Jihoon successfully steps off the wooden pathway.

At low tide, he follows Soonyoung across the hidden trail that connects Somaemuldo to a smaller island, where they proceed to climb a long flight of stairs to the lighthouse at the peak.

Jihoon registers Seungcheol behind him, groaning about skipping leg day, but the bizarre prevailing thought in Jihoon’s head — bizarre, because Soonyoung has been climbing all morning and hasn’t slowed down at all — is that if Soonyoung were to trip, Jihoon would be ready to catch him.

Soonyoung reaches the top first. He takes in the sea, the grass, the lighthouse standing like a lone white rook.

“I’m glad we came,” Soonyoung says.

Jihoon brushes the back of his hand against Soonyoung’s — and he’s early, but it feels good to be the first to say it: “Happy birthday.”

Before they catch their bus back home, Jihoon wanders onto the rooftop of the guest house. He tries to spot the wave-shaped Tongyeong Music Hall where the musical festival is held every year, but most of the city is obscured by the buildings nearby.

“Are you done packing?”

“Yeah. You too?”

Myungho nods and joins him at the edge of the roof.

“The view isn’t great,” Jihoon admits.

Myungho shields his eyes with a hand. “The sky is pretty.”

Jihoon looks up. It’s bright blue, the clouds tinged yellow from the coming sunset. “You’re right.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Jihoon shifts his weight, just now realizing that they’re alone. “So how was it? You said you wanted to go on a trip, but I don’t know if this is what you imagined.”

“It was better,” Myungho assures him. “I didn’t know there was a place like this in Korea. I’m glad I got to see it.”

Jihoon feels just a bit relieved. “Well. Now that you’ve been, you can come back any time.”

“Actually,” Myungho taps his fingers on the concrete perimeter, “I’m leaving soon.”

Jihoon processes that information slowly, not quite understanding it. “Where are you…” Myungho lips quirk and it dawns on Jihoon. “Why?”

Myungho shrugs and watches several seagulls scatter in the distance. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I never planned on staying for this long.”

Jihoon studies him. “It sounds like you’re leaving for good.”

Myungho nods. “But I’ll visit.” He sounds sure.

“…What about Soonyoung?” Jihoon asks, his thoughts spinning.

Myungho interprets the question the obvious way. “I’ll tell him soon. I thought it would be better after the trip.” He turns towards Jihoon. “About Soonyoung…”

Jihoon holds his breath as Myungho gathers his words.

“Well, you know how he is. Sometimes he needs someone to remind him to take a break and…” Myungho trails off. Jihoon hears the unsaid.

“Yeah, I know.” Jihoon sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s thinking of Myungho when he adds, “Sometimes, I think we all need someone to remind us to take a break.”

Myungho cracks a smile. “You’re right.”

On the bus back to Seoul, Jihoon is sitting behind Soonyoung again. This time Mingyu is sound asleep on Jihoon’s left as the sun sets over the passing mountains, and Jihoon can’t stop thinking about stories that have ended before they had a chance to begin.

Jihoon pulls out his phone and starts a new text to distract himself.

do you want a gift?

Soonyoung must already be on his phone, because the reply is immediate.

if you have one i’ll take it~

not yet
what would you want?

money?
lolol
you don’t have to get me anything
i didn’t get you anything last year

you can get me something this year
what do you want?

lots of things…
they’re more like wishes though
does that count

Jihoon considers it.

sure
pick one

Soonyoung starts typing and then stops for a while. Finally, he replies:

a date

Jihoon stares at his phone. When he doesn’t respond, Soonyoung’s eyeball appears in the crack between his seat and the window. Jihoon readies a poking finger and the eye wisely disappears.

okay

Jihoon hits send and faces the window, hoping the orange of the sunlight will hide his flush if Soonyoung’s eye decides to check on him again.

At 9 p.m., Jihoon has long cooled to a normal temperature, and they’re an hour away from Seoul.

look outside

The chair in front of Jihoon shifts as Soonyoung looks out the window. Beyond the trees, the deep blue sky is speckled with real stars.

it’s pretty

Chapter Text

One week after the trip, Jihoon meets up with Seungcheol outside the gym in his neighborhood. Seungcheol emerges in a T-shirt and sweatpants, but not sweaty at all. “Did you wait long?”

“No, just got here.” Jihoon looks him up and down. “Were you image training or something?”

“Man, if my imagination were that good, I’d be a lot further in life.” Seungcheol shields his face from the sunlight and Jihoon follows his lead to lunch. “I’m shadowing a trainer at the gym.”

“For a job?”

“Part-time for the summer. I really wasn’t expecting anything since I don’t have any experience, but the owner said he’ll give me a shot.”

Turns out the restaurant is on the street corner — a small, family-owned noodle place, apparently Seungcheol’s go-to for late night dinners on his way home. Ironic that it’s down the street from the gym, but Jihoon’s just impressed that Wonwoo’s bad habit of accidentally skipping meals hasn’t infected Seungcheol after all these years.

“You’re studying sports science,” Jihoon says as seat themselves. “Aren’t you qualified?”

Seungcheol is appalled. “Just because you’re studying something doesn’t mean you can do it in practice. Overconfidence can get you injured, you know?”

Logic aside, Jihoon thinks Seungcheol could stand to be a little overconfident, but that’s a conversation for another day. He finds the utensil drawer on the side of the table and plucks out two pairs of chopsticks. “Well, congratulations. I’ll treat you today.”

Eyes narrowing, Seungcheol passes him a napkin in return. They both order their food before he continues, “Why?”

Jihoon shrugs. “I have something to tell you. But later, after we eat.” The last time he told someone about his dating life, there was choking involved. Better safe than sorry.

Because Seungcheol is clearly suspicious, Jihoon butters him up for good measure: “You’ll be the first one to know.”

Seungcheol leans forward. “Really?” He falters for a second. “It’s not something bad, is it?”

“No.” A ripple of warmth passes through Jihoon from head to toe. “It’s… good.”

Seungcheol relaxes in his chair. “It’s about time you told me something good. It’s been like six years since the last one.”

Jihoon huffs as the waitress drops off two bowls of naengmyeon. Seungcheol snips his noodles, then passes the scissors to Jihoon; they’ve always operated on the mutual understanding that they can take care of themselves, which Jihoon appreciates.

It’s sunny outside, the air conditioning feels great on his back, and Jihoon’s in a good mood, so he adds, “You know, I had a plan back then.”

“What plan?”

“I had a list of people to come out to.” Jihoon stirs his noodles. “You had just graduated and gone to university. It made sense to tell you first.”

Seungcheol’s egg falls back into his bowl with a splat. “Is that how little faith you had in me? You had to wait until I was gone?”

“No, I trusted you.” Jihoon slurps his noodles. “I wouldn’t have told you at all if I didn’t. Having the plan just helped me feel better.”

Seungcheol chews for a moment, expression transitioning into something mildly pained. “Okay. Who was next on the list?”

“Mingyu.”

“Mingyu? I didn’t think you were that close back then.”

“Exactly. In case it didn’t go well, he was in a different year.” Jihoon’s mouth quirks. “But I was pretty sure one of his friends was gay. Just a hunch though.”

“And then?”

“Wonwoo, if it came up in conversation. He seemed good at keeping secrets.”

Seungcheol stares at Jihoon like he’s seeing him in a whole new light. “I had no idea.” He frowns. “Wait, that means you put Soonyoung last. Don’t people usually tell their best friends first?”

“He wasn’t on the list.”

“Explain,” Seungcheol demands.

Jihoon struggles to put his high-school-self’s nebulous feelings into words. “Because he… never talked about girls.”

“What? Did you forget about his epic crush on Song Jihae?”

“Not that.” As he verbalizes it, Jihoon flips through all of those small moments with Soonyoung — each insignificant, but immeasurable. “He just always used the word ‘person,’ whenever we talked about that kind of stuff. He would say, the kind of person you like, or the person you date. The person you marry. He never assumed it would be a girl.”

Seungcheol seems slightly confused, but gradually, he sets down his chopsticks. “You think he knew about you?”

Jihoon shrugs. It didn’t matter whether he knew, is what Jihoon had thought back then. Not when it was clear that Soonyoung wouldn’t have minded either way.

“…You told him eventually, right? Please don’t say he found out when you got a boyfriend.”

“I told him.” After the fact, but Seungcheol doesn’t need to know that. Jihoon carefully sets down his own chopsticks. “And now we’re seeing each other, which is pretty funny.”

“You see each other all the time,” Seungcheol says, grabbing his water. “What does that have to do with…” His eyes go wide and the water promptly slips down the wrong pipe.

Jihoon sighs and reaches across the table to thump Seungcheol’s back. No liquids it is.

(“You know, I thought you were going to tell me that you two are living together.”

Jihoon balks. “What? Why would we be living together?”

“You make it sound like a crazy idea, but you literally see each other all the time.” Seungcheol’s voice is still hoarse from hacking the water out of his airways and then immediately firing off twenty questions about when’s, where’s, why’s, and how’s. “Anyway, that was Wonwoo’s guess. He said Soonyoung’s been cagey about his new apartment ever since he moved in and you’re the only one who’s seen it.”

Suddenly Wonwoo’s pointed questions at the Dongdaemun dessert place make more sense. In the moment, Jihoon had only focused on helping Soonyoung hide the fact that he could even afford his new place.

Jihoon plucks off his hat for a second to run a hand through his hair. “Why would we even lie about living together?”

“Well, I guess Soonyoung would...” Seungcheol trails off at the puzzled look on Jihoon’s face. Upon reconsideration though, he continues, “Whatever, it was a long time ago. When you all started university, Wonwoo asked Soonyoung to room with him off campus, and Soonyoung chose to dorm instead.” He crosses his arms. “Then Wonwoo ended up living with me.”

“Why’d he say no?”

Seungcheol shrugs. “How should I know? Maybe he only rooms with people he dates.”

Jihoon’s ears feel like they’re on fire. He holds up a hand. “We are not living together.”

“—matter of time,” Seungcheol mutters.

“What?”

Seungcheol smiles. “Nothing. Has Soonyoung told Wonwoo what’s going on yet?”

“…Not yet?” Soonyoung’s been extra busy volunteering at his sunbae’s dance studio, and he’s been sending Jihoon the occasional video clip of workshops-in-action.

With a nod, Seungcheol rises to his feet. “Well, thanks for lunch. I’m going.”

“You’re welcome,” Jihoon says warily at the glint in Seungcheol’s eye. “Are you in a hurry or something?”

“Just heading home.” Seungcheol waves without turning back. “Got a few bets to make.”)

Two days after lunch with Seungcheol, Wonwoo sends Soonyoung and Jihoon a “wow ;)” in their dusty high school group chat with no context. Jihoon swiftly leaves the chat, only to be added back in by Soonyoung two minutes later and spammed by a series of dancing emojis.

Later in the afternoon, Seungcheol sends Jihoon a photo of him holding a 50,000 won bill, captioned “my winnings.”

you told wonwoo? Jihoon texts Soonyoung.

it was very refreshing~
he thought we were living together???
lololol
you’re a hermit crab

Jihoon lets out the breath he’d been subconsciously holding.

cool
hermit crab??

yeah
they like living alone!

i’m not a hermit crab

okay lolol

Jihoon types, and deletes, and types several replies. Finally, he sends:

i mean it depends on the other crab

“Working on Sung Sikyung’s ‘On the Street’?” Beomju winks on his way past Jihoon. When he’s safely alone, Jihoon massages his face to make sure there’s nothing out of place on it before heading back to work.

are you at work today??

yeah why, Jihoon texts back, before turning his phone face down in his lap.

“I think it’d be good to have backup vocals, just on this track,” Namjoon is saying. They’re running over on an hour-long discussion about his first EP. Jihoon had been invited upon Namjoon’s request alongside another in-house producer; Jihoon’s not sure why, exactly, and it’s kept him a bit on edge the whole time.

Jihoon’s phone buzzes — loudly — against his laptop, and he apologizes.

Namjoon checks his watch. “Gosh, it’s way later than I thought… We can end here. Sorry to take up everyone’s time.”

Out in the hall, Jihoon checks Soonyoung’s texts.

you told me to text you if i want to stop by…
are you busy?

no, Jihoon types, feeling lighter now that he has something to look forward to. come

“Hey.” Jihoon looks up as Namjoon shuts the studio door behind him. He smiles. “Can we talk?”

At the vending machine, Namjoon pays. “Iced tea?” he asks, and Jihoon nods.

“You remembered?”

“I have a pretty good memory.” He hands Jihoon his drink. “I just wanted to thank you.”

Jihoon had just cracked his tea open, and he swallows his gigantic mouthful to speak. “For what?”

“For reminding me how stupid I was being.” Sheepishly, Namjoon rubs the back of his neck. “I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome,” Jihoon says, and Namjoon smile widens. “That's not why you invited me to the meeting though, right?”

“No way.” He points at Jihoon’s drink. “I’ve paid you back for that now.”

“Then why...”

“Let’s just say someone had a lot of good things to say about your work,” is Namjoon’s mysterious reply. He clasps Jihoon on the shoulder and leaves him there by the vending machines.

“Myungho is moving back to China,” Soonyoung says over the sound of him smacking his tube of Papico ice cream repeatedly over his knee.

“I think that’s pulverized by now,” Jihoon points out. Soonyoung confirms it with a shake, and cracks it the tip open. “And yeah, he told me.”

Soonyoung stops sucking. “What? When?”

“On the trip. It came up.”

“What the hell…” Soonyoung grumbles. Jihoon’s ice cream is melting in the tube — he wouldn’t have chosen Papico chocolate, but Soonyoung had asked him if he wanted to split a two-pack at the convenience store and he went with it.

Freeing as it is, walking next to Soonyoung without needing to hide anything, it’s somewhat bittersweet today. He can sense Soonyoung’s mood in the air. Subtly, Jihoon steers them towards a small playground, which is mostly empty near dinner time.

“Are you sad about it?”

“No,” Soonyoung says. “I’m happy for him. It’s always been tough on him, staying here.”

“Your face isn’t saying that.”

Soonyoung looks up to see Jihoon studying him, and his eyebrows rise. “Why, what does my face say?”

Jihoon puts two fingers to his temple, copying Soonyoung’s telepathy move. “‘Why didn’t he tell me earlier? Is there something I could’ve done to help him?’ That’s what you’re thinking.”

“Hey, don’t steal my powers!” Soonyoung squeezes his ice cream dry and tosses the wrapper in the trash. Jihoon holds out his own tube and Soonyoung takes it, though he wrinkles his nose at how melted it is.

Once he finishes that one, Jihoon’s thumb comes up to wipe at a spot of chocolate on the corner of Soonyoung’s mouth.

“I really am happy for him,” he feels Soonyoung say beneath his thumb, right before he pulls away. “Myungho’s got a strong sense of responsibility, you know? I knew he had to end things here so he can start over.” Soonyoung licks his lips absently and Jihoon, his thumb keenly tacky, joins him in watching a dad push his kid on the swings nearby.

“But?” Jihoon prompts.

“But… I was talking to Chan this morning, and he said that’s why Myungho wanted to go on a trip with us. Because he was already planning to leave.” Soonyoung folded his arms. “I was a little mad, honestly. I would’ve gone on a trip with him either way. He could’ve told me.”

The dad and kid head home, and Soonyoung makes a beeline for the jungle gym. Jihoon trails after him.

“Maybe he needed some time,” Jihoon says, thinking back to the few weeks he’d spent burying himself in work and hoping that everyone would forget he’d been dating Yoongi in the first place. “Like I did.”

Soonyoung climbs up the slide. “I was mad at you, too.”

“And I’m sorry for that.” Jihoon climbs after him, his sneakers slipping on the smooth surface. Instead of getting out of the way, Soonyoung offers a hand through the hole at the top. Jihoon grabs it.

After tugging Jihoon through, Soonyoung holds on for a moment before letting go. He steps onto the bridge. “I get it though. It’s not like I tell people everything either.”

“Wow, so you’re self-aware?”

Vindictively, Soonyoung jumps on the bridge and jostles Jihoon, and that kicks off a chase across the playground because somehow seeing Soonyoung always involves a workout.

Three laps in, Soonyoung roars and starts chasing Jihoon instead until they both collapse, winded, on the swings.

“It’s because you matter,” Jihoon says between breaths, resting his head against a rusty chain. He closes his eyes. “I’m sure Myungho wanted to tell you. But he couldn’t until he knew he was ready to move on.”

The swings creak as Soonyoung rocks himself back and forth. “He’ll be happy, right?”

“Yeah.” He already is.

“I was informed over text,” Mingyu proclaims defensively when Jihoon arrives at the baseball stadium on a Saturday morning.

“Hm?” Jihoon slips past a few people in the row to sit down. Then the answer strikes him and he stiffens. “Oh. Good.”

On the other side of Mingyu, Wonwoo chuckles. Last week Mingyu had invited the two of them to one of Jungkook’s baseball games, and something had compelled Jihoon to come, despite having barely any knowledge of the sport; he has a cousin who used to play baseball — and that’s about it.

Having kept himself calm for all of one minute, Mingyu nudges Jihoon. “Who would’ve thought, though,” he gushes, and Jihoon facepalms. He could’ve been at home right now, blissfully ignorant in his bed.

“I’m glad you know, but let’s not mention this ever again.”

“Give him a break,” Wonwoo chides half-heartedly.

Mingyu sighs and sits back. “You’re right. It’s no fun when other one isn’t even here.”

Intermittently, Mingyu feeds Jihoon and Wonwoo commentary about what’s happening on the field. He points out Jungkook — a tiny figure in the distance — when he’s announced as a pinch hitter.

In a flash, Jungkook makes it to third base and the crowd erupts into hollers and cheers. Jihoon plugs his ear with a pinky. He suddenly remembers the one time during university, when Seokmin had been humming a ballad and Jungkook had harmonized with him on the spot. It’s hard to believe these are the same person.

Jihoon’s phone buzzes and he tugs it out of his pocket, expecting a text from Soonyoung — but it’s from an unknown number. Curious, he opens it.

There’s a substantial block of text.

“Jihoon,” it begins. “Hope you’re doing well. I want to apologize for taking so long to contact you, but I’m not sure you’d want to hear it… Anyway, I’m sorry…” When Jihoon gets to the end, he has to read it twice. “This is out of the blue, but could we meet up? I think we should talk. You can pick the time and place. Thanks, Yoongi.”

The noise of the crowd brings Jihoon back to reality. He contemplates it, then waits out Mingyu’s tirade about biased umpires before getting his attention.

Jihoon holds up his phone and Mingyu leans in to read the text, his expression slowly growing serious.

“I should meet him, right?”

Mingyu looks around as if to confirm that Jihoon’s talking to him, then shakes his head. “I’m not going to say anything unnecessary anymore. You decide.”

Jihoon hums. “But do you still think I should meet him?”

Mingyu’s brow furrows. “Is this a trick question?”

“I want to hear your opinion. Honest opinion.”

Mingyu chews on his bottom lip as his brow gradually smooths. “You should,” he says at last, chancing a glance at Jihoon. “I think you deserve an explanation. And just so you know, Jungkook would agree with me.”

Jihoon nods. “Alright then.”

“…You’re really listening to me?”

“Yeah. I told you — I trust you.”

“Right. Of course.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jihoon catches Mingyu fixing his posture and clearing his throat. Jihoon stifles a laugh and turns back to the game.

Jihoon arrives at the café near Hanyang where he’d last seen Yoongi and Jungkook, slightly nervous but surprisingly calm. He spots Yoongi sitting at a table in the corner wearing all gray, a mask tucked under his chin as he peruses his tablet.

On a whim, Jihoon orders a strawberry smoothie and brings it with him.

“Hi.”

Yoongi blinks up at him, slightly startled perhaps, and sets his tablet aside. “Hey. Thanks for coming.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “I hope this place wasn’t too far.”

“No, not at all. I live near here now. My workplace is close.”

Yoongi folds his napkin — a nervous tick, Jihoon knows. Seeing that chases away the rest of the roiling in Jihoon’s gut. He takes a sip of his smoothie; it’s a tad too sweet, just on the right side of comforting.

“Where are you working now?”

The mundane question seems to soothe Yoongi, too. “Ah, I’m on contract with another architecture firm.” He shrugs. “Nothing new. You?”

“Same. Well, I got promoted.”

A smile pulls at Yoongi’s mouth. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Yoongi nods. “I heard you’re working with Joon now?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon tilts his head. “Did you two… talk?”

Yoongi studies the table. “Thanks to you.”

“That’s what Namjoon-hyung said. But I really didn’t do anything.”

Yoongi gives him a firm look. “You did. And he talked some sense into me, too.” He weighs his words. “I’m sorry, I really am. There were… things I never explained to you. That’s why I wanted to meet.”

“Okay,” Jihoon says calmly. “Tell me.”

And so Yoongi tells him about his trip to Daegu last year, the reason why he’d left Seoul for months — about how his older brother in America had suddenly gotten divorced and flew back to his parent’s home in Korea.

“I have a niece and nephew,” Yoongi says, the napkin slowly transforming into origami in his restless hands. “There was going to be a custody battle. I went home to check in on him.”

It had been months; much longer than a mere check-in. “But you decided to stay?” Jihoon guesses.

“You know how I told you I was the black sheep of my family?” Yoongi says in a joking tone. “My parents and I don’t get along. We’re just bad at communicating. But after seeing my brother so upset, I felt like maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “That I was too scared to try to change things.”

Jihoon swallows. He grips his smoothie. “Were you scared of me, too?”

“A little,” Yoongi admits. “I’m sorry for that.”

Jihoon accepts it quietly, without fanfare. “…I didn’t even ask you about what was going on. I’m sorry for that, too.”

“I’m your hyung. I should’ve handled it better.”

“Well, that’s true,” Jihoon says. Yoongi smiles slightly and Jihoon returns it. “But I messed up, too. And I learned a lot from it.”

Yoongi finally picks up his neglected Americano. “Like what?”

“Like…” No matter how hard Jihoon wracks his brain, only one person comes to mind. “Like how sometimes you have to end things so you can start over.”

Yoongi frowns. “Isn’t that common sense?”

“It made more sense in context... Never mind.”

“Well, I did start working on a new mixtape right after I finished doing my laundry,” Yoongi says. “So you might be onto something.”

Jihoon ignores the sarcasm. “You’re working on a new mixtape?”

“Yeah.” Carefully, Yoongi folds his hands in his lap. He shifts into producer-mode. “Is there any chance that you’d want to feature?” At Jihoon’s incredulous look, he adds, “You know I like your voice. You can say no.”

“It’s a no, I think.” Only Yoongi would be able to invite an ex to feature on his track. “Thanks though. You should ask Namjoon.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “I already did.”

“What did he say?”

“That he’ll think about it.”

“He’s going to be busy with his EP. That might be why.”

“Or he might be mad at me for being an idiot,” Yoongi points out, “which is fine. I guess I’ll have to bribe him for a few years.”

“Careful,” Jihoon warns as he sips his smoothie. “Next thing you know, all your friends will think you’re living together.”

“…and then he said he had some work to finish at the café, so I said, ‘Okay, bye,’ and left,” Jihoon says, concluding his recap. He’s leaning against the fridge watching Soonyoung rustle around the kitchen for cooking tools he’s never touched before. “It was awkward, but not as bad as I thought it would be.”

Soonyoung unearths a beat-up pot, deems it usable, and places it on the stove. “So are you feeling okay?”

“Mm.”  Jihoon scans the ingredients that Soonyoung had laid out on the counter with a critical eye. “Why is this ginger fuzzy?”

“What?” Soonyoung peers over his shoulder. “That wasn’t fuzzy yesterday…”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose and tosses it in the trash. “Are you sure this is going to be edible?”

“As if you’re so picky about what you eat,” Soonyoung mutters, and Jihoon headbutts Soonyoung’s shoulder on his way to the sink to rinse the fuzzy ginger off his hands. Once clean, he starts digging through Soonyoung’s takeout menu drawer.

“What are you doing?”

“Ordering more food in case your jjigae explodes.”

“I don’t think this is how dates are supposed to work,” Soonyoung complains. “Aren’t you supposed to pretend it tastes good?”

Jihoon scoffs. “You’re not paying me enough for that.” He shushes him as the call goes through. “Hi, yes, I’d like to order…”

Two hours later, they’re boneless on the couch, surrounded by copious takeout containers and empty bowls of Soonyoung’s watery but palatable jjigae. Jihoon rubs his belly as they gaze at the white ceiling of Soonyoung’s apartment like there might be stars up there.

“Are you really doing okay?” Soonyoung asks again.

Jihoon sighs. “You really want to talk about this on a date?”

“I mean, was this really a date? Maybe I should’ve picked a fancy restaurant or something…”

“I thought you were sick of fancy restaurants,” Jihoon says, and Soonyoung’s sheepish silence says it all. “What’s wrong with this? I like it.”

There’s a soft rustle as Soonyoung turns to look at him. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Soonyoung turns back to the ceiling. “What do you want to do next time?”

Next time, Jihoon echoes, just so it can sink in. Without thinking too deeply about it, Jihoon readjusts himself so he’s lying down, the back of his head resting on Soonyoung’s thigh.

“There used to be a lot of things I wanted to do,” Jihoon muses, recalling his time with Yoongi. “But I can’t think of anything now.”

Soonyoung plops his hand over Jihoon’s face. “Well, sorry I’m boring.”

Jihoon peels it off and sticks the hand on Soonyoung’s face instead. “Stop apologizing to me.”

“I was joking,” says Soonyoung, muffled.

“I know.” Because Jihoon feels safer when Soonyoung can’t look right through him, he adds, “Stop being so careful. I can handle it.” He lets him go.

Soonyoung ponders that. “I was being careful?”

“On the trip, too.” Jihoon folds his arms over his chest. “I’m doing really good, you know? I feel great.”

“Alright then,” Soonyoung says, relaxing against the cushions again. “I know you’re fine most of the time. I just… think it’s nice when you tell me how you’re feeling.”

Jihoon peeks at the underside of Soonyoung’s chin and feels a surge of emotion so strong that he has to breathe through it. Slowly, he sits up. At the same time, Soonyoung lifts his head off the couch.

Jihoon presses their foreheads together. Let me show you. He closes the gap.

Jihoon steps outside of his apartment building, letting the September morning chill wake him up the rest of the way — only to stop and marvel at the stickered silver Kia parked on the roadside. Soonyoung’s leaning against it, texting on his phone. When he spots Jihoon, he lights up, nearly sparkling with anticipation.

“Isn’t this your dad’s car?” Jihoon asks, still somewhat in disbelief. “I thought you were going to rent one.”

Soonyoung loads Jihoon’s bags into the trunk. “Oh, he lectured me over the phone about wasting money and made me go pick it up.” He pats the car fondly. “We can drop it off next week.”

Jihoon climbs into the passenger seat and straps in. “Remember, I’m putting my life in your hands.”

“Get ready to sleep like a baby,” Soonyoung says, turning on the ignition with relish.

For all that Jihoon has teased him, Soonyoung isn’t actually a bad driver; perhaps a bit overcautious and GPS-incompetent, but Jihoon can live with that. Instead of sleeping, Jihoon puts on some music and keeps a watchful eye on the navigation.

Around the three-hour mark, Soonyoung’s energy has fizzled out. His shoulders have loosened up and now and then he sings along to a song he recognizes.

“I was wrong,” Jihoon says reluctantly. “I might regret this later, but you got us this far. I won’t call you a bad driver anymore.”

“It’s okay.” Soonyoung pauses to switch lanes. “You were just jealous.”

“You’re right. I’m so jealous.” Jihoon stretches and pops a few joints to his immense satisfaction. He pats Soonyoung on the shoulder. “I’ll leave it to you, good driver.”

Jihoon accidentally falls asleep.

When he wakes up they’re already in Busan. He listens to Soonyoung hum under his breath and watches the city pass outside, the occasional storefront wishing everyone a happy Chuseok.

Jihoon’s parents and grandparents live in an apartment complex in Suyeong, which borders the ocean. His parents welcome Soonyoung like nothing has changed and his grandparents think Soonyoung’s family live too far away to spend the holidays with, but it’s peaceful, and Jihoon is thankful for that.

After dinner, Jihoon offers to wash the dishes.

“Don’t worry about it,” his mom says, already glove-deep in suds. “Go see that Soonyoung is comfortable.”

Jihoon’s throat tightens. When he doesn’t move, she shoots him an exasperated look over her shoulder.

“I said go.” He thinks her eyes soften before she turns back to the task at hand. “And tell your dad to get in here.”

Soonyoung is organizing his luggage in Jihoon’s room when Jihoon finds him. “Hey. Come with me for a second.”

Soonyoung follows him outside to the narrow balcony that borders the apartment. Around the other side, it widens into a nook lined with neat containers of dirt, staked with wire and wooden trellises.

“Whoa. What’s this?”

“My grandmother’s garden.” Jihoon guides them over a network of crisscrossing black hoses, a homemade watering system. “My grandparents used to live in the countryside before they moved to the city. She had a huge garden there. I don’t remember it that clearly, but I used to help her out.”

“This is amazing.” Soonyoung crouches by a basket of tan bulbs. “What are these?”

Jihoon shakes some dirt out of his slides. “Daffodils.” He points at the row of dirt-filled containers beside it. “All of these. She plants them every fall.”

Soonyoung picks one of the bulbs up and turns it over in the light of a nearby lamp. He presses his face briefly into his elbow before standing up, and Jihoon notices.

“Are you crying?” he asks, half-teasing and half-alarmed.

Soonyoung sets the bulb gently back in its basket. “Just a little,” he confesses, which makes Jihoon laugh. “Can we come back to see them in the spring?”

“Only if you drive.”

Soonyoung grins. “Deal.”