Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Winter in New York felt different than back home. 

Realistically, Chan knew there wasn’t that much of a difference between the two. They were both cold in winter and warm in the summer (though missing the summer monsoons in Korea made him glad to be elsewhere), and both had snow. Both had harsh winters that required jackets and hats, the kind of winters that made you want to snuggle under the blankets and sip hot chocolate.

Chan, of course, was not cuddled up in bed like a normal person would be at four in the morning mid-December. He was instead sat on the fire escape that passed by his window. It was a good place to think, and hence it was useful that it was right by his bedroom. 

God knows Jeonghan would murder him and then resurrect him just to yell at him about layers if he knew he was out here.

He’d never really been one to think. It wasn’t that he was dumb, he just wanted to live a simple life. The kind of life where he let it come at him and didn’t try too hard to change what couldn’t be changed. He would adapt and overcome and everything would work out eventually.

That was what he told himself all throughout high school. His grades hadn’t been sky high, but he sat at a comfortable middle (if slightly below average in the more - ahem - boring classes). He wanted to pursue dance anyway, that was his dream, and who needed to know algebra to dance?

But then he didn’t get into college. The course was one for business management (not his choice, his parents wanted him to prepare to take over the jokbal restaurant eventually) but it was still disheartening. And none of his auditions were going anywhere and his relatives kept asking difficult questions.

What are your plans for the future Chan? What do you want to do with your life? Dancing is a nice hobby, but remember that’s all it is, dear, a hobby. 

It’s not fair, because he knows it’s not true. There was a boy in his class who had been set to make his debut three weeks after their graduation. He was popular, of course, all long legs and kind smiles; he already had an aura. 

Chan wanted an aura too.

But he didn’t have perfect proportions, and his smile bordered on goofy most of the time. He was nearly twenty, but he felt twelve every time he heard the judges say the same words over and over again:

“We’re sorry, Lee Chan, we’re just not looking for what you’re offering right now. We’ll keep you in mind for future projects.”

So only three days after his graduation, his bag was packed and he had been flown to New York City to live with his older cousin Jeonghan.

Jeonghan was a lot of things Chan wasn’t. He had good grades in school, had attended (and graduated) college and - during his exchange year - had met and quickly fallen for one Hong Jisoo. After he wrapped up his teaching degree, he moved to New York to be with his New Boyfriend and never looked back.

And even though their family wasn’t thrilled about the gay thing, they liked Jisoo. Because Jisoo was sweet and kind and had the kind of face you’d see in art museums. He could cook, he helped clean, he was Korean - all the things that instantly won over their extended family.

If you were going to be gay, you could at least be gay with someone appropriate, in Chan’s mother’s words.

So Jeonghan had left Korea and Chan and everything else behind. But when he’d been asked if he’d let the younger live with him for a while (“just until he found his feet”), he jumped at the chance.

Apparently, Jeonghan missed him, which was horseshit in Chan’s modest opinion. It wasn’t like he was some eldritch being that existed only in spirit. If Jeonghan wanted to talk to him that badly, then he could’ve called.

Chan didn’t want to go to New York to live with his perfect cousin and his perfect cousin’s boyfriend, but he accepted, because it was easier to tell his classmates he was going to New York after graduation and see their mildly impressed faces rather than admit that he had no plans and no hope and no anything for his future.

Everything he wanted had gone up in smoke so fast, and with it, his confidence.

So he said goodbye to the few friends he had, hopped on a flight, and vowed not to get too close to Jeonghan during his stay.

Except, it was easier said than done, because Chan had lived in Korea his whole life, and although he knew people in America didn’t speak Korean, he wasn’t quite ready for how hard it was to communicate with anyone.

He could speak some English, of course, but ordering a coffee in broken and stuttered words left him feeling flushed and even worse than he felt before. Those stupid exams hadn’t helped at all with real life. He didn’t even know how to ask where the bathroom was, and so had shifted awkwardly on the airport bench as he waited for Jeonghan to pick him up.

No matter how many internal promises he made to not befriend Jeonghan, the moment he was greeted with the familiarity of his mother tongue, they all slipped away. He allowed himself to be pulled into a hug and it almost felt like was six years old and watching wide-eyed as his hyung taught him how to make a pillow fort again.

Jeonghan’s hair was a very bright blond. Something that would’ve stood out massively back home, but didn’t seem to faze anyone here. That, and the way he held himself were the main giveaways that he’d changed.

His clothes were chic, but understated. His posture was strong, but not eye-catching. He could text while walking and always had tinted lip balm in his bag. He drank coffee like water and switched between two languages with ease.

And Chan was jealous. Massively so. Because he wanted that. He wanted to be comfortable here. He didn’t want to be looking over his shoulder every two seconds because he was scared someone was following him and he wouldn’t know enough of the language to ask for help. He didn’t want to have to triple check to make sure he was using the men’s bathroom in public places. He didn’t want to have to rehearse his order just to make sure he wouldn’t mess up and make a fool out of himself.

He placated himself by saying it would come to him eventually. Even Jeonghan couldn’t have been perfect when he came here. No matter how flawless his skin was or how bright his laugh could be, no one had it that easy.

But then again, Jeonghan had a Jisoo - or, a Joshua, as he introduced himself. And Chan was jealous again.

Jisoo (Chan still wasn’t fully confident in his pronunciation of American names) had been to Korea once or twice. Mostly to visit Jeonghan. He’d only met their family once in person, and during that time, Chan had been too busy bombing his CSAT to make introductions.

And yet despite their lack of history, Jisoo treated him like an old friend. He bypassed the handshake and went straight for a hug. He showed Chan to his room and told him to make sure he added anything he wanted to the shopping list on the fridge. He could speak fluent Korean despite never having lived there and Chan was befuddled by the mere idea of it.

Although, he still clung to the hope that he’d be able to do it too one day.

So Chan was jealous, and angry, and resentful. Because Jeonghan had a sweet and caring boyfriend who would sit up and help him learn English until the wee hours of the morning. Jeonghan had someone who would bring him coffee and pancakes in bed, and someone who would softly sing the same line of a song over and over again whilst they answered emails.

Jeonghan had someone who loved him. Someone who would do anything for him. 

Chan wanted that too.

Maybe it wasn’t fair for him to want so much and not really do anything to get it, but that was just the way his brain worked. If you had to force something to happen, it was never meant to happen - that was his ideology.

It was dumb and useless and Chan hated it.

But changing an ideology that you’d had since you were four years old and could barely run was difficult.

Chan had been trying. He’d been in New York for around ten months, and all of it had been him trying. Trying to change his mindset, trying to find his way, trying to do better.

He had a job now, which was something. He couldn’t get one for the first few months because of the language barrier. Jeonghan had enrolled him in the same English classes that he’d taken, all expenses paid. (Chan had wanted to argue, but he truly had no money, so when the older just winked and told him to pay him back later, Chan let it go).

But the job wasn’t even anything amazing. He sat behind a cash register from seven in the evening to two in the morning four days a week (his days off were Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday; which was bizarre to him, seeing as he was still rather used to the high school weekend). The other three days he studied his ass off improving his mediocre English and preparing himself to take an entrance exam for a local community college in a few months time.

Chan didn’t want to live in New York, but it was easier than Korea. It was easier to hide from his parents' disappointed faces when he could just decline the call and stick his head in a pillow to scream.

(Jisoo had caught him in the act once. The older man simply shook his head fondly, going to the convenience store and buying Chan five packs of shitty ramen. Somewhere in those ten months, the two had formed a relationship like this.)

The course was still for business management, because Chan still didn’t know what else he could do with his life, and every time he saw an audition poster on the subway or online, he looked away before he could even think about it.

And, truth be told, Chan knew he’d probably end up moving back to Korea to take over the restaurant when his parents couldn’t run it anymore.

He wasn’t made of the same mettle as Jeonghan. For all he was a kindergarten teacher, that man was tenacious and brash - never afraid to say what was on his mind and certainly not afraid to get what he wanted when he wanted it.

Chan couldn’t live with them forever. He’d seen Jisoo watching longingly as toddlers wobbled around the park, and he’d heard how Jeonghan spoke about the kids he took care of. He was getting in their way, that much he knew. He was a nuisance. 

Jeonghan swore that Chan was just their honorary baby whenever he brought it up. Neither of them were financially stable enough to provide for an actual child, nor did they have the time or resources. Children needed backyards, Jisoo had said (which made Chan snort into his pasta), there were no backyards in New York - at least, not ones they could afford.

So the plan was for him to get into college, graduate in four years, move back to Korea and run the family business until he died. Jeonghan would keep living his life in America with Jisoo and they’d raise a family - maybe in California, near Jisoo’s hometown like they often talked about doing.

Chan didn’t know what he’d do if the plan didn’t go… as planned. Things couldn’t derail again. There was no other option this time. He didn’t have a cousin in Germany or Dubai he could run to if things went south here.

This was his last chance.

Hence, he was sitting on the fire escape at four am, desperately trying not to freak out at the idea of failing once more.

It was bitingly cold and he was only wearing sleep shorts and a hideous Chuck E Cheese hoodie Jeonghan had given him as a random gag gift. His toes might’ve been turning a worrying shade of blue. He was zero point three seconds away from bursting into very loud tears. 

He leaned his head against the wall behind him and let it rest there. At least it was somewhat peaceful. It was a rare night where no drunks were messing around in the alleyway, and Chan had grown used to the whir of engines that was always buzzing in the city. 

It was quieter than usual. No horns blaring or people shouting or construction work to interrupt his thoughts. It was the closest thing to serenity he’d been in a while; and he’d needed it.

And then suddenly, his peace-bubble was popped by a big red thing landing quite clumsily beside him.

It took everything in his body not to scream. He stuffed the sleeve of his hoodie into his mouth and bit down, watching with wide eyes as the red thing slowly uncurled with a groan.

Oh my God, it’s a person. Chan thought to himself, watching as the newcomer straightened out his limbs with a rather disconcerting popping sound. In the blue light of the night, Chan was pretty sure he could see blood dotted on the guy’s torso, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was just the outfit itself.

Is he hurt? Is he just drunk? What is he even wearing? Maybe he was at a costume party. In December. Those are things, right? 

Chan’s scrambling thoughts came to an end when he made eye contact with the person.

“Ah,” They said, “Hey.”

Chan didn’t respond. Some random guy had fallen (jumped?) onto his fire escape at four am wearing a weird red skin-tight suit that very clearly was covered in blood and all he had to say was “hey”?

“I didn’t mean to-” The guy gestured upwards, as if that would explain even half of why and how he had gotten to his current location. “I fell.”

“Off the roof?” Chan said, voice cracking and making him wince internally. Way to make a strong impression. What if this guy wants to break in? You’re the first line of defence dumbass.

“I didn’t know you were here.” The stranger insisted, straightening and pushing his fringe out of his face. His hand froze mid-action and his eyes widened as if he’d suddenly realised something.

Chan sure as shit had realised something; this dude was hot. 

Like, the kind of hot that sits behind the wheels of expensive cars wearing designer watches and has shoes made of diamonds. He had the kind of face that belonged on billboards, not on Chan’s fire escape. 

Even with his hair tangled over his forehead, dark circles under his eyes, and a split lip, Chan could tell that much. 

“Shit,” The guy muttered, looking around frantically until he spotted a crumpled piece of red fabric beside them, “Shit.”

He grabbed the cloth, looking at Chan and narrowing his eyes slightly. 

“I can explain this.”

Chan nodded mutely, not quite sure where his voice was or how he was supposed to respond. Surely he should call for Jeonghan now, right? But then he’d probably call the police and this man wasn’t giving him those kinds of vibes. 

Semi-lunatic, possibly an escapee from a mental institution, maybe, but not harmful. 

“I was…” The guy looked around awkwardly, as if he was searching for inspiration, “At a costume party!” He said, clicking his fingers victoriously. Chan nodded again, not sure if this guy realised he was a terrible, terrible liar.

“And I fell off the roof. It was a rooftop party.” 

“Okay,” Chan said, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie and wondering when it would be appropriate to climb back into his room. The ambience from before had been shattered, and now he just wanted to sleep until his shift.

“You’re not- You believe me?”

“Not really,” He shrugged, “But I don’t really care about the truth.”

“Really?” The guy seemed baffled, “Do you… Do you know me?”

“Should I know you?” Chan asked, squinting. He was tired and he didn’t know anyone in this city anyway. There was no point in pretending he did.

“No,” The guy said quickly, “No you shouldn’t. You don’t. Um…” He stood up slowly, uncomfortably hobbling down the staircase, “I’m just gonna go. My friends will be wondering where I am.”

Chan nodded for the third time in the conversation and watched wearily as the weird man descended. He kept his eyes trained on him until the top of his head disappeared.

When the guy was gone, Chan let out a breath. In another scenario, he could’ve died just then. Maybe that guy was on the run from the police. He was covered in blood and yet gave no indication that it was his blood - or that it was something out of the ordinary. Maybe Chan was about to become wrapped up in a huge conspiracy and he’d be put into witness protection before the mafia chopped him into a thousand pieces.

But he was too tired to think of any of that right now. And besides, that was far from the weirdest thing that had happened in the past month (he’d seen a woman with a huge live fish in a bag of water on the subway last week, that definitely took first place). 

So he stood up, climbed back into the apartment, snapped the window shut, and flopped onto the bed, allowing the sweet bliss of unconsciousness to drag him into its depths. 

Chapter Text

The next morning, Chan awoke to loud singing and cold feet. 

Somehow, in the middle of the night, his blanket had become wrapped around his hips exclusively, leaving the rest of his legs to suffer in the cold morning air. He wriggled around haphazardly until he finally managed to kick the entire thing off and sat up groggily.

The singing was Jeonghan, naturally. He woke early for work and had absolutely no inhibitions about letting everyone in their apartment block know.

It was a good thing the man could actually sing pretty well, because Chan might’ve committed a federal crime had he not been able to. Sleep was something hard come by for him, and anything that jeopardised that entered his radar as evil and terrible. 

Of course, he hadn’t confronted Jeonghan on his shower adventures. The older would simply shrug and tell him to sleep earlier. Last night wasn’t just a one off thing, Chan regularly found himself out there thinking, and he didn’t need Jeonghan worrying about him. After all, his cousin had only just stopped worrying about him when he managed to find a job, God knows this would set him off all over again.

Although, last night was rather odd in the grand scheme of things. Chan thought about the strange man who had dramatically appeared on his fire escape last night as he tugged on some sweats and a pair of odd socks. 

He had acted weird, at least to Chan he did. People in New York did tend to be a bit loopy sometimes, so it wasn’t anything wild, but this man’s behaviour was something to be noted. 

He’d been skittish, almost nervous, when he had been explaining what he was doing. Clearly he wasn’t super observational, because he would’ve realised Chan didn’t really care all too much. 

Which, looking back, was probably dumb. The guy was covered in blood for crying out loud. What if he was dead in the alley and it was all Chan’s fault because he didn’t try to help him?

His hand froze over the door handle. Yeah, maybe don’t think about some guy you don’t even know bleeding out in an alley at seven in the morning, Chan. Probably not the best way to start your day.

He exhaled heavily, opening the door and running a hand through his knotted hair. He’d let Jeonghan rope him into bleaching it a few shades lighter about three months ago, and now it had this awful straw-like texture if he didn’t wash it properly. Just another thing to add to his growing pile of stress.

Jisoo was sat at the small dining table, groggily making his way through a bowl of granola. He smiled wearily at Chan when the younger wandered in.

“Morning Channie,” He said, “I suppose Pavarotti in there woke you as well?”

Chan only nodded, stifling a yawn and opening the fridge to pick something out. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but there wasn’t much else to do.

“It’s almost like he doesn’t understand that just because he has to get up early doesn't mean we all do,” Jisoo chuckled, watching as Chan uncapped a carton of orange juice and gulped it straight from the carton. “Good Lord, what will I do with you?”

Chan grinned at him, wiping some drops of juice from his chin with his sleeve. Jisoo really was a good guy, and he and Chan got along well. Maybe it was the mutual hatred for early mornings, or maybe it was because it was nice to have someone to fondly complain about Jeonghan to. Either way, Chan couldn’t have predicted how quickly they bonded - especially since he’d vowed to hate this man.

But as close as they were, Chan still didn’t want to tell him about last night's occurrence. Partially because he wasn’t really sure what had happened himself, and partially because Jisoo was an adult (with a credit score and everything) who would most certainly call the police and tell Jeonghan about Chan’s late night thinking excursions.

And then there would be trouble. 

So he kept quiet, opting to flop onto the couch and turn on the telly. It was too early for anything good to be playing, so he settled for the news. A blonde woman with too bright lipstick was blabbering about some type of crime. That was another difference between New York and back home - there was so much crime. 

Of course, there was crime in Korea - there was crime everywhere - but New York had mountains of it. There were robberies, assaults, accidents, and rescues every day. From cats in trees to human trafficking rings being foiled, there was always something happening.

Chan watched the screen as some shaky footage of a person in a bright red and blue suit swinging through the streets. The person shot out some kind of stringy material and stopped a bicycle thief in their tracks, quickly returning the bike to a frazzled looking man, before zipping off again. The video cut amidst many cries from the crowd, some positive, some less so.

That was another thing New York had that Korea didn’t. Superheroes.

They didn’t have as many as they used to, according to Jisoo, Iron Man had mostly retired (he could only be coaxed out by literal inter-dimensional threats), Captain America was married, Thor went back to space; there wasn’t really anyone left. 

Except Spider-Man. 

During Chan’s first week in New York, he’d heard Jisoo harping on and on about ‘Spider-Man’, and about his asshole boss who was borderline obsessed with the guy. When he’d asked who this Spider-Man was, Jisoo had launched into a whole spiel. 

(“He’s irresponsible and dangerous, and an absolute pain in my ass when it comes to work. I’m convinced my boss has a shrine of him at home or something; although, that’s assuming that dickhead has a home, which is unlikely.”)

Jeonghan had explained it much better. Spider-Man was a superhero/vigilante who’d been hopping around and stopping crime for the better part of five years. New York was essentially his playground, specifically the Queens area that they all lived in, and he’d been protecting it for years now.

(“Protecting is a strong word,” Jisoo scoffed, “He took my career and single-handedly made it a dead-end job.”)

Jisoo was a reporter for an up-and-coming newspaper entitled ‘The Daily Bugle’. Chan used to snag old copies when he was learning formal speech and he was surprised at how anti-hero it was. After all, Chan had thought everyone must love superheroes - with all their saving and protecting and general do-gooding.

But apparently, quite a large population didn’t support them. And Jisoo’s boss (a man called J. Jonah Jameson, a name that had made Chan legitimately snort ramen through his nose when he’d heard it due to its sheer ridiculousness) was one of the frontmen for Spider-Man hate.

According to these people, heroes endangered the citizens of New York by simply existing. Their presence incited worse crimes to be committed in an attempt to take them down. Not only that, but their reckless way of ‘fixing things’ really only made things worse for the working class. People had lost property and loved ones during some of these heroes’ extravagant fights. They weren’t helping anyone, they were just cleaning up messes they’d created in the first place.

Chan didn’t know how much he agreed. On one hand, it was true that no other places seemed to have such problems as New York (there had been no aliens, robots, or evil scientists in Korea - at least, not that Chan could remember). But on the other hand, New York just seemed like a hotspot for this kind of activity. Chan doubted the crime rates would actually lower if the superheroes just disappeared. And Spider-Man himself never really did much harm, he just seemed to be a dude who liked to help people. Chan respected that.

And he thought Spider-Man was kind of cool; sue him.

(When he’d asked Jisoo why he hated the guy so much, the older had sighed and waved his hand dismissively. “It’s the principle,” He’d said, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “Jameson’s never going to step down as editor in chief until Spider-Man is either dead or unmasked, and that means I’m never seeing a promotion until one of them croaks.”)

The news continued to talk about the criminal, who’d been caught and apprehended by the police, and made the usual announcement that any information on Spider-Man’s identity or location should be given to the police immediately.

Jeonghan had finally stepped out of the shower and was knotting his tie as he padded through the house. His slacks were slightly wrinkled and his hair still damp, but he was just as handsome as usual. Chan pouted, picking at some lint on his sock, why couldn’t the gene pool have been as kind to him?

“Ooh, the news, Channie?” His cousin’s voice had its usual teasing lilt and Chan wondered how anyone could be so chipper at this hour, “How intellectual.”

“Thanks,” Chan replied sarcastically, “I’m broadening my horizons.”

“Well don’t broaden them too much, you might hurt your brain,” Jeonghan laughed, ruffling the younger man’s hair as he passed by. 

Chan swatted at him half-heartedly, grabbing the remote and flicking through the channels aimlessly - maybe he’d find some kid’s cartoons or something, those were way more entertaining. 

When he’d finally found something interesting enough, Jeonghan was heading out, keys jingling as he stuffed his shoes on.

“I’m going then!” He called, voice muffled around a slice of toast jammed into his mouth, “See you both tonight!”

“I’m working,” Chan reminded him, “I’ll eat at the store.”

“You’ll eat whatever Jisoo cooks,” Jeonghan replied, “Otherwise your arteries will explode and I’m not going to be the one to explain that to the family.”

“I’m not seven, you can’t just say stuff like that and expect me to believe it!” Chan said, ignoring how the channel he was currently watching was showing an advert for a toy that was definitely meant for seven-year-olds.

“Yes I can!” Was all Jeonghan bothered to respond before shutting the door behind him and leaving Chan with nothing but the too loud TV and Jisoo’s muffled giggles in the kitchen.

He slumped back onto the couch with a pout, pulling his phone out of his pocket and beginning to scroll through social media.

Chan wasn’t exactly the type to be super active on social media (mostly because his only friends were his cousin and his cousin’s boyfriend - both of which were almost a decade older than him), but he appreciated the random news and memes he found there. He stifled a chuckle at something particularly strange, not quite knowing why he found it as entertaining as he did. 

“Alright then Channie,” Jisoo said, shouldering his bag and wrapping his arms around Chan’s shoulders in a half-hug half-wrestling takedown, “I’m heading out as well.”

Chan squirmed with a groan. Although he loved the skinship, he would rather die than ever admit it openly. 

“Quit complaining,” Jisoo berated him, pressing a loud kiss to his hair before releasing him. Chan sighed faux-exasperatedly. “Don’t burn the place down, lock the door if you go out, and be back for half five so I can make you food that won’t put you into an early grave and so Jeonghan can walk you to the station.”

“I can walk myself to the station,” Chan muttered, “I’m twenty.”

“It’s New York, baby,” Jisoo laughed, “Better to be safe than sorry.”

Chan mulled over those words when the door slammed once more. The older man was definitely right, New York wasn’t his hometown, he could barely speak the language, it made a lot of sense to have Jeonghan - someone older and more experienced - accompany him places.

But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, he reasoned, stuffing his phone back in his pocket and lying back on the couch, one leg flung over the arm and the other dangling off the side. After all, he was an adult (in most of the world, although, not where they lived), and he was allowed to want some independence. Some random guy had landed on the fire escape last night, and he hadn’t died or been mugged, had he? He could manage just fine. 

He glanced at the shut door, contemplating whether or not he should go out for a walk. Nowhere in particular, maybe just as far as the station and back. He could record it, and use it as proof that Jeonghan should let him go by himself tonight. Maybe he could even order some coffee, just to practice his English.

Mind made up, Chan sprung off the couch (as much as one can spring when they’re half asleep and their foot has a serious case of pins and needles) and made a beeline for the bathroom. Jeonghan had of course forgone cleaning the floor after him, so Chan peeled his now damp socks off and tossed them into the hamper. 

He inspected his reflection in the mirror, prodding at a new cluster spots on his chin and running his fingers over the bags under his eyes. With a sigh, he pulled his hoodie off, flicking the shower on and preparing for it to be entirely mediocre.

^^^

After he finished his shower, Chan pulled on a clean hoodie and a pair of distressed jeans. It was a good thing ripped jeans were in fashion these days, because Chan’s always seemed to be that way, whether they were meant to be or not. He took one look at his hair before deciding it simply was not worth it and tugging a beanie on (it was obnoxiously red and probably Jeonghan’s but whatever). 

With one final check on his outfit, he grabbed the spare key from the hook by the door and headed out, tucking the key into his jeans pocket. Not exactly super secure, but it had never fallen out before, and Chan was only planning on taking a leisurely stroll, not tackling a military grade assault course.

He was out of the apartment building within five minutes, forgoing the faulty elevator partially because he was terrified that it was going to fall one day (it creaked an alarming amount if you moved even the slightest bit in it) and partially to avoid any unwanted conversations (there was a particularly nosy woman who lived a few doors down that was always asking Chan questions he never felt like answering). He instead opted to take the stairs. More time consuming, yes, but safer and way more peaceful.

The early morning air was about as crisp as it could be in downtown New York. There were taxis and buses and bicycles zipping up and down the roads, and Chan was once again thrown by how lively it all was at such an early hour.

You’d think after almost a year, he’d be used to it by now, but he wasn’t - he didn’t really know if he ever would be.

He stuffed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and ducked his head down, careful not to make eye contact with the busy commuters. It was one of the first rules of the city he’d learned from Jeonghan and Jisoo - don’t look at anyone, they will not appreciate it and will either start a fight with you or send you a look so dirty you’ll wish you’d never even thought about stepping outside of the house.

There was a crossing a few metres ahead, and Chan relished in his anonymity as he headed towards it. The area was mostly comprised of built up apartment blocks, but all different types of people were passing through. Busy men in well-fitting suits shouting into earpieces, women with tight ponytails and even tighter expressions stomping by in too-high heels, giggling school kids rushing through the crowds whilst tying their ties and zipping up their bags. Chan was just another person here, just some guy wandering the streets in a beanie that was the same colour as his nose and shoes that were two seasons out of fashion.

Nobody cared who he was, and he loved it.

Upon finally reaching the crossing, Chan joined the throng of people all waiting for the lights to change and the traffic to make way. There really wasn’t any need to watch the signals himself, the push and pull of the people around him would indicate when it was okay to go. 

He kept an eye on them anyway, not having much else to do and not wanting to be that person that was a beat behind everyone else.

He was sick of lagging behind in every other aspect of his life.

After what felt like too long, the light changed, and Chan - along with the other people waiting - all but charged forward. He managed to keep his feet on the ground and merged easily to be able to make the right turn to get to the station rather than crossing over other people’s paths and making a nuisance.

He smiled to himself. It was subtle, but he was getting used to this.

The subway was just around another corner, and Chan belatedly realised that he was meant to record his journey for his cousin. It might’ve seemed pathetic, but Jeonghan was definitely the type of person to demand video proof before allowing Chan to go anywhere alone at night, so the younger wanted to be prepared for anything. 

As he was fiddling with his phone for an awkward amount of time (Jeonghan had changed the settings to English to make life harder help him improve), he finally pulled up the camera and had a video playing. He grimaced down at it in his attempts to smile and began his walk again.

Alas, the universe hated him.

Because no sooner had he taken two steps forward, he was all but flung into a store display by some asshat from behind. He stumbled gracelessly, knocking over a stand and sending his phone skittering across the sidewalk. He yelped, desperately trying to right the stand before it toppled completely, but it was too late. 

He watched dejectedly as the elderly woman behind the counter came out and yelled at him, yanking the display out of his hands and bending down to pick up the scattered merchandise. Chan tried to help, but she slapped his hands way, shooing him off disdainfully with a glare.

He almost wanted to cry. For all he claimed he was grown up enough to handle the big city, things like this always made him feel like a child again. Like he was never going to be able to manage on his own. 

He blinked the tears away harshly before they could spill. It wasn’t his right to cry. Sure, some dick had pushed him into a display, and the woman was blaming him for something that wasn’t his fault, and his hands were scraped in that awful way that just stung, and everyone was just walking past and not even glancing at him to see if he was okay; but he couldn’t cry.

Because people in New York didn’t cry.

It was as he was backing away from the shop that he made the sudden realisation that his phone was gone. He’d been aware of it flying from his hands when he’d fallen, but he hadn’t exactly realised that he had no feasible way of getting it back. 

People walked with purpose, and his poor phone was either trampled or stolen by now. It had been thirty seconds too long for him to leave such a precious item lying on the ground unattended. 

Chan sighed, shoving his bloody hands into his pocket and turning on his heel. He just wanted to go home now. He’d have to explain to Jeonghan that he’d lost his stupid phone and that meant the older was going to buy him a new one (even if Chan insisted he didn’t have to) which meant that he’d be even more indebted to him than he already was. 

And on top of it all, in his attempts to prove he was independent enough to go somewhere alone, Chan had managed to do nothing but validate his cousin’s concerns and shatter any tiny amount of self-confidence that could’ve been building.

Chapter Text

When Chan got back into the apartment, he flopped face first onto the couch with a groan. He was so tired of everything at that moment, and the honking of cars and shouting pedestrians he could hear through an open window were beating into his skull, warning of the impending migraine he could now feel.

His stomach grumbled and he huffed, tugging the beanie over his eyes to get some darkness. He probably should’ve eaten, there would no doubt be stuff he could make a sandwich with in the fridge, but at that moment, he was so damn tired all he wanted to do was knock out until someone came home and kicked his ass into gear.

The someone turned out to be Jeonghan, what felt like minutes later.

“Rise and shine, baby, it’s the middle of the afternoon and I’ve got a shopping list.”

Chan whined, turning over on the couch and burrowing his face into the cushions.

“Why are you sleeping on the couch anyway?” Jeonghan’s voice sounded from above him, “And in jeans, too?”

“Rough day,” Chan mumbled, voice hoarse.

Jeonghan giggled, and Chan could hear him getting up and pottering around the place. 

“Oh yeah? How rough? I guarantee mine was worse. I deal with thirty nightmarish toddlers all day and only a staggering six of them can actually use the toilet.”

Chan hummed, hoping that allowing his cousin to rant would grant him more time in the land of nod.

“And apparently,” Jeonghan’s voice was more distant now, probably due to him moving into his room to get changed, “When they refuse to eat their lunch in its entirety it’s all my fault.”

Chan nodded half-heartedly, only belatedly realising that his cousin couldn’t see him when a shadow crossed over his face.

He finally pulled the beanie off from over his face, blinking blearily up at Jeonghan, who looked mildly concerned.

“You good?”

“I told you,” Chan grumbled, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head, “I had a rough day.”

“Did you go out?”

“Mm,” Chan offered helpfully, standing from the couch and wincing at the tightness in his joints, 

“Where did you go?”

“Just around,” He shrugged, internally praying for his cousin to stop interrogating him before he had to come clean about the whole debacle. He knew he’d have to tell Jeonghan at some point in the near future, but if Jisoo was around, it would probably be easier. Jisoo was always vouching for Chan’s independence, and god only knows this would set him back light years in Jeonghan’s books.

“What happened to your hands?” 

Chan shoved his tattered hands back into his hoodie pocket, hoping he could maybe fob Jeonghan off by saying that he spilt ink on them or something.

“Did you get attacked?” Jeonghan’s voice rose in pitch, and Chan threw him a dirty look. 

“No,” He replied indignantly, refusing to admit that he’d been pushed over - that didn’t count as an attack anyways. “I tripped.”

Jeonghan raised one eyebrow disbelievingly before holding his own hand out as though he was expecting something.

Chan gaped at him and the older sighed.

“Your hands, Chan, let me see them.”

“It’s fine, they’re small cuts, I can clean them myself.” Chan grumbled, tugging his hands out of his pockets and showing them to his cousin. He knew there really was no point in arguing with Jeonghan, the other man always managed to win every fight he ever found himself in.

(It was probably because he spent all his time battling unruly toddlers and irritable parents for work, but Chan chose not to linger on the thought that Jeonghan possibly saw him as a toddler.)

Jeonghan hummed disapprovingly, “I suppose so,” He agreed, nodding in the direction of the bathroom before turning around and heading back into his own room. “And I’ll let you get away with it this time, Channie, but don’t think I don’t know you’re lying about tripping.”

“I’m not,” Chan whined. He wasn’t entirely lying, he did trip, kind of. It was just that someone had… helped him find his way down.

Jeonghan made a noise that signalled he still didn’t believe the younger, but was letting them drop the conversation. Chan was happy for the small relief, he didn’t know if he could deal with being fully babied right now.

When he entered the bathroom, he took another look at himself in the mirror and sighed. Truly, he was a mess. Sleeping had somehow made the bags under his eyes worse, and his hair was sticking in various directions due to being crammed under a hat for far too long. He reminded himself to ask Jeonghan to borrow his concealer before heading to work as he tugged the beanie off and left it on the cistern.

He ran his hands under the cold tap, wincing at the slight sting. Once he was sure all the dirt was gone, he rifled through the medicine cabinet, damp hands leaving water droplets on bottles of shaving cream and toothpaste tubes. 

It took him less than a minute to finish disinfecting and cleaning his hands. When he was done, he all but sauntered out of the bathroom, as if to say: look, I can look after myself and do things like a normal adult can. 

Of course, Jeonghan was still in his bedroom, so there was nobody around to see his act. He dropped it sharpish, slouching his shoulders and going to the kitchen to search for food. His stomach had been aching since his somewhat rude awakening a few minutes earlier, and he was reminded that he hadn’t actually eaten anything today.

“I have to go to the store to get stuff,” Jeonghan said as he came in, fingers fiddling as he put in his earrings. Chan was always a little bit surprised at how different Jeonghan looked when he wasn’t in his work clothes or lazing around at home. For some reason, his cousin always felt the need to dress up, even if he was going out for something as menial as a grocery run.

“What kind of stuff?” Chan asked, sniffing at a tupperware of leftovers sceptically.

“Oh, the usual exciting things that people in their late twenties buy,” He replied flippantly, leaning his hip against the counter, “Bread, milk, a potted plant.”

“Why a potted plant?”

“Well, Shua’s been going on and on about ‘responsibility’,” Jeonghan made quotation marks with his hands as he said the word, “As if I’m not already liable for a bunch of kids and you.”

“Glad to know I’m not counted as a kid,” Chan grunted, deciding the leftovers would just have to do. There were worse ways to go than food poisoning.

“Of course not, you’re a baby.”

Chan sighed.

He knew Jeonghan was only joking when he said things like this, but it still irked him. He wanted to prove that he was a grown up, but it was hard to do that to the person who knew you when you quite literally couldn’t control your bladder. Jeonghan was always going to see him as young, whether he be a squealing baby or married with four kids. 

There was nothing he could do about it, so he just had to learn to live with it. He was always going to be younger than Jeonghan, it’s not like he could magically age ten years overnight.

He shuddered at the thought. He did like his youth, even though it was simultaneously the bane of his existence.

“Anyways,” Jeonghan said, snapping him out of his internal crisis, “Do you want to come with?”

“Where?” 

Jeonghan pinched the bridge of his nose, “Shopping.”

“Oh,” Chan poked at the sad looking pasta with his fork, “I mean, I guess.”

“Or did you already get your fill of the big city earlier?” 

When Chan glanced up, he saw his cousin looking pointedly at his hands. He dropped the fork on the counter and practically slammed the lid back on the tupperware.

“I’ll come,” He said, putting the food back in the fridge.

“You sure? You don’t have to if it’s too much-”

“I’ll come,” Chan reiterated, firmer this time. 

Jeonghan rolled his eyes fondly, reaching out and pinching his nose, “Okay, okay, I’ll quit it with the overbearing attitude.”

Chan grunted, going to retrieve his beanie. 

“It’s only because I love you, Channie, I want you to be happy here.”

“I know, I know,” He placated, pulling the hat over his head and not bothering to try and make it look any way decent. There wasn’t anybody he had to try and look good for anyway, so what was the point?

He didn’t know how to explain to Jeonghan that it was hard to be happy when he constantly felt like a failure standing next to him. Having the epitome of his ideal self standing right in front of him was like a slap to the face when he realised that he could have it, but didn’t.

Whether it be because the universe decided he wasn’t worth it, or simply because he hadn’t tried hard enough; it still hurt.

And there weren’t really words good enough to explain that when Jeonghan was so nice and genuine with him. He knew he’d sound ungrateful and bratty if he even tried. And even at that, his cousin would still be understanding and probably find a way to blame himself (which would only make Chan feel worse).

So, he said nothing, quiet as they left the apartment, and quieter as Jeonghan helped him fix his beanie in the rattling elevator.

^^^

The journey to the store was uneventful, though Chan was careful to give any streetside displays a wide berth. If Jeonghan noticed, he didn’t say anything, yabbering away about his job and leaving Chan to mope internally.

When they arrived, his cousin was in the middle of a rant about a girl named Alice whose parents always put mayonnaise in her sandwich even though she hated it. 

If there’s one thing Chan had learned in his time here, it was how to pretend to listen. Jeonghan and Jisoo were always talking about something - the day they’d just had, their plans for the next day, their hopes for lots of days in the future - and sometimes it was just too much for him. His brain wasn’t exactly kind to him, but it was way more interesting than listening to Jeonghan talk about dinner plans, or Jisoo chat about the printer that ran out of ink.

So, he hummed and nodded in all the right places, and when Jeonghan asked him to run to another aisle to get the coffee to save time, he counted it as a small blessing from above and took his leave.

Chan had been to this store a few times before, and although the first few times he’d trailed behind Jeonghan like a sad little shadow, he was proud to realise that he actually knew his way around the place now. The coffee was located in the second-to-last aisle, and the brand that Jeonghan liked (Jisoo was on a caffeine diet and Chan hadn’t acquired the taste for it) was always on the-

Top shelf.

Chan frowned.

A fun fact about him is that he isn’t exactly blessed with height. Nobody in his family is scraping ceilings, least of all Chan. He definitely wasn’t the shortest man he knew (that title went to his father, a stout man that was a full head and a half shorter than Chan himself), but it was still annoying. 

Of course, he could normally still reach the coffee. If he stretched to his full height, he could knock it off with his hands and get it down relatively easily. But today, for some unknown reason, the coffee was further back than usual. He could still see it stocked, but the clerks clearly hadn’t been around to bring it forward, because it was way further back than the other displays.

He stood there for a minute, contemplating what to do. 

He could go back to Jeonghan and tell him that he couldn’t reach the coffee. But how pathetic would that be? “Hi, hyung, remember how I wanted to walk myself to and from work? Yeah, well, now I can’t reach the coffee because I’m too short. This might affect your decision negatively, but just know that it is because the store clerks suck at their jobs and I have to suffer for some reason.”

Yeah, definitely not.

The other option was to scale the shelves. He’d already knocked down one display today, why not go two-for-two? He wasn’t sure if the store would kick him out for something like that, but he was ready to risk it for the sake of his pride.

Just as he was finding his footing on the bottom shelf, a hand reached up over his head and brought down one of the boxes he needed.

Okay, asshole, just take what I need and watch me suffer. He thought spitefully. Maybe you can record it and upload it to YouTube or something: ‘Tiny man struggles with basic task’-

“Here.”

Chan startles, jumping back from the shelf and looking at the person who’d just grabbed the box. 

They were holding it out to him, clearly expecting him to take it.

“I- uh- what?” Chan said intelligently, brain short-circuiting at the sight of this person - guy.

No, not guy, guys don’t look like this and bring down coffee displays for people who can’t reach them. This guy is cute, really cute, with dark hair and dark eyes and a quirk to his lips that looks like the beginnings of a smile. He’s wearing a faded flannel that droops over his hands and the top button is undone showing a very nice looking collarbone. Chan is suddenly realising what people mean when they talk about falling in love at first sight.

Something about him is oddly familiar, though Chan can’t put his finger on it. He supposes the guy might just be reminding him of some celebrity he’d seen in a magazine or a movie - he was good looking enough to be on for sure.

“Are you gonna take it?” The guy says, shaking the box to get his attention.

Right, yes, the coffee. Stop falling in love with strangers, Chan, and just take the damn coffee.

“Thanks,” He says, taking the box and staring resolutely at the ground. The guy is wearing a very scuffed pair of boots with one lace coloured purple. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

Coffee now in hand, Chan is acutely aware of a new problem that has arisen.

This moment is painfully - stiflingly - awkward. 

The thing with not being fully fluent in a language and trying to communicate with strangers who have actually been nice to you for once, is that it always leads to awkward situations, such as this one.

Chan wants to express his gratitude for the help, but a simple “thanks” just seems like too little. And a full bow would not be received well (he’d learned that the hard way when someone had held a door for him at the library in his first month here). 

He also may or may not be internally amping himself up to try and talk to this guy normally in an attempt to make an actual friend. It had definitely been way too long for him to be living in such a populated area without making even one. And it would be nice to say he had a new friend to his parents and actually be able to show them that it was true. 

That wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg, though. Because the benefits that making a friend would have when it came to Jeonghan would be huge.

He’d be allowed to go places without a chaperone. He’d be seen as more capable of interacting with people. It would be solid proof of his growth in the English language. 

It would be perfect.

And who knows? Maybe, if this guy turned out to be… inclined towards Chan the same way the shorter man was to him, then he could have something a little more than a friend as well.

He’d have the perfect American boyfriend with a perfect ten face, just like Jeonghan had. 

He’d be able to experience so many things he’d been missing out on since he’d gotten here.

He’d get to live a life just like those people in the movies.

He’d-

“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you ‘round?”

Chan’s rose-coloured visions of the future were brought to a staggering halt as the guy suddenly spoke. He could barely get out a noise of acknowledgement before he was turning and heading back down the aisle. Towards the checkout counters. 

Away from Chan.

And just like that, the ideal picture he’d been painting in his head burst into flames. Because the guy might have said “see you ‘round”, but that was just a way of saying “goodbye”. It was New York, you didn’t meet the same person by chance twice in a row. It just didn’t happen.

So Chan was left standing in aisle eleven with a box of coffee in his hands, wondering how he’d somehow managed to fumble his dream when it had been served to him on a golden platter.

Chapter Text

Jisoo made jjajangmyeon for dinner that evening. It was a welcome change from the more American based foods he’d been eating recently (he’d gone through a loaf of bread in two days last week - it was kind of scary).

If either of the older men noticed Chan’s sour mood, they didn’t mention it. They spoke softly with each other, exchanging anecdotes about each other’s days and asking what the other wanted to do for the evening. To Chan’s understanding, they’d settled on re-watching an old movie that Jisoo had been obsessed with in his early teen years.

If Chan hadn’t been working that night, he might have joined them. He liked seeing what kinds of films Jisoo had watched growing up. He and Jeonghan had been raised by the same people, so there were a lot of shared experiences, but Jisoo’s upbringing was almost an entirely new world to his own. It was nice to see the differences and laugh about them together. It might’ve brought him out of his funk.

Alas, Chan did have work that night. So, he put his empty bowl in the sink (not even a bad mood would stop him from devouring free food) and headed to his room to get changed.

Of course, like any minimum wage job, Chan was required to wear a uniform. He was pretty sure they did not pay him enough to wear it, because lime green was not a flattering colour on anybody, least of all someone who’s going to be standing under fluorescent lighting.

But Chan didn’t get paid to give fashion advice, he got paid to scan items, stock shelves, and clean messes.

So he pulled the ugly polo shirt over his head - thankful that he could at least cover it with a hoodie whilst he still wasn’t on the clock - and tucked the putrid cap into his backpack. His manager most likely wouldn’t be around to see him wearing it, but better to be safe than sorry. Besides, it was another excuse to hide the mess on his head that was posing as his hair. 

When he was done getting ready, it was time to leave, and he met Jeonghan at the front door to leave. They walked in silence, Chan not in the mood to whine about being babysat and Jeonghan clearly picking up on his bad mood enough to avoid teasing him about it.

They arrived at the subway station without much difficulty. Jeonghan reminding him to message when he was on his way home. Chan didn’t mention his lost phone. His cousin always fell asleep before the ends of his shifts, and - more often than not - it was Jisoo who ended up replying. And Chan knew Jisoo wouldn’t tattle on him for not messaging, as long as Chan got home in one piece and at the usual time.

Which he always did.

The subway wasn’t as crammed as it could’ve been. He was lucky enough to have avoided the bulk of the evening rush hour, but there were still no available seats, so Chan was left to hang on to one of the mysteriously sticky hand-holds, trying not to think about why it was sticky.

Even though he got to work two minutes before his shift was due to start, the girl who had been on duty before him threw him a filthy look, as though he’d been hours late and had thrown her schedule out of whack.

Chan paid her no mind, simply taking the clipboard she had been taking stock on and heading in to the back room.

It was a small room, damp and musty in the summer months. It was lit by a few bare bulbs, one of which flickered ominously every twelve seconds - Chan had counted during one particularly boring shift a few weeks back.

He hung his bag and jacket up, tucking the cap over his head and grimacing in the small mirror that had been hung up there by a former employee Chan had never met. The mirror had been there longer than him, and he didn’t know if the employee was too disgraced to retrieve it, or if they were just too lazy to take it back.

His bets were placed on the latter, since he figured it would take a lot to be fired from this job.

He then headed out to the till, putting the clipboard on the counter and deciding to take stock later, when he wasn’t feeling so out of it. Some days, Chan loved the task. It allowed him to feel some semblance of control and organisation in his otherwise turbulent life. Other times, like today, he was too busy pitying himself to even try and cheer up.

Business was slow, as it was wont to be during his shift. There were more customers during the earlier hours, which may have seemed bad, but they were mostly just kids heading home after various extracurricular activities that were buying snacks and energy drinks with their pocket money, or haggard mothers in threadbare cardigans who’d nipped out of their apartments to quickly grab some cigarettes.

These types of customers were manageable. They didn’t see Chan as anything more than a clerk behind a till. He doubted if they even read his name tag, noticed the cuts on his hands, or took into account his tired eyes and pinched smile.

It was the ones that came in at the later hours that gave him trouble.

There was a short period of time (usually between ten in the evening and midnight) where the store was completely dead. Chan liked to use this time to take stock, run the mop over the linoleum, and use his employee discount to raid the junk shelves for an appropriately named midnight snack.

Tonight’s menu was some bacon flavoured crisps and an apple Tango that was due to go out of date on that day.

He was just crumpling the packet and preparing to launch it into the bin a few feet away when the bell chimed, announcing the arrival of a customer.

Chan tried not to pout, irritated that his fun had been ruined so early. He stood and threw the pack into the bin like a normal person, tucking the half finished drink under the counter and leaning against the top, eyes following the person around the shop.

They were clearly drunk - or at least tipsy. Sober people didn’t go into convenience stores at nearly one in the morning. They especially didn’t come in looking for more alcohol or foods that were ridiculously high in sugar.

This man was probably in his mid-forties, wearing a crumpled shirt and a loosened tie. Clearly a businessman that had made a bad deal or lost a promotion opportunity. Not fired, the ones that were fired always talked more. They talked to themselves as they paced the aisles, and they talked to Chan as he rang up their bottles of liquor.

This one was quiet. Chewing at a piece of dead skin on his lips as he watched Chan’s hands scan his items. He all but threw the money at him, stalking out of the shop with his goods in hand.

Chan tried not to scoff out loud at the guy’s bad attitude. 

Some people, he’d learned, were just entitled pricks. They thought they were everything special when they were anything but, and decided that - because their mothers and grandmothers had always praised them for the bare minimum - they were owed that kind of treatment by everyone else around them. 

Especially minimum wage employees who worked the graveyard shift for pennies.

And Chan hated that attitude, but at the same time, he struggled to fault them for their pride over him. At least they'd gone to college. They got in, they passed, they got decent-paying jobs and probably had houses, cars, and wives. Sure, maybe they drowned themselves in alcohol every night, but they had still achieved one hundred percent more than he had. 

It made him more depressed than he already was.

The night hadn’t been going any different than usual. Two more guys came in after the first one - the third and final one had clearly been far drunker than the others, but thankfully, he was too out of it to truly bother Chan too much. It was nearing quitting time, when the bell rang again, and Chan glanced up to catalogue the next drunkard.

Except, there was something different about this one.

For one, they didn’t seem drunk, not outwardly at least. They walked steadily, gait assured and steps firm. Secondly, they clearly weren’t any type of businessman. Where the other people had been wearing suits in various stages of deconstruction, this person was wearing an oversized black hoodie with stains down the front and tatty cargo pants.

Third, and probably most importantly, this person was holding a gun.

Now, Chan knew that there was a protocol for robberies. Every store had one, and even though his boss was a dickhead, he didn’t want his employees to die on the clock. However, he had also never been faced with a gun before, and every contingency plan, drill, and logical thought vanished out of his mind in moments.

Oh my god, I’m going to die.

He wanted to kick himself. 

Useful, Lee Chan, really useful. When the going gets tough, just roll on your belly and accept your fate. Absolutely stellar survival instincts.

“Get on the ground and open the cash register.” The person said, black mask moving along with the words.

If Chan had been braver, or in a safer situation, he might’ve made a quip about that not being the right order of instruction; however, he was a wuss and had absolutely no way of defending himself. The now empty bottle of Tango was not a viable weapon in this scenario.

His brain was a mixture of television static and very loud alarms ringing as his hands worked on autopilot, fumbling slightly as they pressed the right buttons to open the register. After he was done, he stepped back, hands raised and knees buckling slightly.

“I said on the ground.”

Chan really didn’t want to get on the ground. He hadn’t cleaned behind the register, and there was a gross yellow stain right where he was standing. But, he supposed sitting in what might’ve been actual piss was probably a better option than lying in a pool of his own blood.

So he allowed his knees to give in and clattered to the floor, ignoring the pain that burst through them at the less than graceful action.

Luckily, the thief didn’t seem to care much about how he’d gotten down, keeping the gun trained on his form as they pulled bills from the drawer. 

Chan wanted to cry. Not just because he could die, but because he might lose his job for this. There was a plan, and losing what was probably hundreds of dollars was not a part of that plan. His boss would claim he was too incompetent to work - and he’d be right.

Not to mention he didn’t even have a damn phone with him. Even if this guy did leave him alone without any injuries, Chan wouldn't be able to call Jeonghan or Jisoo to ask to be walked home. And if the guy did decide to hurt him at all… well, then he was truly screwed, wasn’t he?

It was as his brain was running through the very little medical knowledge it remembered that another voice cut in, drawling and low in an almost attractive way.

“I don’t know about you, but this is not how I normally shop.”

The thief seems shocked as well, reeling around with a fistful of cash and his gun still raised. Although now the hand holding it has a slight tremor and it is nowhere near as intimidating as it had been when he’d arrived. 

“So, why don’t you put that back,” The voice continues, and Chan can only imagine they’re referring to the money, “And… well, I can’t let you go since - you know - threatening innocent civilians with a firearm is still illegal.” An airy chuckle, “But you’ll get a reduced sentence if you don’t actually take anything.”

Chan wondered if whoever had just arrived was insane. Clearly the robber shared his sentiment, because not even a second later, the gun went off. 

The blast was loud and unexpected, and Chan jumped, letting out an embarrassingly high pitched squeal. That was his first time ever hearing a gun in such close range, and he pressed his hands to his ears, curling up slightly and squeezing his eyes closed. 

Oh god, oh god, he killed someone. He killed someone and the body is in the store and I’m gonna have to call the cops. I don’t want to see a dead body. I am not ready for this. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my-

“Now, that wasn’t very nice, was it?”

Chan snapped his eyes open at the voice. 

And promptly let out another scream.

There, perched on the ceiling like it was as easy as standing on the floor, was Spider-Man.

As in, the Spider-Man Chan had listened to Jisoo rant for hours about. The Spider-Man that Chan saw on the news every single morning. The Spider-Man that saved hundreds of lives every day.

Oh my god… Spider-Man is about to save my life.

Maybe it was a bit pathetic, but sue him; Chan was having his fanboy moment. Jisoo may have had a strong distaste for the man, but Chan didn’t share the sentiment. The way he swung through the streets, saving babies and lost cats with bad puns and a bright attitude was just so awesome to him. He seemed effortless and controlled, powerful and yet down-to-earth all at the same time.

If Jeonghan was number one on Chan’s list of ideal people to body-swap with, then Spider-Man was number two. 

Of course, this was an opinion Chan kept to himself. Partially because he was a bit embarrassed by it (nearly twenty years old and getting doe-eyes when he sees a superhero, come on now), but mostly because he did not - and likely would never - have the mental strength to deal with the tantrum Jisoo would throw when he found out he wasn’t second on Chan’s idol-list.

The person who was second however, was currently saving Chan’s ass, so maybe Jisoo would forgive him just this one time. 

“You know, I’ve never understood people like you. We live in New York, there are plenty of places to get a job that doesn’t require you to hurt people.”

Chan peered over the counter, noticing how the robber had ducked behind one of the shelving units, and Spider-Man was… 

Leaning against the counter.

His back was to Chan, but he was still so close, he could practically smell him. 

He smelled like sweat. Which was understandable, but a little disappointing.

Chan had to restrain himself from slapping himself across the face. He was about to be murdered - there was still a very real possibility he didn’t make it out of here uninjured - and he was sniffing the only person that could ensure his safety. 

Another shot firing snapped him out of his internal scolding and he ducked back behind the counter.

“And besides,” He heard Spider-Man say, voice lilting in a teasing way that was doing things to his stomach, “It seems like you just walked in here with a gun and a dream. No backup, no actual plan, just hoping that the kid working the shift would be too dead on his feet to actually defend himself.”

Another shot.

“I guess you were right,” The voice was a lot further away now and slightly strained, and Chan was curious as to what was going on, but his self-preservation kept him hidden. “He wasn’t exactly about to defend himself.”

Ouch.

“But then,” Chan heard the telltale sound of metal clattering over the floor, “You seem to have completely written me out of the equation, which hurts.”

Fairly certain that the gun was out of the thief’s hands, Chan looked back over the top of the counter, eyes widening at what he saw.

Spider-Man was in the process of tying the man up with his webs, twisting and winding them around his wrists in complicated knots. Absently, Chan wondered if Spider-Man had once been a Boy Scout.

“Although,” The vigilante spoke again, “I suppose your nose must be hurting a lot more than my feelings, I think I might’ve broken it.”

Chan couldn’t tell if he was genuinely apologetic or if he was just making fun of the guy. Spider-Man’s shtick was his supposed ‘witty’ repertoire (though Chan was beginning to wonder if his comments were all that funny, or if he just spoke a lot and people were too grateful to badmouth him after he’d saved them).

“Hey, kid,” Chan heard the hero call over. He snapped his head up, raising into a crouch and wincing at the way his knees cracked.

“Got a pen?”

Chan balked. “Huh?”

“A pen. You know, those things you write with?”

“Yeah, I know what a pen is,” Chan muttered to himself, wobbling to the back room and tossing the pen over, not wanting to get too close to the criminal - no matter how subdued he was.

Spider-Man caught it over his shoulder, not even looking back.

Cool.

“Aw, man, a biro, really?” He whined, “I was hoping for a sharpie, they’re more… bam; you know?”

Chan did not know, but he nodded weakly, turning to go back and try to find a sharpie.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. This’ll do the trick either way. Let me just-” The superhero grabbed a discarded leaflet on the ground (Chan repressed the urge to tell him how unsanitary that was), scribbling something on it before stuffing it into the thief’s mouth.

“Okay, kiddo, let’s get going.”

“What?” Chan asked, once he realised Spider-Man had been talking to him. 

Surely the hero wasn’t implying that he had to run away or go into hiding. It was just a petty theft, and it hadn’t even been successful. The mob wasn’t about to come after him for it.

“Well, don’t you want me to take you home?”

Chan gaped up at him, and finally the other turned around, the white eyes of his mask slightly unnerving. 

And then, the weirdest thing happened.

Spider-Man, who had previously been filled with his usual cocksure attitude, let out a tiny gasp, followed by an almost inaudible: “oh”. 

And then he turned and hightailed it out of the store without another word.

Chapter Text

Chan was, for lack of a better word, baffled by the night’s events. After Spider-Man had essentially abandoned him, he called the police using the emergency phone in the back room. 

They’d taken a few minutes to arrive, and Chan sat on the counter and considered the hero's strange reaction while he waited.

Everything had been normal - well, normal for a Spider-Man rescue - up until he’d looked at his face. Did he recognise him? Chan scoffed, that was extremely unlikely, given that he hadn’t interacted with enough people to leave enough of an impression to make them literally run away when they saw him again. 

The police arrived in the middle of his ruminating, interrupting his moment and asking him all sorts of questions he couldn’t really answer.

They seemed nice enough, if a little bit tired, and let him off without much interrogation. The scene was pretty cut and dry, with cameras to back up everything he was saying and a disgruntled thief wrapped in what was essentially super strong silly string. 

His boss had come a few moments later, looking irritated. He’d clearly been dragged out of bed, hair a tousled, greasy mess and eyes puffy with sleep. Chan had been afraid to lose his job, but his boss didn’t seem to be all too angry, given that nothing had been stolen or broken, and that nobody was hurt.

(Chan had a funny feeling his boss would’ve been angrier if something was amiss in the store rather than him taking a bullet to the leg, but he wasn’t about to complain when he was getting off scot-free.)

He was even given the rest of the week off, and the police recommended he speak to a therapist before coming back. Chan had nodded his head politely, agreeing that it would be the best course of action, despite knowing that he had no intention of actually going to any therapist (he didn’t have the money - nor was he planning on telling his cousin what had happened, so he’d have nowhere to get the money even if he wanted to).

After they’d all left - the police with the thief and the boss with a final glance around the store - Chan began to close up. He’d been given permission by his boss to shut the store early, and internally, he accepted the next employee’s future thanks for their lie-in.

There wasn’t really much to do, a quick run around with the mop and straightening a few displays that had gone askew in the kerfuffle. Nothing major - Chan had cleaned worse after a very drunk group of women had staggered in about two weeks back.

When he was done, he locked up, pushing the key through the letterbox and hearing it clink against the floor. Then, he began his journey home. 

It was just as uneventful as his trip to work. So bland and ordinary after the attack, that he began to wonder if it had even happened. It was crazy to think that while he’d been held at gunpoint and threatened, the world had just gone on without him. What if the night had gone differently? What if Spider-Man hadn’t shown up? What if he’d been shot?

Chan shuddered, shaking the thoughts away as he exited the subway. He was almost home now, there was no need to keep thinking about it. 

It was just as he was about to enter the lobby of their building that it hit him.

His key. 

He didn’t have his key.

Distantly, Chan remembered putting it in his pocket when he’d gone to work, like he always did. That meant it had either fallen out on the way to or from his job (he had his doubts about that, since it had never happened before) or it had happened during the robbery.

Which meant his key was somewhere in the now locked store and he had no viable way of getting it back.

Chan wanted to whack his head against the wall. How had he managed to lose both his phone and his key in the span of twenty-four hours? He’d lived in New York for ten months and this was the first time he’d actually lost something outside of the house.

Bitterly, he weighed his options. He could ring his boss and ask for the store key so that he could get back in and grab his own key. But then, he didn’t even know where it was, and he didn’t really want to go all the way back to the store to try and look for it.

And he didn’t really want to drag his boss out of bed again. The man probably wouldn’t be so forgiving the second time.

The second option was, of course, to knock on his apartment door and let either Jisoo or Jeonghan let him in. This was less appealing than the first option for multiple reasons. He was late - that was for sure - and he didn’t want to deal with their worried coddling. They were also probably asleep, with any luck, they hadn’t even noticed he was gone for so long, and he didn’t want to wake them up just to hit them with the reality that he’d almost died. If he had his way, neither of them would ever have to find out about tonight.

The third option was to lie on the ground, contemplate his life choices, and cry a little bit.

That one seemed like the best choice so far.

He looked around helplessly. The street was the quietest he’d ever seen it, and it was funny that he wished there could be someone around to explain his situation to. Granted, he didn’t exactly think he’d have the confidence to do so, but the thought was nice.

The trill sound of a bicycle bell startled him, and he stumbled off of the street as a cyclist whipped past. 

Chan frowned. 

Right, New York, nobody cares, how could he forget?

He leaned against the wall of the alley he was now in, scuffing his toe against the ground dejectedly and wondering if he could just wait until someone inevitably saw him and mugged him. Funnily enough, a hospital trip would probably solve a lot of his problems.

Although, it would also bring about a plethora of new ones with it.

With a sigh, he glanced around the alley, not expecting to see much.

His expectations turned out to be correct. There were a few overflowing dumpsters, filled to the brim with pizza boxes and trash bags that were oozing some kind of strange and gross liquid. Chan didn’t even want to get nearer to see what they smelled like. 

He looked a bit more, eyes scanning over more trash, a broken drainage pipe, the fire escape, an abandoned-

Chan’s brain short-circuited for a minute before kicking to life with a bright new idea. Screw waiting in a dirty alley to die, he could just climb the fire escape and slip back into his room!

Granted, he was only sixty percent sure that he’d left his window open, and there was a ladder that he needed to pull down in order to actually get onto the fire escape, but Chan was nothing if not willing to try.

Anything to save him from the inevitable scolding he would get if he turned up on the doorstep.

He was just about to make a leap to try and grab the lowest rung of the ladder when a voice cut in.

“What are you doing?”

Chan yelped, stumbling back and landing his left foot in one of the garbage bags lying on the ground. It was just his luck that it was one of the ones stuffed with old food leftovers and it absolutely stunk. He whined as he shook his shoe off, trying not to vomit at the smell.

When he looked up to see who had caused the demise of his shoes, he was greeted with a stranger standing in the mouth of the alley, head tilted curiously, not unlike a puppy.

In fact everything about the man was kind of like a puppy. He was wearing a backpack, and held both of the straps in his hands like he was five. He also had a baseball cap on, the front of which had a little stitched picture of a cartoon squirrel on it. His jumper was oversized and obnoxiously pink, the kind of colour that shouldn’t look good on anyone, and he was wearing cargo shorts. In December. 

Chan didn’t know what exactly a psychopath looked like until this moment.

There was something very un-puppy-like about the guy, though, and that was his height.

He was tall - taller than most people Chan had seen before, and he was broad as well. Clearly muscled even under the thick layer of his sweatshirt.

Chan drank in the view, at least his killer was someone attractive. He’d make a nice final image. 

“Um, hello?” The guy said, left eyebrow arching up sceptically, “Are you deaf? Or, like, mute?”

“No,” Chan replied, somewhat snappily, resuming his attempts in cleaning his foot, “I’m just… looking around.”

“Right,” The guy said, disbelievingly, “Looking around this stinky alley, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There was a silence before the stranger whipped out his phone, turning the flashlight on and momentarily blinding Chan - who was so shocked by the sudden movement, that he stumbled and fell straight on his ass.

Luckily, he’d avoided the monstrous trash pile this time.

“Wait a second,” The psychopath said, “I know you.”

Chan wanted to scream. What was it with random people and seemingly recognising him these days? First Spider-Man had acted like he’d murdered his family in the store, and now this weirdo was claiming to know him too.

“No, you don’t,” He simply said, too tired to even bother standing up. This guy could just kill him where he sat, it would probably be easier to attack someone who was already on the ground anyways.

“Yeah, I do!” The stranger seemed excited, tucking his phone back into his pocket (but not turning the flashlight off, further proving Chan’s theory that he was a psycho) and bumbling towards him. 

If Chan had any self-preservation left, he might have shrunk back or at least attempted to defend himself. But he didn’t, so he just watched as the weirdo extended his hand, staring at it dumbly until it clicked that he was supposed to use it to stand up.

“Thanks,” He mumbled as he rose, brushing his pants off semi-embarrassedly and looking anywhere but at the guy.

“Look,” He began, “I really don’t know where you think you know me from, but I promise you, you don’t. So unless you want to use your freaky height to pull the ladder down for me, you can leave me alone now.”

He realised that he was being a bit rude, but he truly couldn’t care less. Everything hurt, from his toes to his ass to his head; even his hair hurt. 

He’d had enough of tonight, and just wanted to curl up in his bed and forget that he was even a human being for a few blissful hours.

“No, I swear I do,” The guy said, “Look, just come with me and I’ll prove it. And if it isn’t you, then…” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “I’ll be very sorry and I’ll guard the best washing machine in the laundry room for the rest of the week for you.”

Chan contemplated. He didn’t have any better options, truth be told. And sure, maybe following random people into their homes was a terrible idea (even if said random people were extremely attractive), but he was curious.

And he’d also never been able to use the best washing machine (it was one that even Jeonghan coveted, speaking about in hushed tones like it was something mystic and holy). 

It was a good offer, and Chan - who had the survival instincts of a dodo and the patience of a hungry toddler - had run out of choices.

“Sure,” He sighed, “Whatever. Just… if you kill me, my cousin will make your life miserable.”

“Cool,” The guy said, turning on his heel, “Your cousin’s in the mafia?”

“Nope. He’s a preschool teacher.”

The stranger pulled a face, “Oh God,” He chuckled, “That’s worse.”

“Tell me about it.”

They were quiet as they went inside, heading into the elevator in silence and standing an awkward distance apart. Chan hoped the guy didn’t notice how hard he was holding onto the handrail (he’d seen enough films about the floor falling through, thank you very much).

“Oh,” He suddenly said, breaking their silence and making Chan look up at him, “My name’s Mingyu, by the way. I probably should’ve said that before.”

Chan nodded with a wan smile, “Chan.” He responded.

He heard Mingyu mutter something that sounded like “I’ve done it again”, but didn’t bother questioning him. Maybe he’d murdered a bunch of kids named Chan before. It didn’t really concern him as much as it should’ve.

The elevator opened with a dull ding, and Chan followed Mingyu to the last apartment, watching as the taller man dug into his bag for his keys and opened the door with a sticky thwick sound.

“Sorry, it’s a mess.” He grumbled, “I try to keep it clean but… well, you’ll see.”

When Chan entered the apartment, his eyes widened. It was a mess, but not in the same way Jeonghan’s apartment could be a mess.

When Jeonghan’s apartment got messy, there were throw pillows and blankets all over the place. Stray socks had been found on top of the fridge during one spring cleaning and the hamper was often overflowing with clothes that were long overdue a wash. 

The worst it had ever smelled was when it was too cold for the windows to be left open, and the damp smell of the shower permeated the air, only combated by the sour smell of soy sauce from whatever Jisoo had cooked the night before. It made for an awful concoction of smells in the living room that had often made Chan wonder if he actually needed to breathe to survive, or if he could go without.

This apartment was messy in the way teenage bedrooms were messy. The couch was buried in clothes, none of which matched one specific style, and the trash can in the corner had newspaper clippings and takeout bags spilling out of it. 

It reeked of what Chan could only describe as a wet dog that had rolled in petrol and then did a lap around the room. His nose wrinkled as he took a few steps in, the aroma worsening as he made more headway.

Mingyu grunted behind him, shouldering the door shut and flinging his bag onto the couch. It bounced off, tumbling to the ground and immediately getting lost in the piles of clothes. 

He didn’t seem too bothered.

“I would say ‘make yourself at home’, but I think ‘find somewhere to sit’ would be more appropriate.” He chuckled, pulling his cap off and hanging it on one of the rusted hooks that was crookedly nailed onto the wall. 

He ruffled his hair and Chan was once again struck by how good looking people in this city were before he turned his attention away.

“I’ll get Vernon, he should be in by now and he has the ‘proof’.” Mingyu waggled his eyebrows as he said the word, and Chan tried to smile. This place didn’t exactly look like a murder den, but he didn’t really know how much faith he could put in the movies at this point. 

As Mingyu bustled off further into the apartment, Chan surveyed the room once more. Hoping for something that would truly indicate he wasn’t about to be killed.

There was a busted old television that looked like it had walked straight out of the early two-thousands on a rickety looking coffee table. Above it, a bunch of photographs were stuck up with Blu-Tack. Chan looked over them curiously, noting that most of them seemed to feature Mingyu and a whole group of other guys that looked around the same age.

He smiled softly to himself. It must be nice to have so many friends.

“Chan!” Mingyu’s voice broke him out of his reverie, and he turned to see the taller man all but dragging who was undoubtedly one of his roommates behind him, “I have come bearing proof!”

Chan’s brain blue-screened.

The guy Mingyu was pulling in had round, honey-brown eyes, and messy hair that fell into his eyes in the effortlessly attractive way Chan could only ever dream of achieving. His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion, and his mouth was pursed curiously.

Although, he seemed to be struck by realisation at the same time as Chan.

Both of them had mirrored expressions and, from an outside perspective, it might have looked staged. The way both of their eyes widened or the way their mouths became little ‘o’s. Both of their voices coming out to say the exact same thing at the exact same time.

“Oh my God.”

Chapter Text

“I know you.”

“No you don’t.” 

Chan’s train of thought screeches to a halt, confused by the response.

“I do,” He insisted, not sure whether this guy was insane or not, “We met at the store.”

Cute-guy shakes his head, nervously pulling his curls over his forehead. “No. That’s not- That was-”

“Do you really not remember?” Chan’s stomach turned at the idea of him being that forgettable. “It was only earlier today. You got me the coffee?”

“I really think you’re-” Cute-guy stopped, before something evidently clicked and he snapped his fingers, “Yes! We met! At the store! Under very normal circumstances, too, wouldn’t you say?”

Chan was about to agree (although he was somewhat terrified at how odd cute-guy was acting) when Mingyu suddenly intervened, kicking cute-guy’s ankle and smirking. “Are you gonna tell him?”

Chan was slightly confused by the words, but was more confused by cute-guy’s reaction. His eyes all but bulge from their sockets, mouth opening and closing like he’s struggling to get the words out. His cheeks are turning a rather vibrant red colour and Chan is even further annoyed to find out that even when he’s the colour of a cherry, this guy is still living up to the nickname “cute-guy”.

“Mingyu,” He eventually hisses, eyeing Chan like the shorter man is some kind of federal agent and Mingyu had just revealed a huge drug operation. 

Mingyu, to his credit, looks just as confused as Chan. Head tilted in that puppy-like way and eyebrows scrunched together. 

Fortunately, it seems he has more context than Chan does, because after ten seconds of very intense staring, something seems to click in his brain.

“Oh my god, no, not that.” He says, rubbing his forehead exasperatedly, “I mean the other thing.”

This time, it’s cute-guy who seems perplexed, however he seems to take less time to catch on than Mingyu, because he rolls his eyes a few seconds later and turns to go back into his room.

Chan gapes, wondering what kind of telepathic connection the two have - or if he’s just really dumb and missing something glaringly obvious.

“Sorry about him,” Mingyu apologises, going into the kitchen and flipping the kettle on, “He’s a bit weird.”

Oh, yeah, he’s the weird one. Chan thought to himself, watching as Mingyu pulled down a mug that featured a giant caricature of what was either a cow or a moose and started rummaging in the cabinets.

“Do you want coffee or anything?” He asked, voice slightly muffled from where his head was now buried in the cupboard. Even from the living room, Chan could see that there was absolutely no organisation happening in them, and that a frying pan was apparently stored in the same place as a bunch of bananas.

“No, thank you,” He said, wondering if he could somehow take pictures of this apartment to send to his parents to prove he wasn’t doing as terribly as some people.

He was trying to think of ways to ask Mingyu how he lived like this without seeming impolite when cute-guy re-entered the room, hand holding a small black object that he offered to Chan.

The smaller took it, face going lax in shock when he clocked what it was.

“My phone!” He exclaimed, turning it over in his hands. The screen was slightly cracked, but when he pressed the home button, it miraculously turned on. 

“How did you-?”

“The lock screen,” Cute-guy mumbled, pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands as he gestured towards it, “We recognised it.”

Chan inspected his lock screen, eyes narrowing slightly. It was a picture he’d taken the day he’d gotten the phone. He’d been playing around with the features as they all walked through the park, Jisoo sipping an iced americano as he took a call for work and Jeonghan yabbering in his ear about modern technology.

When Chan had insisted he needed a picture for a lock screen - and had adamantly refused to make it his own face - Jeonghan had leaned against the railing beside a pond, head tilted to the side like some kind of model. Chan had laughed at the time, taking the picture without much thought.

It turned out pretty, not because Chan was some kind of photography prodigy, but because Yoon Jeonghan was perfect and the camera quality could somehow capture that without any prompting or posing.

The sunset was in the background, orange-yellow rays spilling from around his cousin’s silhouette and giving an almost halo-like effect. His head was tilted slightly, eyes shut and the corner of his mouth twitching up as he had laughed at his own antics. Chan hadn’t bothered to crop the photo before he’d set it as the lock screen, so on the left side, Jisoo could be seen, phone pressed to his ear but eyes soft where they were locked on his boyfriend.

It was a nice memory that had been commemorated with a nice picture. 

It didn’t explain how these guys knew this was Chan’s phone, though.

When cute-guy noticed his bemused look, he rushed to explain.

“Ah, well, we know the guy in the picture,” He said, nose wrinkling, “And, you know, we’ve seen you around so… two plus two.”

“You know Jeonghan?”

“Know him? Not exactly,” Mingyu cut in, teaspoon clinking against the mug as he stirred his drink, “But one of our roommates might be in love with him.”

Chan frowned. “He’s taken.”

“Oh we know,” Mingyu explains, “And he knows. But, alas, love is a strong force.”

“Right…” 

He’s in the middle of trying to come up with a brilliant excuse to suddenly and abruptly leave and also never be able to step foot into this apartment again, when cute-guy claps his hands loudly, making Chan nearly drop his phone. Again.

“My name is Vernon.” He said, “I never… I don’t think I told you.”

Chan shook his head, taking the proffered hand that was held out for him to shake. Weirdly, cute-guy - Vernon - had slightly clammy hands. It was somewhat humanising, to realise that even someone as perfect as him could have such a tiny flaw.

“You can call me Hansol though, if you’d like. It might be easier,” Vernon twisted his hands together and if Chan didn’t know better he’d think he was nervous.

But Chan did know better; he knew Vernon - Hansol, whatever - and his roommates were all crazy.

“I know the ‘V’ can be kind of hard sometimes.” He explained further, eyes skirting around the room, “Not that I’m assuming you can’t speak English, I just thought-”

“It’s fine,” Chan interrupted his ramblings, a smile gently slipping onto his face at the blush that was creeping into the highs of Hansol’s cheeks, “Hansol is… it is easier. Thank you.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see the way Mingyu’s eyebrow inched upwards at their interaction, but it seemed the taller man was willing to leave well enough alone. Chan was grateful, he did not need his own ridiculous schoolboy crush to be revealed right now.

Suddenly, one of the doors slammed open and both Mingyu and Chan jumped, Mingyu’s coffee splashing over his hand and causing him to hiss.

Hansol seemed to be biting back a grin as he called: “What’s wrong now, Seungcheol?” 

Someone who’s name was apparently Seungcheol came stumbling into the room. His hair was sticking in many directions, none of which actually obeyed gravity’s laws, and his eyes looked violently swollen from lack of sleep.

“I think,” He said, gaze unfocused, “I hate Shakespeare.”

Apparently, Chan was the only one confused by this statement, which could only mean that this type of behaviour was normal here.

Every minute that passed made Chan wonder if he was being recruited into a cult.

Mingyu tutted, wiping his hands over his shorts to clean them. “You say you hate the man every three to five business days and yet you always go crawling back to him. He’s like the world’s worst booty call.”

“Ew,” Hansol wrinkled his nose, “Do not make me think of Shakespeare as a booty call.”

Mingyu only laughed in response, the sound sunny and loud. Chan had realised everything about the man could be described in such a way. 

Seungcheol groaned, his slouched form migrating to the kitchen where he nabbed Mingyu’s half-empty mug of coffee and downed it. His face scrunched up, ignoring Mingyu’s gasp about ‘theft’ as he mumbled something that sounded like “too much sugar”.

It was only when he’d made himself another mug of coffee (during which Hansol had been steadily moving clothes from the couch to the floor in an attempt to make space to sit, Mingyu had dramatically mourned the loss of his own drink, and Chan stood in the middle of it all like a fourteen-year-old who’d been dragged onstage at a circus) that he seemed to realise Chan was there.

“Who’s this?” He asked, eyes much more focused now as they looked at him over the rim of his mug.

“This is Chan,” Mingyu introduced him, “He lives with Jeonghan upstairs.”

A lot of things happen at once after he says the words.

First, Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and his cheeks puff up before suddenly a flood of coffee erupts from his nose and spews back into the mug. Simultaneously, Hansol all but flies across the room, snatching a tea towel from the countertop and throwing it at the floor beneath him, where the coffee is now dripping. Chan’s phone finally slips from his hands and makes a dive for the floor and somehow both he and Hansol make a grab for it (the latter jumping from about a metre and a half away, which is kind of impressive). The phone and the man land on the huge piles of clothes together with a cacophonous thud. Moments later, as Chan is looking down at his cute crush-neighbour in mortification and Seungcheol is gasping for breath, Mingyu’s loud laughter rings through the room, and the front door opens.

“What the fuck,” A tired sounding voice says from the doorway, “Have I just walked in on?”

Mingyu seems too busy laughing to reply, Seungcheol has run into the bathroom to grab tissues, and Hansol hasn’t looked up from where his face is buried in a pair of jeans.

So Chan looks to the newcomer in the hopes that he can somehow explain this whole thing.

He’s tall, is one thing he notices. Not the same type of tall as Mingyu, but lanky and slim. Long legs clad in black denim and slender hands encased in cute yellow mittens (that look suspiciously handmade). 

The other thing he notices is his face. It’s nice. As is everyone’s who lives here, Chan is noticing. He wonders if he also tries to move in, if maybe he’ll suddenly become ten times more attractive. 

This guy has thick rimmed glasses perched on the end of a pointed nose, fluffy brown hair that’s clearly in need of a trim curling over the nape of his neck. His eyes are squinting, a mixture of fatigue and confusion clearly muddling his brain up. Chan can’t blame him for being a bit lost, if he came home to something like this, he’d be a bit concerned as well.

“Oh my God, you missed it,” Mingyu eventually wheezes just as Chan finishes his analysis, “Seungcheol just- and Vernon was all- and the coffee came out- and he dropped the- and then you- it was just-” He collapses into further giggles before he can finish, and the new arrival raises his eyebrows before looking at Chan, closing the door behind him with a soft smile and a softer sigh.

“I suppose you’re phone guy?” He says, taking his bag into the kitchen and dropping it on the counter before opening the fridge.

Chan nods, before he realises he can’t see him. “Yeah.”

New guy hums, pulling a can of Sprite from the fridge and cracking it open. “I’m Wonwoo.” He introduces himself without much preamble, nudging the glasses up his nose.

Chan nods, not quite sure how to keep the conversation going. Speaking to people is not his forte.

“Why is Hansol trying to be absorbed into the floor?”

“He’s having a crisis,” Hansol himself answers, words hard to make out from how deep his head is buried. 

Wonwoo nods, “Makes sense.”

There’s a moment of embarrassingly long silence that is only broken by Seungcheol reappearing in the room. His cheeks are still a bright red, his eyes a little watery, and he’s looking at everything else aside from Chan, but his presence alone seems to spur the others into moving the situation along.

“So, Chan,” Wonwoo asks, taking a sip out of his can before continuing, “Are you staying the night?”

“Oh, God no.” He said without much thought, feeling heat crawl up his neck when his brain caught up with what he was saying. “Wait- I didn’t mean it like that. You all seem… nice-”

Mingyu huffed a laugh.

“But it’s later than I usually get home, so…” Chan glanced down at his phone (that he’d picked up from the floor, being adamantly ignored by Hansol as he did so) and froze at the time. 

It was well past three. His shift finished at two. He normally got home over an hour ago.

Jeonghan’s gonna murder me.

He took a breath, eyeing Hansol (who was still lying face down on the carpet, Chan was a little worried he was suffocating), before swallowing his pride. 

“This might seem really weird, but can I use your fire escape?”

Both Mingyu and Wonwoo cocked their heads in question, and even Hansol shifted a little bit, as if to show he was listening.

“Why?” It was Mingyu that asked. Not accusatory or with any hostility, just pure curiosity.

“Well,” Chan said, tugging at his earlobe, “I’m, like, a lot later home than I usually am, and I don’t want my cousin to kill me. So I was hoping I could… sneak in?”

“Sneak in how?”

“Through…” Chan paused, wondering why they all seemed so confused, “My window?”

“You leave your window open?”

Chan startled, looking down at where Hansol had rolled onto his back and was looking up at him incredulously.

“I mean, sometimes, yeah.”

“We live in New York.”

“I like my room to be airy.”

“Chan.”

Oh. Wow. Butterflies. Big ones. All of them flapping up a storm in his stomach.

Hansol had a nice voice, it sounded even nicer when he was saying his name.

Chan, for the love of everything divine, stop being horny for two seconds, you’re being scolded right now, he berated himself.

He nibbled his lip and looked at Hansol, widening his eyes in the way he used to do with his mother. It always worked a treat to get him out of trouble. The whole wide-eyed innocence really made people feel bad for telling him off.

If Chan was going to be babied, he was going to make the most of it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He huffed, sitting up and keeping his back turned as he spoke, “It’s dangerous.”

“He has a point,” Seungcheol said, looking at Chan for the first time since he’d came back in the room, “New York isn’t exactly the safest spot. Besides,” He continued, “Why would you need to sneak in? Can’t you just explain to your cousin why you were late?”

No, he can’t, but he also can’t explain that to Seungcheol, so he just shakes his head helplessly.

Someone sighs, though Chan isn’t sure who, before Hansol stands, heading over to a room and opening the door. He peers through it before beckoning Chan over, and although the smaller thinks it’s a bit weird that he seemed to be checking his own room before going into it, he isn’t in a place to ask questions right now.

He feels about two feet tall and three years old. It sucks.

When he enters the room, Chan tries his best not to look around. It’s difficult, when this is the first person's room he’s been in besides his own (and Jeonghan and Jisoo’s every so often) in ages. 

The room itself is pretty sparse, a twin bed crammed into a corner with a tangled duvet hanging off of the edge. Chan also notes a camp bed stationed in the corner, but elects not to ask who sleeps on it. The closet is shut, but littered with posters and stickers and reminders written in black and blue ink. There’s a desk somehow shoved into another corner, clearly used by more than one person, if the sheer amount of papers scattered over it are any indicator. Chan notes some sketches and reams of pages littered with both Korean and English writing, the script slapdash at best. 

Both the waste paper bin and the laundry basket are overflowing, and there’s a weird metallic smell emanating from both. He figures it's just someone’s cologne and looks back to where Hansol is unlatching the window. 

The paint around the window is chipped and peeling, a sign that it’s opened a lot. Chan entertains the thought that Hansol or whoever he rooms with also likes to sit on the fire escape to think.

He shakes the idea away. These guys all had friends and lives. Wonwoo and Mingyu had both been out doing something late at night, Seungcheol had been talking about Shakespeare, and Hansol… 

Okay, well, Chan didn’t know what Hansol did, but people who looked like that definitely had their life figured out. That was for sure.

None of them fit the bill for the type of person who sits on a fire escape and contemplates life. That type of person would be lonely and pathetic and aimlessly wandering through life without any real plan or idea of what his future would look like.

That type of person was Chan.

He breaks out of his self-deprecating rant when Hansol finally slides the window open, stepping aside and allowing Chan to get through. There’s a chair placed conveniently beside it so that he has a good step up, and he wonders if anyone here smokes - that would explain a lot.

When he’s finally standing on the fire escape, he expects Hansol to just close the window and leave him be, so he’s surprised when the other man climbs out after him. Slipping through the window with a practiced ease that has Chan second guessing his idea that he didn’t come out here often.

“What?” He asks, voice low, “It feels weird just letting you go up on your own.”

“It’s just stairs,” Chan says, not really trying to argue as he begins his ascent up to his floor. It’s only one level above, and he’s silently thankful. The fire escape is a peaceful place to sit, but the steps are rickety and clatter with every step he takes. He feels like he’s going to fall through if he moves too fast, and he’s glad when he finally reaches his bedroom window. 

It is open, much to his relief and Hansol’s shock (based on the way he tuts, he’s apparently also disappointed). Chan slips his fingers into the small opening and pulls it open, sticking his head through to listen for his cousin.

Silence. Not even the sound of the TV.

Which meant they must be in bed. 

Which meant they had probably noticed Chan hadn’t come home.

He sighed as quietly as possible, clambering through and letting out another breath when he was back in his room. His bed looked more inviting than it ever had before, and Chan wanted nothing more than to bury himself in the blankets and pillows stacked on it.

But first.

“Thank you,” He said, keeping his voice hushed. Hansol simply nodded in response.

“Don’t leave your window open anymore,” He said, “I can recommend you a good brand for air fresheners.”

Chan smiled wanly, “Okay.”

There was a stilted moment of nothing, where they both looked at each other, waiting for them to say something else or leave first, but neither made any move.

Hansol chuckled, “Okay, well-” He stretched his arms, and Chan averted his gaze from the tiny strip of skin it revealed as his jumper rode up, “I’d better get back before, you know, someone dies.”

Chan wanted to make a joke about Hansol only adding to the chaos of that apartment, but he didn’t really know if it was his place. Didn’t know if it ever would be, no matter how much he wished for it.

“I guess I’ll see you then?” Hansol said, edging to the side slowly as if he was trying to leave without Chan noticing. He giggled, covering his mouth quickly to prevent the sound from getting out.

“Yeah,” He said, “I’ll see you.”

And with that, Hansol was gone, and Chan was grinning into his hand like a lovesick fool despite having only met the guy twice.

He closed the window gently, dropping his bag on the floor and laying on his bed with a groan. 

The pounding in his head was finally receding, and he plucked his cap off, throwing it across the room and saying giving silent thanks that he wouldn’t have to wear it for the rest of the week. Tonight’s events had been traumatising, something Chan hadn’t thought he’d really get over.

And yet…

He wasn’t kept awake by the image of a gun in his face and the fear of imminent death. Instead he was tossing and turning whilst thinking about a toothy grin and the echo of a calm voice saying his name over and over again.

Chapter Text

When Chan woke up, it was eerily silent.

Normally, there was something to startle him awake - be it Jeonghan’s singing or just the general hubbub of the city - but today, it was quiet.

He wanted to say he liked it, liked waking up of his own accord, being able to stretch all his limbs out and snuggle back under the duvet, knowing that he didn’t need to get up for any reason.

But the problem was that he didn’t feel like he’d woken up naturally. It felt weird, like he’d been woken up by something ominous. 

When he turned his head to his doorway, he discovered why.

“Fucking hell,” Chan gasped, body jolting in the bed from shock.

Standing there, in a moss-green knitted cardigan and beige trousers, was Jeonghan. Hair slightly damp and curling at the ends in the way it always did when he applied oil to it. 

(“To help the shine,” He’d said smugly as he lathered it into Chan’s hair as well. Chan had complained it smelled bad and it made his head feel weird, so he hadn’t used it since.)

Jeonghan continued to stare at him in silence, eyes sharp where they rested on his horizontal form.

Chan chuckled nervously, “Warn a guy, will you?”

“‘Warn a guy’?” Jeonghan repeated, voice strange, “‘Warn a guy’? Lee Chan, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I don’t-” Chan’s eyes widened.

“Where were you last night?”

“It’s not-”

“An hour late, Lee Chan,” Jeonghan fumed, taking a step into the room and slamming the door behind him, “An hour. With no call, no text, no affirmation that you weren’t dead in an alley or unconscious in some van somewhere.”

“I’m fine,” Chan managed to squeak out. It proved to be the wrong thing to say, because Jeonghan’s cheeks tinged a worrying shade of scarlet. 

“That would’ve been nice to know last night when I was having a panic attack trying to figure out if I should call your boss, your parents, or the damn police!”

“I just forgot to call. I didn’t-”

“You forgot to call?” The older man scoffed, waving a Manila file Chan hadn’t noticed before in the air, “What is this all about then?”

The file hit him square in the chest when his cousin threw it at him, post-it notes and sheets of note paper spilling over his bed. 

‘S-M spotted violently assaulting someone in a 24-hour store downtown - who will pay hospital bills?’

‘Innocent civilian caught in the crossfire. Who is he? Does he know S-M?’

‘S-M abandoned the victim - didn’t offer to walk home or protect - ran away like a coward.’

“What’s this?” Chan asked, though his stomach was sinking as he struggled to sit up and gather the papers.

“This,” Jeonghan replied, “Was what Jisoo’s boss handed him to start writing a story on. This was going to be the headline of the Bugle tomorrow morning. This-” Jeonghan held up what looked to be a printed but blurry screen capture taken from a video. It was still clearly him, sitting on the counter, eyes spaced out whilst he spoke to police officers.

“-Is you almost dying last night.”

“I didn’t almost die-”

“Chan!” Jeonghan’s voice cracked and the photo crumpled at the edges from where he gripped it so hard, “A gunman came into your place of work and threatened to kill you. If that’s not almost dying in your books, I don’t know what is.”

“Spider-Man saved me.”

“Spider-Man ,” Jeonghan hissed, snatching the file back, “Left you in a store with someone who had just tried to shoot you. Any ounce of respect or any semblance of pity I felt for that guy and all the shit he gets is long gone.”

“Hyung, I’m okay. I’m fine, really. Not even a scratch on me.”

Jeonghan doesn’t deign that worthy of a response. His knees basically collapsing under him as he lands on Chan’s bed with a thump. The younger boy pulls his legs up, feeling like any inch of him touching his cousin is just wrong right now.

And then he looks up at him, his round eyes watery and red-rimmed.

“Do you have any idea,” He whispered, “How scared I was?”

Chan shifted uncomfortably.

“I fell asleep early, I always do,” He sniffed, “But when I woke up, Jisoo was standing in the kitchen, trying to ring you. He’d been trying to ring you for ages and you weren’t answering.”

A tear slid down his face, but he didn’t bother to wipe it.

“So then I tried, but you didn’t answer me either. And you promised me - when you first moved here and I bought you that damn phone - you swore you’d always answer if I called you, no matter what.

“But you didn’t answer me.”

Chan looks guiltily down at the blankets, fiddling with a loose thread. He wants to tell Jeonghan that he’d lost his phone, but then he’d have to tell him everything else - that he’d lied yesterday afternoon, that he’d left the house without a phone to go to work despite saying that he’d call, that he’d gone into some stranger’s apartment and gotten it back. 

He was in too deep. It was just one lie too many and now Chan felt like he was covering up some kind of conspiracy even though all he’d done was lose his phone.

“I’m sorry,” He said, voice hoarse.

“Sorry doesn’t-” Jeonghan cuts himself off, shaking his head.

They sit in silence for a while. Too long for Chan’s sanity. He just wants Jeonghan to feel better. Not his forgiveness, he didn’t feel like he deserved to be forgiven, but he wanted Jeonghan to be happy again. Happy the way he was his whole life, singing in the shower and mixing different toppings for his pancakes (despite them almost always ending in disaster). 

He wanted Jeonghan to laugh that breathy laugh, to grin so widely that all of his teeth were shown, to only cry at sad movies where love was unrequited and dogs died.

He wanted Jeonghan to be happy.

It felt like he couldn’t be happy as long as Chan was around.

He was wondering how to voice any of this out loud, when Jeonghan took a breath. 

“You’re grounded,” Is all he said, rising from the bed and paying no attention to the way the file slid to the floor or the way Chan’s mouth hung open.

“Wha-?”

“You’re grounded. As in,” He marched towards the door, “No going out alone until I think you understand how to communicate again.”

“I’m nineteen!” Chan complained, “You can’t ground me!”

He knew he sounded like a brat. He’d really messed up last night and he knew that - he was sorry for it. But grounding? He wasn’t a kid, that was just ridiculous.

But his cousin didn’t share the same sentiment, “Watch me,” He hissed, eyes narrowed when he turned around to level Chan with a glare. “You claim to want to be an adult - to be treated like an adult.” Jeonghan inhaled sharply, “I’ll treat you like an adult when you learn to act like one. Until then, you’re grounded.”

Chan gaped, but Jeonghan didn’t say anything else, leaving the room with a bang and leaving Chan with a mind of swirling thoughts and a harshly cramping stomach.

^^^

Jisoo came into his room not even twenty minutes later. Chan bristled in preparation for another scolding, but the older man held up a plate of warm food as some kind of peace symbol. 

Chan sighed, allowing his shoulders to drop. 

The food was nice. It was just a bowl of plain rice and what was probably reheated pollock from another night’s dinner. But it was warm, and the last thing Chan had eaten were those bacon crisps which had been hours before the robbery had even happened - so he was starving.

Jisoo was quiet as he watched Chan eat, hands reaching out and gathering the scattered and crumpled papers. He tsked at the state of the photo Jeonghan had been gripping, trying in vain to smooth out the creases.

“I do still need these,” He muttered, more to himself than Chan, “Even if I don’t write the story, someone else has to.”

“Are you not going to write the story?” Chan asked through a mouthful of rice.

Jisoo sighed. “I mean, I don’t want to say no. But…” He paused, eyes flicking to the door, “Jeonghan’s so angry about everything.”

Chan hung his head, ashamed that he had made such a mess.

“Ah, don’t look like that, Channie.” Jisoo comforted him, placing the file down and running a hand through his hair, “You’re not all to blame.”

“I am, though,” He pointed out, “I should’ve… I should’ve called to let him know something had happened.” He purposefully excluded the part where he couldn’t have called, devoted to just living with the lie. 

Jisoo hummed, “Yes, you should’ve,” He agreed. “And next time you even think about not answering your phone for an hour and a half or not calling us after something like that, I’ll kill you myself.” 

He sat on the bed. “But it’s not all on you, you know? You didn’t ask to get robbed - or get saved - or end up on the front page.”

“But I-”

“And Jeonghan’s just…” Jisoo exhaled, pressing his hands to his face wearily. He looked older than he ever had before, too old for his real age. Chan felt the guilt bubbling up in his gut once more. 

“He’s stressed, and he feels bad because he feels like he’s failing.”

“He’s not failing.”

“I know that, of course I do, I try to tell him that every night. But your parents-”

Jisoo stops himself with a pained look and Chan’s heart speeds up. 

“What about my parents?”

“Nothing,” He says, smoothing out the duvet before standing and retrieving the file from where he’d placed it on Chan’s desk, “Ignore what I said, Chan-ah, it’s not important.”

“Hyung do my…” He bit his lip, “Do my parents think I should go home?”

“No!” Jisoo is quick to answer, “No, they know this is best for you. It’s nothing like that and there’s nothing to worry about, just… focus on your studies, okay? Once you get that college course out of the way it’ll make life a lot easier.”

You mean it’ll make your life a lot easier. Because I’ll be gone.

 “We love you a lot, Chan, and it was just hard yesterday. You know, I haven’t seen Jeonghan that freaked out in a while.”

“Then why were you asleep?” He asked, voice filled with poison. He didn’t want to start a fight, he didn’t want to hurt Jisoo or make things worse. But his brain was starting to pound and his heart was thumping and all he could think about was that nobody actually wanted him around anymore.

“Why were we-? What do you mean?”

“When I did come home,” He continued, “You were asleep. There was no sound, you weren’t looking; you didn’t even notice I was back!”

Jisoo doesn’t reply, eyes wide as he took in Chan’s outburst.

“If you were really all that upset, why weren’t you awake when I came home?”

There’s more silence, the thick, tense kind. It permeated the room, wiggling into the nooks and crannies and every second that passed made the crack in Chan’s heart split open further and further.

“We weren’t awake because I was going crazy with worry,” A quiet voice speaks up. When Chan looks over Jisoo’s shoulder, he sees Jeonghan leaning beside the door, cardigan fully wrapped around him as though he was trying to protect himself. He looks paler than usual now that Chan is more awake to see him, the bags under his eyes dark and his hands shaking even from where he’d tucked them under his arms.

“I was so afraid and nervous and I didn’t know what to do. It was the worst I’ve felt in ages.” He said, eyes focused on the ground. “So Shua made me sleep. He gave me a tablet, and told me to rest. He told me you’d be home in the morning.”

He finally looked up into Chan’s eyes, “I was asleep for my own sanity, Lee Chan, because you didn’t care enough to even consider what your little stunt would do to me.”

“It wasn’t a stunt-”

“You-”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

Chan’s voice was louder than he himself had ever heard it. He just needed Jeonghan to stop. To stop making him feel like the worst person in the world for what was just a simple mistake, to stop acting like something seriously bad had happened last night. It felt like everything was his fault, and it felt like Jeonghan didn’t even care if he thought that.

Which meant Jeonghan thought it too.

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Jeonghan repeated, nodding slowly, “But it still hurt.”

And with that, his cousin pivoted, Chan’s whole body jerking at the loud bang of the front door when he left.

“I’m sorry,” Jisoo said, picking the discarded plate up, “I think I might have made it worse.”

Chan scoffed, burying himself under the blankets, back to the door. 

“Don’t worry,” He replied, “You can’t have made it any worse than I did.”

The only response was the soft click of his bedroom door a few moments later as Jisoo left.

Chapter Text

Chan needed to go out onto the fire escape.

It had been two whole days of stony silence from Jeonghan and pitying glances from Jisoo. 

He couldn’t take it anymore.

True to his cousin’s punishment, Chan hadn’t even set a foot outside the apartment door in the time since their argument. He was going stir crazy. He missed everything he’d previously loathed, from the crowds of people to the simple feeling of the cool air on his face.

He hadn’t even gone onto the fire escape for the past few days, purely because he was scared of one of them hearing him and thinking he was sneaking out or something.

Everything was hard enough without that added on top.

And in general, he had been tired. This latest episode of self-doubt and existential dread had taken a lot out of him. He’d taken to sleeping half of the day away, spending the other half poring over textbooks and Jeonghan’s old notes (it pained him to see his cousin’s wobbly handwriting next to Jisoo’s cursive script, he could feel that green monster crawling up his throat every time he realised that the scrawled pencil was improving and becoming neat biro notes, every time he noticed Jisoo’s corrections becoming lesser and lesser).

But he powered through, surviving off of the food that Jisoo brought in silently and the determination to prove he was worth something.

Although, at this point, Chan didn’t even know who he was trying to prove himself to.

He’d thought Jeonghan would’ve been proud of him when he passed his exams, but now it just felt like he wouldn’t care. His parents… well, Jisoo had said they weren’t talking about him behind his back, but he knew they were. They clearly didn’t believe in him - possibly never had - and wanted him to come home and just run the restaurant. His father could’ve taught him the ropes, the course wasn’t totally necessary.

And he’d long since given up on himself. 

So he was struggling through the days and tossing away the nights. Wondering when, if ever, he’d find something to work for.

That night, after he’d eaten, instead of flopping into bed and knocking out for ten hours, he sat at his desk, flipping aimlessly through one of Jisoo’s elementary school yearbooks (he’d been given it to practice reading difficult handwriting, and he liked looking at the stories and dreams the little kids has written for themselves). When he’d heard Jeonghan go to bed, shortly followed by Jisoo, he got up and unlatched the window, sliding it up slowly for fear of making too much noise.

He may have been in the throes of apathy, but he wasn’t willing to feel Jeonghan’s full wrath again so soon.

Luckily, it seemed the older man was knocked out completely, because Chan heard not even a peep, managing to climb onto the fire escape undetected.

As soon as he was out there, he felt the tension he’d been carrying lift slightly. It didn’t magically disappear, he could still feel the stress and anxiety, but it was more of a niggling itch in the back of his mind, not a full blown flood of thoughts.

He breathed a sigh of relief, tugging his phone out of his pocket and opening it, rubbing the cracked screen absentmindedly.

He’d come prepared this time, wearing actual clothes rather than flimsy pyjamas (even though said ‘actual clothes’ were just an old Nirvana hoodie that had belonged to Jisoo before Chan had pilfered it from the laundry pile a few months ago and an even older pair of raggedy sweatpants that he’d literally worn since middle school) as well as arming himself.

Okay, arming himself was a bit of a hyperbole. He brought a coat hanger.

But still, a coat hanger could be a powerful weapon if wielded properly. Chan had seen clips on the internet of people fending off attackers with plastic spoons - and a wooden coat hanger definitely had more strength than a plastic spoon.

(Although Chan himself was probably the weak part of that plan seeing as he’d never done any kind of martial arts growing up, but it wasn’t like he had a machete or a baseball bat in his room, so he made do).

He had clicked into one of those terrible mobile games that were thirty percent game and seventy percent ads for similar terrible mobile games just to pass the time. The night wasn’t the most still - he could hear the wail of a siren not too far off, and the raucous laughter of what sounded like a group of drunk men - but it was easy enough to detach himself from his surroundings.

The metal was cold under his ass, his screen was bright against his eyes, the hook of the hanger pressed into his thigh irritably, and Chan wasn’t thinking about anything.

For the first time in a while, he managed to empty his head. Not worrying about college, or work, or his future, or learning a language, or upsetting his family, or making new friends, or superheroes, or bank robberies, or being in the news.

He must’ve started humming at one point, stuck on a particularly difficult level. The red balloons just wouldn’t line up and he’d used up all of his extra move passes, so he’d begun to sing softly to dispel his agitation. It was nothing extravagant or special, just an old song his parents used to play when they prepped for the next day of business. He remembered his mother twirling around the tables, wiping down chairs and folding tablecloths, her hair swaying behind her and her eyes half closed in peace. He remembered his father’s rather off-tune singing as he chopped vegetables and took stock methodically.

He remembered thumping his heels against one of the tables, the high pitch of his childish voice ringing just a bit too loud in the calm atmosphere. 

Even back then he was out of place.

He must’ve gotten lost in his reminiscing, because all of a sudden, a voice snapped him out of it.

“You’re a good singer.”

Chan yelped, his phone slipping out of his hands and falling into his lap. He looked up, expression hard and hand tensing around the coat hanger.

He promptly dropped the facade for something a lot more curious when he saw who it was.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” Spider-Man (yes, Spider-Man) said, head tilting from where it was poking upside down from the floor above, “Just doing some routine surveillance.”

“Routine surveillance?” Chan asked, nose scrunching as he contemplated, “Of what?”

“Well,” The hero responded, turning so that he was hanging from the above level from one hand. Part of Chan itched to pull him onto his part of the fire escape despite knowing that he really didn’t need to. “I was just making sure everyone had their windows closed.”

“Right…” Chan narrowed his eyes, “Why wouldn’t my window be closed?”

For a moment, it seemed like Spider-Man was going to lose his grip. His whole body started, as though he’d realised something, before he laughed flippantly, using both of his hands to pull himself up slightly before sitting on the railing.

Chan pretended not to be flustered at the casual display of strength.

“I check everyone’s windows,” He said, “Well, not everyone’s, that would be-” He scratched the back of his neck, “-Impossible. But I just kinda randomly check different buildings and tonight it’s this one!” He said it with an air of bravo, almost like he was going to do jazz hands and a musical number would begin.

But Chan’s life was not a musical that would have the awkward silences filled with showy songs, it was a painful, painful existence that he had to suffer through no matter how hard he tried to make it better. 

Exhaling heavily, Chan decided he couldn’t always rely on someone else to break the tension whenever an exchange petered out due to his lacklustre conversation skills. 

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

Chan looked up incredulously, “For saving my life?” He replied, “You know, in the store?”

“Oh!” Spider-Man gasped dramatically, “That was you?”

“Yes?” Chan arched an eyebrow, the hero was acting so… strangely. Like he did remember Chan but didn’t want him to notice. 

It was almost like he was playing hard to get.

But that wouldn’t make any sense, because Chan was a loser who was playing a game called ‘Bubble Mission Masters 2’ while wearing his cousin's boyfriend's hoodie with only a clothing hanger for company and/or protection. 

“Oh, well, sorry for forgetting. You know, I save a lot of people, faces… don’t really stick.”

He tapered off, picking at the flaking paint with a gloved hand. “I’m pretty sure I ran off that night, though. And-” He inhaled through his nose, “I’m really sorry. It wasn’t you, I was just… There was something else going down and I kind of- Well, that doesn’t matter, I’m sorry for leaving you then. You must’ve been scared.”

Chan knew he should be angry. He should chew the hero out and make him realise just how bad it was to leave an unarmed possibly injured person with a violent criminal. He should have the same mindset as Jeonghan, pushing any and all pity for him out of his mind. 

He should have - maybe in another situation he would have. But Spider-Man sounded genuine. His head was turned away, like he couldn’t even bear to look at Chan, and his hands were still messing with the railings nervously.

So all he said was: 

“Scared? Me? Never.”

Spider-Man balked at that, head snapping to look at Chan and he swore he could practically see the hero’s eyes widening.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Why would I be mad? I had that whole situation under control before you came.”

“You were cowering behind the counter with-” The hero stopped. “You’re messing with me.”

Chan smiled.

“Nobody messes with me anymore.”

“Ooh,” Chan giggled, “Sounds threatening.”

“No, not that. It’s just-” He seemed at a loss for words. “-People see me as this impenetrable wall of strength. This perfect figurehead who can do no wrong because he tries to always do right.” He sighed, “They forget I’m just a person too.”

“A person who can fly through the streets of New York, stopping crime with his bare hands.”

“Okay, I can’t fly,” Spider-Man corrects, and Chan can hear the grin in his voice, “I swing.”

“Closest thing to flying I can imagine.” Chan rebuked, sighing as he leaned his head against the wall, looking up at the stairs that blocked his view of the night sky. “It must be nice. Peaceful. Free.”

Spider-Man hums. “It is,” He agrees, “But it’s also a bit stressful. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone straight into a billboard, or knocked out a pigeon - they have zero survival instincts, by the way. I don’t know if you know this, but pigeons were once kept as pets, which probably explains why they’re so shitty at being animals.”

“Wow,” Chan says, eyes shining where they land on the hero’s masked face, “Who knew Spider-Man was such a nerd?”

“A nerd?” He splutters, “That’s not nerdy! That’s, like, an Instagram fact!”

“Ooh, Spider-Man has Instagram,” Chan chuckles, “Careful Webs, I’m getting closer and closer to discovering your identity.”

“Please, there’s billions of Instagram accounts, you wouldn’t be able to find mine.”

“Maybe if I was a hacker I could. Maybe I could find it with just your shoe size and eye colour.”

“Uh-huh,” Spider-Man replied dryly, “And do you have my shoe size or eye colour?”

“Nope,” Chan said, “But I could eyeball your shoe size and you sound like you have blue eyes.”

“Blue eyes?” Spider-Man huffed, “Why do you think I have blue eyes?”

“It’s the righteous do-gooder attitude, it screams blue eyes and blond hair - a real Captain America type.”

“Oh God, don’t say I’m like him. I guess I’ll have to kick some crutches out from old women and steal candy from babies just to change your perception of me.”

“Really?” Chan fluttered his eyelashes exaggeratedly, “You’d ruin your perfect image just for me?”

Spider-Man cleared his throat. “Maybe.”

“Shucks,” Chan giggled, using the phrase he’d read in an old novel once, “You flatter me.”

They fell into another silence, still a little bit stilted and stifling, but somehow calm and peaceful at the same time. It was a weird limbo, but Chan was thankful that Spider-Man was the one to break it this time.

“What are you doing out here anyways?”

“Oh, you know,” Chan huffed a sigh, eyes dropping to his legs and picking at a loose thread, “Just thinking about my life and why I even bother if no one I know seems to care about my existence.”

“Wow, that’s…” He stops, thinking of what to say. “No one cares?”

“I messed up a few days ago, really bad, and now my cousin won’t even look at me. He was, like, my number one supporter these past few months. My cousin’s boyfriend is trying - I think. But he’d obviously choose my cousin over me, and I don’t even blame him, because I think I would too.”

Chan paused for a breath and was thankful the hero didn’t interrupt him.

“My parents have always been disappointed in me. I was pretty much everything they never wanted in a kid, dreams and aspirations far too high. I lived in this little bubble during high school, stuck on the idea that everything would fall into place. And then it didn’t and it was the biggest slap in the face and my parents just shipped me over here so that I wouldn’t have to deal with their pitying glances and disapproving faces.”

“Shipped you over?”

“I’m Korean,” Chan sighed, feeling a mix of relief and upset at his whole spiel. He was glad to finally get it out and off of his chest. Now that he’d spoken the words to someone, they felt a whole lot easier to deal with. It felt like someone cared again.

Even if that someone was a superhero who probably didn’t care all that much on a personal level.

Then again, being brutally reminded of all of his failings was just another nail in the rapidly sealing coffin of his self-esteem.

“Oh,” Spider-Man puffed out a short breath, “I can speak Korean.”

“You-” Chan gaped, eyes wide where they looked at the hero. The sudden language switch shocked him, but Spider-Man knowing Korean was something he’d never even entertained the idea of.

“I have a friend,” The hero explained, “He’s Korean. I’ve known him since elementary school and he couldn’t speak much English then, so I learned for him. And, you know, his parents don’t speak a lot of English, so it made play dates easier if I could just communicate with them directly.”

“That’s… Wow. Your friend must be thankful for you.”

“Yeah, he’s great,” Spider-Man’s voice turned oddly fond and Chan’s stomach wobbled at his tone.

Why are you getting jealous, he is a superhero and you don’t even know him. He listened to you ramble one time and you think you’re going to just, what, get married? Pathetic, Lee Chan, really pathetic.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t worry too much,” He continued, not noticing Chan’s inner turmoil, “I’d say your cousin will forgive you, you don’t seem like the type to do anything bad just for the sake of it. And your parents,” A resigned sigh, “I’m sure they’ll understand one day. They might be overbearing and hard to deal with now, but it’s probably just because they love you.”

They were both quiet. Spider-Man clearly finished talking and Chan thinking too hard to even try and come up with a response.

A few moments later, the other man broke it.

“You should get to sleep, it’s late.”

Chan laughed softly, “You’ve got more windows to check?”

“Yeah,” The hero chuffed, “And I need to make sure this one is shut.”

“Of course.” 

Chan stood up ignoring the ache in his knees as he picked up the coat hanger and his phone, turning to go back into his room.

He’d just swung one leg through the window, when Spider-Man spoke again.

“By the way,” He said, “There’s definitely someone out there who cares about your existence, you just haven’t found them yet.”

Chan was going to ask how someone could care about his existence if they didn’t even know him, but when he turned, Spider-Man had already jumped from the railing, disappearing into the night with a dull whoosh. 

Chapter Text

He never thought he’d say it, but Chan missed waking up to Jeonghan’s shower singing.

His cousin hadn’t sang in the mornings since the argument, and yet Chan found himself waking up anyway to the sound of the shower rumbling against his thin bedroom wall. 

He almost thought it was Jisoo in the shower, but one glance at the time showed that it was Jeonghan’s designated shower spot (yes, this was something that had thrown Chan off massively when he first moved over - Jeonghan was very particular about what time he showered). 

It had been two days since his run-in with Spider-Man on the fire escape. Weirdly enough, Chan didn’t feel the need to go out there to see if the hero would want to talk more. Maybe it was because he’d found the closest thing to inner peace he’d known in a while, or maybe it was because he was too embarrassed to face the hero after everything he’d spilled that night.

The real reason was that Chan was afraid. He was afraid because Spider-Man was friendly and easy to talk to, and Chan had felt the most Chan-like since he’d moved to this city when they were talking. It almost made him want to be friends with the guy.

But being friends with a superhero/vigilante that his cousin (and cousin’s boyfriend) hated was just asking for trouble. 

And Chan was afraid of getting into any more trouble.

So he spent his nights curled up in bed like a normal person. Sleep wasn’t as hard to come by, though, which was a bonus. He fell into it easier than usual, only tossing and turning for roughly half an hour as opposed to the many hours he’d wiped away on nights previous.

Apparently, talking about your problems helps; who knew?

The general mood of the apartment was still rather chilly, but on the bright side, Jeonghan was actually talking to him again. Granted, the words were clipped and the sentences short, but it was a sign that he was thawing out. 

There was a "grown-up-talk" looming in the not too distant future that made Chan want to chew his nails off in anxiety, but he swallowed the urge, reminding himself that these things were necessary in order to have wholesome and strong relationships. 

But for now, Jeonghan’s and his conversations now simply consisted of the older asking him basic questions or telling him to do things: "what do you want for dinner?", "how's studying?", "Shua needs help with the dishes."

He never expected proper answers, and Chan never gave them. Their interactions were cut off at a minute maximum, and it pained him to have lost that close goofy relationship with his cousin. 

Maybe that was the whole point of this. Don’t piss off Yoon Jeonghan or he'll ice you out to the point where you miss his overbearing affection. 

The only person that seemed more affected by this spat was Jisoo. He was awkward at mealtimes (now that Chan had stopped isolating himself in his room during them), never really knowing who to talk to in fear of betraying the other in some way. He clearly wanted to watch movies together like they used to, but was too afraid of ruining the mood. His job was definitely giving him trouble, considering the lines on his forehead and the bags under his eyes had become deeper since the whole debacle. He’d arrive home, drop his bag and fall onto the couch, exhaustion rolling off of him, and Chan would always watch with a nervous wince.

He felt bad that Jisoo was struggling now. After all, he was one of the main reasons that the older man had had to let go of a front-page story. He was the reason that they couldn't cut their losses and move west. He was the reason that Jeonghan and Jisoo weren't still flouncing around in their honeymoon phase.

It was his fault that the apartment's atmosphere had gone from jovial and light to moody and cold.

So when Jeonghan nodded to the overflowing laundry basket by the front door, Chan jumped at the opportunity. This would be his first time out of the apartment since The Argument (he'd been capitalising it in his head, it was that prominent an event), and even if it was just down to the basement level of the building to do a chore, freedom was freedom. 

He lugged the basket to the elevator (not even his fear of the damn thing would make him drag the basket down the stairs, god only knows he'd miss a step, break his neck, and cause even more problems) and rode down, humming along to the poppy jingle that played on the way.

When he eventually bumped open the laundry room door with his hip (convenience always outweighed masculinity) he very nearly dropped the basket in shock.

Sitting on one of the washing machines, legs criss-crossed under him and nibbling at one of his headphone wires, was Hansol.

He looked unfairly good. It was unfair because the man was wearing an oversized hoodie with several holes in it and bright purple basketball shorts that didn’t look like they belonged to him at all. His hair was crammed under a beanie but Chan could still see the slightly frizzy ends poking out of it, a tell-tale sign that he too had been coerced into bleaching his hair once upon a time. 

He wasn’t even wearing shoes - Spongebob socks covering his feet where they bobbed in time with whatever music he was listening to in his headphones.

And he still looked good.

Chan sighed, resigning himself to yet another awkward interaction that would include blushing cheeks and a fluttery stomach as he allowed the door to swing shut behind him, blatantly ignoring Hansol’s attention suddenly snapping up to where he plodded over to a different machine.

“Oh, Chan, right? Hi.”

Chan wanted to act suave and cool, as though he’d barely noticed Hansol when he came in.

“Hansol, hi. Yes, Chan. My name. My name is Chan. Yes.”

He was going to climb into the washing machine and just die there.

To his credit, Hansol didn’t seem too disturbed, simply puffing out a laugh before tugging his headphones out. Chan winced at the way he let them clatter down.

“How was your cousin the last night?”

Briefly, Chan wondered if Hansol was psychic, before he remembered he had told them that he had to sneak in because he was late back.

He shook his head, stuffing the clothes into the machine and leaning against the door with his whole weight to make it close. He’d picked one of the janky machines that had a busted door, but he was too embarrassed to change machines in front of the other.

“It went okay, I guess.” He supplied, finally hearing the click of the door and punching in the wash settings, “I mean, he basically hates me now and won’t talk to me, but it’s fine.” 

He did not need Hansol thinking his life was as pathetic as it really was.

“Yikes,” Hansol replied, and Chan could see that he’d untucked his legs from underneath him, swinging them against the machine and reminding Chan of himself when he was younger.

It was cute; just another thing to add to the ever growing list.

“Well, if you ever need a break from the… ‘hatred’-” Chan glanced over and saw that Hansol had put the word in finger quotes, “-Feel free to swing by our place. I know things were a bit chaotic when you last came over, but we can be normal, I swear.”

Chan didn’t exactly know how to explain to Hansol that inviting a practical stranger into his apartment was not the correct way to go about proving your normalcy. And besides, he’d seen enough on his first visit (bananas and frying pans, in one cupboard).

Although, it was nice that Hansol was being so nice, and he supposed this was the closest he’d ever come to actually having friends since he’d moved over. 

And it would be nice to have somewhere else to go that wasn’t the streets whenever being in the apartment got too much for him.

But then again…

“I’m grounded,” Chan said sheepishly, not really wanting to tell the other; it was the very definition of embarrassing. “I know, it’s dumb, I’m too old to be grounded. Jeonghan’s just…”

“Mad?”

He nodded, “Something like that.”

“Don’t worry about it, happens to the best of us.”

“But you don’t-” Chan cut himself off, realising it really wasn’t his business as to why Hansol lived with three other men and not his family.

“Don’t live with my parents?” Hansol asked teasingly. “Neither do you.”

Chan huffed.

“But I live with Kim Mingyu, who has the worst case of helicopter parent syndrome for all we’re the same age.”

Chan was thankful Hansol overlooked the personal aspects of that question. Even if he was dying to know why the other’s living situation was the way it was, they’d only met twice (three times if you include the coffee incident) and he didn’t even know how old he was.

Speaking of which.

“You and Mingyu are the same age?”

Hansol nodded, hopping off of the machine he was sitting on when it beeped, the sound obnoxious in the otherwise quiet room. “I know, he’s huge, but it’s just genetics - you should see his grandfather.”

Chan nodded, he doubted he’d ever meet any of the guys’ extended families, but he understood the sentiment.

“He’s also the designated parent of the house.” Hansol continued, lugging clothes out and dropping them into his own basket, “Mostly because he’s the only one who can use a hoover, or a stove.”

“You can’t use a stove?” Chan asked incredulously, not realising how rude it sounded until after he’d spoken.

Hansol laughed, “It’s not that, it’s just that our stove is a bit… fickle. The knobs have to be twisted at a specific angle to generate any sort of heat.”

They fell into silence, Chan not quite knowing where else to go with the conversation. He wanted to keep talking to Hansol, but meaningless conversations about his roommates didn’t seem like the most romantic of topics to discuss. 

So he watched him instead, eyes landing on his legs and the way the muscles flexed as he worked. It made him feel like a pervert. Who gets all giddy about their crushes calves for god's sake? 

“You should try his cooking, though,” Hansol spoke up, finished with transferring the clothes and readjusting his beanie that had become slightly skewed.

“Who’s cooking?”

“Mingyu’s,” Hansol said, and Chan wanted to kick himself. 

Obviously Mingyu’s, dumbass, you were just talking about his cooking.

“Oh,” He replied instead, not voicing his self-berating out loud for fear of sounding insane.

Although, from what he’d seen the other night, Hansol didn’t seem like the type of person to be bothered by that type of thing.

“It’s okay,” He said, “Jisoo normally cooks in our place and his food is really good. My cousin isn’t talking to me but they aren’t starving me or anything.” 

Hansol chuckled. “Good to know, but that’s not what I meant. I just meant…” His voice faded slightly as he stopped talking, wrapping his headphones around his phone and shoving them in the pocket of his hoodie, “Well, you know, you could come over. For dinner. Or something.”

Chan’s mouth hung open like a door with a broken hinge. Was Hansol actually asking him to spend more time together? After the absolute disaster he had proven to be? 

No one ever asked Chan to be friends first. Even back in Korea in school, he’d always had to be the one to approach people. He just didn’t have that kind of vibe, the ‘you-should-be-friends-with-me-because-I’m-fun-and-interesting’ vibe. 

Hansol had that vibe.

But Chan was always kind of bad at approaching people (he had two friends throughout the entirety of high school, and neither of them spoke to him anymore), so he hadn’t actually thought anything would come of this crush.

Except now Hansol was inviting him over. And, sure, maybe it wasn’t romantic or anything, but it was an offer of friendship, and Chan had almost forgotten what those were. 

Apparently, he’d been quiet for a moment too long, because Hansol hurried to speak.

“I mean, you don’t have to, I know that things were weird last time and I’m also a complete stranger so going into my apartment would be kind of strange even though you went in last time with Mingyu - which was super dumb by the way, don’t do that again - I just thought it might be nice for you. Not that I think I know what you like or, you know, what would be good for you because I don’t know you, it’s just-”

“I’m grounded.”

Okay, not what Chan wanted to say, but a valid point nonetheless.

Hansol stopped his (admittedly cute) rambling and looked at him for a moment.

It almost felt like he was being analysed by him before the other snapped his fingers as though he’d had a eureka moment.

“Your room is attached to the fire escape, right?”

Chan nodded.

“I’ll meet you there tonight, if you want. Maybe I’m being too intrusive. Was that an excuse so you didn’t have to-?”

“I can,” Chan bit back a smile, “I’d like to. Meet you. On the fire escape. To try Mingyu’s cooking.”

The sentences were stuttered, but they made a grin bloom on Hansol’s face anyway.

Damn my weak, weak heart. Chan cursed, feeling the way it began to thump harder at the sight. And damn his beautiful, beautiful face. 

“Okay, cool. Nine o’clock?”

“Nine o’clock.”

Hansol backed out of the room with one final beam, and Chan could see the way a slight red tint was creeping up his neck.

For the second time that week, Chan was watching Hansol go with the dopiest smile imaginable and his crush inflating to the size of a small country.

Chapter Text

To be fair, Mingyu’s cooking was amazing.

“Oh my God,” Chan all but moaned when he took the first bite of the jjolmyeon he’d been made, “Where has this been all my life?”

Hansol smirked, snapping the disposable chopsticks that had obviously been saved from some kind of takeout night (Jeonghan liked to do the same thing) in half and mixing the jjolmyeon around 

“In the apartment downstairs,” He quipped cheekily, laughing at the awed face Chan was making as he stirred the food.

“What did he put in this and why does it actually taste like happiness?”

“That’s the sugar. I swear he’s some kind of witch that always magically knows the correct measurements.”

Chan groaned as he took another bite, unable to stop himself from wiggling slightly in happiness (even though doing so in front of Hansol was highly embarrassing; good food was good food at the end of the day).

It tasted like his mother’s cooking.

No, it tasted like his father’s cooking.

No, it tasted better than both.

Combined.

(He’d make sure never to tell them that, with his luck, that would be the catalyst to make them fully disown him).

“Okay, so, how do I move in?” Chan asked, causing Hansol to laugh abruptly, shoulders shaking as he did so.

Fucking hell, he’s perfect. Chan thought to himself, filling his mouth up with noodles and making his cheeks bulge in the process. He watched as Hansol continued to chuckle softly whilst chewing his own mouthful, and turned his head over his shoulder briefly to double check the door.

He’d thought for ages about what type of excuse he should use to be allowed to stay in his room with no visitors past nine o’clock. Despite the fact that the two hadn’t been talking to him as much as of late, they were definitely gearing up towards some type of reconciliation. There was only so much time they could spend dancing around each other in the tiny space of their apartment after all. 

And Chan had this inkling they would choose tonight as the night. 

But he wanted to meet Hansol.

They could always talk some other time. Preferably when a cute guy (with amazing food) wasn’t tapping on his window lightly with an all-too-charming grin and his hair waving in the breeze.

So he wedged his desk chair under the door handle and sent a small prayer up to whatever higher power existed that Jeonghan and Jisoo wouldn’t try to speak with him tonight.

He was unavailable. And maybe it was practically asking for another argument (locking your currently angry cousin who has trust issues with you out of your room probably wasn’t the path to peace), but Chan was excited about finally making a friend for the first time in months. 

When he was with Hansol, things felt normal. Hansol wasn’t tied to anything bad or difficult or stressful. He knew the bare bones about Chan and his life - he hadn’t been around to witness any of Chan’s dramatic and painful failings or moments of pure stupidity. 

He didn’t know why Chan was late home that night - never asked about Spider-Man or robberies or how he was feeling. 

He had no reason to be disappointed or upset with Chan because he didn’t know. 

He just didn’t know.

And Chan was grateful for it, because he was tired of being the only person who didn’t know things.

Hansol was innocent. Something bright and simple and easy in Chan’s otherwise turbulent life. It was something he’d wanted ever since he’d first moved here. 

So not even Jeonghan getting angrier could stop Chan from meeting him tonight.

“So, Korea,” Hansol said, Chan turning his head back towards him at the words, “What’s it like?”

Chan hummed in thought, trying desperately to think of any interesting yet appropriate adjective for his home country. Korea wasn’t bad by any means, but it was just home to him. It didn’t have any defining factors other than being the place he was born and raised.

New York was busy and brash and cold.

Korea was just home.

For a split second, he wondered whether he’d ever want to call this city his home. It wasn’t that he loathed New York - for all it had given him so many problems and insecurities, it was still interesting and, well, New York. Hundreds of thousands of people dreamed of being able to live and study here, to absorb to thrum of the pedestrians, to walk down the street and be overloaded with the smell of smog and the sound of car horns.

But it still didn’t feel like home to him. He had Jeonghan and Jisoo (at least he had had them) and a place to rest his head, but there still wasn’t anything stopping him from just ditching it all and flying home. 

That’s what home was for him; somewhere he couldn’t imagine leaving.

But he’d left Korea. He could imagine leaving New York.

So did he ever even really have a home?

Hansol snapped him out of it with a little wave, his brow creased slightly in concern. 

“Hey, Chan, you okay?”

Chan hummed again, shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts and digging back into his food. These types of thoughts were for when he was on the fire escape alone, not when he was around other people.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Yeah you kind of spaced out a bit,” Hansol rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, accidentally smudging some sauce on the side of it as he did so. Chan wanted to point it out, but didn’t know how to do so without it being weird, so he kept quiet.

“Fond memories and that,” Chan replied softly, twirling the noodles in his bowl. There weren’t many left, and he scooped the stragglers up neatly. 

Hansol let out a sigh and Chan glanced up at him.

“You’re good at that.” He remarked.

“Good at what? Eating?” 

“No, getting the noodles,” Hansol gestured at his bowl that also had a few stray noodles laying around the sides. He pushed his chopsticks around pathetically, grasping at them half-heartedly and huffing when he was repeatedly unsuccessful.

“Oh, I didn’t realise it was a talent,” Chan said, setting his bowl down and reaching over, “Here let me try.”

Funnily enough, he did manage to scoop them up efficiently, laughing at the scandalised look on Hansol’s face as he did so. 

“Here comes the airplane,” He giggled, not really thinking as he playfully zoomed the food towards the other man’s mouth.

Hansol obliged, lips parting and then closing around the chopsticks softly. His teeth knocked against them and they trembled slightly in Chan’s grip.

His heart shuddered hard, and his hand began to shake where it still held the sticks in Hansol’s mouth.

He had fed Hansol. 

He had put food on chopsticks and then fed it to Hansol.

He fed Hansol.

Part of him wanted to squeal like a schoolgirl and the other part wanted to projectile vomit everywhere. If Hansol hadn’t thought he was a total freak before, he most certainly did now. What kind of dumbass goes around feeding people they barely know? This kind of dumbass, apparently.

Chan wanted to cry.

He let go of the utensils abruptly, causing one to slip from Hansol’s mouth and clatter into the bowl, the sound loud in the silence that had fallen on them. The other brought his own hand up, plucking the second one out from between his lips and placing it down, cheek moving up and down as he chewed the food. 

“Thanks,” He mumbled through the mouthful, swallowing awkwardly and rubbing his hands over his jeans.

“No- No problem.” Chan stuttered, not wanting to make eye contact and pretending to find the wall of the neighbouring building very interesting.

“Chan, it’s okay-”

“I should go back inside,” He cut him off, standing up suddenly and knocking the bowl over slightly. Hansol’s hand shot out to catch it before it could fall completely.

“Chan, really, you don’t have to-”

He couldn’t deal with a pity acceptance right now. What he had done was weird and uncalled for. He was half totally disgusted, half flamingly embarrassed at his behaviour. Hansol may have lived with the local nut jobs, but even this would be strange to him. 

Typical of Chan to screw everything up just when it seemed to be going okay.

“Jeonghan wanted to speak to me,” He fibs, knowing his cousin is likely asleep by now - if not in bed then on the couch. “It’s important.”

“Oh, right,” Hansol says, “Well, I’m sorry for holding you up. You could’ve asked to do this another time.” He also stands brushing his jeans down and leaning past Chan to pull the window up.

Chan’s breath hitched at their proximity, but he banished the feelings. There was no way Hansol respected him or liked him in the slightest anymore. He was doing this out of pure kindness, because Hansol was a good guy that didn’t walk around feeding practical strangers.

“It’s fine - I had fun.” 

Even if their fleeting friendship had crashed and burned, Chan still wanted to make sure he made that fact known.

“I did too,” Hansol said with a small smile, collecting the bowls, “We should do this again sometime.”

Chan didn’t register the words until he was in his room again, shutting the window behind him. 

Hansol had already retreated down the stairs, bowls rattling against each other softly as he left. 

Even after that bizarre display, Hansol wanted to see him again?

He must have been hearing things.

If someone had done to him what he’d done to Hansol, he would’ve screamed and ran far away (okay, that was an exaggeration, Chan was definitely too weak to do something like that). He certainly wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to see them again.

Granted, Hansol didn’t seem overly excited about meeting again. Maybe he was just being nice.

Hansol was nice, so it made sense he’d do nice things. 

Chan pulled the chair from under the handle and fell face first onto his bed, a sigh erupting from deep in his chest. 

Why was having a crush so difficult? He couldn’t tell what was too much and what was okay and where Hansol’s boundaries were (or if he even had any).

He wanted to marry the guy even though he didn’t know his surname. He wanted to kiss him silly despite not knowing if he liked guys. He wanted to hold him and be held and tell him every stupid little thing about his day for all they were practically strangers.

His mind wandered back to his thoughts of home.

In the aftermath of a painfully awkward meet up on a chilly fire escape, Chan wondered if Hansol had somewhere he called home.

And if it was somewhere he’d want to share with Chan.

^^^ 

Chan woke up with his head still buried in his pillow. Consequently, his nose was blocked and his eyes crusted over. 

He felt gross, tumbling out of bed and slouching into the bathroom. He knew Jeonghan had already left because the mid-morning sun was bright where it streamed through the windows. 

He fumbled for the tap blindly, splashing water over his face and gently clearing his eyes until he had some semblance of sight again. After he did so, he reached for his toothbrush, jumping when he looked in the mirror and caught sight of Jisoo leaning against the doorframe watching him.

“You two really have to stop lurking in doorways,” Chan mutters, squeezing some toothpaste out, “It’s creepy.”

He began brushing his teeth as Jisoo chuckled, the older man stepping forward with a small smile as he pulled a pair of jeans out of the laundry basket. He rifled through the pockets before producing his wallet. 

“I just came to grab this,” He explained dropping the pants back in the basket and tucking his wallet into his hoodie, “But while I have you here…”

He trailed off, and Chan raised one eyebrow at him in the mirror. He leaned over the sink, spitting the paste out and beginning to rinse. 

“I’m not doing the story,” Jisoo said, “Which you may have guessed.”

Chan had guessed. Well, it wasn’t so much guesswork as it was Jisoo’s rapidly increasing stress levels and the not-so-quiet dispute he’d overheard a few nights ago. Jeonghan and Jisoo didn’t fight frequently, so it made him feel all the worse knowing that he’d somehow indirectly caused one between them.

“But my coworker,” Jisoo blew out a breath, his fringe flying upward as he did so, “She wants an interview with you. I told her your guardian wouldn’t approve, but she’s hellbent.”

“Anything for the inside scoop,” Chan reasoned, putting his brush back in the cup and turning to face Jisoo, leaning against the sink nonchalantly. 

“Sure,” The older agreed. “She knows you’re my cousin, so she keeps hounding me about it. Fending her off is one of the most exhausting things I’ve ever had to do - it makes me consider quitting.”

That explained the tiredness he’d been exuding, but Chan still didn’t quite see where this was going.

“Listen, you don’t have to talk to her. I’m warning you in advance because you’re back at work tomorrow and she’ll probably-”

“Wait,” Chan interrupted him, “I’m back at work tomorrow?”

Jisoo seemed confused by his confusion, head tilting. “Yes,” He said, “It’s been a week. Your boss gave you a week - that’s what he said in the reports, anyway. A week and reference to a therapist.”

“He told me to see a therapist,” Chan corrected irritably, “He didn’t give me a reference.”

“Yeah, I know that, everyone does. But this piece is a Spider-Man exposé, not a piece on the tragic nightmare that is capitalism.”

Chan tutted, flicking the hair that had begun curling over his eyes out of the way. “So, what, I have to file for a restraining order?”

“No. God, no.” Jisoo hurried to say, “She might not try and talk to you, after all, she needs yours and your guardian’s consent to print anything you say, so your words would practically be worthless.”

Chan nodded.

“But I’m warning you in advance. She’s a bit of a bloodhound, and lord knows Jameson would turn a blind eye if it’s a story for Spider-Man hate.” Jisoo nibbled his lip, worry bleeding into his expression so suddenly that Chan almost got whiplash. 

“I just want you to be okay,” He explained, “It’s going to be hard enough going back with what happened. And Jeonghan’s being stubborn so I can only imagine how he’s taking it-”

“I didn’t tell Jeonghan,” Chan said, scuffing his toe against the grout on the floor tiles.

“You didn’t-? Chan.”

“In my defence, I didn’t even know I was going back tomorrow until you told me two minutes ago.”

“Chan.”

“I’ll tell him,” The younger placated, “I will, I promise. Let me just… strategise. You know it’s not going to be easy to speak to him about this.”

“You’re telling me,” Jisoo scoffed, “I love him to death, but I swear he’s driving me nuts over this. He wants you to quit - or get a bodyguard or something. And no matter how many times I tell him neither of those are really options, he flips out.” He tuts, “If he wasn’t so overbearing, maybe I’d tell him about your little adventures onto the fire escape.”

Chan startled at the words, head snapping up to lock gazes with Jisoo. The older looked a weird mixture of stressed and cheeky, eyes glinting but still lined with nerves.

“You know about that?”

“I’m not Jeonghan,” Jisoo laughed, “I don’t knock out at eight and then become dead to the world until my six o’clock alarm. And you aren’t exactly quiet - which is how I know you’re not really doing anything wrong.”

Chan’s brain blue-screens, scrambling to try and figure out how to salvage the situation. Jisoo knows he sneaks onto the fire escape. Okay, cool. He might not know why though, maybe he can say it’s for fresh air or something. It’s normal for people his age and in his situation to have anxiety, right? And he’s used to the fresher country air of his hometown, not the thick fumes of the city, so that checks out as well-

“And it’s quite sweet,” Jisoo continues, “Sneaking out to meet someone. Young love, is there anything more romantic?”

Well, there goes that plan.

“I’m not in love,” Chan hisses, secretly thankful that Jisoo doesn’t seem to know it’s Spider-Man and Hansol he’s been meeting out there.

Two different people. One of which would get him yelled at and the other of which would spur a conversation about identity.

Which Chan wasn’t sure he was entirely ready for yet.

“Don’t be so sharp,” Jisoo teases, “Bring it up with Jeonghan, he’s a romantic so it’ll ease him into the conversation, set some neutral ground before you drop the bomb.”

“What part of ‘I snuck out to meet someone’ screams neutral ground to you?” Chan rolls his eyes, “Jeonghan would have a heart attack on top of a heart attack. Did you take out a life assurance policy or something?”

Jisoo laughs. It’s loud and bright and even though Chan’s heard it many times before, this is the first time it’s made an appearance since everything had gone down. 

He missed it. It was a reminder of how easy things had been. How easy things could be again if he just spoke to Jeonghan.

He sighed.

“I’ll tell him when he gets home. About work, not about my friend.”

Jisoo wiggled his eyebrows and Chan huffed, marching past him.

“Can you take me to the store or something?” The younger called over his shoulder, “I’m going to butter him up with dinner and cookies instead.”

“Ooh,” Jisoo replied, “Maybe I should get mad at you if it means you’ll make me cookies.”

“Please don’t,” Chan said, only half joking, “I can’t handle both of you hating me.”

“Jeonghan doesn’t hate you,” Jisoo corrects him, “He’s just upset and overwhelmed. If anything, he just loves you too much.”

“I guess we’ll talk about it tonight.”

Chan pulls on a navy sweatshirt and a pair of green trainers (because fashion has never been a friend of his, and not caring is the next hottest trend anyway, so it would be fine), before pocketing his (thin) wallet and heading towards the door.

Jisoo is already standing there, keys in hand. 

“I hope it goes well for you.”

He didn’t know if Jisoo meant his conversation with Jeonghan or his relationship with Hansol, but either way, his stomach twisted and he found himself hoping the exact same thing.

Chapter Text

Both his and Jisoo’s hopes were seemingly worthless, because making dinner to appease Jeonghan turned out to be a huge mistake. 

Although, given that Chan couldn’t cook, maybe he should’ve thought of a better way to extend an olive branch. 

He looked down at the charred pan nervously, lower lip bleeding slightly from where he’d tugged too hard at a piece of dead skin. The cookies sat on a plate to the side, innocuous and perfectly round. 

(He’d used box mixture and Jisoo had been hovering over his shoulder the entire time, so there hadn’t been much room for error.)

Jisoo seemed less interested in the dinner part, disappearing into the bathroom to shower and not even responding to Chan’s distressed yelp when he moved into his bedroom to dry his hair with the dryer.

So now Chan had a perfect plate of cookies and a piece of chargrilled (read: cremated) salmon sitting in a pan. The potato gratin he’d attempted was a soggy mess on the counter, and every time Chan looked at it he swore he could hear it screaming in pain.

He didn’t hear the sound of the door slamming over the hiss of the pan and the whir of the dryer, but he did hear Jeonghan’s exclamation.

“What are you doing?”

Chan whipped around, cheeks flushed bright red and hair sticking up oddly. His heart twisted at the confused and yet familiar face of his cousin. He wanted to crack a joke, to sink into their usual banter - but he couldn’t. 

And it was his fault.

But he was going to fix it.

So he shrugged, wiping his hands on Jisoo’s apron and half-heartedly gesturing at his attempts to make dinner.

“I cooked.”

“You made a mess.” Jeonghan sighed. 

Chan inhaled sharply, eyes scanning for inspiration to make this better.

“I made cookies.”

“I’m fasting from sugar,” Jeonghan said, eyes landing on the cookies and looking at them scrutinously, “I started breaking out from stress.”

Chan was about to start breaking out from stress. His cousin was being difficult - no wonder Jisoo had been weary - and even though he was doing his best to find a common interest, it seemed every attempt was being shot down.

Wait.

Common interest.

Neutral ground.

Fuck it.

“I’m seeing someone.” Chan blurted.

Jeonghan’s eyes widened. His bag fell to the ground with a thump. 

“Come again?”

Chan winced.

Oops.

“Not like- not like that-”

“You’re seeing someone?”

Jeonghan’s face was the epitome of scandalised, brows drawn together and mouth parted in shock. It was almost comical, the way they looked at each other; Chan in obvious panic and Jeonghan in thinly veiled betrayal.

“No!” His voice cracked and he put the pan on the stove, rushing to switch it off before turning to face Jeonghan fully. “I’m not seeing anyone- It’s just… There’s this guy I’ve been talking to-”

“A guy?”

Oh, bloody hell, go on, Chan, just stick your foot right into it, why don’t you? Maybe kick it a few times just to make sure it’s as much of a mess as you can make it.

“No- Well, yes, but he’s just-”

“You’re dating a guy?”

“No! I’m-”

“We’re talking about the guy?”

At some point, Jisoo had exited his room - perhaps upon hearing his boyfriend’s arrival - and was looking between the two semi-expectantly. Chan didn’t quite know how to communicate that this was not going well telepathically, so he just shook his head desperately. 

Although his warning was ever so slightly late.

“You knew?” Jeonghan turned to Jisoo, expression quickly morphing from disappointed to furious, “And you didn’t say anything?”

“It’s Chan’s to tell.”

“But you knew he was seeing someone? And you didn’t tell me?”

“It was a recent discovery-”

“It’s a recent thing!” Chan interrupted. Both men whipped their heads towards him, Jisoo’s eyes round like a deer in headlights, Jeonghan’s narrowed like he wanted to murder someone.

That someone was likely Chan at this moment.

“And we aren’t together or- or even entertaining that idea,” He explained with a sigh, “He’s a friend.”

“A friend you’re sneaking out to meet.” Jeonghan said dryly.

Chan winced, “I guess. I only snuck out to meet him once.”

Jeonghan exhaled heavily, falling into one of the dining chairs and burying his head in his hands. Jisoo looked at him confusedly, forehead wrinkling and lips pursing slightly. Chan picked at a hangnail in nervous anticipation.

“You’re grounded again,” Was all he said, looking up after a moment, “I was going to un-ground you tonight, but…” He shook his head, “Why is it so hard for you to just listen to me?”

Something in Chan stirred at that. Something dark and ugly. 

“I didn’t do it to piss you off.”

“Well then, what did you do it for?”

“For me,” Chan rebuked, feeling the ugly thing climb up his throat. It tasted like acid in his mouth, sick and twisting and making him want to spew it out and make everyone else deal with it. Anything to stop it from burning him inside. “Did you forget I can just do things for me?”

“You can’t do those things when it’s going to hurt me, though. Or did you forget that?”

“I-”  Chan was almost appalled at the words. Since when did all of his decisions come down to how Jeonghan would feel about them? Why wasn’t he allowed to be an autonomous person all of a sudden? Sure, maybe he wasn’t ready to navigate the big city alone, or maybe he was hopeless when it came to real independence, but that didn’t give his cousin an excuse to wrap him in bubble wrap and punish him for even the slightest sign of change.

“Why is this about you?” He whispered, voice hoarse and eyes stinging, “Why- I’m just trying. I’m trying to be- to be independent and make friends and you’re-” He sucked in a breath, trying to will that monstrous feeling growing inside of him down, “You’re making me feel like a criminal just for being a person.”

“You were being punished,” Jeonghan said, tone icy as he stood up from the chair and turned to pick up his bag.

“For something I didn’t mean to do.”

“Chan, you-”

“For something I didn’t mean to do,” His voice was louder now, anger obvious in his tone, “Something you wouldn’t let me explain.”

“Chan, maybe we should-” Jisoo spoke up, but Chan wasn’t in the mood.

“Like you’re any better,” He said, “You let him walk all over you. You lost a good story just because he was having a tantrum about it! You’re too afraid to actually tell him anything because you know he’ll flip out!”

“Chan!” 

“Our relationship,” Jeonghan interrupts, all but throwing his bag onto the floor and rounding on Chan, “Is none of your business.”

“Oh, but all of my shit is yours?”

Jeonghan inhaled sharply, taking a threatening step forward. “Yeah, Chan, it is my business, you know why?” 

He didn’t give him room to answer.

“Because if something happens to you, it’s my ass on the line. Every day your damn parents ring me and give me shit because you haven’t got a stable job and a mortgage yet. They ring me because you won’t answer and they know I have to answer because I’m the responsible adult in this situation!” He takes another step forward, eyes slightly crazed. Chan presses himself back into the stove, feeling the knob turn slightly where his hip hits it. 

“Nevermind that I don’t even have a house, or a mortgage, or a ring on my finger! But then, they wouldn’t be happy with that either, would they? Because they hate that I’m gay.”

“They don’t hate it-”

“You don’t know that,” Jeonghan scoffed, flipping his hair out of his face, “You don’t know anything, Chan. You’re so sheltered and coddled by everyone in the family. Poor little Chan who just lost his direction, he’ll be fine after some time to gather himself.”

He shakes his head, laughing derisively, “They always ask if you’re turning out like me. They say it quietly, even though it’s only me there to hear it. They say it like it’s this dirty or shameful thing. As if the air in New York just turns you gay.” He laughed once more, “Maybe it does.”

“Jeonghan, I’m not-”

“And you won’t have to explain it to them, will you? That’ll fall on me, and so will all the blame. ‘Look what you’ve done to him, Jeonghan. We asked you to get him a job and through college and all you did was make him like you.’.”

“I just think he’s nice!”

“That’s enough,” Jeonghan muttered, standing right in front of Chan now, “For them, that's enough.”

Chan’s head was spinning. There was a lot being said and it was all happening too fast and too loudly and he just felt overloaded.

It, once again, felt like everything was his fault.

Like Jeonghan hated him for existing.

Like Jeonghan hates him for liking a boy.

Chan wanted to throw up.

“Hyung, I- Why are you angry at me? You of all people should accept it.”

“Accept what? The eternal shun I’m going to get from our family after they find out?”

“No, that I like a guy,” Chan whispered, eyes filling with tears as he looked up at his cousin.

At the words, the older man froze, eyes widening in shock before closing in frustration.

“Chan- No. I’m not mad about- about that. I could never- Chan you can be whoever you want.”

“Really?” Chan’s voice rose, “Because it doesn’t seem like that to me.”

“Chan, I didn’t mean to-”

When Jeonghan moved slightly to reassure him, Chan jumped, hand sliding onto one of the hobs. 

The one he’d accidentally turned on.

He hissed at the burn, yanking his hand in front of him and blowing on it gently. The tears that had been gathering in his eyes finally spilled over at the pain.

“Shit, Chan, baby, are you okay?”

Jeonghan was fretting now, and Chan wanted to laugh at the sudden switch in attitude. 

“Physically or emotionally?” He all but spat, distancing himself from the older with his hand still cradled in front of his chest, “Because I’m pretty sure you don’t give a shit about the latter.”

“Chan, you know that’s not what I meant. I would never- I love you, Chan.”

“You love me,” He barked a laugh, “Yeah, but you don’t love me when I do something that inconveniences you.”

“Chan-”

“No one made you take me in, you know. You said you missed me, you said wanted to spend more time with me and- and get to know me better.” 

His cheeks were wet from where his tears were running freely over them.

“I guess it’s just a shame you don’t like what you’re finding out.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it or that I have a problem with it,” Jeonghan explained, hands out like he was dealing with a rabid animal, “It’s just… Look, Chan-ah, you know what they’re like. You avoid their calls because you know it’s too much.”

“You mean I’m too much.”

His cousin releases a frustrated breath, and Chan bristles at the action.

“I don’t,” He bites out, “I may have… spoken rashly, but we can talk about this. Like adults. We can just talk about it, okay? I’ll explain and I’ll let you explain and we can do this right this time.”

Chan knew the older had a point. He was being offered exactly what he’d wanted all week, a chance to explain himself. A chance to prove he wasn’t as hopeless and worthless as he felt. He wanted to be on a level playing field with Jeonghan, and having a conversation right now was the best cause of action in this situation. 

Adults used words to solve their problems.

But Chan also felt petty, and angry, and jealous and sad and resentful and hurt and so so so confused. 

So instead of accepting the offer, he chuckled humourlessly, eyes casting down to the floor.

“You’ve been treating me like a child all week,” He mumbled, voice barely loud enough for the other two, “So forgive me for acting like one.”

And with that, before either of them could interject or argue back, he turned on his heel and marched out of the apartment. Not heeding Jeonghan’s desperate call or Jisoo’s nervous shout. 

He didn’t know where he’d go or what he’d do. But he couldn’t be in that apartment anymore. Not when his brain was buzzing like a million wasps were trapped inside and he was close to having what was likely his worst crisis to date. 

He needed to get away from it all. Needed some space from Jeonghan and his family and just… everything that related to them.

So he headed down the stairwell to the only place he could think of that was separated from it all.

Hansol’s apartment.

Chapter Text

Chan ignored the way his phone buzzed incessantly against his thigh as he stood outside the door to Hansol’s apartment. 

He assumed it was Jeonghan or Jisoo trying to get a hold of him, nobody else would have any reason to try and contact him right now, after all. 

But Chan was still hurting, and he was still trying to figure out what he’d done wrong and what he should do to fix it. He didn’t want to say anything else he’d surely regret, so leaving was the best option. 

They wouldn’t know where he’d gone, and maybe they’d be worried. But they’d have to suck it up.

Even adults had to deal with the consequences of their actions. 

Despite the fact that he was desperate to speak with Hansol - to have a chance to just… escape from everything in his head - he didn’t really know how to initiate that type of conversation. He couldn’t just appear on their doorstep apropos of nothing, wearing an apron that was covered in cartoon cupcakes and eyes that were puffy with tears.

However, he also didn’t have any other type of plan.

So he shrugged, remembering that he’d pretty much already traipsed over the line of normal when he’d fed Hansol last night. 

And remembering that these guys didn’t seem too fussed by the idea of ‘normal’.

When he raised his hand to knock on the door, he blatantly ignored the tremor in it, willing himself to just think it was a side effect from the stress of the argument, not because he was nervous about seeing Hansol.

Even though he was. Nervous. About seeing Hansol.

He was planning what to say in his head (should he go casual or formal? “Hey, how are things?” seemed too blasé, but “Hello, Hansol, it’s Chan, your upstairs neighbour.” was definitely too much) when the door opened and revealed someone Chan had never seen before.

They were around his height, with eyes that were somehow simultaneously round and sharp and a pert nose. 

That nose wrinkled slightly along with his brow as he looked Chan up and down.

He supposed with the apron and everything, he might have looked like a very bad stripper.

“Um, hello?” The person says, after they finish scanning him, “Can I help you?”

“Hi,” Chan says, floundering for something to say. He’d been internally planning what to say when Hansol answered the door, he hadn’t even considered that someone else could be involved in this situation.

(Which was kind of stupid, in hindsight, given that Hansol lived with three other men. All of which were equally likely to open the door and see him.)

His mouth pops open, and then snaps shut, and when he opens it again to try and speak, the stranger rolls his eyes, turning his head over his shoulder to where Chan can hear what sounds like a lot of people talking.

“Look, do you have the wrong apartment or something? Tell me who you’re looking for and I’ll see if I know them.”

That was… a possibility, Chan supposed. After all, he’d only been to this apartment once, and he wasn’t exactly paying attention to the exterior. He thought he’d come to the apartment right below his, but maybe he was wrong.

“Ah, I’m looking for Hansol?” Chan said, voice lilting in nervousness, “He’s a bit taller than me, brown eyes, brown hair?” 

Very good looking.

He didn’t say that part, but he did think it.

“You’re looking for Hansol?” The guy’s eyebrows shot upward, before he narrowed his eyes at him, “Why do you know him?”

“Wha- I don’t- Why do I know him?” 

“I mean, how do you know him by that name? No one calls him Hansol, except his grandmother. And,” Another once over, “You don’t look like his grandmother.”

“I’m a friend,” Chan explains, wondering who on earth this guy even is, “From upstairs? Chan? Lee Chan?”

He didn’t know why he was telling this stranger his name, after all, the likelihood that Hansol had mentioned him to anyone was rare, the chances that anyone’s impression of him would be good was even rarer considering how he’d behaved.

But for some reason, after hearing his name, the guy’s face lit up. The previous expression of disdain was wiped away by something close to pure elation. 

“Wait, Chan? Like, the Chan?”

“No, Lee Chan,” Chan corrected, not sure what was going on.

“That’s not what I- Oh my God, it’s so good to meet you!”

Despite neither of them actually knowing each other (although it was becoming glaringly obvious that this person did know Chan somehow), the stranger reached for his hand, presumably to pull him in the apartment.

Chan pulled his hand back slightly, not because he had any self-preservation about being dragged anywhere by people he didn’t know, but because the hand the man had reached for was the one that he’d burned. It still hurt whenever he moved it and Chan’s only available form of medication was to not think about it.

Which was very hard when someone was openly gaping at it, looking equal parts concerned and offended.

“What happened to your hand?” He asked. 

Chan opened his mouth to answer, but the question had apparently been rhetorical, because the other man turned around and yelled a very loud “Kim Mingyu!” into the room behind him.

Before he could even insist he was fine, Mingyu appeared at the doorway, eyes looking slightly unfocused and hair mussed. 

Goddamn, Chan forgot how attractive everyone here was.

“What is it, Seungkwan? If it’s the pizza guy then Seokmin is the one who got the lowest score on karaoke, so he’s paying.”

Mingyu turned his eyes on Chan and started, eyes clearing and widening. 

“Chan? What are you doing here?”

“Ah, I was just looking for-”

“Nonie!” 

Chan winced at the volume of the stranger’s - whose name was apparently Seungkwan - voice. How was it humanly possible for someone to shout at that decibel? And was it even necessary? Chan had been inside this apartment and it wasn’t big enough to warrant this kind of noise.

Chan didn’t get a chance to make an excuse to leave before Hansol finally appeared at the door, hair also a skewed mess and cheeks dusted pink. He had this cute boyish grin plastered on his face, eyes shining in mirth and mouth parted in the remnants of a laugh.

“Seungkwan, you know Seokmin lost at karaoke, stop using me and Mingyu as your personal wallets- Chan?” Hansol cut his rant off when he caught sight of the other. The previous joy slipped slowly from his face when he took in his dishevelled state and Chan felt guilt rise in him when Hansol’s eyebrows furrowed and his jaw set in what looked like a mix of confusion and anger.

“Hi, Hansol. Sorry, I guess I came at a bad time,” Chan went to pick at his nail, but remembered one of his hands was useless and just ended up flopping them both around awkwardly. 

“No, it’s not- What happened to your hand? Were you crying? Are you- are you okay?”

Hansol slowly pushed ahead of Mingyu and Seungkwan, ignoring the former’s matching concerned look and the offended scoff of the latter.

“I- uh-” Chan glanced at his hand and shot the three a wobbly smile, “Me and Jeonghan had a fight?”

“Jeonghan messed up your hand?” 

Hansol sounded hot when he was angry, that much was true. But Chan didn’t want him to be angry, especially when that anger would be misplaced. Jeonghan wasn’t perfect, and Chan was definitely upset with him, but they’d both said and done some less than stellar things these past few days, and it was their argument to have. Hansol didn’t need to get involved.

Chan didn’t come here to get Hansol involved anyway. He came here to get away from everything relating to that, so he shook his head.

“No, no, that was an accident. I’m a bit of a klutz.”

“Right.” It didn’t sound like Hansol believed him, but he left well enough alone, reaching a tentative hand out and brushing some stray strands of hair out of Chan’s eyes. 

The way he did it was easy, relaxed, like he wasn’t even thinking about what he was doing.

Like it was something that just came to him naturally.

A whole flock of doves was dancing in Chan’s stomach at the contact.

“Well, can you let Mingyu have a look at it? He’s a med student, so he can make sure it isn’t infected or anything.”

“Can burns get infected?”

The attention snapped back to Seungkwan at the words, Chan furrowing his brow as he tried to think about it. It made sense that they would, but then again, it also made sense that they wouldn’t. He wasn’t exactly well-versed in the world of health and wellness, so the question was well out of his area of expertise.

Hansol also seemed mildly confused, but Mingyu simply sighed.

“They can,” He said, motioning for Chan to come inside with a flick of his head, “But that one doesn’t look too bad.”

Seungkwan shrugged as he followed them, Chan absently wondering why this guy was so invested in him and his well-being when they'd never met before now. Hansol being worried made sense, even Mingyu’s attention he could kind of understand, given that he was a med student and that they’d met before.

Maybe Seungkwan was just super caring. The type of person to give all of his money to the first person who asked even if it meant he’d have nothing.

Although that didn’t quite feel right to Chan. It wasn’t that Seungkwan felt like a bad person, but it kind of felt like he was more interested in Chan as a thing than as a person.

And Chan didn’t know how to feel about that. 

Passing through the apartment, Chan realised he definitely had interrupted something. There were a lot of people here, most of whom he didn’t recognise. Although he saw Seungcheol playing a particularly riveting game of Mario Kart (that he was definitely losing) and the glint of Wonwoo’s glasses caught his attention from where the taller man lay horizontally on the couch, legs draped over someone else’s lap.

He kept his head down, not wanting anyone else to intercept them or ask questions.

Luckily, they got through relatively undetected, and when they reached the bathroom, Mingyu motioned for Chan to sit on the side of the tub, fumbling under the sink for supplies.

“So,” Seungkwan began from where he was standing in the doorway. Hansol was hovering behind him, like he wanted to come in but didn’t want to push Seungkwan out of the way.

He may have only known Seungkwan for just over a minute, but Chan completely understood his hesitance.

“How did you hurt your hand?”

He glanced down, turning his hand over and inspecting the shiny red burn mark on it. He shrugged, extending it to Mingyu when the taller man motioned for him to do so.

“I burned it on the hob.”

“You put your hand on a hob?” Seungkwan raised an eyebrow.

“Not on purpose,” Chan defended himself, “I was distracted.”

“Damn,” Mingyu chuckled from where he was fiddling with a tube of something, “You sound as bad as me.”

“No one could be as bad as you,” Hansol said, head poking over Seungkwan’s shoulder so he could watch, “You once broke your ankle after falling off a kerb.”

“I was pushed.”

“Sure. By the air.”

Mingyu pouted but didn’t argue back. Chan was resolutely ignoring the smug grin that Hansol was donning. Why did he look good no matter what expression he was pulling? In what universe was that fair? Couldn’t he spare something for the rest of humanity? It was selfish, is what it was.

It was as they were all stewing in silence that Chan’s memories of last night came back to him in a rush. 

He cringed at the memory of him feeding Hansol. 

“Sorry, Chan, does it hurt too much?” Mingyu asked softly from where he was gently massaging cream onto the burn. Chan shook his head, not really wanting to explain that it was his own awkward memories hurting him and not the careful ministrations of the other man.

He glanced up at Hansol, fully ready to apologise for what had happened (and for suddenly and inexplicably just leaving straight after), when he noticed Seungkwan was stifling giggles. His cheeks were rosy and eyes shining with gleeful tears. Hansol was glaring down at him, gaze firm and yet fond. 

Chan’s heart ached.

Right, he forgot he didn’t know what Hansol’s relationship status was. Maybe after tonight, it would be better for them all if he just didn’t speak with him again. Considering everything that had happened, it looked likely that he’d be flying home to Korea soon, so nurturing any kind of friendship was foolish to say the least.

But he should still apologise for last night, he reasoned. Even if Hansol hadn’t been weirded out by what he’d done, it was rude that he’d run off like that. 

“Ah, Hansol,” Chan began, trying not to squirm when all three of them turned their gazes to him, “I’m sorry.”

Hansol furrowed his brow, “Sorry for what?”

“For last night.” Chan explained, wishing he could do something with his hands to dispel all of the nervous energy inside him, “I just kind of ran off and left you there.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” He waved him off, “You said Jeonghan wanted to speak with you. And I had… stuff to do. It’s okay, really.”

Chan nodded mutely, not sure how to further to conversation.

Luckily, it seemed there was someone who did.

“So, you call him Hansol?” It was Seungkwan, who finally entered the bathroom and leaned his hip against the sink directly across from Chan, “That’s cute.”

“Seungkwan-”

At Hansol’s frustrated huff, Seungkwan and Mingyu both giggled. The sound wasn’t mean or rude, but Chan still looked at them both with wide eyes and a nervous smile. 

“Nonie, please, I’m not going to grill the kid like he’s some kind of inmate.” Seungkwan winked at him, “But you can’t blame me for being curious.”

“I can, and I do,” Hansol argued, “You’re too nosy for your own good.”

Seungkwan exhaled, sending a burst of air up that made his fringe flutter. “You’re being mean to me.”

Chan observed their easy banter with green eyes. Distantly, he wondered if he’d ever be able to joke with someone like that again. He used to do it with Jeonghan and Jisoo but they apparently hated him now and he knew he’d passed the age bracket where most people found their good friends for life. 

What made it worse was that Chan wanted that kind of relationship with Hansol. Yes, he may have also had a tiny crush on him, but he could still manage if they were just friends. In fact, being friends almost sounded better in his head.

Being friends with Hansol would be so liberating and easy and fun. He’d finally be able to find a reason to like New York. He’d have motivation to continue and find other things that made him happy.

And even if Hansol was dating someone else - whether it be Seungkwan or a complete stranger Chan hadn’t met - they could still be close. He could still eat delicious food with him and chat about TV shows they’d watched.

It would be nice. 

But Hansol already had a bunch of friends, if the gathering in the living room was any indicator. There was absolutely nothing to show that he needed or wanted any other friends.

Aside from the fact that he’d approached Chan first multiple times.

Which, okay, fair enough. Thinking about that made Chan inexplicably happy. The simple idea that someone like Hansol could actually be interested in befriending Chan was pretty much unfathomable, and yet it seemed to be something that was happening. 

But still, Chan reasoned to himself as Mingyu finished wrapping his hand, just because he’s nice to you doesn’t mean he wants to be your best friend; it looks like he’s already got one of those anyway.

Seungkwan was now sticking his tongue out at Hansol, turning his attention back to Chan as he did so.

“Chan, tell Nonie to stop being mean to me.”

“I-” Chan looked between the two, eyes round, “I-”

“I’m done!” Mingyu announced loudly, causing Chan to jump and almost slip into the bathtub. Hansol stepped forward quickly at the motion, hand outstretched and landing solidly on Chan’s shoulder. He tried to ignore the heat in his face at the contact.

“Jesus, Mingyu,” Seungkwan muttered, “They’re called context clues.”

“Huh?” The taller glanced at Seungkwan, medical kit clutched in his hands, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Nope,” Seungkwan replied sardonically - though it didn’t seem Mingyu picked up on it. He took the supplies and gestured for him to leave, “Go and make sure Soonyoung didn’t drink himself into a coma yet.”

“Oh, God, I forgot I left them all out there with alcohol.”

“And Jihoon isn’t even around to be the only sober one.”

Mingyu grunted, patting Chan’s head distractedly before exiting the room. Hansol’s hand still rested on his shoulder, and Chan could see Seungkwan eyeing it mischievously.

“So, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” He said dramatically, “You call Nonie ‘Hansol’, how come?”

Chan tried not to be flustered at the questioning. There was a lot happening in one night and it was hard for his brain to catch up. 

First the argument with his cousin, now the burned hand (which was starting to hurt the more he thought about it) and Hansol’s casual skinship were both giving him more physical stimulation than he’d had in a while. There was also the fact that Seungkwan was a complete stranger who was acting like they were old friends just having a catch up. 

It was just a lot.

Thankfully, Hansol decided to rescue him from it.

“It’s just easier for him - you could’ve called me Hansol as well when we first met, I did give you the option.”

“We met when I was seven,” Seungkwan pointed out, “It’s not like I had a brilliant grasp on language.”

“Yes, so now you call me Nonie. The same way Chan calls me Hansol. It’s just a name, Seungkwan.”

“‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose’... however the saying goes.”

“You have definitely been hanging out with Seungcheol too much.”

Seungkwan huffed, scuffing his foot against the tile and pouting at it, “Rude.”

There was a stuffy silence, and Chan somehow felt like he’d been caught between an argument between a parent and their child. Not wanting to take sides for fear of ending up in someone’s bad books, but also having a moral obligation to choose one.

They weren’t even fighting (at least, if they were, it was the weirdest fight Chan had ever seen), just looking at each other strangely. Hansol had a mixture of guilt and warning in his eyes and Seungkwan just looked thoroughly berated.

It was extremely odd. 

Chan did not like it.

So, in typical Chan-fashion, when something got too awkward, he tried to save it with his awful conversation skills.

“Well, Nonie is cute. The nickname, I mean, not Nonie the person. Who’s Vernon. Well, Hansol. Not that he’s not cute. It’s just… I mean the name is nice and I’m not saying that Hansol isn’t nice but-”

“Oh my God it’s another one.” Seungkwan said, eyes rolling upwards, “You’re clumsy like Mingyu and you ramble like Nonie, please tell me you’re not also prone to chronic existentialism that makes you unable to function like a normal human being - because if you are then I’m calling bullshit and stating that you’re just some freaky amalgamation of everyone who lives in this apartment.”

Chan didn’t know how to say that he was in fact that type of person, so he just shook his head.

What Seungkwan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Fortunately, no more questions were asked on that front, and Seungkwan took his reply at face value. 

However, Hansol had stiffened, hand going rigid where it had been resting. He turned his head to the window, which was slightly cracked, and squinted.

“I have to go.”

“Wha-”

“I’m really sorry, Chan,” He said, patting his head just like Mingyu had (why was everyone treating him like some kind of puppy?) before backing out of the room, “I’d walk you home and talk more but I- uh- I left my book at the library. I have to go get it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Same time as last time?”

“Okay, but I-”

“I’m really sorry, Chan-” He cut himself off, eyes widening, “I really have to go.”

“I’ll look after him,” Seungkwan interrupted, waving his friend away, “Go get your book.”

Hansol nodded, eyes lingering on Chan for just a second longer before he was sprinting out of the room. Chan shuddered as the door slammed behind him. 

Seungkwan simply tutted and muttered something under his breath that Chan couldn’t quite catch.

“Right,” He said in a louder tone, “Let me give you the run-down.”

Then he too was making to exit, and Chan was left with no choice but to follow him.

Chapter Text

“So Mingyu and Hansol have known each other for five years? And Wonwoo moved in during freshman year?”

Seungkwan nodded, lips wrapped around an ice pop. “Yep, and Seungcheol moved in just a year ago.”

“And Seungcheol studies literature?”

“He studied advertising first,” Seungkwan corrects him, “But after a year of corporate slavery he realised his passion lay in poetry or something like that. I’ll be honest, when that man gets drunk, you could not pay me to listen to him rant.”

Chan’s brain felt like it was going to explode. Apparently, Seungkwan’s idea of ‘taking care of him’ was by telling him the biographies of every single person in the room. 

He supposed it was kind of working, though, he wasn’t thinking about the argument as much anymore, and the pain in his hand had lessened to a dull throb.

“Okay, so what do the others study again?”

“Wonwoo studies film, pretentious twat.”

Chan giggled.

“Mingyu’s a med student - but you know that since-” Seungkwan gestured to the bandage around his hand. 

“Hansol is… between majors. He’s a bit of a free spirit, which I guess is a nice way of saying he has no direction in life. It’s alright though, we’ll all look after him whatever he decides to do.”

Something in Chan’s chest ached at the words. When he’d first met Hansol, he’d been so certain that he’d had his whole life figured out. It was nice to know that even people that attractive could also be a little bit messed up. 

And yet, that wasn’t what was hurting. What hurt was the fact that Hansol had so many people to rally around him. To protect him and care for him no matter what he said or did. He had a group of friends that genuinely loved him, and promised to love him through thick and thin.

Chan didn’t have that.

But he wasn’t in the mood to start crying about it - not to mention a mental breakdown in front of Seungkwan would be highly embarrassing - so he shook the feeling off and passed his gaze onto another person in the room.

“Who’s that?”

He pointed to a pretty drunk looking guy. His cheeks were full and pink, eyes squinted and mouth drawn into a wide smile as he cackled a laugh. There was a glass of something in his hand and even though he was tossing all over the floor, the drink didn’t even spill a drop.

“Ah, that’s Soonyoung,” Seungkwan chuckled, “He’s a bit… wild, though I’m sure you picked up on that already.”

Chan had picked up on it. If not from the raucous laughter, then at the way he kept pawing at other people and pouting when they didn’t give him their full attention. At one point, he managed to nab Seungcheol’s phone out of the other man’s pocket, and everyone spent a good ten minutes scrambling around the room trying to stop him from calling the police and getting them all fined.

“He’s normally sweet,” Seungkwan continued, “He owns a cute little dance studio a few blocks away. Groovy feet, or jazzy hands, or something silly like that.”

Chan’s gulped, throat inexplicably dry. 

‘Buzzy Bodies’, he knew that was what it was called. In his first months in the city, he’d looked it up online, carefully making his way there on one morning he was left alone. He’d only looked up at the mural of a dancing tiger-bee combination (freaky, but it worked somehow) on the wall before bottling it and turning with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

He’d wanted to dance so badly again, to feel that little bit of joy and freedom he’d once felt when he’d been able to dance back home.

But he didn’t have any confidence back then, still didn’t if he was honest, and the idea of dancing in front of so many judging eyes was something that made him want to throw up. 

Dancing had always made him a bit nervous, but now it was almost like he was too nervous for it.

Which sucked, because it felt like he’d lost his connection with one of the only things that had made him him. 

“He co-owns it with Minghao - the one sitting on the armchair over there on his phone.” Seungkwan said, oblivious to Chan’s inner thoughts. “He’s probably texting Junhui. He’s one hundred percent in love with that man, but he won’t admit it for some strange reason.”

Seungkwan shrugged and Chan nodded along like he knew who Junhui was and knew how Minghao was supposedly in love with him.

Minghao was sitting in the corner, nose buried in his phone and thumbs moving a mile a minute. The tip of his nose was red (likely from the alcohol), and he had this tiny dopey grin on his face.

“Junhui’s home with his family for the time being. He studies acting,” Seungkwan finally finished his lolly, dumping the stick in the trash and running his hands under the tap. “And Seokmin - the other messy one - also studies it. But Junhui is movies and Seokmin is theatre, remember that.”

It didn’t take Chan long to figure out which one Seokmin was. The loser of the karaoke (which he’d complained about loudly a lot throughout the night) who had wailed when Wonwoo took his wallet to pay for their pizza. 

Said pizza had since been abandoned in the kitchen (where Chan and Seungkwan were currently taking refuge) and was getting rather cold. They’d both nibbled at the remnants of a plain cheese a few moments ago before Chan’s stomach turned again from nerves and Seungkwan decided he wanted an ice lolly instead.

“The only other one is Jihoon,” Seungkwan flapped his damp hands at Chan, who ducked with a lighthearted grumble, “He does music. Him and Soonyoung are an item, have been since sophomore year of high school, despite both of them being polar opposites.”

Chan nodded once more, trying very hard not to be jealous of people he’d never met. A high school romance that was lasting through college? That was the kind of thing that only happened in movies.

“He is working on said music right now,” Seungkwan sighed, “He doesn’t really like leaving his house - or drinking - so tonight was an easy pass for him.”

Chan mulled over the words. He couldn’t really understand why someone wouldn’t want to leave their home when they had so many friends they could spend time with. Sure, Chan himself wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, but that wasn’t because he didn’t want to - it was because he didn’t have any friends.

(Which sounded ridiculously sad, even in his own head, so he refrained from voicing his thoughts).

“So, what about you?” He asked instead, grabbing a small carton of apple juice and attempting to stab the paper straw through the foil (seriously, whoever had done this was some kind of psycho - in what world did paper beat metal?).

“I was wondering when you were going to ask,” Seungkwan huffed, faux-irritatedly, “After all, I am the most interesting and nicest person here - as I am the only one spending time with you.”

Okay, ouch, that hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Chan apologised, finally managing to get the straw in and lamenting the fact that it was so mangled he probably wouldn’t get any juice from it, “You can go and hang out with them if you want, I did kind of crash your night.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Seungkwan waved him off, “I like getting to know people. And I’m not a huge drinker myself, so it’s not like I’m missing out on too much.” 

He nodded to where the group were clustered, and was shocked when he caught sight of Seungcheol and Soonyoung giggling with a permanent marker in hand. They were hovering over Seokmin’s sleeping face and it didn’t take a genius to figure out their plan.

Minghao was side-eyeing them sleepily from his spot on the chair, his legs now tucked up comfortably under him and a threadbare blanket thrown over them. Chan didn’t know where or when he’d acquired it, but he figured he wouldn’t be moving from that spot for the rest of the night.

At some point, Mingyu had drank some more, and whilst he was nowhere near as drunk as Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungcheol, he was still definitely tipsy, singing lowly with his head in Wonwoo’s lap. The other man looked sober as the day he was born, glasses taken off and placed to the side somewhere and fingers running through Mingyu’s hair softly.

It was sweet, and gentle, and nowhere near as raucous as it had once been. Chan didn’t know when all of the hubbub had died down, but it was surely an indicator that it was getting late.

He exhaled heavily, remembering he still had to go home and face Jeonghan and Jisoo.

He didn’t want to think about it for at least two more minutes.

So he turned to Seungkwan, crumpled straw between his lips, and mumbled, “Do you also study literature?”

“Hm?” Seungkwan asked, brow furrowing, “No? What gave you that idea?”

“Oh, well, you quoted something earlier and Hansol said you hung around Seungcheol a lot so I just…”

Seungkwan’s face dropped momentarily, before he nodded, smile popping back up. “I see, I see. Well, I don’t study literature. I study physics.”

Chan looked at him incredulously.

“Oh come on, really? Not even you?” Seungkwan pouted down at the counter, “I really thought you’d be so naïve and just believe me. Guess I was wrong.” He looked up, with wide eyes, “Do I really look that dumb?”

Chan’s own eyes widened and he scrambled to answer. “No! No! It’s not that at all! You don’t look dumb! I’m just-”

Seungkwan laughed, pushing his hair back as he did so. “I’m messing with you, Chan. I’m on the third year of my gap year.”

At his confusion, Seungkwan laughed again. 

“Don’t look so scandalised, it’s not like it’s illegal. I just don’t know what I want to study. There’s a lot of things I want to do, and not enough time to do all of them, so I’m just taking my time and waiting to make the right decision.”

Seungkwan’s academic situation didn’t sound too unlike Chan’s. Except that Chan was doing what his parents told him to do, and it seemed Seungkwan was just embracing the ‘go-with-the-flow’ attitude. 

“But don’t you feel… I don’t know, stuck?” Chan asked curiously, juice box gurgling to indicate it was empty.

“Stuck?” Seungkwan pondered for a second before shaking his head, “Nah, not really. I mean, you could see it that way. But the way I see it is like this,” He looked past Chan, almost like he wasn’t really seeing him at all, “I’d rather take my time and do something I love, even if I’m a bit slower than everyone else.” 

The philosophy was something that Chan seriously envied. He’d love to be so at ease with his own nonchalant behaviour. The idea that you didn’t have to worry about falling behind people was alien to him. After all, his parents had practically ingrained it into him that he was in New York to succeed. He had all of his teen years to figure out what he wanted to do with his life - why would he need any more time after that?

Not considering the fact that Chan spent a lot of his teenage years trying and failing to achieve the impossible dream. Instead of scouting colleges, he’d wasted his time auditioning and re-auditioning. Instead of studying maths and biology, he practiced choreography he’d made up.

So when the time finally came to decide what he wanted to do with his life and the only thing he knew how to do suddenly wasn’t an option, it felt like he’d been stranded in the ocean without a life jacket.

The door he’d been lined up outside of was suddenly slammed shut and locked, and yet here he was still pathetically knocking at it even when he knew nobody would answer.

He was snapped out of his reverie when he noticed Seungkwan yawning.

“Damn, can’t believe Nonie’s still out. I hope nothing happened.”

“Is the library in a bad place?” 

Chan didn’t know the entire layout of New York (given its size, he doubted that was a feasible idea), but to his knowledge, the nearest library was in a nice enough part of the city. One quick subway ride and he’d be there and back, no problems. Especially for someone like Hansol, who’d been born and raised here.

“Oh, no,” Seungkwan amended, “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he saw someone and got caught up talking. Nonie’s forgetful like that.”

Chan didn’t know why, but he didn’t entirely believe Seungkwan. Maybe it was because the older man was suddenly chewing at a hangnail, or maybe it was because his eyes were suddenly darting to the windows every couple of seconds. 

It seemed like he wasn’t wanted anymore. Seungkwan’s mind was wandering somewhere else (somewhere Chan was very intrigued to know, but knew he shouldn’t ask), and everyone else was either asleep or getting there. Hunched over in various states of sobriety on the couches and the chairs and the carpet.

“I should go,” He said, quietly, setting the juice box down and nodding his head in a half bow.

“Oh, right, do you want me to walk you home?” Seungkwan asked. His heart certainly wasn’t in it though, and Chan knew he would much rather stay in the apartment, for whatever reason.

He shook his head.

“It’s fine,” He said, “I only live upstairs.”

Seungkwan hummed, eyes running over Chan once more before tugging his ear gently and patting his shoulder. “If you’re sure you’ll be alright.”

“I will. It’s just one flight of stairs.” He smiled.

Seungkwan smiled back, albeit wanly, and Chan took it for what it was.

“I’ll see you round.” He said.

“You will.”

The words could’ve been perceived as threatening, but when Chan finally left the apartment that night and began ascending the stairs to his own, he truly felt the comfort in them.

It almost felt like he’d made another friend tonight.

Chapter Text

Chan didn’t entirely know what he expected to come home to.

Everyone being asleep was one option. Jeonghan loved his sleep, and he stuck to his schedule religiously. It wasn’t outlandish to think that even Chan storming out wouldn’t change that.

Another option was all of his stuff being turfed out onto the front step. Sure, that may have been a little bit dramatic, but Chan had definitely overstepped a boundary during their spat, and it had seemed Jeonghan was tired and stressed from dealing with him, so in his mind, it was possible.

The reality was that Jeonghan was sitting on the sofa. The room was lit by a single lamp and there was an open book in his lap that he didn’t really seem to be reading.

When Chan opened the door, his head snapped up, features sagging in relief when he saw who it was.

Before the door could even be closed and Chan could get an apology out, Jeonghan had crossed the room, book tumbling to the ground, and had wrapped Chan in a huge hug.

“Thank God you’re home,” Is all he whispered, burying his face in Chan’s neck.

The younger returned the hug awkwardly, hands wrapping around Jeonghan’s shoulders and rubbing in what he hoped was a soothing matter.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered back.

Jeonghan only shook his head, not pulling it out from Chan’s neck. “Dont,” He replied, “I should be apologising. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“We can both be sorry,” Chan reminded him.

Jeonghan chuckled wetly before removing his head and wiping his nose with his sleeve. It was then Chan realised that his cousin had been crying. Which was weird, because Jeonghan didn’t cry a lot.

“When did you get so wise?”

“Were you crying?”

Jeonghan eyed him disbelievingly, “Of course I was crying, dumbass.” His tone was still light, and his hand was wrapped around Chan’s wrist gently, “You just up and left and then you wouldn’t answer me. And after I said all those horrible things… I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you were trying to leave. That you were going to run off and try and go somewhere but get lost or get kidnapped because we all know you aren’t very street smart-”

Jeonghan tapered off, hanging his head.

“I was scared that I’d lost you, and that it was all my fault.”

Chan’s heart was breaking at the words his cousin was saying. 

“You didn’t,” He reassured him, taking his hand, “I’m still here. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Jeonghan took in a heavy breath, “We should talk.”

Chan nodded, “We should.”

The older’s eyes trailed down to the bandage around Chan’s hand and his expression turned even sadder.

“I’m really sorry about that.”

“Stop being sorry,” Chan said, “This was just as much my fault, you know? It’s not like you put my hand on the stove and burned it.”

“Yeah, but,” Jeonghan carefully raised his hand and ran his fingers over the cast delicately, “I backed you into a corner. And I’m sorry for that.”

“Well, I’m sorry for lying.” Chan said, “If I’d just been honest with you from the start, none of this would’ve happened.”

“True,” Jeonghan agreed, “But I think we both know I’m not the easiest person to tell things.”

Chan winced at the choice of wording, remembering what he’d said to Jisoo before he’d left.

“How’s Jisoo?” He asked, not seeing the other man and afraid of Jeonghan’s answer.

If he broke the two up over some stupid insecure words he’d shouted, he’d never forgive himself.

“In bed,” Jeonghan replied, gently pulling Chan further into the apartment until they were settled on the couch. “We talked,” He said, “About a lot of things. Us, you, work… It was good to get stuff out into the air.”

“I’m sorry for getting involved.” Chan picked at a thread on the cushion he was currently holding in his lap.

“Don’t be,” Jeonghan said, “We needed to do it, and it had been a long time coming if I’m honest. And we’re okay,” He added, seeing Chan’s scared eyes, “Don’t worry about that.”

Chan nodded in relief, allowing himself to relax slightly further into the couch. He took great solace in the fact that he wasn’t a home-wrecking relationship ruiner, he really didn’t think he could’ve lived with himself if something truly bad had happened.

“So,” Jeonghan interrupted his train of thought, waiting until Chan’s eyes flickered upward to continue, “Who fixed up your hand?”

It was awkward, the way he asked, like he was trying to talk with his mouth full. The words felt minced and forced. 

It sucked, and was nothing like the Jeonghan Chan was used to, but he appreciated the effort.

“One of the guys who lives downstairs.”

“He’s the ‘nice’ one?”

Chan shook his head, “They’re roommates.”

There’s another stuffy silence between them, Chan’s eyes beginning to itch from tiredness. He had a feeling Jeonghan wasn’t quite done with the conversation yet, and he didn’t know how to excuse himself without seeming rude. 

There had been too much miscommunication between them this past week, it was time to fix that.

Abruptly, he remembered that he had work tomorrow (well, today on a technicality), and that he still hadn’t told Jeonghan. He was pretty sure the older wasn’t going to be thrilled at the news, but it was as good a topic as any, and if Chan didn’t get it out now, he didn’t know when he would.

“Hyung,” He said, “I have work again tomorrow.”

Jeonghan inhales sharply, resting his head onto the back of the couch and shutting his eyes. Chan worries that he’s about to blow up on him again, but luckily, he opens them a few moments later, turning his head to the side to look at him.

“We need to get you a different job.”

The words make Chan laugh. It’s sudden, and unexpected, so it comes out like a bark. He startles even himself with it, wincing at the loud noise in the otherwise quiet space.

Jeonghan doesn’t seem to mind, if the wry smile that slides onto his face is any indicator. He raises a manicured eyebrow.

“I’m being serious.”

Chan nods, covering his mouth with his hands as though he were trying to push the smile down physically. His cousin reaches up and takes a hold of it, tugging it into his own lap and keeping it there.

“You can smile, Chan-ah, I missed seeing you smile.”

“You were ignoring me.”

He’d meant the words as a joke, but Jeonghan sighed, running the tips of his fingers over Chan’s knuckles delicately as he did so.

“I really am sorry about all of that, Chan.”

“Hyung, I said it was okay. You don’t have to-”

“But I do,” Jeonghan cuts him off, “For all I claimed you were acting like a child, I was just as bad. I mean, come on, the silent treatment? What are we, fourteen?” He snorted derisively, “I was immature too and I handled the situation poorly. As the adult, I should’ve done better.”

Chan shook his head slightly, turning his hand over so that he was fully holding the other man’s. 

“It’s okay for you to mess up, hyung. You’re still young and- and I get having all of this sprung on you probably wasn’t what you had planned for your life-”

“I was the one who wanted you to come and live with us. I should’ve known there would actually be work involved and it’s not fair that I-”

“I’m a bit hopeless, and I think that’s why my parent’s flew me off. They have this bizarre hope that you’ll fix me, give me motivation or something. That’s why they keep calling you, hyung, it’s not that they don’t trust you, it’s that they don’t trust me.”

“I was putting the same expectations on you as your parents,” Jeonghan frowned. They’d been speaking over each other but ultimately the older man won arguing rights - as per usual. 

“Which isn’t fair,” He said, “Because I of all people should know about needing to get away from all of that shit.”

“You were just giving what you were getting,” Chan replied, “The sentiment of them being disappointed and frustrated… those emotions are aimed at me. I’m just too much of a coward to actually hear it from them.”

“Just because your parents are overbearing assholes doesn’t mean it’s your fault. I was taking it out on you, though, and that’s not fair.”

“Well,” Chan said, squeezing their linked hands, “I’m sorry my parents are overbearing assholes. I’ll talk to them more often, they might lay off you then.”

Jeonghan chuckled, squeezing his hand back.

“Don’t worry about it,” He said, “Nineteen is the prime age to ignore your parents. You’re like every stereotypical teenager ever - you even sneak out to meet boys.”

The older man wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, and Chan groaned. He wasn’t quite sure where they were going to stand when it came to Hansol. The whole thing hadn’t been brought up under the best circumstances, or with the most tact.

A part of him had almost expected Jeonghan to just completely ignore it, to not even mention that part of the argument. Surely it was just as embarrassing for him to reflect on.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that.” He said.

“Oh no, Chan, it’s fine.” Something in Jeonghan’s voice made Chan look up, and when he did he was greeted by his cousin’s signature shit-eating-grin. Sparkly eyes and everything. 

“But just know that your secrecy has given me all the ammunition I need to make fun of you for eternity about this.”

Chan groaned again, tugging his hand free and pushing his hair away from his face. “Hyung, please, I beg, don’t be weird about this.”

“What? Me? Weird?” Jeonghan gasped dramatically, “I could never be weird about something. After all, it’s just my baby cousin experiencing his first love out on the fire escape with some cute guy without telling any adults about this freshly blossoming romance.” He giggled, “It’s very ‘Romeo and Juliet’ of you.”

“Stop it,” Chan laughed, swatting him playfully, “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

“‘Romeo, O Romeo’,” Jeonghan spoke in a high-pitched voice. He cut himself off with another laugh, turning to Chan faux-seriously. “Would you be Romeo or Juliet in this equation?”

Chan sighed. “Romeo, obviously,” He said, “I’m manly and brave.”

“You’ve never read ‘Romeo and Juliet’, have you?”

“Not even a page.”

They both burst into unanimous laughter at that. Leaning into each other and resting their heads together as their bodies shook with it. 

It was nice. Chan was bone tired, the weariness seeping through his skin and making a dull ache appear in the back of his eyes, but he was still so happy. He felt like he could sit here for ages, joking with his cousin in the low light of their living room during the wee hours of the morning. 

Sure, there was a lot left to talk about, and maybe things might be different come morning, but as of right now, Chan couldn’t think of any way he’d have preferred to end the night. 

They sat there until they fell asleep. Jeonghan’s head tipping against Chan’s shoulder mid-conversation, his fluffy blond hair tickling the younger’s ear. Chan darent even stand to get a blanket or shift his position into something more comfortable. So he knocked his head onto the back of the sofa and allowed himself to be dragged under as well.

And when he woke up the next morning tucked on his side with a blanket wrapped around him and his copy of the keys sitting on the kitchen table, he figured everything would be okay somehow.

Chapter Text

He turned out to be right about things being okay.

At least, he was fifty percent right.

With Jeonghan, things looked up exponentially. They actually spoke more than two sentences to each other now. Jeonghan returned to his usual chipper and cheerful self, with his giggled quips and gentle hugs.

He’d forced Chan to help him cook dinner the next evening before the younger set off to return to work. He teased him relentlessly about Chan’s own failed attempt to make dinner the night before. 

(Although he’d also helped Chan change the dressing for his hand. They were silent throughout the act, and he could feel the remorse radiating off of his cousin in waves as he wrapped a new bandage around the injury.)

The turmoil had passed easily, and although they still skirted around some touchy topics of conversation, everything seemed to be improving.

But with Jisoo, however, it was a different story.

For some reason, the other man wouldn’t look at Chan properly. Eyes widening and darting away whenever they made contact. 

It was bizarre, and as much as Chan tried to rack his brain for a reason, he kept coming up blank. 

He asked Jeonghan about it when they were walking to the station that evening.

“Are you sure Jisoo isn’t mad at me?”

Jeonghan looked at him questioningly, neatly skirting around a wailing toddler. “Why would he be mad at you?”

“I mean, I did kind of yell at him last night for no reason,” Chan said sheepishly, “And now he’s being all weird. He won’t look at me.”

A shrug. “I mean, I did talk to him about last night, we both agreed it wasn’t your fault that you’d ended up yelling at us.”

“It was my fault, I should’ve been more mature.”

“We all could’ve been more mature,” Jeonghan flicked his forehead with a grin, “I thought we established this last night.”

“So did I,” Chan complained, soothing his forehead with his fingertips, “But now Jisoo won’t talk to me.”

“Well, maybe he’s just stressed with work. He hasn’t exactly been bouncing off of the walls in delight when he comes home, even with me.”

“No, I know that.” Chan did know that. For all their arguments and internal disputes had been resolved, Jisoo’s job was still giving him a lot of shit. His co-worker was still harassing him, saying that Jisoo or Jeonghan could give a statement on Chan’s behalf. 

Naturally, Jisoo declined, but apparently that only made things worse, with the woman complaining that he didn’t care about the story or about unmasking Spider-Man (which, in Jisoo’s job, was the equivalent of not wanting to catch a rampant serial killer).

Chan didn’t know any of this because he’d been told, but he’d been seriously honing his eavesdropping skills during his banishment, and was getting freakishly good at listening in on the older couples’ conversations at night. 

He sighed, digging into his pocket for his subway card when they arrived at the station. 

“I’ll talk to him about it someday, I guess,” He said, allowing his cousin to pull him into a quick hug, “Whenever he’s free next.”

“Just don’t cook him a dinner,” Jeonghan muttered into his hair, “I don’t know if our pans can take any more of your disasters.”

“I didn’t ruin your pans on purpose,” Chan whined, wiggling out of the hug with a pout.

Jeonghan hummed, ruffling his hair before finally releasing him.

“Okay, I’m ready to be an adult and let you be independent.”

Chan raised one eyebrow.

“Yeah, fine,” Jeonghan huffed, “I’m shitting it. Just make sure you call me if something happens, we are not to have a repeat of last time.”

“Believe me,” Chan said, turning to go to the station, “I’d be happy for that to never happen again.”

^^^

His shift was as boring as it usually was. 

There were no armed robbers, no superhero visits, not even a mouse ran across the shiny floors (whoever had been on the last shift had actually done their job it seemed, because the floor was extremely clean, so much so that Chan nearly slipped onto his ass when he came in).

Chan spent his evening scanning items and avoiding drunken small talk just like he had been doing the entire time he’d worked here.

It was a strange contrast, one that Chan didn’t know was unwelcome or not. 

On one hand, he was thankful for the peace after the drama of the past week. On the other, it was slightly disheartening that his whole ordeal had passed over so easily. None of the customers or his coworkers were sympathetic - Chan doubted if they even knew anything had happened. It was like he’d imagined it all, like his life hadn’t been a complete train wreck that was only starting to see resolution.

He wondered if it would’ve been different had he actually been shot that night. Would the store have to close? Surely some kind of investigation would’ve gone down, Jeonghan wouldn’t let anyone rest until someone was held liable. The thought made Chan smile, Jeonghan was headstrong at the best of times, it would’ve been a bit funny to see his manager trying to handle his cousin when he was angry. 

Work passed like this, calmly and casually without so much as a peep from anyone that visited. 

The next employee arrived a few minutes late, but he didn’t really mind. Their eyes were swollen and they looked like they were mentally on another planet, not in this shitty store.

Chan gave them a small (unreciprocated) wave and left without much gusto. He didn’t even bother to take a drink or a snack with him even though he was allowed to. Nobody wanted to eat off-brand crisps at two in the morning no matter how mentally unstable they were, he reasoned to himself on the walk home, ignoring the way his stomach was grumbling. There would be leftovers in the fridge, he’d just have to manage.

He took the subway with ease, swiping his card almost professionally and trying not to preen when he exited the station near their apartment. The journey home was simple now, he’d be sure to let Jeonghan know.

(Although the older would surely make the rightful argument that taking the subway in the early morning was completely different to taking it in the evening during rush hour, Chan figured it was worth a try since they were taking steps towards independence.)

When he exited the station, he paused outside, leaning against a wall and tucking his card into his bag. After his streak of losing things last week, he was determined to not have a repeat.

It was just as he slung his bag back over his shoulder that someone jumped down in front of him, startling him and causing him to drop it again.

He looked up to see Spider-Man, and - funnily enough - it didn’t even surprise him. This was becoming a weirdly common occurrence in his life, and he was somewhat used to it.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to ask questions.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Chan, hi,” Spider-Man sounded breathless, and considering Chan had just witnessed him jump off a building, he couldn’t exactly blame him, “Just checking in.”

“Checking in outside the subway station?” Chan asked, trying not to sound suspicious and failing miserably. It was a bit strange, he had to admit, that Spider-Man was here, again, ‘checking on him’ .

“Are you following me?”

“Wha-?” The hero seemed shocked, hands flying up defensively, “No! No, I’m just… I was in the area. New York is where I hang - no pun intended - I just saw you and I was curious so I came over but if you’re uncomfortable then I’ll-”

Chan burst into laughter, leaning down to grab his bag and putting it on. “I was kidding, dude, you need to chill.”

Spider-Man deflated at that, shoulders dropping in relief. 

“Right, I forgot you do that.”

“Make jokes?”

“Treat me like a normal person.”

Chan shrugged, desperately ignoring the rising heat in his cheeks at the words and scuffing his worn shoes on the pavement. 

“Well, I mean, under the mask you are just a normal person,” He eyed him sceptically, “Right?”

“Oh, yeah, totally normal,” Spider-Man quipped, voice light, “I work a nine-to-five and have a mortgage and everything.”

He aimed a kick at his shin for the sarcasm, but the hero dodged it cleanly with a chuckle. 

“You know what I mean,” Chan said, turning and beginning to walk home, “You’re not some kind of alien from outer space that’s secretly plotting to kill humanity.”

There was a pause.

“Are you?”

Another pause.

Holy shit, he’s an alien. Oh, you’re so dead now. And just when things were starting to look up. Life’s a bitch. But, hey, at least you died in a cool way - an alien of all things - that’ll surely get you on the news.

Chan glanced over, with a mixture of incredulity and fear on his face as he eyed the hero. The other man was looking back at him, and despite the fact Chan couldn’t see his expression through the fabric, he had a feeling he looked unimpressed at the comment.

“An alien, Chan? Really?”

“What?” Chan exclaimed, “What’s so stupid about that?”

“Do I look like an alien?”

“I can’t see your face.”

“Would I hide my face if I was an alien?”

“Maybe,” Chan said, wagging a finger at him, “Maybe you’re freakishly ugly and don’t want to scare the people you save.”

“That makes no sense,” Spider-Man huffed, “And I’m also offended that you think I’m freakishly ugly.”

“I don’t think you’re freakishly ugly, I’m saying it’s a possibility.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Anyone could be freakishly ugly without others knowing,” Chan said, fighting back a smile at the sheer ridiculousness of this conversation, “That’s what a catfish is.”

“Oh, good, now I’m a catfish.”

“You’re not a- Oh my God.” Chan devolved into spluttered giggles at the words, “This is such a dumb conversation.”

“No, no, continue. I was having fun listening to you explaining how I’m a hideously ugly catfishing alien - have you put this on any of those ‘Anti-Spider-Man’ forums perhaps?”

Despite the words, Chan could hear the very obvious grin in the man’s voice, and he shoved him lightly.

The hero shoved him back (it was really more of a tap than a shove, Chan was barely knocked off kilter - it was as if the hero didn’t want to risk knocking him over. Chan ignored the butterflies at the implications that left.) before shaking his head in what could only be described as fond exasperation.

It was then that Chan was hit with how strange this situation was. Spider-Man, the local crime-fighting do-gooder, was walking him home for seemingly no real reason. He’d just popped up outside the subway station and now had taken it upon himself to be some kind of escort (not in a sexual way) for him.

Except Spider-Man wasn’t even swinging him home as was his staple, they were walking. Something that was surely more time-consuming and boring than whizzing through the air. 

Didn’t he have anywhere else to go? There must have been something else important going down somewhere in the city. It was New York for crying out loud, Chan getting home safely should have been Spider-Man’s last concern.

And yet, the idea that the hero really was concerned about Chan getting home in one piece was something that made him squeal internally. 

Which was worrying for a number of reasons, but Chan was too tired to fully unpack them now.

Instead, he decided to - inadvertently - ask why he was here.

“So,” He began, trying to sound nonchalant, “No old ladies that need saving?”

Spider-Man turned his head slightly, clearly confused at the weird conversation change.

“I mean,” Chan said with a sigh, “There’s, like, nothing else happening in New York that needs your attention right now?”

“I don’t follow.”

In fairness to him, the hero really did sound lost, but it didn’t make Chan any less annoyed that he was having to spell out this pretty awkward question. 

If he was reading it wrong, then all the embarrassment would fall on him.

“I mean,” He said, “Is me getting home safely really the most important thing right now?”

“Oh,” For all Chan had been worried he was going to end up flustered, it seemed Spider-Man had that covered. His hand flew up to the back of his neck and he rubbed it warily, the back of his mask riding up ever so slightly with the action.

Chan averted his eyes, feeling weirdly like he was invading the man’s privacy, but not before catching sight of a tiny strip of golden skin and some short brown hairs.

Why is that hot? It is the nape of his neck. Are you really so deprived of human interaction that you think the back of his neck is hot, Chan?

The answer to his berating inner monologue was yes, so he looked at the floor hurriedly, kicking a loose pebble down the street in an attempt to distract himself.

“There’s nothing happening,” Spider-Man eventually said, cutting Chan out of his turmoil, “And, you know, we’re friends. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“We’re friends?” Chan didn’t mean it in an offended way, but it sure as shit came out like that.

“I mean, we don’t have to be.” The hero was quick to amend, “We could be, like, acquaintances, or something. You don’t know me and I’ve only seen you a few times but, you know, you’re nice and I just-”

“It’s not that I don’t want to be friends,” Chan interrupted, “I don’t really… have friends.”

Well, that was depressing. Chan winced at his own words, kicking himself for sounding like such a sad lonely sap. ‘I don’t really have friends’ - said every would-be serial killer ever, dumbass. If you weren’t on a list of weirdos before, you are now.

Luckily, Spider-Man didn’t seem to think it that worrying, simply chuckling and waving his comment off.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He said, and Chan couldn’t see his face, but he could still hear the smile in his voice.

He held his hand out for a handshake, the metallic button of his web shooter glinting in the low light of the street lamps.

“So, what do you say?” He said, “Friends?”

Chan looked at the extended hand, then up at his covered face, before taking his hand with a tiny grin, trying not to show how happy he really was at the offer. 

“Friends.” He said, gripping the hand tightly like his father had always taught him to.

Except, he really should’ve remembered the web-shooters, because no sooner had he squeezed that a small jet of web fluid sprayed out and landed square on the hip of his jeans.

“Oh my God,” The hero gasped, retracting his hand quickly and fiddling with the device, “I’m so sorry.”

Chan looked down at his pants, rubbing them half-heartedly with his hand before tugging off his sweatshirt and wrapping it around his waist in a poor attempt to hide the mess. He’d have to sneak these into the laundry room before Jeonghan or Jisoo saw - it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what it was, and Chan (for all he didn’t want to keep lying to them) knew that this relationship was going to be harder to swallow than his one with Hansol.

(Not that he had a relationship with Hansol. Or Spider-Man. He meant a platonic relationship, a friendship.)

“That’s so embarrassing,” Spider-Man mumbled, tucking his hands behind his back sheepishly as though he were trying to hide the evidence. “I’m really sorry. I can clean them, there’s a… we- I have this formula thingy at home and it clears it all up really quickly.”

“So, I should take my pants off in the middle of the street?” Chan asked jokingly, “At least take me to dinner first.”

“Oh my God,” He yelped, pressing his hands to his face, “That is not what I meant.”

Chan cackled, tossing his head back in joy. “I know, I know,” He said, “I’m kidding. It takes more than that to get me out of my pants anyway.”

When he finally stopped laughing and looked back at the hero, he noticed that the other was just looking at him. His head tilted slightly and hands hovering by his sides, like he’d taken them away from his face and was just distracted by Chan’s actions.

What a stupid idea , Chan thought, he probably just thinks you’ve got a freaky laugh, everyone tends to be taken by surprise when they first hear it.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, rubbing his nose awkwardly, “My laugh’s a bit… loud.”

“It’s nice,” Spider-Man says in response, voice just as quiet as Chan’s, “I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh before.”

“Well, there’s not much to laugh about,” Chan replied, “Life’s shit.”

The hero snorted at that, nodding his head in agreeance before stopping and gesturing at a building across the road.

“I think that’s you, right?” 

When Chan turned and looked, he saw that Spider-Man was right, they were at his building. Weirdly, he didn’t want to go home, content to just stay walking and chatting with the masked man for the whole night.

But he’d just gotten out of an argument with Jeonghan, and his eyes were itchy with the need to sleep, and spending the whole evening with the hero was definitely not a good idea - no matter how much fun he was having.

He nodded, bowing his head in a small gesture of thanks. “This was nice,” He said, “Thank you for walking me home.”

“So formal,” Spider-Man snorted, bobbing his head back in reciprocation, “But you’re welcome.”

Chan was just about to cross the road, turning to leave, when a hand wrapped around his wrist softly.

“Chan,” The other man said, “I’m going to find more reasons to make you laugh; in fact, I swear it.”

Chan could feel his cheeks burn, tugging his wrist away and crossing the road in a rush. 

It was just as he’d opened the door to the lobby that it hit him. He turned around, ready to question the hero, but when he did so, he realised that he was gone. No sign of him standing across the street where he had been just moments ago.

So Chan had to shrug and head up to his apartment, one thought swirling through his head even as he lay down to sleep.

How did Spider-Man know his name?

Chapter Text

Chan was abruptly reminded of his promise to figure out what was wrong with Jisoo the next morning, any and all lingering thoughts about his encounter with Spider-Man flying out of his brain when he left his room and only caught the ass-end of the older man as he scurried out the door.

It was becoming tiring, really. Chan had thought Jisoo was the more mature one out of the partners since he’d always been so forthcoming and open about the issues he had.

But now he was awkward and kept averting his attention from him. And it was annoying but also terrifying because Chan didn't even know what he'd done wrong this time.

Which meant he had no clue on how to repair it.

He’d resigned himself to staying at home all day, hoping against hope that Jisoo would dip in to pick up a forgotten lunch or grab a jacket and Chan would be able to waylay him and talk about everything.

That didn't end up happening, though. Chan spent his evenings working and his days catching up on sleep - Jisoo was the opposite. 

He’d become more of a stickler about sleep than Jeonghan, spending ninety percent of his time in his room. Only emerging to eat or piss; and Chan didn't want to talk to him at those times (not to mention catching him was hard considering he ate like a starved horse and talking whilst he was doing his business probably wasn't the best idea). 

It had been two days since his and Jeonghan’s reconciliation, and Chan was determined to make things work. He’d snuck Jisoo’s laptop charger out of his bag last night and hid it in his room. He planned on sitting in the living room all day with his study notes so that he could catch the older when he returned.

(The laptop charger had since been returned to Jisoo’s dresser. Chan may not be the brightest, but he wasn't about to frame himself for this plan.)

So when there came a knock at the door, Chan flung his notes to the side, collecting himself through a deep breath and counting his steps towards the door. 

He was painfully nervous, afraid of what Jisoo would say. What if he was so angry he wasn’t even willing to talk? What if Chan had screwed up his relationship with the older man forever? He didn’t even know what it could all be about, but he was willing to try and fix himself if that’s what was necessary.

He and Jisoo were close, and he’d be damned if he let their relationship fall apart just because he was too anxious to try and apologise.

Maybe if Chan had been less worried, more aware of his surroundings, he might’ve realised it was very odd for Jisoo to knock on the door - considering he had a key. He might’ve copped that Jisoo was clever enough to know Chan was trying to trap him into talking and thus wouldn’t be fooled so easily.

If Chan had been a little smarter, he might not have been so surprised to open the door and see Seungkwan standing there.

“I- Seungkwan?”

“Chan!” His name was said with the same level of joy that you’d give a long-lost sibling, Seungkwan leaning in for a hug (that Chan reciprocated, albeit warily) and beaming at him.

“How are things?”

Chan’s brain was still trying to catch up to the fact that Seungkwan of all people was standing on his doorstep. His hair was neater than the first time they’d met and he looked a bit more chipper in general (though Chan didn’t even know that was possible given how chatty he’d been during their first meeting).

Abruptly, he realised Seungkwan was still waiting for an answer, and that he was just gaping at him with his mouth hanging open.

“Good,” He said, coughing awkwardly and peering down the hall to try and see if anyone else had come with him, “Things are- things are good.”

“Well, that’s nice.” Seungkwan folded his hands in front of himself, tiny dimples pressing into his cheeks as he smiled. He nodded, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as if he was waiting for something.

Chan was still trying to figure out what the hell he was doing here. Sure, they’d spoken the other night, but that didn’t explain how Seungkwan knew this was his apartment, or why he was paying a visit to someone he barely knew.

“How did you…?” Chan tapered off, hand gesturing at the door of the apartment vaguely, hoping Seungkwan would understand.

“How did I know this was your place?” Seungkwan asked, and when Chan nodded in confirmation he continued, “Well, Nonie mentioned you met on the fire escape, and you said you lived upstairs, so,” He tapped his temple with a wry grin, “Common sense.”

“I see,” Chan said, nibbling the inside of his cheek as he wondered what to do next. 

“Can I uh-” Seungkwan motioned to the inside of the apartment, “I mean, I’m not trying to be presumptuous, but can I maybe come in?”

“Oh, right,” Chan stepped aside, internally kicking himself for being so slow. This was Hansol’s best friend - if not something more; something that Chan was still loath to admit - so he should at least try and get an in with him.

It seemed Seungkwan wasn’t as upset by Chan’s lethargy, because he waved the incoming apology away before Chan could even get it out.

“Don’t worry about it, I realise I’ve kind of showed up very randomly.”

Chan nodded, more to himself, seeing as Seungkwan was nosing around their kitchen. He closed the door, giving one last peek down the hall to double check that nobody had come with Seungkwan before he did so. 

When he entered the kitchen, Seungkwan was closing the fridge, a semi-guilty smile adorning his face when he caught sight of him.

“Sorry, I’m just curious.” He pointed a thumb at it, “Someone likes tomatoes.”

“Jisoo,” Chan murmured, trying his best to gain a handle on the situation. He struggled in even basic social scenarios, and he was fairly certain this didn’t fall under anything basic.

Seungkwan simply cocked an eyebrow, huffing an amused breath out of his nose before glancing over to the living room. 

“Do you want to sit down?” 

Chan’s response was to nod once more, and whilst silence was definitely becoming weird, he couldn’t think of a way to initiate conversation. He waited for Seungkwan to pass him, following the other man into the sitting room and sitting beside him on the couch. 

He felt like a visitor in his own apartment. And maybe Seungkwan was a bit pushy by nature, but Chan was also painfully shy when it came to new people.

Maybe they’d balance each other out.

Chan didn’t have a chance to try and hide his messy notes before Seungkwan was flipping through his notebook, smiling at the contents.

The younger tried to ignore his face heating up. After all, he knew his English writing left a lot to be desired, and a very childish part of him wanted to snatch the book off of Seungkwan and then throw it out of the window. 

But the grown up, mature part of Chan (a small part, for sure, but a part he was making a conscious effort to listen to more) reminded him that that generally wasn’t a good idea when trying to make friends with people. 

After a few moments of painful silence, wherein Seungkwan chuckled at what was probably one of Chan’s older essays, he realised he was going to have to try and talk to him. He wasn’t being a very good host, and although Seungkwan had invited himself over, Chan didn’t know why, and he doubted he would unless he tried to speak with him. 

Straight up asking why he was here felt too rude, so he racked his brain for something to ask.

Of course, the only thing he could think of on the spot was last night’s weird little rendezvous with Spider-Man, and the weird way his stomach had flipped and his hands tingled whenever it crossed his mind.

“So,” He said, voice breaking the quiet and causing Seungkwan to look up expectantly. Chan swallowed, “What do you think of Spider-Man?”

Seungkwan eyed him almost suspiciously, lips pursing and eyes narrowing. He closed the notebook, setting it back on the coffee table and leaning back. 

“Why do you ask?”

For all they were in Chan’s apartment and he was the one who’d asked first, he was blatantly aware that Seungkwan held all the power in this conversation.

“Oh, you know,” He stammered, hands fiddling with one of the loose threads on the cushions. Jisoo would probably kill him for it, but maybe that was just how he’d have to get him to speak with him again.

“I’m just curious,” He says, “People tend to have different opinions, and I’m just… I don’t know. I was wondering, I guess.”

He trailed off at the end, peeking through his lashes to gauge the other man’s reaction. 

For all he’d seemed borderline angry at the first ask, his expression had relaxed largely, and he tutted under his breath. He pressed a few stray hairs from his fringe down and pouted, looking away from Chan as he answered.

“Well, he’s a superhero, isn’t he?” He said, “He’s a good person, so I like him.”

“Really?” Chan pressed, “How much do you like him?”

Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, looking back at Chan. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Chan reiplied, internalising a sigh, “Do you think he’s… I don’t know… cool?”

“Well, yeah,” Seungkwan said, “Like I said, he’s a superhero.”

“But, like, how cool?” Chan knew he was being odd now, and that Seungkwan would likely think he was some crazy Spider-Man fanboy, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He needed to know if he was actually harbouring a crush on him, or if it was just normal admiration.

“I don’t know, hero-cool,” Seungkwan chuckled, “Spider-Man-cool. Is there a scale to measure coolness?”

Chan visibly deflated, realising that he wasn’t going to get any real answer out of Seungkwan. Or probably anyone, given that the only other people he knew enough to try and ask were currently Spider-Man haters. 

He quickly decided to change tactic, deciding that if he couldn’t figure out what he felt for Spider-Man, he’d find out what having a crush felt like.

Of course, Chan knew what having a crush was like (seeing as he was currently in the throes of one), but he needed to be reminded of the first signs. Maybe he was mistaking it for something else. Maybe he was projecting his feelings for Hansol onto Spider-Man. Maybe he was just overthinking this all.

There was really only one way to figure it out, because Chan’s own brain was a tangled mess of way too many thoughts all happening at the same time, so it was difficult for him to try and deduce things alone.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?”

Very nice segue there, Chan. He’ll never figure it out.

Seungkwan’s eyebrows would’ve disappeared into his hairline had he raised them anymore. 

“What makes you ask that?”

“Friends know these things, right?”

And now you’ve just assumed that you’re friends with him. Great job, Chan. Just a fantastic attempt at conversation here.

“True,” Seungkwan muttered, and Chan’s heart stopped palpitating at the acknowledgement that they were friends.

Well, then. 

That’s… nice.

Unexpectedly nice, really. 

Chan had forgotten that making friends didn’t involve signing a contract. And, as he remembered that, he quickly realised he’d probably be called ‘friend’ by most of the people living downstairs.

It was comforting, and Chan bit the inside of his mouth to quell his smile.

He could squeal about finally achieving normal human things later. Right now, he was still digging for answers about his own emotions by analysing someone else’s emotions.

A foolproof plan.

“Suppose I do have a crush,” Seungkwan said, breaking him out of his thoughts, “What’s that got to do with Spider-Man?”

It took only a second of Chan not answering for realsation to dawn on Seungkwan’s face. And with it, smugness.

“Oh my God,” He said, hand clapping over his mouth, “Oh my God!”

“Okay, hear me out-”

“Oh, this is hilarious. This is the funniest thing I think I’ve ever heard. I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Seungkwan, please,” He whined through the older’s laughter, “It’s really not that deep.”

“It is! It is!” He insisted, cheeks reddening, “You don’t understand, Chan, this is one of the best things to ever come of this situation.”

At the words, Chan frowned. Something about that phrasing was weird, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Regardless, he shook the feeling aside, deciding the more important task was getting Seungkwan to not mock him about this ridiculous crush for the rest of his life.

“Look, I’ve met him a few times and he’s been really sweet to me every time. Well, except the time he abandoned me in the store with a robber, but that was a one-time thing - and he already apologised-”

“Stop with the rambling,” Seungkwan said through gasped giggles, “I get that you don’t really talk to a lot of people, so it makes sense that this would happen eventually.” He shrugged, wiping a stray tear from his cheek, “I guess the whole superhero mystique thing is kind of hot.”

Chan pouted down at the couch cushions dejectedly. It seemed that he couldn’t really say anything to dispel Seungkwan’s quips.

Although, having a crush on a superhero you’ve met three times whom you haven’t even seen the face of is realistically the perfect teasing material, so he can’t really blame him.

“Ah, Channie, don’t be sad,” Seungkwan tugged the pillow away from his fiddling fingers and bopped him on the head gently, “We’ve all had a crush on someone completely unattainable and weirdly attractive.”

The words felt like they had a double meaning, but when Chan opened his mouth to question them, Seungkwan bopped him once more, harder this time. “You don’t get to dig into my torrid love life just yet, Lee Chan,” He smirked, “You need to be a level ten friend to unlock that shit.”

The corner of Chan’s mouth quirked up at that, leaning over and yanking another pillow out from behind Seungkwan, taking advantage of his surprise to whack him back. 

“What level am I at right now?”

Seungkwan’s neat hair had become skewed and he ran his hand through it in a poor attempt to fix it. His cheeks were growing red and his eyes were a mixture of betrayed and elated.

“After that stunt,” He huffed, twisting his fringe around his fingers, “You aren’t even considered a friend.”

“Oh come on,” Chan whined, hitting him softly on the side and shielding himself when the older swung his pillow back threateningly.

“No, nope, don’t even try and give me puppy-eyes because I am completely immune. Years of dealing with Mingyu and Seungcheol and Nonie - and pretty much every other walking disaster in my friend group - have made me a stone cold brute when it comes to them.”

Chan widened his eyes more, probably looking ridiculous for all he was trying to look cutely endearing.

“It’s not going to work,” Seungkwan insisted, resting his head on the back of the sofa with a grin, “In fact, I’m not even going to tell you why I’m here.”

Chan hugged the pillow to himself, nudging his friend with his foot irritably in an attempt to get a reaction.

It didn’t work the first few times. After the twenty-seventh poke, though, Seungkwan’s patience apparently reached its limit, and he pinched Chan’s toe with what felt like the force of a thousand suns.

Chan yelped, pulling his foot back and massaging it offendedly. Seungkwan looked over at him with a sly smile on his face. He tugged Chan’s pillow out of his arms and tucked it behind his head, resuming his inspection of their stained ceiling.

“Now that I’ve got my revenge, I guess I could enlighten you to the meaning of this particular journey.”

Chan pretended not to be interested.

“Especially since I came here for your advice.”

That did make his ears perk up slightly. They’d known each other for what was probably a combined six hours, and yet Seungkwan came to him for advice? What kind of advice could Chan give him? Other than ‘How To Screw Up Your Life And Become A Total Headache And Loser In Three Simple Steps’.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” Seungkwan sat up, crossing his legs on the couch to face him fully. 

Chan chose not to comment on the shoes on the sofa. 

“It’s that time of year - the time of joy and love and peace and rampant, painful, unavoidable capitalism-” He paused for what was likely dramatic effect. 

“It’s nearly Christmas.”

Chan cocked his head, wondering why Seungkwan was asking him about Christmas of all things. It wasn’t like he had a lot of money, or anyone to buy presents for. Sure it was his first Christmas in the city, and Jeonghan had waxed poetic when he’d first moved over about how beautiful it was, but Seungkwan had lived here longer, so surely he knew all of that already.

He was about to say as much when the older continued.

“And, while I admit you’re kind of a last resort here,” Seungkwan said, “I was wondering if maybe Nonie had mentioned anything he might want?”

Chan balked, trying to understand why he would be the person to ask. Seungkwan had said he was a last resort, but he’d only spoken to Hansol five times - one of which Seungkwan had been there for, one of which had been a fleeting introduction that probably didn’t count, and the other three were ridiculously awkward and hadn’t included any aspect of Christmas present discussions.

(It was then that Chan realised he and Hansol hadn’t really talked about their likes and dislikes. In fact, he knew startlingly little about him now that he thought about it.)

“Judging by the lobotomised look you’re currently sporting, I’m guessing this is a lost cause?”

Chan barely comprehended the question enough to get a nod out.

Seungkwan huffed. 

“That man,” He complained, “Is impossible to buy for. I have known him since I was legitimately a child - it has been fourteen years of friendship. And they have not been an easy fourteen years, let me tell you. Yet I couldn’t tell you a single thing he’d want for Christmas. He’s one of those ‘get me anything’ type of guys. Does he not understand the idea of sentimental value?”

Chan let Seungkwan rant, his own brain very slowly realising something downright terrible.

“Seungkwan,” He murmured, trying not to let his rising horror creep into his voice too much, “I haven’t even thought about what to buy Hansol.”

A beat of silence.

“As in,” He continued, “I didn’t even remember Christmas presents were a thing. And, well, Hansol’s been really nice to me and I feel like I should definitely get him a present, right?”

Seungkwan nodded, “I’m not saying he expects it - because he will probably forget it’s Christmas until Seungcheol dresses up as Santa on Christmas Eve and gets totally plastered - but I get what you mean.”

“But, like, I don’t have even the slightest idea of what he likes. How do I not know what he likes?”

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be anything expensive.” Seungkwan reasoned, “I have the pressure of being his childhood best friend to live up to - you could probably hand him a literal horse hoof and he’d treasure it forever.”

Chan eyed him. “Would Hansol… want a horse hoof?”

“Sweet Jesus, no!” Seungkwan’s expression was appropriately disgusted, “Do you think I would allow one of my friends to want something that gross?”

“I was just checking,” Chan said, “Some people have weird collections.”

“I cannot believe you would’ve bought him a real horse hoof if I’d said he wanted one. You’re as bad as each other.” 

“If I was less freaked out about this present thing, I might ask what you meant by that.” Chan said, “But for now, let’s stick to one problem at a time.”

Seungkwan hummed in agreement. 

“He likes… movies.”

“So, buy him a movie?”

“No, he uses streaming sites. Between the four of them, I’m pretty sure they have every single one.”

There was a stretch of quiet wherein both racked their brains for any ideas of what to buy.

“What about food?”

“Mingyu’s cooking beats anything we could buy.”

“Technology?”

“He’s kind of into photography, but neither of us are going to get the funds for a decent camera in the two weeks we have until Christmas.”

“What if we clubbed together?”

“Under no circumstances can Nonie know I asked people for help with his present,” Seungkwan said, “I have a reputation to uphold.”

Chan nodded in understanding, scuffing his socked feet against the carpet as he thought.

“What about-?”

Just then, there was a jingle of keys at the door, and Chan whipped his head around to see who it was. 

He nearly fell off the sofa when Jisoo walked in.

The man kept his head bowed, closing the door slowly before taking in the scene before him. His eyes flicked over Chan, and then Seungkwan (they only dropped to his shoes for one heart-stopping second) before he sighed and made his way to his room.

When he’d shut the door, Seungkwan spoke quietly.

“He’s your cousin’s boyfriend, isn’t he?”

Chan nodded mutely, “How did you know?”

“Trust me, I know way too much about your cousin and his partner.”

Chan nodded once again, eyes straying to the door and turning sad.

“What’s up?” Seungkwan asked.

Chan shrugged.

“Come on, you look like a kicked duckling. And he didn’t say anything when he came in, so something has to be up.”

Another shrug.

“I’ll promote you to a level four friend if you tell me.”

Chan chuckled at the words. 

“Okay, okay,” He inhaled, wondering how to explain quickly. 

“You know I fought with Jeonghan the night I met you?”

Seungkwan nodded.

“Well, we sorted that out, but now Jisoo won’t talk to me - or look at me properly - but he won’t tell me why. I have no idea what I’ve done wrong and I’ve been trying to fix it but it’s really easier said than done.”

“I see,” Seungkwan mumbled, picking at a thread on his jeans contemplatively. “Well, why don’t you talk to him now?”

“Isn’t it weird? He’s clearly busy.”

“Okay, but if he cares about you at all, which I’m sure he does, then he’ll want to clear the air as much as you do.”

“Won’t it be awkward if you’re here?”

“I can go,” Seungkwan snorted, “I don’t live here, Chan.” 

“But the present-”

The older reached over and uncapped one of his pens, scrawling a sequence of numbers on a piece of scrap paper.

“There’s my number, message me sometime and we’ll continue this when you aren’t fixing your familial relationships.”

Chan took the paper and watched as Seungkwan rose, stretching his hands up and heading for the door. He blew a kiss before leaving, and Chan pretended to swat it away disgustedly, revelling in the smile that his friend gave at the action.

As the front door closed, the bedroom door opened and Jisoo stepped out. He clearly noticed Seungkwan’s absence, but didn’t comment.

“Hyung,” Chan said, voice strained. The older stopped in his hurried attempt to leave, but he didn’t turn around so Chan couldn’t gauge his expression.

“Hyung, can we talk?”

Chapter Text

Chan could count on one hand the amount of situations he’d been in that were more awkward than this one.

Which was saying something, because he had a certain knack for making any social situation painfully awkward just by being involved in it.

He was sitting in his same spot on the couch, legs curled up underneath him and starting to cramp a little bit. He didn’t dare stretch them out though, because Jisoo was sitting on the other end - where Seungkwan had once been - hands folded neatly in his lap and gaze roaming over everything in the room except Chan.

He looked like he was in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. Full of nervous energy and silent as a man in a grave.

Chan wasn’t much better, with his aching legs and pounding heart, but he was the one who’d asked Jisoo to talk, so he took initiative in starting the conversation.

“How are things?”

Jisoo barely glanced at him. 

“Fine.” He said, the words minced and clearly forced. Something in his jaw kept tensing and untensing, like he wanted to say something but was refraining.

Chan had a funny feeling that that something wasn’t exactly something he wanted to hear, but something he had to nonetheless.

This is part of being an adult, he reminded himself, this is what you wanted.

Of course, this scenario in particular wasn’t exactly what he’d always dreamed of when thinking about being a grown up, but he thought if he convinced himself enough, maybe he’d start to believe that this was okay.

He was not on the verge of having a mental breakdown, thank you very much, he was a cool, calm, and collected adult who could handle conversations such as this with practiced ease.

Look at how well it had gone with Jeonghan, he could do this.

Thinking of Jeonghan, he tried desperately to remember how he’d fixed things with him. Somehow, the only piece of information he could actually recall was Jisoo’s own advice.

‘Find a common interest’.

And, yes, it was the advice that did not work. It was the advice that made him run out of the apartment in tears. But it was advice Jisoo himself had given, and Chan’s mother had often told him people gave the advice they needed to receive.

Although he wasn’t entirely sure this was what she’d meant.

He wracked his brain for any tidbit of information they could relate on. He could think of one that was glaringly obvious - but it would be wildly inappropriate and definitely not help them fix things. So he tried to think of something, anything, else.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done when Jisoo kept bouncing his leg irritably and Chan could feel his palms becoming gross and clammy.

So he threw caution to the wind (despite all his prior experience in doing that turning out terribly) and just went for it.

“What are you getting Jeonghan for Christmas?”

He didn’t know what he’d expected when he asked. Maybe for Jisoo to laugh, or for him to just completely ignore the question. It was a stupid question for sure, and given time, Chan could definitely think of something better.

What he couldn’t have predicted, though, was the way the older man looked at him. He turned his head slowly, his brow furrowed and eyes sharp.

He looked angry.

“What am I-? Chan, you’re either really dense and have no idea why I’m pissed, or you’re really bad at coming clean.”

Chan’s expression must’ve betrayed how clueless he felt, because Jisoo’s expression softened ever so slightly and he ran a hand through his hair. 

“It’s the former, isn’t it?”

He nodded silently. 

“Fucking hell,” Jisoo cursed, leaning back on the couch and pressing his hands to his eyes, “I thought when you asked me to talk you were finally ready to admit something, to ask for help - although, I wouldn’t really be able to, but I’d be willing to try.”

Whilst listening to the other rant, Chan became very aware that neither of them were on the same page. He didn’t really want to break him off when he was talking to try and explain that though. 

With the way Jisoo was phrasing things, he’d made it sound like Chan was lying to him about something, but Chan wasn’t lying to him about anything, at least, not anything he remembered.

He’d initially thought the upset was about the things he’d said to Jisoo in the heat of the moment, but that didn’t make much sense considering his reaction. 

If Jisoo was upset about words, then he’d have just let Chan apologise, the avoidance meant something else was up. And the one thing that always made Jisoo seriously mad was lying.

Chan really should’ve put the pieces together sooner.

“Hyung,” He said, voice soft, “Why are you mad at me?”

Jisoo sighed, though not in an exasperated way. He didn’t seem annoyed that Chan had asked, he just seemed tired.

And here Chan had thought he’d left that awful curdling guilt feeling behind. 

They were both quiet for a moment, collecting their thoughts and trying to figure out who was going to speak first. 

In the end, it was Jisoo that did it. 

“You remember the fight with Jeonghan?”

Something in Chan wanted to be sarcastic and say no, but he knew better, so a timid ‘yes’ was all he gave in response.

“Well, you said something during it and it made me… concerned for you.” Jisoo inhaled through his nose, “And you haven’t really said anything about it but there just seems to be a lot of things clicking into place and it’s making me worried.”

Chan rubbed his knee anxiously, taking in the words and trying to figure out what Jisoo was talking about.

“You ignored me because you were worried?”

“I ignored you because I was trying to figure out how to ask you about this without it being combative and harsh.” He shook his head softly, “I guess I’ll just go for it now.”

‘Please do’, Chan wanted to say. He was sick of all the avoiding and hiding and secret-keeping. He just wanted everything to be normal again, he just wanted to be able to look into Jisoo's eyes without trying to figure out what was going on behind them.

“Chan,” He paused for a long moment. 

“Chan, are you in a gang?”

Chan’s brain stopped. And then started. And then shut down and restarted all over again. He blinked once, then twice, and on the third blink he finally realised Jisoo was being deadly serious and not playing some ridiculously stupid prank.

“Wha-? A gang? Hyung, what makes you think I’m in a gang? I’m not- What are you talking about?”

“During the argument with Jeonghan,” Jisoo explained, ignoring Chan’s expression and stuttered questions, “You said you’d only met the guy on the fire escape once.”

“I did,” Chan insisted, “And he’s not in a gang, Jisoo. I didn’t meet him in dirty alleys or anything the other times-”

(You met Mingyu in a dirty alley.)

(That was one time and we are not talking about Mingyu so it doesn’t count.)

“-I’ve met him in the laundry room and the store, but that was more in passing. Why on earth would you jump to the conclusion that I’m in a gang?”

“I’ve seen a lot of things about youth gangs,” Jisoo said, “I’m a journalist, it comes with the territory. They start you young and then trap you so you can’t get out when you come of age.”

“Okay, so you know stuff about youth gangs. How does that translate to me being in one?”

“You said you met him once.”

“I did-”

“I’ve heard you go out there more than once.”

Chan opened his mouth to say he liked to sit out there to think sometimes, but Jisoo cut him off before he could even try.

“And I’ve heard you speaking to someone more than once.”

Well, shit. 

Chan could either lie, and say he was in a youth gang (which would get him yelled at and shipped back to Korea).

Or he could tell the truth, and say he was friends with Spider-Man (which would get him yelled at and shipped back to Korea).

He was truly trapped between a rock and a hard place.

Fortunately, his brain latched onto another alternative. He knew he wasn’t exactly clever or socially capable, so this definitely a one time thing, but not one he would take for granted.

“I misspoke.” He said, watching Jisoo’s eyebrows rise. “In the argument - I misspoke. I was downplaying it so Jeonghan wouldn’t freak out more.”

Quite a good lie, Lee Chan, you’re getting better at this.

“And just now?”

“What?”

“Just now, when I asked if you’d only gone out once, you said yes. And then proceeded to tell me every other time you’ve met him, which were decidedly not on our fire escape, according to you.”

Nevermind, the lie was terrible and you’re fucking stupid.

“I misspoke again?”

Fucking. Stupid.

“Chan.”

“I’m being honest,” He lied, “I really just… I don’t know, I didn’t remember. The other times were really late, or early, so they kind of all blend into one meeting. It’s not like I keep track of how often I meet him. It’s just every now and again.”

The look Jisoo gave him was one filled with distrust and confusion. Chan wanted to be hurt that he was being doubted this much, but the simple fact was that he was lying - he was hiding the truth - so he didn’t have much stable ground to be upset on.

If there was ever a time to come clean about everything and have it go over smoothly, it was now. Now, when Jisoo was just hoping he wasn’t in a gang (which Chan still wasn’t quite over the sheer absurdity of) and Jeonghan was agreeing that his independence was necessary, was definitely the best time to admit he’d made a rather unconventional friend.

But he was scared. Of being sent home, of being yelled at, of ruining his relationships once more, of losing his chance at friendship. 

He wanted to have at least one normal conversation with Hansol in this lifetime, and he couldn’t do that on the other side of an ocean.

So Chan was terrified of the truth, because he knew that it was the one thing that could bring his world crashing down in a matter of moments.

And before his conscience could berate him for his fibbing, Jisoo was speaking.

“Would you be mad at me if I told you I didn’t believe you?”

Chan didn’t know what to say. 

On one hand, yes, he’d be extremely annoyed if Jisoo didn’t believe him because that meant Jisoo thought he was lying. That Jisoo thought he wasn’t trustworthy and that they wouldn’t be able to go back to that picture perfect wholesome friendship they’d once had - the one that Chan longed for.

But on the other hand, Chan was lying. And he couldn’t beg for forgiveness when he wasn’t doing anything to deserve it.

So the response he settled on was:

“Would you be mad if I asked you to believe me anyway?”

Jisoo laughed, but there was no humour in it, just a disappointed huff that left Chan’s eyes stinging and his stomach turning.

“Weirdly enough, no,” He turned his head and looked out of the window, “But I wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“I don’t expect you to be.”

They sat in silence for a while. Chan looking at Jisoo and Jisoo looking out the window like there was an unmissable show happening beyond it instead of the grey sky and the greyer buildings that were really there.

Then a sigh.

“We can move past this,” Jisoo said, “This conversation can be the end of it. I can pretend I never heard anything and you can pretend I believed your bullshit excuse.”

Chan winced.

“Because you’ve already got Jeonghan’s trust issues to muddle through, and I’m not here to give you more stress and police what you do or don’t do in your spare time.” The older turned to look at him, “You’re an adult, Chan, and I want to respect that and let you make your own decisions; which is why I’m letting you off the hook. But,”

He took his hand, gently squeezing it, “If there is anything you want to tell me - if anything goes wrong or you’re in trouble or you get hurt, tell me. Just because you’re becoming independent doesn’t mean you’re on your own. So talk to me if you need to, and don’t lie to me again.”

Chan nodded mutely, squeezing his hand back and trying to ignore the voice in his head that was chanting liar, liar, liar.

Jisoo stood then, and Chan was briefly afraid that he was still angry, but he turned and gave him a tight smile.

“I have to go back to work, I’m already ten minutes later than I’m supposed to be.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jisoo waved him off, walking past him and double-checking his bag as he prepared to leave. 

“Don’t be, I could’ve left at any point. You’re more important than my stupid job.”

Those words hit Chan square in the chest. 

Jisoo loved his job. Sure, Jisoo hated his job too, but he held a deep love for journalism - had since he was a child - and wouldn’t trade his position for the world. No matter how many annoying co-workers or dickhead bosses got in his way, Jisoo loved his job. 

The fact that he would choose Chan - who he’d known for less than a year - over his dream job made his heart thud. 

And what made him feel even worse was that he was choosing Spider-Man and Hansol over Jisoo.

The voice in his head was getting louder by the minute.

His depression at the realisation must’ve shown, because Jisoo pressed a kiss to the top of his head, running his fingers through the soft locks in an attempt to reassure him.

“Don’t worry about it, Channie,” He said, “I’m not mad at you - not anymore - and I won’t tell Jeonghan.”

“I’m sorry,” He all but whispered back, biting back the tears that were fighting their way out.

“It’s okay,” Jisoo said, not asking what he was apologising for. 

After another moment of their weird little embrace, Jisoo finally moved away, calling a gentle goodbye into the apartment before shutting the door and leaving.

As soon as he was gone, Chan let a few tears spill, not even bothering to wipe them away as they fell.

He’s too good to me, he thought to himself bitterly. Everyone is too good to me.

Chan had thought speaking with Jisoo would help him feel better, but he hadn’t accounted for his mess of lies when thinking that. 

He had lied to them, he was still lying to them, even when he’d been offered a safety rope to get out of it. 

Chan buried his head in a cushion, trying to will his tears down. 

“You’re not allowed to cry,” He muttered to himself furiously, “Not when you’re the cause of all of your own problems.”

He could’ve fixed it, but he didn’t.

And Chan already had a funny feeling the repercussions of this were going to be huge.

Chapter Text

Chan: Hi Seungkwan, Chan here, just messaging to let you know this is my number and to ask about a follow up on our conversation?

Chan deleted the drafted message with a huff, staring at the blinking cursor and wondering what to say to Seungkwan. 

It was only a few hours after the whole confrontation with Jisoo, and he most certainly had more pressing matters to be freaking out about, but he didn’t want to think about those right now.

Hansol’s Christmas present was trivial but distracting, it was like a beacon of light bursting through the fog of Chan’s own self-deprecating thoughts.

He’d ducked into his room when Jeonghan had gotten home, greeting his cousin quickly before hiding away with some shoddy excuse. 

He didn’t really want to have to explain his red-rimmed eyes to the older.

So now, he was lying on his back on the bed, pouting up at his phone and trying to draft the world’s most important text message ever.

The problem was, Chan was even worse at texting than he was at talking. It may have sounded impossible, given his frankly abysmal conversation skills, but it was true. At least in a real interaction, he could see the other person and gauge their feelings by their emotions and body language - that wasn’t possible through the screen of a phone.

One of those high-tech billionaire asshats should get on sorting that out, really.

All of his failed attempts were equally terrible. Ranging from the stilted formality of his latest attempt, to the weird cutesy angle he went for about five tries ago.

(It had entirely too many emojis and tildes to even be considered a real message).

It was exhausting, and Chan genuinely wondered how people did things like this daily.

He was mindlessly tapping at the screen, pressing the middle word of his recommendations a couple of times just to see what kind of weird sentence would be formed when he heard a knock on his door.

A quick glance at the clock told him that Jisoo wasn’t likely to be home just yet, so Chan called what he hoped was a nonchalant “come in”. 

Sure enough, it was his cousin, who poked his head around the door and eyed Chan’s phone curiously.

“Who are you talking to?”

It wasn’t said with distrust, or wariness, just sheer confusion. And whilst Chan’s pride was minorly bruised at the notion that Jeonghan didn’t think he had anyone to text, it wasn’t exactly an unfair assumption for the older to make.

“No one,” He replied, truthfully, locking his phone and tossing it to the side, “What’s up?”

Jeonghan raised his eyebrows, apparently not sure whether he really was telling the truth. Chan wasn’t quite sure he had the grounds to complain about not being trusted, given that he had lied to him before about something similar - and still hadn’t told him the full truth about the situation.

Instead of causing a fuss, Jeonghan tucked a stray strand away from his face, and continued talking.

“I came to ask what you want for dinner. Shua’s working late so I was thinking we could get some takeout? You can’t cook and I really can’t be bothered so this feels like a win-win.”

Chan snorted, sitting up and eyeing his cousin. “I thought you hated buying takeout.”

“Correction, Shua hates buying takeout,” Jeonghan’s smile was cheeky, “As his partner, it’s my responsibility to back him up, even if I don’t agree.”

“So you don’t think it’s a waste of money and a one-way ticket to an early grave?”

“Oh, no, I do think those things,” Jeonghan shrugged, “But I haven’t had pizza in nearly seven months, so I think I’ve earned it.”

“Well, as much as I would love to join you,” Chan said, “I have work this evening.”

“Skip your shift. Or be late. Either works.”

“Do you want me to get fired?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan dead-panned, “I can’t think of anything I would really want more than that given your track record.”

Chan rolled his eyes, “Until I find another job, I’m not quitting.”

“Couldn’t you at least ask for different shifts?” Jeonghan weedled, something desperate leaking into his voice. 

In the back of his mind, Chan wondered what had rekindled his cousin’s nerves.

“Not until we get another new hire,” He said, “Newbie gets the shit shifts, that’s the rule.”

“That cannot be a rule.”

“It’s an unwritten rule,” Chan added, “Don’t you have unwritten rules where you work?”

“We do, but they’re more along the lines of ‘don’t tell the kids that broccoli isn’t green chicken’, not ‘force the new hire to work graveyard shifts’.”

“You work at a preschool, there are no graveyard shifts.”

Jeonghan pressed a hand to his forehead tiredly, “You’re not going to entertain this conversation, are you?”

Chan shook his head, grin creeping onto his face at his cousin’s exasperation.

“Part of me regrets agreeing to let you be independent.”

He stuck his tongue out playfully. 

“Fine,” Jeonghan said, “I’ll just order my own pizza and watch sad movies and cry all by myself because everyone else has decided to abandon me.”

“I have work,” Chan replied indignantly, looking at the clock and sighing when he realised it was about time he started getting ready. “What’s Jisoo’s excuse for being late?”

“Oh, he’s as bad as you,” Jeonghan sighed, “Working late. There’s this new hotshot villain making his rounds and, of course, Spider-Man is involved, which means Jameson has to get involved, which means Shua is involved whether he wants to be or not.”

Chan tried to school his facial expression upon hearing his cousin say Spider-Man’s name. It wasn’t easy, but judging from the lack of comment about it, he guessed he’d gotten away.

He stood and stretched his arms up, wincing at the popping noise his joints made. It felt great, but the sound irked him.

“So it’s late nights at the office and nervous breakdowns for the next week - or however long it takes the police to intervene.”

“You don’t think Spider-Man can handle it?” Chan asked, pushing the attempt at subtlety further. He knew his cousin wasn’t Spider-Man’s number one fan, but it couldn’t hurt just to make mindless conversation, right?

And this was just that. Mindless conversation. Chan had no ulterior motive; why would he?

(He totally had an ulterior motive - it would be nice to actually know something about his newfound friend’s enemies - but just because he knew that didn’t mean Jeonghan knew that, so he was playing it cool.)

Jeonghan shrugged, picking at his cuticle lazily. “Who knows? I’m sure he’s capable enough, but considering his flighty personality, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with him taking the lead on something so dangerous.”

Chan winced, it figures that Jeonghan really did know how to hold a grudge.

“Well, I’m sure it’ll all work out - there’s no need to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Jeonghan all but snapped. Chan recoiled in mild shock but Jeonghan was already waving an apologetic hand.

“Sorry, sorry, misplaced anger.” He chuckled, “It’s fine, everything will be fine, there’s no need to be nervous.”

Chan didn’t comment on how Jeonghan seemed to be placating himself more than the younger, but he noticed it nonetheless.

It was times like this he truly felt bad for Jeonghan. He just wanted a peaceful life with the man he loved, he didn’t ask for the pressure of superheroes (and their evil counterparts), or the stress of looking after Chan (and all of his unresolved teenage bullshit). He just wanted to be a normal guy who worked a nine-to-five and paid rent for a very mediocre apartment.

He just wanted to live, and Chan felt bad that he couldn’t just do that.

Of course, it wasn’t his fault. Life in general was nowhere near forgiving enough to allow someone to have their dreams so easily - even when that person was Jeonghan. 

But he still felt like he held partial responsibility when he was the main reason that Jeonghan wouldn’t - couldn’t - drag Jisoo out to the west coast like they’d always planned to do.

They’d constantly assured him those plans had been for much further in the future, but it was hard to ignore the way they skirted around watching movies that centred around marriage or any sense of domesticity. Harder still to ignore the furtive looks the couple shared whenever the topic was brought up.

For the thousandth time, Chan swore he’d do everything in his power to move out within the next couple of months.

Jeonghan clapping his hands together broke Chan out of his stupor.

“Well, I’m going to go and place my order. I’ll save you a slice for whenever you get back.”

“What if Jisoo comes home before me and sees the evidence?”

“I’ll put it on a plate and convince him my cooking skills have been elevated dramatically in the past ten hours.”

“Smart.”

Jeonghan winked before leaving, closing the door behind him gently. Chan smiled at their short interaction. Things were finally going back to the way they were. Even though the whole Jisoo-thinking-he-was-a-criminal thing was a bit of a moral setback, Chan was happy he could get along better with his cousin again.

Even though the voice in the back of his head was consistent in its reminders that he was a worthless lying fool who kept kidding himself into believing he was worthy of half the attention he received.

His phone buzzed on his bed, and Chan wondered what notification it was curiously. Probably YouTube, or maybe an email from UberEats about some type of deal he was missing out on. 

(He had signed up for it six months ago for one meal and hadn’t known peace since.)

When he checked it, his head stopped working for half a second. 

Before instantly rebooting and flinging itself into full panic mode.

Sitting in his notifications was a text that read:

Seungkwan: This is a weird ass text but the only person I gave my number to recently was Chan. If this is you Chan, hello you weirdo, if not, then please delete my number.

Chan sank to the ground in slow motion, allowing his phone to fall onto the duvet and burying his head in his hands. 

Seungkwan didn’t seem to care about the embarrassingly strange message (which read: ‘hi the milk is the same way as the words’), but it physically pained Chan to know that all of his hard work brainstorming and trying to compose the perfect text had gone into the toilet within moments.

He must’ve accidentally sent the text when he dropped his phone - stupid fat thumbs.

On the bright side, at least the awkward first text was over and done with.

This was a cruel prank the universe was playing on him, but Chan was determined to find the good in it.

Chan: Yes, this is Chan 

Chan: Sorry for the weird message, I didn’t mean to send it.

The reply came as he was searching for his uniform.

Seungkwan: Don’t worry about it

Seungkwan: It was kind of poetic

Chan snorted, trying to come up with a reply that was witty but not rude when his phone chimed again.

Seungkwan: I assume you were messaging about our earlier conversation?’

Chan replied an affirmative and tugged his ugly polo shirt on. Naturally, he’d forgotten to iron it after it was washed, so it was wrinkly and weird and made him look like an expired cabbage.

His phone started buzzing on the desk. Not the short, single buzz that indicated a text, but the incessant buzzing of an incoming call.

Oh, sweet Jesus, no.

If Chan is bad at texting, he’s even worse at calling. There were all the issues of having no indicator of body language, and the added pain of not being able to just pretend you didn’t see what the other person said. 

Alas, Seungkwan was calling, and participating in phone calls was part of having friends.

And Chan was so desperate to finally have friends.

“Hello?” He said after tapping the green button.

“Oh, good, it is you,” Seungkwan’s tinny voice greeted him, “I was half-afraid this was just some creepy impersonator.”

“Yeah, no, it’s me. Chan. Lee Chan. This is my number.”

Somewhere inside of himself, Chan swore to drive a rusted screwdriver into his solar plexus as punishment for that pitiful attempt at talking.

Fortunately, Seungkwan just laughed, the sound robotic and distorted slightly but still as bright as Chan remembered.

“Glad we got that sorted out.”

There was a stretch of silence that made Chan want to hurl. 

“So,” He said, trying to fill it, “About the conversation.”

“Right, right,” Seungkwan replied, the telltale sound of a smile in his voice, “I’m at the apartment now, if you’re free.”

“You’re at my apartment?” Chan practically squeaked, whirling around to intercept before Seungkwan and Jeonghan could meet. God only knows that would be a recipe for disaster.

“No, I’m at Non’s apartment, you fool.” Seungkwan sighed, though he didn’t sound too irritated. Chan halted before his hand made contact with the handle, sagging in relief before kicking himself for his own idiocy.

“Right, obviously,” He said, more to himself than anything, “That makes sense.”

Seungkwan hummed, and once again, they were in silence.

This is why I hate phone calls, Chan internally hissed to whatever deity was out there, this right here is awful and terrible and I’m sure someone out there is watching and laughing right now.

“So, the conversation,” Seungkwan spoke, breaking Chan out of his thoughts.

“Yes, that.” Chan pretended he wasn’t as uncomfortable as he really was.

(After all, it wasn’t Seungkwan making him feel uncomfortable, it was his own pathetic self.)

“Are you free now?”

“No,” Chan said too quickly. He winced at the tone of his voice. “Not in an ‘I’m avoiding you’ way, I really am busy.” He amended, “I have work.”

Seungkwan groaned, “Right, I forgot you actually have a job and contribute to society.”

“It’s a shift at a shitty convenience store.”

“Still contributing more than half the politicians on this planet,” Seungkwan huffed indignantly, making Chan smile.

“Well, how about tomorrow?”

“How about tomorrow what?” Chan picked at his cuticle, before remembering his mother’s warning that it would make his nails fall out. Of course, Chan knew it was all a hoax to frighten him, but he was still wary.

“Are you free tomorrow to continue our very important conversation about Nonie’s Christmas presents?”

“I should be,” He said, wiggling into a pair of too-tight jeans, “During the day at least.”

“Great! We can go and get some coffee and talk it over then.”

“Wait, I-” Before he could get the sentence out, Chan tripped over the end of his pants, flailing about for a while before landing on the floor with a thump and a yelp.

“Chan?” His cousin’s concerned voice called from the living room, “Are you okay?”

“You sound busy,” Seungkwan’s own voice came from beside his ear - he’d somehow managed to keep the phone pressed to his face during his descent. “I’ll message you the details.”

“But I-”

“Bye!” Seungkwan chirped, cutting the line just as the door to his room swung open.

“Seungkwan!” Chan complained, tossing his phone away and throwing himself backwards, grunting when his head made contact with a book.

“Um,” Jeonghan spoke, standing in the doorway and looking very confused, “I think I missed something.”

“It’s just a friend.”

“I was talking about the whole you being on the floor thing, but okay.”

Chan finally pulled his heel through the hole and tugged the trousers up all the way, managing by some miracle to button them up (though he could feel his breathing becoming restricted as he did so).

“Hyung, can I ask you something?” Chan said, sitting up with a grunt and trying to straighten out his hair.

“Sure.”

He looked up at his cousin, who looked equal parts confused and concerned, a slight crease in his brow and his face bare of makeup. He still looked perfectly composed - even though he’d learned it was partly a ruse now - and Chan knew, no matter how embarrassing this question was to ask, that Jeonghan could give him the best answer.

He sighed.

“How do you pretend to like coffee?”

Chapter Text

A fun fact about Chan is that he hates coffee.

The first time he tried it, he threw up. The second time he tried it, he wanted to throw up. He swore never to try a third time.

And yet here he is, walking to a coffee shop a block away from his apartment.

In his defence, Seungkwan hadn’t exactly given him the chance to explain that he wasn’t the biggest fan of the beverage, so he couldn’t fully be blamed for ending up in such a predicament.

But him being in awkward and weird situations was becoming something of an unwanted staple in his life.

When he pushed open the door to the cafe Seungkwan had told him they’d meet at, a small bell rang. The sound was happy and sweet, two things Chan certainly wasn’t feeling. Nervous and jittery would’ve been better words to describe his current emotional state, but bells generally didn’t tend to sound that way.

He stood in the line for the till, desperately trying to recall what Jeonghan had told him.

(He’d laughed, mainly, before explaining that you could order different things at cafes, not just coffee.)

The problem was that Chan didn’t want to order something that wasn't coffee and have Seungkwan question why he agreed to meet up at a coffee shop if he didn’t like it. Although Chan had barely agreed. 

And even though he was fairly certain he was overthinking the whole thing, he still wanted to make a good impression.

And he didn’t want to order hot chocolate like some kind of child.

Unfortunately, due to his internal crisis, he hadn’t used his time in the queue to actually look at the damn menu, and now he was only one person away from having order.

He looked up at the chalkboard, eyes roaming over the different drinks quickly. It was all gibberish to him, every word was weirdly foreign and had entirely too many e’s or t’s to actually be a real word.

When the person in front of him completed their order, Chan stepped forward with what he hoped looked like confidence.

He hadn’t fallen over his own feet, at least.

The barista was entirely too chipper, a toothy grin on her face and her voice bright when she spoke.

“Hi, how can I help you today?”

Realistically, Chan knew the best way for her to help him would be to jam one of those fancy serving spoons into his ear so that he had an excuse to bail on this doomed meet-up. But he also knew she’d probably call the police if he said that.

Which… would get him out of the meet-up.

Chan, stop thinking about getting arrested to avoid social situations and say something.

“Hi,” He said, voice cracking, “Can I get a- uh- coffee?”

Oh, fuck me, he’s a genius.

The baristas smile didn’t waver, but something in her eyes did. 

“Sure,” She said, gesturing at the menu, “What coffee do you want?”

“Um-” Chan looked up again, squinting, as if that would somehow enlighten him as to which drink he’d like.

“The cheapest one?”

The barista blinked, before looking back down at her register, and then looking up at him again.

“Sir, are you okay?”

Oh, good, now she thinks I’m fucking insane. 

“No, I’m good, yeah, sorry, I just…” Chan tapered off, wondering if any of that made sense.

The barista nodded. “Have you had coffee before?” She asked, slowly, as if he was incompetent.

Can you blame her?

“Yes.” Chan answered, because he had had coffee before, he just didn’t like it.

But that isn’t what she asked.

“Okay,” She said, tapping her nails against the till, her perky customer service attitude nowhere to be found, “What did you have?”

Well, hell if Chan knew. Jeonghan was the one who’d ordered the coffee, and granted he hadn’t liked it then, but maybe the third time's the charm.

“I don’t know the name,” He replied, praying to everything that she’d just put in a random drink and end this painful interaction, “It was the cheap one though.”

She sighed, looking at him for barely a moment more before tapping the order in. 

“Anything else?” She asked, clearly hoping the answer was a no.

Chan shook his head, and she nodded, tapping a few more buttons.

“I need a name.”

“Ah. Chan,” He said, thankful that he could finally answer one of her questions without having an aneurysm.

The barista sent him off with the barest of smiles. One of those tight grins you send people when you pass them in the street, definitely not the bright one he was awarded at the beginning of the interaction.

Chan glanced around the cafe half-heartedly, opening his phone and nibbling his lip nervously when he saw no message from Seungkwan. It was already two minutes past the time they were meant to meet, and Chan truly couldn’t think of much worse than drinking something he hated in public alone.

Sure, it was only two minutes, but two minutes could very quickly become two hours - and Chan wouldn’t know when the appropriate time to leave or call would be in this situation. 

Given that this was the first time he was attending an arranged meet-up with someone he didn’t live with, there were some things left to be desired in his thought process.

Around five minutes later, there was still no sign of Seungkwan, and Chan’s lip biting had graduated into full on anxious shifting. Passing his weight from one foot to the other and ignoring the dirty looks some of the other customers were giving him.

It likely looked like he needed to use the bathroom, but he was beyond caring at this point.

He was moments away from just running out of the coffee shop and burrowing into his bed for the rest of his life, but finally - as if god himself had heard his thoughts - the door opened and in walked Seungkwan.

Chan would’ve fallen to his knees and rejoiced if it wasn’t for two very key factors.

One, he was in public, meaning people were around, and Chan struggled ordering coffee without spontaneously combusting so he doesn’t know any world where he could make such a bold move.

The second, obvious, glaring issue that had Chan rethinking every life choice was that directly behind Seungkwan was Hansol. Who walked in looking tired but beautiful and everything Chan wanted whilst also being the very last person he was expecting (or was ready to) see.

Seungkwan made eye contact with him seconds after he came in.

He waved, face lighting up, and murmured something to Hansol, who raised his eyebrows and nudged his friend before also looking up and shooting a smile to Chan.

His chest twisted painfully and, in that moment, Chan was convinced that Cupid was real and had in fact just butchered him with thousands of arrows.

Seungkwan all but bounded over to him, whilst Hansol turned and wove through a small crowd of people out of sight. Chan barely had the chance to freak out about what he possibly could’ve done to deter the other before Seungkwan wrapped him in a hug.

“Chan!” He said, in a voice entirely too loud for the cramped space they were in, “Hi! I’m so sorry we were late but someone doesn’t understand the appeal of punctuality.”

He rolled his eyes, and Chan - despite only knowing Seungkwan for a few days - felt something undeniably fond at the motion. 

“It’s okay,” He replied, “I wasn’t waiting long.”

“Did you order?” Seungkwan looked up at the board, “They’ve got so many options here, what did you get?” 

“Oh, I got the-” 

“Americano for Chad!”

On one hand, Chan wanted to thank the guy that had prevented him from having to make up what would probably be a terrible lie. On the other, he wanted to punch him for getting his name wrong in the worst way.

“Chad?” Seungkwan asked, incredulously, “Who the hell is actually called Chad?”

Chan glanced at Seungkwan, who looked back at him. Said look felt like it lasted an eternity passed between them before something lit up in Seungkwan’s eyes and he let out an abrupt snort.

“Oh my God,” He giggled, stifling the noises into his hand, “Oh my God.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” Chan replied, walking up to the counter and taking the drink. He didn’t even know if it really was his, maybe there was a Chad who liked Americano’s here who would be devastated at this loss, but he could feel his cheeks heating up and he just wanted to take his stupid drink and go.

“We will definitely talk about it,” He heard Seungkwan say as he speed-walked past. 

He kept his eyes on the ground and only realised he had no clue where he was going until a voice called out to him.

“Chan, come sit with us.”

Hansol was seated in one of the booths, swiping through what Chan managed to see was the news app. He was wearing a hoodie that was approximately seven sizes too big and light wash jeans. His hair was just a little bit curly, his eyes sleepy but still welcoming, his lip quirked up on one side, and Chan was once again reminded just how out of his league Hansol really was.

He didn’t comment on how he would’ve been sitting with them anyway, seeing as Seungkwan had told him to meet them - well, him - here. Maybe Hansol had assumed he was trying to run away when he’d seen the way he was walking like his ass was on fire toward the exit.

Chan sat opposite him, sitting beside him would be a bit presumptuous, and Chan wasn’t sure he could handle being that close just yet.

(It was hard enough having to sit directly across from him and just look at his face, sitting beside him would be even worse .)

“So,” Hansol said, placing his phone on the table, “How have you been?”

“Good,” Chan replied, stirring his coffee with the spoon he’d been given. It was darker than the coffee he’d seen Jisoo and Jeonghan drink and smelled way stronger than anything he’d tried before. He hadn’t ordered the right thing, but to be fair he hadn’t been expecting to.

“It’s been a while,” Hansol continued, tilting his head to the side like a puppy. 

Chan fought the urge to throw himself on the floor and scream about how unfair life was.

“Yeah,” Chan said, abruptly realising that his monotonous answers were contributing to the conversation about as much as a hamster could. “How have you been?” He added on, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate.

“I’ve been good,” Hansol nodded, drumming his fingers against the table absentmindedly, “Working.”

“You work?”

“Ah,” Hansol’s eyes shifted around for a moment before nodding hurriedly, “Freelance stuff, mainly. Photography.” He lifted his hands up to motion a camera before dropping them into his lap and looking away.

Chan could see the beginnings of a flush creeping up his neck and wondered for a brief second if Hansol was perhaps feeling nervous as well.

Don’t be ridiculous, he berated himself, why on Earth would he feel nervous?

“That’s nice,” He hummed, finally deciding to just take a sip of the coffee. Anything would be better than this plane crash of a conversation.

As soon as the beverage touched his tongue, he was regretting that idea.

It was hot. Ridiculously hot. Too hot. Arguably the hottest thing that had ever been in his mouth. 

Unprepared for the temperature, Chan recoiled, pulling the cup away from his lips and placing it on the table - not spilling it by some divine miracle. He then pressed a hand to his mouth and hissed, looking around for literally anything to help soothe the burn.

“Are you okay?” Hansol asked, eyes wide and worried, “Did you hurt yourself?”

“It’s hot,” Chan managed to say, feeling his own eyes water. He shut them, blinking the tears away. He would be damned if he cried in front of Hansol just because of some hot coffee.

“Oh,” Hansol chuckled, and Chan’s mouth was already burning but, sure, why not throw his heart into palpitations, his stomach into flip-flops, and his brain into ‘holy-shit-he’s-hot’ mode?

“Do you want me to grab you some water or something?”

As embarrassing as it was, Chan nodded, the feeling in his mouth beginning to return, and with it, his sense of taste.

Just as Hansol stood and left, Chan finally registered the flavour of the drink he had bought.

It was, without a doubt, the most disgusting thing he had ever put in his body. 

And he had eaten Jisoo’s now infamous broccoli bake before.

Somehow, with the sheer talent for shit luck that only he possessed, Chan had managed to purchase the most vile thing on the cafe’s menu. If he had known it tasted like the tears of children mixed with hot tar, maybe he would’ve reconsidered his options. 

Unfortunately, due to the fact that nothing in his life could ever go well, Seungkwan finally arrived just as the taste had hit him, and he had pulled a face that could only be described as revolted.

“Well, things seem to have gone great in my absence,” Seungkwan said as he sat, holding two cups and a bunch of napkins, “Where’s Vernon?”

Chan quickly schooled his expression, forcing it into something much milder. “He went to go and get some water.”

Seungkwan hummed, “For you?”

Chan nodded.

“Interesting.” He gestured to the coffee sitting in front of Chan, “You don’t like it?”

“No,” Chan hurried to say, stirring it once more with the spoon and grimacing, “No, it’s great. Just a bit hot.”

Seungkwan snorted, passing him a napkin and giving his own drink a stir. “Why didn’t you get it iced?”

Chan looked at him, scandalised.

“You can do that?”

“Of course you can do that,” The other snorted, taking a sip of his own drink, “You just say ‘iced’ before whatever you order. Speaking of,” He nodded to the cup Chan had wrapped his hands around, “I’m surprised you like Americano’s.”

“Should I not like them?” Chan clearly did not know anything about coffee etiquette. What if he’d ordered a bad drink? What if this was something only certain people ordered? Oh God, what if he ordered something that only dickheads get-?

“No, no, there’s nothing wrong with it,” Seungkwan assured him, clearly biting back a smile, “Just surprising, is all.”

“What’s surprising?” Hansol said, finally returning with a glass of water in hand. 

Chan took it with a quiet thanks, gulping down a large amount. His mouth still stung from the aftermath of the brutal coffee assault.

“That Channie likes Americano’s,” Seungkwan filled him in, sliding over on the seat to allow Hansol to sit beside him and handing him a cup, “I feel like he’d like something sweeter, you know?”

Hansol hummed as if in understanding, blowing on his drink before taking a sip. 

“Mingyu likes Americano’s.”

“Yes, I know Mingyu likes Americano’s,” Seungkwan huffed, “But Mingyu’s Mingyu, and Chan is not Mingyu.”

“That’s correct,” Hansol said, clearly not quite picking up whatever Seungkwan was putting down. Chan couldn’t blame him, he was lost as well.

Although, that was perhaps to be a given, considering that Hansol and Seungkwan had known each other since childhood. Chan was merely an outsider in this relationship.

“What I’m saying,” Seungkwan pushed, “Is that Chan seems more like a sweet type of person.”

“Well, you can’t judge based purely on appearances,” Hansol pointed out, and Seungkwan looked both parts impressed and infuriated, “You don’t look exactly like the type of person who’s obsessed with volleyball and yet you are.”

“It is the superior sport,” Seungkwan huffed, turning to Chan who was thoroughly confused, “Do you agree?”

A small nod was all he could give - not really willing to divulge he couldn’t even begin to explain the rules of volleyball - before Seungkwan was back on his agenda to… well, Chan wasn’t exactly sure what his agenda was, but he was definitely committed to it.

“All I was saying was that I feel like Chan’s tastes would’ve been more accustomed to the sweeter things in life, okay?”

“And you’re basing that off of..?”

Hansol trailed off, and Seungkwan looked at him like he wanted to shove his napkin in his mouth and smother him. 

Even though Chan was oblivious as to why, it was still funny to watch. Hansol genuinely looked clueless, and Seungkwan was so easy to rile up that it was taking the bare minimum for his neck to turn scarlet.

“You know what?” He said, taking an aggressive sip of his coffee, “I am done with this friendship, Chan is my new best friend.”

“Oh,” Chan said, taken aback by his sudden inclusion, “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” Seungkwan replied sharply, turning his nose up at Hansol who was looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Guess I have a new best friend.” Chan shrugged, sending Hansol a cheeky grin before taking another sip. He was rudely reminded of how gross it was, but this time managed to control his expression somewhat.

“Rude,” Hansol huffed, his fringe flitting upwards cutely with the air, “After everything I did for you.”

The last part was more of a mutter, but Chan heard it anyway, and leaned forward onto the table, grin still firmly in place.

“Who says you were my best friend before this?”

God only knows what had come over him, but he had been fuelled by this random burst of confidence. It was sure to not last long, so he had to make the most of it right now.

Hansol only looked at him, something strangely flustered and agitated whirling in his eyes. It was a weird expression, one that had Chan rethinking his bold movements. Maybe Hansol really wasn’t putting down any flirty vibes, maybe he was actually in love with Seungkwan and was getting annoyed that his crush was being strange around the guy who lived upstairs.

Okay, we have already established he doesn’t view you as ‘just the guy who lives upstairs’, Chan. Have some self-respect.

“I have it on good authority that I was at least in the running,” Was how Hansol chose to respond, looking down at his drink and stirring it.

Chan smiled, more innocently this time. “You probably were.”

There was a beat of silence wherein both Chan and Hansol kept sneaking glances to each other and back down at their coffees. Such silences weren’t exactly strange amongst them both - seeing as they were inept at conversation and there was always this weird indescribable tension whenever they were alone together - but they weren’t alone for this interaction.

“Oh my God,” Seungkwan suddenly interrupted, “You two are so-”

Chan looked up, eyes wide and confused. Hansol mirrored his expression.

“So what?” They said at the exact same time.

Seungkwan groaned, burying his face in his arms and faux-sobbing. 

He shot Hansol a mildly concerned look, which was reciprocated, before deciding to try and steer the conversation into something more normal.

Well, normal to for them.

He tried to remember what the whole point of this was, before realising they were meant to discuss Hansol’s gift. Which they couldn’t exactly do with the man himself sitting right beside them.

Really, what had Seungkwan been thinking?

But, it did present a good opportunity to get to know him a bit better.

“So, Hansol,” Chan began, realising the abrupt change in his tone made him sound strangely professional, “What would you say are your top three hobbies?”

Hansol only looked surprised for a few brief moments to his credit, before he took a sip of his coffee and hummed, seemingly thinking of how to answer.

“Well, I mentioned I like photography, right?” He said, and when he saw Chan’s nod in reply, he looked away briefly. “I guess that’s kind of it… I’m not really a hobby guy. I like watching movies though, I used to be a huge cinema buff - I’d literally go to the theatre every weekend to catch whatever was screening. Kids films, horror, action, comedy; I just like movies.”

Chan tried not to look too enamoured as Hansol spoke, but it was hard when he was gesturing with his hands and had this cute sparkly look in his eye and the most obvious smile cracking his face open. He looked bared down and simple - much more human than Chan could’ve ever imagine he’d look.

“But, you know, I haven’t been in ages.”

He cocked his head to the side curiously, “How come?”

A shrug, unsure and awkward. “No time these days.”

And Chan knew it wasn’t his place to pry, he knew he hadn’t known Hansol or Seungkwan nearly long enough to ask, so he didn’t. But it didn’t pass by him that Hansol was - to his knowledge - unemployed and not in college. It seemed he only had one hobby, photography, to pass the time. 

So what could keep him so busy that he couldn’t go to the movies every once in a while?

“And he sucks at sitting still for extended periods of time,” Seungkwan pitched in, cheek resting against his forearm which lay on the table. Definitely not sanitary, but if he didn’t mind, Chan wouldn’t raise the issue. “Seriously, try doing anything with this guy, he just runs off mid-conversation half the time.”

Chan nodded as if he completely understood, when the reality was that he was even more confused now. He saw where Seungkwan was coming from, after all, the night of the argument, Hansol had run off apropos of nothing, so it wasn’t unknown to him that this was perhaps a habit he had.

Though, Hansol had given what seemed to be a one-time excuse then. How forgetful could he be to suddenly remember he had books to collect and deadlines to meet all the time? It was rather implausible in Chan’s opinion.

But again, it wasn’t his place to ask, so he kept quiet.

Instead, he shifted the conversation topic to yet another question.

(Chan was really getting quite good at handling conversations nowadays, maybe he could find a job that required more human interaction soon. Although, his moment with the cashier earlier was evidence that maybe he was just getting more comfortable around these two, and it wasn’t any real personal improvement on his side.)

“What are your favourite colours?”

“Navy,” Seungkwan said without missing a beat. Chan had been asking Hansol to maybe see if he could get him a hoodie or some socks or something in a colour he liked, but he supposed he couldn’t expect Seungkwan to sit silently while the other two spoke.

“How about you, Hansol?”

Seungkwan puffed a breath out of his nose and murmured something under his breath, but he too looked at Hansol expectantly for an answer.

After a moment of contemplation, he seemed to come up with his answer.

“Yellow,” He said, voice firm.

“Any reason?” Chan asked, legitimately curious.

Hansol shook his head, nose scrunched up, “It’s just nice. And pretty. I like it.”

Damn, maybe I should wear yellow more often.

Chan’s mind was evil and traitorous, making him think things like that whenever Hansol said something ridiculously simple. It was just his favourite colour, not an indication that he would suddenly fall madly in love with Chan if he wore it.

Besides, yellow looked bad on him anyway.

He shook all those thoughts away and refocused on the conversation in front of him, which had continued in his mental absence.

“Why have you never told me this?”

“You never asked.”

“Okay, and you never asked about half of the shit I’ve told you.”

“I know.”

An affronted gasp from Seungkwan.

“Are you saying I’m pushy?”

“Maybe,” Hansol shrugged, wry grin settling on his face, “You like to talk. And I like to listen.”

Oof. That was painfully domestic. Chan scuffed his heel against the linoleum and tried not to let his pout be too obvious.

“Do not try and smooth talk your way out of this,” Seungkwan was making no such effort to hide his own pout, “We will be having words later.”

“Oh, trust me,” Hansol replied, eyes darkening just a tiny bit, “I already planned on having words with you.”

Chan looked back and forth between them confusedly. Surely they weren’t talking about… that right in front of him. He wasn’t exactly totally innocent when it came to the act (in being that he knew about it, not that he’d ever partaken), but it was still a bit weird for it to be implied in front of him.

Although, based on the sheepish look Seungkwan was now sporting and the kind of annoyed one Hansol wore, Chan wondered if maybe he was reading it wrong, and they really were just going to talk about something serious later.

“Anyway,” Seungkwan cleared his throat, looking very obviously uncomfortable, “Any more questions, Chan? Hansol seems to like talking to you more than me, so.”

A sigh from Hansol’s side of the table, but he didn’t speak. And when Chan glanced at him nervously, he gave him an encouraging nod.

“I do have one, actually,” Chan said. He internally steeled himself, after all, it was now or never. This was his one chance to ask without being awkward about it.

Although, knowing him, he’d find a way to make it awkward regardless of the situation.

“Are you two…” He gestured between them, “Dating?”

There was a moment of silence, before Seungkwan pretended to gag, looking at Chan with pure horror etched onto his face.

“Why on earth would you imply something like that?”

Chan, for lack of a better word, was startled at the reaction. Most of Seungkwan’s friends were gay, or at least interested in men, so he couldn’t be homophobic. And Hansol was stifling very loud giggles into his sleeve right now, so it had to be something he’d just completely missed.

No closer to figuring out why though, he ploughed ahead with his questioning.

“I don’t know,” He shrugged, “You hang out a lot and seem quite close. You’ve known each other a long time, and you call him Nonie, no one else calls him Nonie.”

“You call him Hansol,” Seungkwan pointed out, still looking affronted, “Nobody else calls him that either.”

Chan hoped he wasn’t visibly blushing at the implication that he was special to Hansol.

“That’s different,” Chan huffed, “That’s a language thing.”

“We’re all Korean here,” Seungkwan said, “But I digress, do continue with your analysis on why we’re together.”

Chan folded his arms, “Well, now I don’t want to,” He muttered, “I feel dumb.”

Seungkwan hummed, “You should.”

Chan aimed a kick at Seungkwan’s shin, his own embarrassment outweighing his anxiety. He missed, and hit the leg of the table, causing it to shudder violently. Hansol’s hands leaped out and steadied Chan’s cup, which, had it not been caught, would’ve toppled all over his lap.

Which would’ve meant he didn’t have to drink it, but he’d also scald his crotch and have to walk home with damp pants, so he supposed it was best it didn’t happen.

He looked up, nodding at Hansol in thanks before turning back to Seungkwan to defend himself properly.

“You can’t blame me, there’s all the reasons I listed before, plus you two give off vibes.”

“Vibes?”

“You know,” Chan shuffled his feet, “Vibes.”

“You mean we’re gay.”

Chan nodded jerkily, wondering if he was perhaps overstepping a boundary here.

Luckily, neither of them seemed to mind too much, both nodding in understanding. It was Seungkwan who spoke, whilst Hansol seemed to be busy manoeuvring his cup away from him so that if it nearly spilled again, it wouldn’t cause him much damage.

Sweet.

“Well, you’re right on that one,” He said, “But gay people can be friends and not be attracted to each other, Chan.”

“I know that,” Chan groaned, not in the mood for a grilling on the ins and outs of homosexuality. “You’re just close, okay? You have to admit it’s easy to make the assumption.”

“Fair enough,” Seungkwan agreed, finishing his drink off and drumming his fingers against the cup. 

“Well, we aren’t together,” He said, “We dated for all of thirty seconds in junior year and went to prom together for convenience. That’s as far as our romance goes.”

Chan doubted it was literally only thirty seconds, but he was oddly pleased about it being said so flippantly. Clearly it didn’t mean much to either of them, if it had been so short a period and they were still so close.

They’ve still dated more than you have.

If Chan could beat up his own thoughts, he would. He really would.

“Except that marriage contract we signed.”

Chan’s aggression towards his own psyche was rudely disturbed by Seungkwan’s sudden admission, and he gawked at him, bug-eyed. 

“You’re married?”

“No, but we will be in, like, twenty years. It says if we’re both single at forty then we’ll get married, because I refuse to die alone.”

“You do realise you won’t be alone even if you aren’t married?” Hansol cut in, who had finished moving the cups around.

“Well, I can’t die single.”

“You don’t have to be married to not be single-”

He was cut off by Seungkwan pinching his forearm harshly. It made him wince, and he looked up at Chan with this kicked puppy look. 

A look that was definitely bad for Chan’s heart.

He cleared his throat, turning away from Hansol so as to not go into cardiac arrest and looking at Seungkwan instead.

“That’s cute.”

In truth, Chan did not think it was cute. He thought it was the furthest thing from cute. Because by the time they were forty, Chan probably still wouldn’t have worked up the courage to say anything to Hansol.

If anyone was dying alone at this table, it was Chan.

The silence turned slightly tense, and Chan honestly didn’t know if it was his own mood that was making it that way. He wasn’t even that mad, Hansol and Seungkwan had all but confirmed they had no romantic feelings for each other, it was his own childishness that was standing in the way here.

“So, prom?”

Truthfully, Chan didn’t care all too much about their prom, but he felt responsible for the atmosphere, so he was trying to dispel it.

Fortunately, Seungkwan took the bait, happy to chat away and chase away any and all previous weirdness that had been lingering.

“I forgot you didn’t go to high school here!” He looked wistful, almost like he was regretting that Chan had missed the all-American high school experience. Chan couldn’t really say he was too bothered. 

“Yes, I dragged our dear Nonie to prom, and yes, he hated every second of it.”

“It was hell.”

Hansol’s words were dry and unexpected. After all, Seungkwan was the talker in this relationship, and when things got odd, Chan would’ve expected him to take the backseat and allow Seungkwan to fix things.

He was realising that his assumptions about Hansol were proved wrong with each interaction they had.

“It looks so fun in the movies though,” He said, resting his cheek on his fist and furrowing his brow to try and remember. He’d had to watch a plethora of shitty teen movies with Jisoo and Jeonghan, so he had a fairly decent idea of what happened.

“There’s food, and dancing, and balloons, right?”

“Ah, yes, the three pillars of entertainment,” Seungkwan giggled, “Food, dancing, and balloons.” He ticked each option off on his hands and suddenly paused. “You know, I was going to make fun of you, but you aren’t even wrong.”

Chan laughed at Seungkwan’s face, which looked as though he’d just been told October wasn’t actually a real month and that everyone was just pranking him all his life.

“Food is always good,” He said, “Unless it’s poisoned. I love dancing in general, and, when people get drunk enough, they almost always agree. And who doesn’t like a good balloon?”

“There’s a phobia for balloons,” Hansol said, “It’s called globophobia.”

“There we go then,” Seungkwan said, “Someone who would not like balloons at a party.”

“Why do you know that?” Chan giggled, “That’s such a weird thing to know.”

“Nonie’s a veritable fountain of weird facts. He knows all sorts of odd tidbits of information, god knows where he learns it from.”

Something about that sounded familiar to Chan. As if he knew someone else who knew weird little facts. He couldn’t quite put his finger on who, though. Maybe it had been someone from his school in Korea. 

“But you don’t have globophobia, right?” At Hansol’s confirmation, Chan continued, “So what was so bad about prom?”

“Everything, to be honest,” Hansol said, “It was so loud and thumpy, and there were so many people. I swear, that’s the one thing they can never communicate in movies, how bad teenagers smell. Whoever decided to just lump them all in one confined space together is either a sadist or has some very weird kinks.”

Chan laughed, and Seungkwan pretended to swat Hansol around the back of the head.

“Don’t mind Nonie, he’s just being grumpy. Seriously, he was a nightmare throughout high school. Although, looking back, it was probably because of-”

Seungkwan cut himself off with a very loud yelp, looking at Hansol with betrayal in his features. Chan had clearly missed something, but based on the fire in Hansol’s eyes, there was surely something weird still lurking between them all.

Seungkwan pouted, massaging his thigh in an attempt to ease the pain in it. Chan could only assume Hansol had done something to shut him up, though why he would want him to stop talking was beyond Chan.

“His late stage teen angst.” Seungkwan finished his sentence. It was definitely not the way the original sentence ended, but Chan wasn’t going to push.

Whatever it was, it was obviously a touchy subject. One that Chan didn’t want to breach.

“You hated prom as well,” Hansol said, finishing his drink. That left Chan as the only one with anything left, and he hurriedly took a sip. It was cold now, and somehow tasted even worse.

“What would make you say that?” Seungkwan replied, still pouting. He wasn’t that upset, otherwise he wouldn’t have been entertaining this conversation, but there was something off about his expression as well. 

“You wanted to go with that other guy, the hot one, but you were too scared to ask him so we went and then you got all pouty when he made out with someone else.”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” Seungkwan nodded, “You have to admit, he was scary.”

“I can’t say I really paid much attention,” Hansol admitted, “But I’ll take your word for it, the same way I did back then.”

“Exchange students,” Seungkwan was now talking to Chan, leaning over the table slightly, “They’re terrifying. They made me feel like a fake Korean.”

“At least you’ve been to Korea,” Hansol sighed folding his napkin over and over again, clearly just looking for a way to occupy his hands, “I’ve been dying to go since forever but it’s just never happened.”

“And I told you we would go when Mingyu, Wonwoo, and Cheol graduate. It’ll be a group trip, we already agreed.”

Hansol nodded, something sad and faraway still evident on his face. Seungkwan sighed, looking around for something to talk about.

“I’m going to get a cookie so you stop looking like that, Chan, do you want anything?”

Chan shook his head, still looking at the defeated look Hansol wore. 

He barely even noticed when Seungkwan left, too focused on his downturned mouth and dejected eyes.

“Hey, Hansol, it’s okay to have never been to Korea, it doesn’t make you less Korean.”

Hansol looked up at him, his eyes shadowed by his bangs. Chan almost reached forward to brush them away, but refrained, reminding himself that they were in public in the middle of the day and it really wasn’t the time nor place for such actions.

“And it’s, like, kind of overrated anyway. Except the chicken,” Chan said, hoping to lighten the mood, “I’ve been here for nearly a year and have yet to find chicken as good as the stuff back home.”

Hansol, for all his eyes were still watery, chuckled at that, smiling at Chan softly. 

“Thank you,” He mumbled, unfolding his napkin and trying to smooth it out, “Maybe we can try and find some chicken that’s better here?”

“Maybe,” Chan said, “But I doubt it.”

“I’ll have you know there are some really good places here.”

“Really good places here are mediocre places in Korea.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you better start believing,” Chan laughed, “Because it’s the truth.”

As Hansol sputtered and floundered for an argument, Chan bit back a grin. 

This outing hadn’t been entirely useless, he supposed, after all, he now had a good idea of what to get Hansol for Christmas. 

Chapter Text

“I got you a cookie anyway, because I felt bad only giving one to the pouter.” Seungkwan announced upon his return to the table. He passed Chan a paper bag and put one down in front of Hansol as well.

“I’m not pouting anymore,” Hansol murmured, pulling the cookie out of the bag and taking a bite, “But thanks.”

“Well, good, because I realised something standing in the queue.”

“That Mars is populated by robots that will never meet each other?” Hansol asked.

“No.”

“That yellow is the least popular colour, even though it’s the colour associated with happiness?”

“No.”

“That those jeans make your legs look short?”

“N- What?” Seungkwan turned to him, shock written all over his face, “Why didn’t you tell me before we left your place?”

Hansol shrugged, clearly trying to bite down a smile, “I didn’t realise until just now.”

“I- You-” Seungkwan spluttered for a moment, before rolling his eyes and turning back to Chan, “I don’t have time for his whole... him-ness right now.”

Hansol gave a mock bow, and Chan tried very hard not to laugh. 

“What I did realise in the queue,” He continued, shooting Hansol a glare, “Was that you said you liked dancing!”

Chan paused where he was about to put the cookie in his mouth, his body frozen in time as he processed Seungkwan’s words. 

Okay, so, maybe he had let it slip that he liked dancing, but how (and why) was Seungkwan paying enough attention to catch it? It had only been a brief comment, barely even made in passing, it’s not like he’d projected his love of dance for the entire cafe to hear.

He was beginning to realise that Seungkwan and Jeonghan were scarily alike in some ways, and that he’d have to be a bit more careful when talking in the future.

“Oh, well, yeah, I mean… I like it - liked it.” Chan mumbled, picking at his cookie and watching as the crumbs made a mess on the table, “I don’t really do it now.”

“Why not?” Seungkwan pushed.

“I just- I don’t really have time. And I wasn’t very good.” He said, brushing the crumbs to the side and smiling sheepishly as one of the employees gave him the evil eye.

“I see. You work?”

Chan nodded.

“I’ve never seen you going to work.”

It almost felt like he was being interrogated.

“Chan works nights.”

Chan had been about to make the exact same point, but it seemed Hansol had beat him to the punch, which was strange because…

“Did I ever tell you that?” Chan asked, cocking his head to the side as he tried to remember.

Hansol’s eyes widened minutely before he dropped his gaze back to the cookie on the table.

“Ah, you must have said it in passing or something.” 

“Yeah,” Chan nodded, still a little suspicious but shaking it off easily, “Probably.”

“So you work in the evenings?” Seungkwan interrupted, Chan nodded once more, mind still stuck on how Hansol knew that. 

“So you’re free during the day?”

Chan held his hands out in an ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ gesture, “Generally I have very little to keep me entertained.”

“You should go to Soonyoung and Minghao’s studio!” 

Chan balked, looking at Seungkwan with bug eyes and wondering how the hell he was going to wiggle his way out of this one.

He could think of multiple reasons that to him were extremely valid to not do what had just been suggested.

For one, he had never formally been introduced to either men. From his memory, Soonyoung had been blackout drunk and not even coherent enough to stand up straight, and Minghao was harbouring a hopeless crush on someone in another country (which was somehow still better than Chan’s crush on someone currently seated across from him).

Secondly, he really wasn’t sure he was ready to go back to dancing just yet. Sure, it had given him so many happy memories, but it had also been ninety percent of the reason he was struggling so much now. Dance hadn’t worked before, and Chan wasn’t sure he wanted to risk it to see if it would work the second time around.

And even if he did go back to dance, he was fairly sure he wouldn’t want his return to be watched by two complete strangers who would definitely judge him.

But he knew Seungkwan wouldn’t see those as reasons, he’d see them as excuses, so he tried every other angle.

“I have to study.”

“You said you had nothing to entertain you in the days.”

“Studying isn’t exactly entertaining, but I still have to do it.”

“Surely not for every second of every day?”

“It’s important.”

“Well, you can speak English with the guys, they live here, they’re good at it.” Seungkwan rested his chin on his linked fingers, smiling somewhat smugly, and Chan prayed for some kind of manhole to just open up and swallow him so he could get out of this conversation.

“I just…” Chan cut himself off with a sigh, picking at the cookie once again.

“If it’s something you love, you should try it.” The words came from Hansol, not Seungkwan this time. “Even if it goes wrong and you end up realising you hate it or you suck at it,” He smiled softly, “You should still try.”

“Otherwise you’ll never know.” Seungkwan completed his sentence. They were both looking at him with exactly the same imploring eyes, and Chan was weak to suggestion.

^^^

After bidding farewell to both Hansol and Seungkwan, Chan stood outside the cafe for a moment, looking down at the small rectangular business card in his hands and the two new numbers listed in his phone.

This was going to be a disaster.

Chan exhaled heavily, tucking the card into his pocket and clicking on a different number, listening to it ring three times and hoping it wouldn’t go to the answering machine - he hated leaving messages.

“Chan?” Jeonghan’s voice was robotic through the speaker, but he could still hear the mild concern, “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Chan replied, starting to head home, “I just have a question.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Let’s say hypothetically,” He began, “I went to a dance studio and had some lessons, how mad would you be on a scale of one to ten?”

Jeonghan hummed on the other end of the line, taking a moment to respond. 

“Remind me why I’d be mad about this?”

“Because it’s a blatant disregard of my responsibilities and our families’ wishes?”

A sigh. “I know I was a bit of a dick about it, but I really don’t care about your parents breathing down my neck. At least, not when it’s just about what you’re doing.”

“That… feels like a contradiction?”

“Listen, as long as what you’re doing is legal and not endangering you - both things I’m fairly certain a few dance lessons fit the bill for - then it’s okay. I won’t even tell them if you really don’t want me to.”

“Really?”

“As long as you promise not to do those lessons in oncoming traffic or in the middle of a turf war, then yeah.”

“I think you have to pay extra for those parts.”

“Funny,” Jeonghan said dryly, and Chan laughed, neatly sidestepping a stray cat as he did so. 

“I like to think I am,” He responded.

“As for your ‘responsibilities’ as you call them,” Jeonghan continued, “Just make sure you keep studying and working. Or don’t. Honestly, language skills come from communicating with others, not textbooks, so this will be more beneficial than sitting in your room like some kind of monk hunched over texts.”

“I do not hunch over the books.”

“You have the posture of a banana.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m gonna ask Shua’s mother for the name of her chiropractor.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I like to think I am,” Jeonghan parroted his own words back to him and Chan groaned faux-irritably.

“You’re insufferable.”

“See, I don’t even need to think that, because you and everyone else who’s spent more than ten minutes with me seems to agree on it.”

“That’s because it’s true.” Chan huffed, stopping at a crossing. “You really wouldn’t be mad?”

“I won’t be mad, Chan,” Jeonghan reassured, his previously joking attitude gone. “I can’t speak for your parents, but I’d rather you were happy than successful.”

“You definitely shouldn’t speak for my parents then,” Chan chuckled, “I should go before I get hit by a car.”

“Yes, I admit whilst I’d love to see you happy, I’d also like to see you alive and home in time for dinner.”

“I’ll do my best,” Chan said, and with a quick goodbye he hung up, pocketing his phone and finally managing to cross the road (and only nearly getting mowed down by a bike).

It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, knowing Jeonghan wouldn’t mind. Which was weird, because Jeonghan reasonably wouldn’t have cared about him doing dance. He may have been freaked out at the idea of Chan doing things alone, but now he was even opening up to that, so there was realistically nothing to be worried about.

The thing was, Chan wasn’t really looking for approval for Jeonghan, or anything of the sort. He was really just trying to convince himself that doing this wouldn’t cause the inevitable downfall of life as he knew it.

He wasn’t quite sure if it was a good thing just yet, but the phone call had definitely helped.

Chapter Text

Chan was sitting at his desk, drumming his fingers against the black screen of his phone, and trying to work up the courage to send a text message.

It was that weird ten-minute window of time where he was ready to go, but couldn’t leave otherwise he’d be too early, so he was fully dressed for work, puke green cap in place and all (it was ugly, but it was also freezing outside, and Chan really didn’t see the point in bringing two hats, so fashion suicide was the answer).

Jeonghan still wasn’t home, despite the fact that he should’ve been. Chan wasn’t totally sure what could’ve kept him so long considering he taught five-year-olds, but the simple text message he’d received had only told him that his cousin would be late home, and that Chan should stay safe.

It wasn’t cryptic enough to worry him, but being filled with anxiety was Chan’s natural state, and he was starting to regret being so harsh on Jeonghan’s own worries.

Maybe it was a familial thing.

Either way, the text he needed to send wasn’t to Jeonghan - for all he was minorly worried about his cousin’s wellbeing - it was to Soonyoung. 

The Soonyoung who was completely bananas drunk that time Chan had crashed what was clearly a party the night of the argument. The Soonyoung who apparently also co-owned a dance studio only five blocks away from the apartment. 

The Soonyoung who Seungkwan had forcibly given Chan the number of with the expectation of texting him to inquire about lessons in said dance studio.

Of course, Chan could simply not text Soonyoung, but he quite liked having all of his bones intact, and he had a funny feeling Seungkwan wouldn’t take it too well if Chan just didn’t use the number.

Realistically, it was only a matter of time before Seungkwan gave Soonyoung Chan’s number, and if Chan hated the idea of sending the first message, he absolutely loathed the idea of waiting for it. Jumping every time his phone so much as buzzed and practicing introductions for fifty different types of conversation weren’t exactly on his list of fun things to spend his time doing.

So it was time to grow up and send the first message himself.

Seungkwan would do it. Jeonghan would do it. Jisoo would do it. Hansol… well, Hansol wouldn’t do it, but Hansol was cool and funny enough to get away with it. 

He wore his awkwardness well, unlike Chan who wore his awkwardness like a pair of flippers.

He had just about finally hyped himself up to unlock the phone, when the screen lit up and an incoming call came through.

Chan’s first thought was: Oh my God, it’s Soonyoung.

His second thought was: Why would it be Soonyoung?

Seungkwan gave him your number.

You barely got his number a few hours ago, this can’t be him.

Whilst his common sense and his irrational anxiety bickered in his brain, Chan checked the caller ID, and was slightly surprised to see his bosses name.

Sure, the guy had given Chan his number ‘in case of emergencies’, but he’d never actually called him. He checked the time, just in case he’d really fucked up and was, like, an hour late, but he wasn’t. It was still five minutes before he usually left, and besides, if he had been late, it would’ve been a co-worker calling, not his boss.

Mildly confused and with a weird swirly feeling in his stomach that he had long since identified as nervousness, Chan picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, is this Chan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right, you work tonight, don’t you?”

“Yes, at seven.” Chan felt like he should mention the time, to make sure any misunderstandings could be cleared up quickly. Maybe he’d missed some sort of memo and was in trouble. Which sucked, because Chan hated getting chewed out by his shitty boss, but he would also rather it happen now on the phone than in person later.

“Yeah, don’t bother coming in.”

Chan’s brain screeched to a halt from where it had been preparing apologies. The words he’d planned to say sat on the tip of his tongue, useless, and he swallowed them down enough to squeeze out a, “Why not?”

There was a derisive scoff on the other end of the line.

“The shop’s been blitzed to all hell,” His boss tutted, “I’ve got fire departments and police officers crawling up my ass right now, it’s a real shitshow.”

“The shop..?” Chan trailed off, turning his head and looking out of the window. The shop wasn’t near his apartment, but it still felt weird that it had supposedly been ‘blitzed’ without him even noticing.

“What happened?” He asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Haven’t a clue, boy,” His boss said, “The place has been torn down, all rocks and rubble, it’s a miracle no one was hurt.”

“No one was hurt?”

“Whoever was on duty was in the back room, lunch break, apparently that’s the only place that didn’t get wiped out.”

“Oh… well, that’s good.”

“Morally, sure. I’ve still got a shit ton of paperwork, so I’m not exactly jumping for joy.”

The words quickly reminded Chan of why he disliked his boss so much, and he rolled his eyes. “So, what about my job?” He continued, hoping his disdain wasn’t leaking into his voice too much.

“Well, you can’t work, can you? Unless you’re planning on selling stock in front of a pile of bricks.”

There was a silence, one that Chan wasn’t entirely sure how to fill. His boss had to know the real reason he was asking, right? It wasn’t like Chan worked at that place because he had a passion for it.

A sigh.

“Legally, I still have to pay you, and I can’t fire you for this, so-” Chan could almost see his boss making a disgruntled face, “I guess that’s that.”

“Okay.” Chan said, “Is that all?”

His boss tutted before grunting what was probably meant to be a yes and cutting the line.

Chan pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at the display. Another minute ticked by.

Weird, how time still passed normally even if you’d just received life-changing news.

Well, it wasn’t really life-changing, that was a bit dramatic. But still, fully paid leave from his crappy job for the next month or so? It was something worth celebrating in Chan’s opinion, and he was seconds away from calling Jeonghan when his phone started buzzing again.

Jisoo.

He didn’t really think too hard about why Jisoo would be calling him before he answered, excited to tell him about this latest occurrence.

He could barely get a word in before he was being barraged with questions.

“Chan! Are you okay? Is Jeonghan okay? No one’s answering, why is no one answering? They’re saying it was some kind of psycho villain who’s trying to make a statement or some shit and of course Jameson’s on this because he knows it’s a Spider-Man thing and it’s all hell here, I didn’t even see where it was until just now and I tried calling you but it went to voicemail and then I tried to call Jeonghan and it just rang out. But you’ve answered, so please say you’re okay and still have all your limbs.”

Chan blinked, trying to process the words. He could hear Jisoo’s panicked breaths through the speaker, and realised that he should say something.

“I’m okay,” He said, if only to ease Jisoo’s worry, “I’m in the apartment.”

“Oh, thank God.” Chan could hear the relief in his voice, “What about Jeonghan?”

“He said he was staying late at work, he didn’t say why.”

“It’s probably just a parent. God, why didn’t you answer the first time I called?”

“My boss rang me to tell me what I assume you’re calling about.”

“The attack?”

Chan hummed, tugging his cap off and dropping it on his desk, ruffling his hair slightly and settling on the chair a bit more. “He called to say the store had been blown to shit.”

“His exact words?” Jisoo asked dryly, and Chan chuckled, “Not quite.”

“What about your job?” 

“He can’t fire me over this,” Chan said, “And legally he has to give me full wage,” He giggled, “Those were his exact words.”

“Damn,” Jisoo said, “I should put that in the article.”

“Don’t,” Chan replied, “He can fire me for defamation.”

“Relax, I’d make it anonymous. Besides, I can’t use anything to say to me right now in the paper without you having grounds for entrapment or something like that.”

“Really?”

A quiet hum from Jisoo’s end, “It’s a grey area, but you could make a case.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chan said, and Jisoo let out a loud laugh, “For when?”

“Just in case.” There was a wry smile on Chan’s face, and he was sure Jisoo could hear it when he spoke.

“I should go, this place is still a mess.” He sighed, “Looks like I’ll be working late again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Jisoo said, “It’s not your fault.”

“Still,” Chan said, gulping down the minor guilt he felt. After all, this villain was trying to get Spider-Man’s attention, that was why Jameson was so pissed, that was why Jisoo was working late. And Chan knew Spider-Man, well enough to even say they were friends. So he felt bad. “It’s the sentiment.” He finished lamely.

“Just make sure Jeonghan leaves me leftovers this time for when I get home, that’ll make up for it.”

“Sure,” Chan agreed easily, the two bidding goodbye and hanging up afterwards. Quickly, before his phone could light up with a third call, Chan shot a message off to his cousin, who would surely see the news and lose his shit.

Chan: No, I was not at the store when it blew up. Yes, I am at home and I have all my body parts where they should be. I’m going to make a sandwich because I’m hungry but you won’t let me near your precious pans.

It only took a few moments before a reply came through.

Jeonghan: Brat. Don’t go out tonight.

Chan: Where are you?

The message was read as soon as he sent it, but there was no reply, and Chan tried not to let the suspicion curling in his gut make its way to his head. Jeonghan was fine, he’d replied, so he was okay. He was probably just being a gremlin on purpose, sometimes he got in a mood and liked to be difficult.

It didn’t really explain why Jeonghan had answered Chan’s text but not Jisoo’s call. He’d have to ask him that in person later.

Stretching his arms out with a satisfying click, he rose from the chair and headed towards the kitchen. It was weird, not leaving for work when he knew he should be. He’d gotten used to the little routine he’d built up, and it felt strange not committing to it, even though he didn’t have to.

Chan opened the fridge and peered into it, rifling through containers of leftovers and various cartons and boxes of food to find something to put in his sandwich.

“Oh, you’re alive, thank God.”

Chan turned, the awkward position he was crouched in causing him to stumble and topple onto his ass. He looked up, eyes widening in surprise when he saw who it was.

“What are you doing here?”

He felt it was an appropriate reaction to seeing Spider-Man standing in your kitchen. Fully suited up and yet leaning against the tiled wall nonchalantly like he belonged there.

“Checking on you, obviously.”

“How did you get in?”

“You leave your window open,” Spider-Man gestured behind him vaguely, and, sure enough, Chan could see his bedroom window - though his was definitely more open than it had been initially.

“I thought I told you to stop doing that.”

Chan sputtered as he tried to comprehend what was going on. Spider-Man was here, in his kitchen, talking to him, as if there was nothing remotely strange or bizarre about that.

“It was barely ajar,” Chan pointed out, “Besides which, seeing an open window doesn’t mean it’s an invitation to climb inside!”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Even if the owner of said window is your friend!”

“Okay, okay,” Spider-Man held up his hands in surrender, and Chan could hear the grin in his voice, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s not just about that,” Chan grumbled, standing up and closing the fridge. Yes, he had been embarrassed by falling over in front of the hero, but, honestly, he was becoming accustomed to the disaster that was his life. And being weird and awkward in front of Spider-Man was a thousand times better than being weird and awkward in front of Hansol.

“What if someone else was here?”

“I have super hearing,” Spider-Man said, tapping the side of his head where Chan presumed his ear was, “I knew there was no one else here.”

“So you broke into my apartment-”

“I let myself in.”

“-And eavesdropped?”

“Is it really eavesdropping if there’s nothing to hear?” The hero shrugged, “It’s not like I was snooping through your drawers.”

Chan went slightly pink at the comment, the idea of Spider-Man going through his underwear drawer equal parts funny and mortifying. In fact, the very idea that Spider-Man wore underwear was pretty comedic, and now Chan was wondering what kind of underwear he wore and trying not to burst a vein in an attempt not to laugh at the thought. 

“Your heart rate picked up,” Spider-Man said, “You okay?”

Chan nodded, calming himself down by reminding himself that he wasn’t five, and that laughing about a superheroes choice of underwear was definitely not behaviour befitting of someone who wanted to be viewed as independent.

Now that he wasn’t freaking out or trying not to laugh, he was becoming more aware of how strange this whole thing was. 

Spider-Man - the Spider-Man - was still standing in his kitchen. The red and blue outfit shone under the lights and Chan was all too aware that Jeonghan could be home any second, and he wouldn’t have any realistic explanation as to why he was here.

“You should go,” Chan said, not really wanting to cut the interaction short and knowing it made him seem rude, but not knowing of any other options.

“So soon?” Spider-Man seemed a little surprised, even mildly offended, “After I took time out of my busy schedule to visit you?”

Chan tried to force down the heat that was growing in his face at the words. He wasn’t sure if the hero knew just how flirty he was, if he was doing it on purpose or if it was just a part of his little pantomime.

“I heard a building blew up a few blocks away,” Chan said, “Maybe you could go check that out?”

If he wasn’t wearing the mask, Chan was certain Spider-Man would be giving him the most unimpressed look right now.

“Just ‘a building’,” He said, “No special correlation between you and that building?”

Chan sighed. “Is this why you’re here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Weren’t you there when it blew up?”

“If I was, it wouldn’t have been as bad as it is.”

“So you’ve seen it?” Chan asked, trying to gauge a reaction from the few parts he could see.

“Of course,” Spider-Man said, “From a distance, though. I’ll have to wait until the cops clear out to try and get a good look.” He shook his head, muttering something Chan couldn’t quite catch under his breath. He was about to ask more questions, but was cut off before he could start.

“We shouldn’t talk about this here,” He said, “Your cousin could come home, and I’m pretty sure that’s why you’re so nervous right now.”

“I didn’t know you could read minds as well,” Chan huffed.

“I can’t, I can just tell.”

For the third time during the conversation, Chan was fighting back a blush. Maybe he hadn’t meant the words in the way they sounded, but he hadn’t done anything to correct them, and he was still looking directly at Chan through the unnervingly large white eyes of the mask, as if he was waiting for some kind of outburst.

It didn’t come, and after a moment of weird tension, the hero nodded towards the window.

“Come with me,” He said, “I know somewhere a little better for these types of conversations.”

Chapter Text

Chan shivered. It was way too cold outside, and he was only wearing a thin hoodie over his work polo. 

He looked up, eyeing the rickety fire escape that ran right up to the roof. 

"Yeah, no way."

"It's not that bad."

"You are literally a superhero, of course you don't think it's that bad." Chan argued, frowning at him.

Spider-Man chuckled, the sound awakening something wobbly in Chan's stomach. 

"I promise you won't fall - the stairs are made to hold multiple people during a crisis."

"Do you honestly think I trust the people who built this building?" 

The hero looked at him, and Chan couldn't quite tell if he was irritated or endeared by his arguments. Either way, he'd made up his mind. The damn stairs were more than half rusted, and even in the light early evening breeze they were creaking somewhat alarmingly. There was no way he was walking up them.

Even if the alternative was being caught by Jeonghan or Jisoo.

"Can’t we just stay here?" Chan gestured to where they stood at that moment, on the little platform outside his room. 

"How are you going to explain being out here to your cousin?" 

"I'll say I wanted some fresh air."

"Chan-" 

"Do you have a better idea?" 

There was a stilted silence between them, Spider-Man clearly thinking and Chan watching him challengingly. There was absolutely no way he was going to be able to produce any other place for them to talk - this was the only option.

"I could carry you up."

Chan's internal gloating ground to a dramatic halt, his eyes widening and mouth dropping open slightly. 

"Excuse me?" 

Spider-Man gave a nervous chuff, rubbing the back of his head. 

"You could, like, get on my back and we could go up." 

Chan gaped at him, mouth parting and shutting over and over as he tried to come up with any reason why that was a bad idea.

"Think about it, this way we get to go to the roof and won't get caught by your cousin, and you don't have to walk on the stairs." Chan imagined the hero had the biggest shit eating grin on his face right now. 

"And I promise i won't drop you."

Chan glanced up at the roof.

Well, at least you can cross standing on top of a building off your bucket list.

He sighed, gesturing for the hero to turn around so he could climb on his back. Spider-Man seemed all too thrilled about this new development, turning around quickly and dropping into a slight crouch.

"I’m not that small," Chan huffed, clambering on and securing his arms around his shoulders. 

"You’re still shorter than me," Spider-Man replied, straightening up and testing their combined weight on the balls of his feet.

Chan felt weirdly fluttery at the movement, but he wrote it off as nerves. After all, who wouldn't be apprehensive at the idea of scaling a building on someone else's back? 

Of course, nerves couldn't account for the heat he could feel crawling up his neck, but he was ignoring that for the sake of his sanity.

Before he could even process what was happening, spider-man moved, landing on the side of the building with ease and sticking there like Chan had seen him do many times in pictures and on news reports.

However, no amount of pictures could prepare anyone for the sheer terror Chan felt at essentially hovering in empty space. He locked his ankles around Spider-Man’s waist - pride be damned - and let out a tiny squeak.

He was white-knuckling the hero's shoulders.

"Don’t be so scared," Spider-Man said, voice soft rather than teasing, "I won't let anything happen to you." 

"Just," Chan grit his teeth, well aware of how shaky his voice was, "Hurry up." 

Thankfully, Spider-Man listened, climbing up the wall with ease. As soon as they passed over the lip of the edge, Chan hopped off of his back, walking away from the edge and trying to shake off the wobbliness in his knees.

"I never would have guessed you would be scared of heights," 

"I’m not scared of them, just not fond of hanging over a two-hundred foot drop."

"Don’t be embarrassed," The hero said, walking over to him, "It’s cute."

Chan was conflicted between pointing out that fearing for one’s life wasn’t exactly his definition of cute, and being embarrassingly thrilled that Spider-Man thought he was cute.

It wasn’t like Chan cared if Spider-Man thought he was cute. He didn’t even know his real name. Spider-Man was practically a stranger to him.

Which was, admittedly, a weird revelation to have when you’re standing on top of a building with said stranger. Chan was now suddenly very aware that it would not take much for the hero to pick him up and throw him off the building to his certain death. And whilst such a fear was definitely irrational (why would Spider-Man throw him off a building?) it was still lurking in his head.

In an attempt to stave his fear off, he decided he’d have to try and get to know the other more.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

If Chan was being dragged into an unmarked van, or waterboarded in an abandoned warehouse, he would definitely not survive, given that - when his fear kicked in and he had to try and preserve his life - he apparently asked about his possible murderers preference in colour.

The hero cocked his head slightly, clearly confused (as was Chan’s brain) by the sudden line of questioning.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just,” Chan gestured lamely, looking around the roof for inspiration for an excuse. There was none. “I’m curious.”

He was met with silence, which was mildly disheartening, but not in the least bit surprising. 

“Come on,” He nearly whined, “I don’t know anything about you - I don’t know your name, or where you live, or what colour your hair is,” He did not pout at the other, he simply looked at him in a way that would hopefully seem convincing, “At least give me this.”

“You realise me giving you information about me puts you in danger?” Spider-Man said, leaning against the small wall by the edge of the building. Chan’s pulse rose slightly at the action, even though he knew that he’d be fine.

“Knowing your favourite colour puts me in danger?” 

A small chuckle, almost shy, definitely endeared (something that Chan was struggling to ignore). “It might. I’ve got some big enemies, you know.”

“To my knowledge,” Chan argued, a cheeky smile slipping onto his face, “Those enemies are behind bars. Except for the angry reporter. And,” He shrugged, “I think I could handle him.”

“Ah, and that’s where you’re wrong,” Spider-Man said, tone joking, “Jameson is the most formidable opponent I’ve ever faced.”

“Oh really?” Chan giggled, “I’m sure he’s very threatening, with his biros and notebooks.”

“Don’t judge,” Spider-Man responded, smile obvious despite the mask, “He’s the one who’s come closest to figuring out who’s under here.” He tapped the fabric covering his face.

“He has?” Chan asked, eyes widening ever so slightly, “When?”

“I can’t tell you that,” The reply was quick, too quick, “You’ll try and figure it out then.”

Quiet fell between them, the hero clearly lost in thought and the cogs in Chan’s own brain turning as he processed the words.

“Would it be so bad?” He asked, voice smaller than he was used to it being, “If I knew?”

A sigh.

“I mean,” He continued, not allowing the other room to argue back just yet, “You say you want to be my friend - that we can be close - you take me to this… secret spot-”

“It’s the roof of your apartment block.”

“-but you won’t let me know who you are.” Chan said, ignoring the interruption. “I don’t get it,” He huffed a sigh, trying not to let his frustration take him over too much. 

“You don’t understand-”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Chan all but barked, “So help me to. Why can’t I know who you are?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“For me? Or for you? Because the only thing my mind can come up with is that you think I’m going to spill your identity to some reporter for a quick buck.”

“It’s not that,” Spider-Man’s voice was tense, like he was holding back from shouting. It sucked, Chan could feel himself getting angrier as the conversation wore on, but the hero was annoyingly composed. He wanted to be shouted at, so that they could fight properly. If he was the only one losing his temper, it made him seem childish and petty.

He wanted to leave that all behind.

“By knowing who I am, it puts a target on your back.”

“Why?”

“Can’t you take my word for it?”

Chan thought about it, he thought about pushing ahead with his argument, with forcing the hero to unmask himself. That would give him what he wanted, right? Clarity on Spider-Man’s identity. Proof that the hero actually cared about him.

Proof that he trusted him.

And it was that thought that made all of Chan’s anger fizz away. Was he really going to back someone who was meant to be his friend into a corner just because of his own trust issues? Because he was too insecure to believe someone could like him and trust him without explicitly stating so?

It was pathetic, and Chan’s irritation was now replaced with disappointment.

Not in Spider-Man, in himself.

“Yeah,” He said, voice hoarse, “I- I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Spider-Man assured him, “I just need you to understand that I don’t tell you things because I-”

He cut himself off, and Chan would’ve pushed about it if he wasn’t so embarrassed of his own behaviour.

“I can’t.” The hero finished lamely, sounding upset with his own poor answer, “But it’s not because I don’t want to.”

Chan nodded, still not wanting to look back up and focusing on his shoes. He should try and save for new ones soon, these ones were extremely worn and threadbare, it was a bit sad really.

Somewhere far off, a siren blared, and Chan could practically sense the hero looking in the direction it came from.

“You should go check that out,” He said.

“It’s probably nothing.”

“It might be something.”

Another pause, more loaded this time, and then movement, as Spider-Man stood up and brushed his suit down.

“Will you be able to get down?”

“I’ll manage.”

“I can help you if you need-”

“Don’t worry,” Chan hurried to say, “I can suck it up a bit. Besides,” He murmured, more to himself, “I think I want to be alone.”

Chan didn’t register that the hero would hear him, though given that he had super hearing, it should’ve been obvious. He could hear a sharp intake of breath, before there were footsteps coming in his direction and he barely had the time to look up before he was being wrapped in a hug.

It was bizarre, hugging Spider-Man. His arms were toned and his shoulders were broad and Chan could feel every sinewy muscle through the skin-tight spandex. Even though it should’ve felt impersonal, like hugging a mannequin, it was anything but.

Spider-Man’s hold was warm, his chin resting on Chan’s shoulder and his breathing even. 

“Chan-ah,” He spoke, voice softer than Chan had ever heard it, “Don’t be afraid that I don’t like you, because I do. I like you a bit too much, I think, so don’t worry about it.”

Chan opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the grip tightened and he squeaked as he was pressed further into the other. 

“And don’t be alone,” He muttered, “You have me now, I won’t leave you alone.”

“You have to,” Chan whispered, still wary of the sirens he could hear, “Someone needs you.”

“I’ll be back, though,” He said, not allowing Chan space to move just yet, “And you can need me too, you know?”

Chan allowed himself to relax for a moment, resting his head against Spider-Man’s chest and letting his eyes flit over the city scape. It was pretty, if a bit threatening to be up so high. 

“I know,” He eventually replied, finally managing to wriggle out of the hero’s arms with a sheepish grin, “I think you established that when we first met.”

“When we first met?” Spider-Man echoed, something fond in his voice, “I suppose I did help you with the possible hypothermia.”

Chan frowned, puzzled, but before he could ask, Spider-Man was backing away, hand held up in a wave as he reached the edge. 

“I’ll be off then,” He chirped, “See you soon?”

“Yeah,” Chan called back, wrapping his arms around himself and trying not to be too giddy at the thought that Spider-Man had hugged him. “See you.”

The hero turned, ready to leap into the air, before he paused, turning his head over his shoulder. 

“My favourite colour,” He said, and, once again, Chan could almost envision the playful smile he’d have on, “Is yellow.”

And with that, he jumped, a web shooting out and pulling him off in the direction of his next mission.

And Chan was left on the roof, with a bunch of questions and zero answers, but a warm feeling in his stomach and a mismatched beat in his heart.

Chapter Text

When Chan eventually made it back into his room (only having to stop and take deep breaths on the stairs once), he could hear a cheery humming sound coming from the kitchen.

He was relieved that he’d taken the conversation outside, but a little confused that Jeonghan apparently hadn’t bothered to come into his room to check on him. The humming was clearly him - the tone gave it away - but it was also far too peppy a sound for someone who had discovered their cousin had snuck out.

Meaning that Jeonghan didn’t know Chan had snuck out.

Meaning Jeonghan hadn’t checked Chan’s room when he got home.

Which, to be fair, he had said he’d give Chan more space. And maybe him not hovering over Chan’s every move was a part of that (and a part he was thankful for), but it was still a bit weird.

Forgive him for thinking that such a one-eighty in behaviour was just a tad bizarre.

So, he left his room, half intending to grill his cousin about why he was acting funny, and half curious as to why he was so chipper.

Before he could even say anything, Jeonghan beat him to it.

“Oh, hi Channie,” He said, beaming, “How was your day?”

Chan raised one eyebrow, trying to seem nonchalant in the way he leaned against the doorframe. 

“Fine,” He said, watching the way his cousin moved around the kitchen - as though dancing to some kind of invisible beat. This was definitely weird. Jeonghan didn’t dance around the kitchen whilst humming, he was a menace who sulked and whined when he had to do menial activities such as cooking.

“How was yours?”

“Oh, you know, it was good,” Jeonghan’s smile slipped into something a little more furtive, his gaze dropping to the pan he was greasing, “Interesting.”

“Really?” Chan asked, moving to one of the counters and pulling himself up to sit on it. “You seem happy.”

“I am,” Jeonghan said, turning to look at him with that brilliant toothy smile. Chan was struck suddenly by how little he’d seen of it recently, “I’m happy today, Chan.”

“Why?” 

“Do I need to have a reason?” He said, filling a bowl with rice and placing it on the table, “Can you clean the rice?”

Chan stood up slowly, rolling his sleeves up.

“Sure,” He said, as he turned the tap on and ran the rice under it. He watched Jeonghan out of the corner of his eye, seeing the gentle bob of his head as he chopped vegetables.

“You’re acting weird.”

Zero points for tact, but at least it was out there.

Jeonghan turned to him, eyebrows raised, “Weird in what way?”

“Weird as in,” Chan gestured, “Dancing and humming and being all happy.”

Jeonghan snorted, “I can be happy, Chan, I had a good day. Do I really need any other reasons to be happy?”

“Well, no,” He admitted, returning his attention to the rice, “But it’s just weird.”

“I know things have been stressful recently,” The older spoke, patting Chan’s shoulder softly, “But I guess life is just… looking up for me. It’s not a big deal or anything.”

Chan nodded, draining the rice and putting the bowl on the counter.

“Why are you so gloomy?” Jeonghan said, voice light, “I thought you’d be just as happy as me, you know, seeing as you don’t have to work.”

“That’s not-” Chan started, cutting himself off with a sigh, “I’m not gloomy. I just wasn’t expecting you to be so cheery when you got home.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” 

“No,” Chan hurried to say, not wanting to fight with his cousin for the second time within the month, “Just a bit strange.”

Jeonghan chuckled, pouring the vegetables into the pan and flipping them a bit before turning and looking at him.

“Well, it’s good to know that my happiness is so weird to you. I must be a really moody asshole for you to think that.”

The words were harsh, but nothing on Jeonghan’s face indicated that he was actually upset, and Chan - who sucked at reading moods even on good days - was confused. He furrowed his brow, nibbling his lip slightly.

“I’m… sorry?” He said, unsure as to whether that would only make his cousin angrier.

“Don’t be sorry, you fool,” Jeonghan sounded fond, and Chan could deduce now at least that he really wasn’t pissed, “Go get changed and help me cook. We can watch a movie later if you want?”

Chan nodded, still confused, but willing to just go with it. He would rather an oddly joyful cousin to a grouchy one.

When he got into his room, he remembered that he had, once again, left his window open when he’d come in. He walked over to it, prepared to pull it shut, only to find that it had been closed - though not latched. He noticed a piece of paper on the glass, stuck there with a bit of blue tack.

‘I told you to close your window :p’

Chan couldn’t stop the grin that curled onto his face at the little note, peering through the glass to check if the hero was lingering nearby.

He’d thought he’d swung off into the city, but clearly he’d doubled back to check that Chan had gotten in and wasn’t stuck on the fire escape in tears or something. 

“I like you a bit too much, I think.”

He suppressed the squeal that wanted to come out upon remembering the words. It had been quite an intimate moment, which was strange, because his interactions with Spider-Man so far had been purely platonic. He wondered if he’d maybe missed something, some hidden subtext in their conversations that hinted at anything more.

Chan sighed, falling back onto his bed and realising he resembled a giddy teenager with their first crush a bit too much. 

Well, it wasn’t inaccurate. Chan was technically still a teenager, and he was definitely a bit giddy at the thought of Spider-Man liking him back.

Chan’s brain suddenly halted.

Why was he so caught up in what Spider-Man thought of him? Sure, he had a tiny passing crush on the guy, but it’s not like they actually knew each other personally. He didn’t really have much of a reason to like him as much as he did - and although he was comforted in the knowledge that Spider-Man apparently had similar feelings, he didn’t know why he was getting so worked up.

He was supposed to have a crush on Hansol. Having a crush on Hansol made sense, because he had seen Hansol’s face, and he knew how old he was and where he lived. 

Hansol was his friend, and an entirely appropriate person to have a genuine crush on.

Spider-Man may have been a friend, but it was a different type of friendship. The crush Chan harboured on him was meant to be borne of admiration. He’d thought he only liked Spider-Man because he was glad someone was paying attention to him in that way.

But now, he apparently liked him in the same way he liked Hansol. As if Spider-Man was a serious romantic option for him.

Which was ridiculous. 

He couldn’t have that type of crush on two different people, it wasn’t right. And it didn’t make sense, because he didn’t know what Spider-Man looked like or how old he was. Maybe he was a crusty middle-aged man that was preying on an innocent teen such as himself.

Though, that description didn’t seem entirely fair.

But still, there was no way his school boy crush could’ve grown into something more from one conversation. Spider-Man was Spider-Man, secretive and unattainable and someone to be watched from a distance. Chan couldn’t have real feelings for him.

He nodded to himself, rolling onto his side and looking at the paper again.

There was a fluttery feeling in his stomach as he looked over the words and he sat bolt upright, abandoning the note in favour of pulling out his phone.

He could only think of one thing to do, and whilst it may not have been the smartest thing to do, it was the only option available.

Chan: Okay, so, talking in hypotheticals.

Chan: If my crush on a local superhero seems to have developed into something else

Chan: And this is a big ‘IF’

Chan: What should I do?

Immediately after sending the message, he flung his phone away, covering his eyes with a groan.

There was a tap at the door and Jeonghan poked his head around.

“Are you actually going to help me with the dinner, or are you too weirded out by my happiness?”

“I’ll help,” Chan replied, not bothering to uncover his face, “Just give me a sec.”

“If you say so,” Jeonghan chirped (yes, chirped), closing the door as he left.

Chan’s phone buzzed, and he groaned once again, deciding to change before looking at Seungkwan’s answer. He has a feeling the other man was going to laugh at him, and he wanted to put it off for as long as possible.

He stood up, pulling off his polo and changing into one of the sweatshirts he’d pilfered off of Jisoo a few months back. He slid out of his jeans and replaced them with chequered pyjama bottoms, before running a comb through his unruly hair. With little left to do to distract him from his phone (which had buzzed three more times since the first time), he finally looked at it.

And immediately felt all the colour drain from his face.

Soonyoung: You know, this is a weird way to introduce yourself.

Soonyoung: I’m assuming this is Chan - Non and Kwan’s friend?

Soonyoung: Don’t worry, I like the weird.

Soonyoung: It fits the description I’ve been given.

“The ‘description you’ve been given’?” Chan whispered to himself semi-hysterically. What kind of description had been given? That Chan was a complete loser who always messaged weird shit about his current crush status to random strangers?

It wouldn’t have been an entirely inaccurate description, but it was mortifying either way.

Before he could try and salvage the situation, his phone lit up with more messages.

Soonyoung: Never fear, we have all been in the realm of weird crushes.

Soonyoung: Though I can’t say I’ve ever wanted to jump Spider-Man’s bones.

Soonyoung: This is who we’re talking about, right?

Chan: I didn’t mean to send that to you.

A basic response, but one that felt appropriate.

Soonyoung: Don’t worry about it, really, I’ve been sent weirder things.

That wasn’t exactly comforting, but Chan took it for what it was. Soonyoung didn’t think he was a complete freak of nature. A win for Chan, in the most basic sense.

Soonyoung: We can talk about it tomorrow? Kwan said you had a pretty open schedule.

“Rude,” Chan muttered to himself. He couldn’t believe Seungkwan could just make him sound like a total loser like that. 

Well, he could believe it, but he wasn’t happy about it.

Chan: Sure. Where do you want to meet up?

Soonyoung: Well, I don’t know what Kwannie told you, but I do have this pretty neat dance studio nearby that’s open whenever I want it to be. How about there?

Alarms and buzzers were going off in Chan’s head. He’d sworn to himself to not step foot in that place unless he was forced by goblins or ghosts (or just a very persistent Seungkwan). 

But Chan hated conflict, and he couldn’t think of anywhere else they could meet or any reason why they couldn’t go to the studio.

Chan: Sounds good.

He didn’t bother reading Soonyoung’s message, dropping his phone on top of his duvet and looking at it, betrayed. How many times would he send something weird to a potential friend before he grew from his mistakes? This would have to be the last time, or Chan would shave his head and move to Tibet. 

His eyes passed from the phone to the note. 

Two very small, unassuming items, sitting on his bed. They would’ve meant nothing to a normal person.

But both of them had managed to throw Chan’s messy world into even more disarray.

Chapter Text

Chan stepped into Buzzy Bodies, not quite sure what to expect.

It smelled like shoe cleaner, which was to say not bad, but definitely not good. It smelled posher than he’d thought it would. Which was maybe a bit presumptuous and unfair on his behalf, but he couldn’t really be blamed. His main impression of Soonyoung had been a drunk man who screamed into karaoke machines and drew on his friend’s faces whilst they slept.

Not exactly the type of person who ran a legitimate business.

Nonetheless, the place did look nice, at least the reception Chan was standing in looked nice. The outside had thrown him a little, he hadn’t remembered the huge orange fanged bee with a slightly smudged foot that was painted onto the wall out the front. 

Which was odd, because that would surely be the one thing most people remembered about this place.

The issue wasn’t exactly the appearance of the place. It wasn't even with the smell (though that was the first thing Chan had noticed). It was the fact that there was nobody around.

The desk was empty, there was no music coming from any of the rooms. There wasn’t even a sniff coming from a janitor down the hall. 

The place was deserted.

And Chan didn’t know what to do. 

If he sat at the chairs, he might look too laid back, as if he was assuming nobody would be around for a while. He might even give off the vibe that he’d been waiting for a long time, which would definitely make Soonyoung (wherever he was) feel guilty.

But if he stood at the desk, he’d probably look impatient and entitled. Like he was expecting a receptionist to just materialise out of thin air and cater to his every whim. 

He was almost certainly overthinking everything, but right now the safest option for him really looked to be standing in the lobby and trying not to cry until someone came to help him.

Instead of having a mental breakdown, Chan did the next best thing his brain offered him.

“Hello?” He called, like the protagonist of a shitty horror film. He almost expected his voice to echo down the halls before a creepy shadowy figure grabbed him from behind and ate his soul.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have watched that movie with Jeonghan last night.

“Hi?”

Chan jumped at the voice, whipping his head to his left to see a guy standing by one of the doors. 

Fortunately, not a soul eating shadow monster.

The man was holding a water bottle, his hair pushed back with a black headband and curling around his nape with sweat. He was wearing a white tank and something about him was familiar to Chan, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Uh, hi,” Chan said, realising he actually had to take this conversation somewhere, “Who are you?”

The man raised one eyebrow. 

“I think I should be asking you that,” He said, walking over to the desk and putting his bottle down before tapping some keys on the computer, “We don’t have any lessons booked for the rest of today.”

“You work here?” Was the only thing Chan could think of in response. He suddenly recalled that Soonyoung co-owned this place, so this must be whoever it was he shared the ownership with.

If only he could remember his name, this whole situation might be a little less awkward.

“Yes,” The man replied, the corner of his lip twitching slightly (in amusement or annoyance, Chan couldn’t tell), “Do you have a name?”

“Chan,” Chan said, “Lee Chan. I’m here to see Soonyoung?”

The man’s eyes flitted up to him upon hearing his name, something mildly intrigued sparking in his pupils. He gave him a once over, before straightening up.

“Lee Chan?” He said sceptically, “Seungkwan and Vernon’s friend?”

Chan shrugged, secretly pleased that he was being referred to that way. “I guess so.”

He cocked his head, “You wouldn’t say you’re friends?

“No,” Chan hurried to correct himself, “We are friends. I’m just… not used to it.”

The guy nodded in understanding, not forcing Chan to elaborate more on that very depressing statement.

“Well, Soonyoung’s in room thirteen, I didn’t know he was expecting company, but you can head in to him.”

“There are thirteen studios here?” 

Chan was impressed, from the outside, this place looked like it only had maybe five rooms.

“No,” The other man said with a snort, “We had to number the rooms randomly because we lost a bet.”

Chan furrowed his brow.

“It’s a long story, maybe I’ll tell you sometime.”

The implication that they would be seeing each other again made something stir in Chan’s stomach, and he pointed down the right hall before he could ruminate on it for too long.

“Is it down this side?” He asked.

“Part of the fun is getting completely lost looking for the room,” The guy said, “But I’ll save you the hassle. Yes, it’s down there.”

Chan nodded, grateful that his life had been made easier and starting to head down the hall, eyes peeled to look for room thirteen.

“Hey,” The guy said, “I’m Minghao. It’s nice to meet you.”

Chan smiled, nodding once again and watching as Minghao disappeared back into one of the rooms (which he now noticed was labelled “fifty-six”). He suppressed a chuckle and continued his search.

When he found the room (after less than a minute of looking, really, this building wasn’t very big), he paused, hand hovering over the handle.

Could he just go in? Soonyoung might not even be in the room, and then he’d have to awkwardly leave and try the other rooms until he eventually found him. And what if he was in this room? Then Chan would actually have to meet him, talk to him. This whole dancing thing would become less of a failed dream and more of an actual tangible reality.

Not that Chan was even remotely considering going back to dancing. It was just too long ago and too much strain. He wasn’t the only one counting on his future, he had to keep that in mind.

It didn’t stop his brain from wrapping itself up in neverending ‘what if’s’ though.

Finally, after a few minutes too long of internal conflict, Chan managed to push the handle down with a click. The door swung open and he was immediately struck by three things,

Firstly, the noise. Music blasted from speakers and made the floor beneath Chan’s feet shake slightly. He was a little surprised that he hadn’t heard it from outside the door before he realised that, a, he had likely been too caught up in his own head to really notice something like that and, b, the rooms were probably sound proofed to some degree so that multiple people could practice different songs at the same time.

Then came the smell. The musky, sweaty sort of smell that every practice room held. It was a bit gross, to be honest, but it carried such a heavy wave of nostalgia with it, that Chan didn’t really mind.

And thirdly, was the person standing in the room. 

Well, not standing. Dancing.

Chan wasn’t an idiot (most of the time), he knew that Soonyoung must’ve been a good dancer. He owned a dance studio, for crying out loud, that alone was enough of an indication. 

But for some reason, he hadn’t been expecting… this.

‘This’ being Soonyoung - one of Seungkwan and Hansol’s close friends - moving to the beat like a goddamn machine. 

It wasn’t just dancing, it almost felt criminal to reduce it to just that, it was performing. Every step, every movement was accompanied by a heated gaze and a mouth that pursed in concentration. 

It was beyond impressive, he almost felt like he was seeing something he shouldn’t be, which was ridiculous, because at the end of the day this was just a guy - a guy who, to Chan’s memory, was an absolute chaotic mess with zero impulse control - but watching as his body moved like that, it was hard not to deify him just a tiny bit.

And Chan would be lying if he said he wasn’t the tiniest, tiniest bit jealous.

Because that had been him once. Well, maybe not as good as Soonyoung, but the dancing, the passion, the performing. It had all been his once. Something that he’d loved, something he had that was his. 

He used to have something that made him feel happy and free.

But he didn’t have it anymore.

Because life hated him.

It was with that gut-wrenching realisation that Chan decided coming to Buzzy Bodies was a mistake. He’d always known it would be, and now he was only proving himself right. What was the point of coming here and standing so tantalisingly close to his dream, being all too aware he could never have it?

With a soft sigh, Chan backed away, pulling the door shut along with him. He’d just leave, Soonyoung never even had to know he’d been here. Surely the man would text him and ask, but that was a problem for future Chan. Present Chan was just feeling sad. He just wanted to go home and eat snacks and watch daytime television and maybe cry a little bit.

Unfortunately, it seemed the universe had different plans for him. 

Just as he took the first step back, Soonyoung’s head snapped towards him, like he had some sudden weird sixth sense. As soon as they made eye contact, Soonyoung’s face stretched into a wide grin, and Chan knew he was screwed.

“Oh my God!” He all but squealed, bounding over to the stereo and turning it off. Without the blaring music, Chan’s thoughts were a lot louder, and he was standing, frozen, in the doorway, not quite knowing what to do.

He wanted to leave, he really wanted to leave. But what was he supposed to do? Just run away as soon as Soonyoung saw him? He might be a bit dumb, but he wasn’t that crazy.

“You’re Chan, right? Vernon’s boy?”

Chan practically felt himself bloom tomato red at the implications of those words. ‘Vernon’s boy?’ A little voice in Chan’s head was nodding very approvingly, saying that ‘yes, he would like to be ‘Vernon’s boy’ very much please and thank you’.

Chan squashed that voice quickly and violently.

“Ah- I- Yeah- Well-” Chan stammered, once again impressed by his own sheer intelligence and social capabilities.

Soonyoung had picked up a towel and a water bottle, wiping at the sweat around his neck whilst chugging the liquid down. He kept his eyes glued to Chan the whole time, and it would’ve been uncomfortable if Chan’s brain had the capacity to focus on anything other than trying to think of a good response.

Luckily, as soon as the water bottle was put down, Soonyoung took the reins again. “I’ve heard so much about you! You like dancing, right? That’s why you’re here? Seungkwannie said you’re a dancer.”

Chan made a mental note to throw Seungkwan out of a window the next time he saw him.

“I’m not,” He hurried to correct, “I used to be. But… not anymore.”

Soonyoung pouted, “Aw, that sucks though. Why not?”

Chan wondered how he was supposed to condense the crushing weight of familial responsibility as well as his own crippling insecurities into one friendly, appropriate sentence.

He shrugged, “It just didn’t work out.”

That’ll do.

“Dancing never works out the first time, that’s why you have to keep doing it until something sticks!”

Okay, maybe not.

Chan was beginning to realise that all of Hansol’s friends were kind of pushy and unendingly positive. Apparently, these people had never faced any problems in their lives, because there was no other valid explanation for this overwhelming optimism.

Or maybe you’re just the world’s biggest pessimist. That annoying little voice piped up. Once again, Chan ignored it.

“Yeah, well, the opportunity never came back around for me.” He knew he sounded a little blunt, so he tried to soften his words slightly. “It’s okay, though,” He said, “I don’t need it.”

Soonyoung eyed him critically, and Chan - for all the man was bouncy and bubbly - had the distinct feeling of being scanned or something.

He wanted to squirm, but that would’ve been ridiculous, so he just stayed still and waited.

“By that logic nobody should do or have anything nice.” Soonyoung eventually said, “I don’t need a boyfriend, or a tiger plushie collection, but I do have those things, because they’re nice and they make me happy.”

“You have a tiger plushie collection?” 

“Everyone always focuses on that part, it’s not that weird!” He huffed, “But seriously, just because you don’t need to dance, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

Chan did squirm this time, shuffling from one foot to the other. 

Soonyoung took mercy on him, and chuckled. “I’m a dance teacher for a reason, you know, I have a talent for knowing people’s hidden desire to do this.” He beckoned him in, “Come on.”

“Come where?”

“In here, come and dance with me.”

Chan sputtered, hand tightening on the door handle as he took another step back.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t, really, it’s-”

“You came to a dance studio and you didn’t expect to dance?” Soonyoung teased, trotting over and tugging Chan in by the wrist. The door swung shut behind him with a click, and Chan swallowed nervously as he was positioned in the middle of the room.

“I’m not dressed for it.” He tried, pitifully, as an excuse.

Soonyoung gave him a once-over, assessing his jeans and hoodie.

“I can lend you a t-shirt if you don’t want to get that one smelly. And I’m not asking for a gymnastics routine, just something simple.”

Chan shook his head at the offer for a shirt - he really didn’t want to spend any more time here than he had to, and he had this terrifying vision of Soonyoung holding his sweater hostage if he tried to leave early.

Soonyoung fiddled with his phone for a moment, before some more chill music came on.

“Stretch first,” He all but demanded, making his way over to the door, “I’m gonna go ask Hao to get lunch for us.”

Chan tried to complain and say he’d buy his own lunch, but Soonyoung was already out of the door and Chan was left looking at his reflection in the slightly stained mirror and wondering what to do next.

The music was much quieter than what had been playing when he’d first entered, so he didn’t feel too overwhelmed, and stretching his limbs wouldn’t do too much harm - especially since Soonyoung seemed so hellbent on making him actually dance today. It would just be easier to comply as little as possible, so he could get out of here quicker. 

He began to stretch, starting with his arms, twisting them around and pushing them as far as they could go. He remembered being a lot more nimble, but it only made sense that his flexibility had gone when he’d stopped dancing as much. The most physical exercise Chan got now was walking to work - or by exercising his brain with all his overthinking.

By the time he had moved on to his legs, he could feel that all-too-familiar buzz of excitement in his stomach. Part of him hated that his body remembered what this felt like so well. It was like it had been waiting for this moment, for him to start dancing again.

“Don’t get used to it,” He muttered to himself, “This is a one time thing.”

His traitorous stomach didn’t listen though, and he continued to feel tiny fluttery wings beat against it for the remainder of his stretching session.

Eventually, he was all done, limbs loose and ready to move, but Soonyoung was still nowhere in sight. Chan glanced around at the door, as though by looking at it, he’d be able to summon the man to him.

The calmer tone of the music had shifted into something a little more punchy a few minutes ago, when Chan was working on his hamstrings, and he could feel his foot itching to tap to the beat. He kept it planted to the floor though, this was now an exercise in self-control, and Chan was about to become a master.

The music picked up a bit more, and Chan didn’t know if the bead of sweat making it’s way down the side of his face was from the stretching session, or from the mental exertion he was using to not react. He folded his arms across his chest, and nibbled his lip, eyes still glued to the door, hoping, wishing, praying, that Soonyoung would return and tell him what to do.

Just dance, his brain insisted, it’s better now, when nobody’s here to see you.

Chan paused, his teeth remaining buried in his bottom lip, but no longer pulling at the skin there. His brain - for once - had a very valid point. Chan would much rather his first attempt at dancing in so long be when he was alone. In a space where he had the room to dance and no judging eyes watching his every move.

It had been so long since he’d done this, Chan didn’t know if he’d be able to take criticism.

So, with very slow movements, he began to loosen up his limbs. He released his lip and unfolded his arms and untensed his foot (which was beginning to cramp slightly, so thank goodness for that). And then, carefully, like he was trying to lure a badger out or something, he started to dance.

Dancing had always been liberating for Chan. Partially because it never really had to be anything. Dancing was just dancing, anything could be classified as it technically. 

A little flick of his wrist and a roll of his neck? Dancing. A pop and a twist? Dancing. The bounce of his feet and the tiny smile that crept on his cheeks and the dull squeak of his shoes against the linoleum? Dancing.

The flicker of light and joy that ignited in his chest? Dancing.

He’d forgotten how it felt to dance. To be happy, really and actually happy. He allowed his eyes to shut, allowed himself to get lost in the music, the rhythm and the beat. He just… let go.

And it felt amazing.

And he was reminded of why he’d loved this so much.

And when the music stopped, Chan did. His chest heaving slightly with puffed breaths. His face rosy and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes glittering with pride and delight.

There was a shuffle in the corner of the room, and Chan turned quickly, only to see Soonyoung and Minghao, both standing there, looking at him.

Minghao’s eyebrows were raised and Soonyoung’s mouth was hanging open just the slightest bit, and maybe Chan was hallucinating but they almost looked impressed.

He bit his lip again, pulling his sleeves over his hands and awkwardly ruffling his damp hair.

“Sorry,” He murmured, not quite sure what else to say, “I got a little carried away.”

Minghao snorted, and Chan shrunk in on himself. God, what an embarrassment. He’d have to leave and delete Soonyoung’s number from his phone, as well as delete this memory from his brain.

“Why the hell are you sorry?” Minghao said, voice slightly teasing, “You’re really good.”

“I- What?” Chan asked, eyes wide as he gaped at the other man.

Soonyoung nodded his agreement. “Really, Chan, you’re amazing. How long has it been since you danced properly?”

Chan shrugged, eyes straying to the floor. He wasn’t used to the compliments, even back when he was auditioning and actually trying to achieve his dream, everyone had been so critical. “A while.”

“That’s insane,” Soonyoung said, “You’re insane. I can’t believe you were hiding from us!”

“I wasn’t hiding from you,” Chan mumbled, “I just… I don’t know if I want to dance.”

“Well, too bad,” Soonyoung replied, “You’re going to dance. Here, with us. Even if you don’t go professional, it would be a sin for you not to do it.”

Minghao seemed to agree, if the grin on his face was any indicator. Chan was overwhelmed, pleased with the praise, but nervous about the offer.

“I just don’t know if it’s something I want to do.” He said, “I’m glad for the offer, but I just-”

“We can talk about it over some food,” Minghao interrupted, “That’s actually why we came here, Chan, do you want burgers or chicken?”

Chan gaped at him, mouth opening and closing sporadically. And when his eyes flicked from Minghao’s face, expectant for an answer to a question so simple, to Soonyoung’s, one that still looked a little awed, he had a funny feeling that this was going to be a good thing for him.

“Burgers,” He replied, trying - and failing - to ignore the warmth brewing somewhere in his ribcage at the feeling.

Chapter Text

When Chan finally left the studio some hours later, it was far colder than it had been when he’d arrived. 

He tucked his hands into his pockets with a shiver, and cursed his past self for forgetting his jacket at home. It was a crucial mistake, and he felt like he was standing at the peak of Everest at the moment.

Luckily, the stop wasn’t far, and Chan felt his phone buzz in his jeans as he began to walk to it. He took it out, ignoring the way the air bit at his knuckles where they were exposed.

Seungkwan: Sooooooo how was it?

Seungkwan: Was it absolutely amazing and wonderful and everything you could’ve hoped?

Seungkwan: Was I right once again???

Chan chuckled, typing his reply slowly with frozen fingers.

Chan: Maybe it was okay.

Chan: They said I could come back.

Seungkwan: And?? Are you going to??

Chan: Maybe.

Chan bit back a grin as he sent the message, slipping his phone back into his pocket and ignoring the way it continued to vibrate.

As he was standing on the platform and waiting for the subway to arrive, he thought back on the conversation the three had had whilst they ate.

Soonyoung had a fleck of lettuce on his chin as he spoke through a mouthful. “So, Chan, will you join our team?”

Minghao grimaced at the sight and thumbed the offending mess away.

Chan shrugged, taking a sip of his cola to avoid the question.

“Come on,” Soonyoung whined, “You’re so good, you’re just what we need to complete our squad!”

A snort from Minghao caught Chan’s attention. “It’s not much of a squad,” The older said, “There’s only three of us.”

“Exactly,” Soonyoung said, pointing a ketchup stained finger at him, “One is a solo, two is a duo, three is a trio, and four is a group - a squad!”

Minghao sighed, but returned to his food in what Chan supposed was a silent surrender to this argument. Soonyoung seemed triumphant anyway, and when his gaze settled on Chan again, he looked expectant.

“So you just need one more person to complete your group?” He said, picking at his fries. 

Soonyoung nodded excitedly.

“I think you’d be better off choosing someone else,” Chan said apologetically, eating a few of the fries, “I mean, I might dance again for a hobby but…” He tapered off, “Doing it full time is just a bigger commitment than what I’m ready for right now.”

Soonyoung looked destroyed. His eyes were wide and pleading and he had this little pout on his lips that made Chan want to take all of his words back. 

But he didn’t, because he had to make the boundary now. If he started dancing properly again, he wouldn’t be able to stop, and then his parents would hear about it, and they’d be so so upset that they’d moved him all the way to New York and the only thing he could do was the one thing he’d failed at before he left.

It looked like Soonyoung was going to protest, but Minghao spoke before he could.

“You know, if you really hate the idea of dancing professionally again, we’ll respect that,” He said, and Chan almost breathed a sigh of relief - but he wasn’t done. “But I’m not convinced.”

Chan eyed him warily. Minghao was looking at him like he imagined a cat watched a trapped mouse. It was slightly unnerving, and Chan wasn’t sure how to answer.

“You’ve known me for a few hours.”

“I’m good reading people.”

“That’s true,” Soonyoung cut in, clearly not sensing the weird tension between the other two, “Me and Jun think he may have been a psychic in his past life, he’s freakishly good at knowing stuff about people.”

“That doesn’t mean you know me,” Chan huffed, biting into his burger and chewing on it thoughtfully. After he swallowed, he spoke. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because,” Minghao said, “You came here. I know Seungkwan is pushy, but if you really hated the idea of dancing as much as you say, you wouldn’t have turned up. A fun, maybe unknown fact about him is that he will stop pestering if you ask him to.”

Chan looked at his knees, not wanting to try and hold Minghao’s stare any longer. “I came because it would’ve been rude to say no,” He said, “I’m kind of bad at things like that.”

“Fine,” Minghao shrugged, “Let’s say that’s true. Then why did you dance?”

Chan looked up at him. For a moment, he reminded him freakishly of Jeonghan, with his slightly raised eyebrows and casual stance. He looked comfortable, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Chan didn’t know how he managed to somehow acquaint himself with every good debater in the city.

“I danced because I was in a dance studio. And Soonyoung told me to.”

“If you were standing on the edge of a bridge and Soonyoung told you to jump off, would you?”

Chan frowned, “No.”

“But you danced in the dance studio because he told you to.”

“That’s different,” Chan argued, “Jumping off a bridge isn’t the same as dancing.”

“To someone who hates dancing it would be,” Minghao pointed out, “At least to someone who claims to hate dancing as much as you do it would be.”

Chan took another bite of his burger, trying to think of a rebuttal.

“Just admit it,” Minghao said, “You like dancing, you want to dance, you’re just scared.”

“Scared of what?” Chan jutted his chin out. If Minghao knew so much, how about he answered that question?

But the older simply shrugged, taking a bite of his own food in lieu of an answer. “I don’t know,” He said after he’d finished, “That’s for you to figure out.”

“But you-”

Minghao gave him a smug grin, and before Chan could complain further, Soonyoung was blundering back into their conversation.

“You look like a gnome when you do that,” He giggled, tapping Chan’s chin affectionately. Chan reeled back, surprised by the touch, and pouted at him.

“Hey,” He said, rubbing his chin, “I don’t look like a gnome.”

“A cute gnome,” Soonyoung hurried to defend, “Not one of those weird old ones.”

“They’re all weird and old,” Chan said, still mildly offended as he finished his food. 

“Well, will the weird and old, but cute, gnome be joining us for practice next time?” Minghao cut in.

“Oh, please do!” Soonyoung said, grabbing Chan’s wrist and shaking it cutely, “It’ll be so much fun!”

Chan didn’t know how to explain that the thought of dance practice was making his stomach churn for multiple reasons - though not all of them negative - and that he definitely didn’t think it would be ‘so much fun’.

“Please!” Soonyoung implored, “Look, it won’t even be that serious because Jun isn’t back for another few weeks so we’re down a man.” He pulled Chan closer and whispered in his ear conspiratorially, “And Minghao is so boring when it’s just the two of us because I can’t tease him about being in love with Jun.”

“I can hear you,” Minghao said, standing and gathering their rubbish to throw away, “And I am not in love with Jun, stop spreading these lies.”

‘He is’ Soonyoung mouthed, and Chan smothered a giggle in his palm. 

It couldn’t be that bad, right? Dancing with Soonyoung and Minghao? Just as a casual thing, nothing serious. He didn’t have to commit or anything and maybe if he kept on top of all of his studies he could take a few more lessons and…

He was getting ahead of himself, but he nodded regardless, for once not wanting to overthink everything and ruin it all.

“I’ll come,” He said, ignoring the whoop Soonyoung let out, “But only to try it out.”

Minghao ruffled his hair when he made his way back, something akin to pride on his face, and Chan tried not to feel too pleased about it.

^^^

As Chan stepped out of the station and onto the street, his phone immediately rang against his thigh. With a tut, he pulled it out, ready to chew Seungkwan out for being so bothersome. He’d talk when he got home, what was so hard to understand about that?

He was a little surprised to see Jeonghan’s name on the caller ID, pressing the green button and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hyung?”

“Chan!” Jeonghan sounded jovial over the phone, and Chan could hear a lot of background noise wherever he was calling from.

“Hyung?” He repeated, pressing his finger against his ear to try and block out the sounds on his end, “What’s up?”

“I’m just calling to say hi, whereabouts are you?”

“At the station near the apartment,” He replied, glancing around him and smiling apologetically at a businesswoman who only frowned back at him. “Where are you?”

“Nearby,” His cousin hummed, “Do you want to meet up and grab something to eat?”

“I already ate with Soonyoung and Minghao,” Chan said, “Why are you out?”

“I was doing some Christmas shopping,” Jeonghan said, “You should get on that soon as well.”

Chan knew that he had a point. He’d only ordered one present so far, and that was Hansol’s. God only knew when it would arrive, so he’d ordered it pretty far in advance.

“Where do you want to meet?” He asked, starting to weave his way through the crowd again. 

“The deli by the apartment,” Jeonghan said without missing a beat, “I’m craving sandwiches.”

“We have sandwich stuff at home.”

“Deli sandwiches and the sandwiches we make at home are extremely different, don’t be so foolish Chan.”

Chan chuckled, catching sight of the deli as he waited at the crossing for the light to turn green.

“Alright,” He said, “I’m nearly there, and I’m not waiting longer than five minutes in this weather, so hurry your ass up.”

“So bossy,” He heard his cousin laugh, “I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying. I might be six minutes - is that too long, your majesty?”

Chan huffed a laugh, “Just be quick,” He said, hanging up to the sound of Jeonghan’s giggles.

Just as the crossing turned green and Chan stepped onto the street, a blur of red and blue thwipped over his head. He followed the movement with his eyes, watching as Spider-Man zipped down the street. He wasn’t the only one looking, many people were pulling out their phones and chatting amongst each other, but it was likely that Chan was the only one who felt a small curl of fear in his gut as the hero swung around the corner and out of sight, wondering where he was going and what kind of danger he would encounter there.

Chapter Text

After about three minutes of standing around and waiting, Chan makes the executive decision to go and wait inside the deli rather than freezing to death on the street. It would definitely put a bit of a dampener on Christmas if he did that.

The owner barely even gave him a nod as he stood in the corner and busied himself on his phone. For some reason, he’d convinced himself he’d get kicked out if he didn’t immediately buy anything. It was an irrational fear, but a valid one in Chan’s humble opinion.

But the man hadn’t really acknowledged him, and had turned immediately back to the little television hooked up in the corner of the room after their brief interaction.

Chan also found his attention drawn to it, they were running live footage of the fight with Spider-Man, and though the camera was shaky and the audio was muted for the anchor to speak over it, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Even with the shitty angle and grainy quality, Chan could see the red and blue blur that was the hero flipping around an enemy much bulkier than him. It was mesmerising, the way he dodged and ducked under debris and attacks, and for a second Chan was reminded of Soonyoung’s dancing.

Maybe I should recommend Spider-Man come by the studio. Chan thought to himself, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the hero being flung against a building.

On second thought, maybe intertwining my friendship with Spider-Man into my personal life isn’t such a good idea.

He winced, watching nervously as he got up, seeming to shake himself off before leaping straight back into the fray. It was admirable and brave, and Chan totally understood why so many people were in awe of him. But as someone who had seen the more… human side of the man, it was hard not to straight up cry watching him struggle in a battle.

“Why do you look like someone just told you they’d have to remove your appendix via your asshole?” A familiar voice broke him out of his thoughts, and Chan turned to see Jeonghan looking at him with a mixture of mischief and concern on his features.

“That’s gross,” Chan replied, “And I was just watching the news.” He gestured vaguely at the television. Jeonghan squinted up at it and tutted.

“Stupid heroes,” He muttered, “Shua’s going to be late again.”

Chan gaped at his cousin. Sure, he knew he wasn’t the biggest fan of Spider-Man, but he didn’t think he’d be so cutting when the hero was clearly doing good for the city.

“He’s fighting a literal villain,” Chan said, “Surely that’s worth it for Jisoo to be a little late to dinner.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes, still not looking away from the screen. “I miss my boyfriend, Chan,” He mumbled, “I want him to come home early for once. I want to eat dinner with him, and watch a movie with him. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to fall asleep next to him, Chan, and it’s all Spider-Man’s fault.”

“No,” Chan argued, “It’s the villains’ faults.”

“The villains wouldn’t exist without cause,” Jeonghan said, “They weren’t around until he popped up and suddenly petty crime wasn’t enough anymore and nobody was equipped for what came next except for him, so everyone praises him for being the only one that could solve a problem he caused.”

Jeonghan inhaled heavily, then shook his head.

“It’s bullshit.” 

Chan didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he understood where Jeonghan was coming from. If he hadn’t been able to spend any real time with his long-time partner because he was constantly doing overtime at work, he’d also be pissed at the cause.

But Spider-Man was good. Not just because he saved people and protected them all, but because he was kind, and sweet, and a bit of a nerd, but so so caring even without a thousand eyes and camera lenses trained on him.

He was a genuinely good person. But Chan only knew that because they’d become friends, and he couldn’t tell Jeonghan that. Especially not now.

He didn’t want to be murdered in this deli.

So he kept his mouth shut and hummed in reply, not wanting to argue with his cousin, but wanting to make sure he knew he disagreed.

Jeonghan didn’t push it further either, thankfully, and stepped up to the counter to order. After he got his sandwich, they both left silently, any plans the older had had to drag Chan to the shops or to a park or something flew out the window as they headed straight for home.

It was almost awkward as they entered the apartment. Almost, but not quite. Mostly because it was clear neither of them wanted it to be awkward. Chan still shuddered when he thought of Jeonghan’s brutal cold shoulder, and he had a feeling his cousin wasn’t all too keen on bringing the technique back.

Excusing himself under the guise of being tired, Chan hid from the awful vibes in his room, flopping onto his bed and checking his phone to see that Seungkwan had very kindly called him a ‘little shit’ to which he didn’t bother responding to.

Without much else better to do, Chan opened up a game and started tapping away at the screen, becoming so absorbed that he didn’t notice Jeonghan knocking on the door until the man had already entered.

“Oh, hyung,” He said, glancing away and immediately dying in the game, he sighed and locked his phone, tossing it to the side as he sat up, “What’s up?”

He was trying - and failing - not to sound weird. He was fairly sure his voice was higher than usual and he wasn’t certain if ‘what’s up’ was the right thing to say in this situation. 

Luckily, Jeonghan, for once, seemed to share his energy - or lack of - running his hand over Chan’s desk before sitting in the chair.

“Not much,” He said, voice quiet, “I was just…” His eyes wandered around the room, something soft overcoming his features as he took the walls in. “It’s empty in here.”

Chan glanced around, then shrugged. 

“I haven’t got much to put up.”

“You should get some posters or,” Jeonghan waved his hand flippantly, “A calendar or something.”

Chan snorted, feeling the tension between them slip away as his cousin eyes him with a cheeky expression. “Posters of what, hyung?” He chuckled, “And what would I even put in a calendar?”

“You’ve got your new friends now,” Jeonghan huffed, “You could put their birthdays in. And as for posters, there are nice landscape pictures I’ve seen.”

“I don’t want pictures of the rolling hills and flower speckled fields on my wall, but thanks grandpa,” Chan joked, yelping as Jeonghan tossed a pen at his head.

“I’m not that much older than you, brat,” He said, joining in Chan’s laughter as the younger fell back onto the bed. They lapsed into a comfortable silence after that, Chan happy that things were so easy between them now. He felt his phone buzz beside him, and was about to check it when Jeonghan cleared his throat.

“Chan there’s… there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” 

Chan’s gaze flicked over, noticing that the older man was scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and had his eyes fixed on the floorboards.

“Okay?” Chan said, sitting upright, “What is it?”

“It’s just… I’ve been meaning to tell you…” He paused. Inhaled. Chan felt like he took all the oxygen with him when he did so. Why did it feel like something serious was about to be said? After the easy banter they’d fallen into, it seemed like a complete one-eighty, and Chan was almost feeling whiplash from the shift.

“I wanted to tell you that I-”

The shrill sound of Jeonghan’s ringtone cut through the air, startling them both. Jeonghan groaned, running his hand through his hair before checking the caller ID. An unreadable expression crossed his face before he stood abruptly, making a direct beeline for the door.

“We’ll talk later,” He said, “I still… I need to tell you something.” He shot him a look before closing the door, and Chan didn’t know why he felt chastised, but he did.

If he listened really hard, he probably could’ve eavesdropped on the conversation, but he really couldn’t be bothered. If his cousin wanted privacy, he could have it, it was probably just a work call or something.

Or maybe it was his parents.

Something in Chan’s stomach drew tight at the thought. He really didn’t want to have to think about his parents berating Jeonghan for his own uselessness. He was moving forward now, just not in the ways they necessarily wanted him to, so it had been difficult for him to contact them himself yet. 

He would get around to it, eventually.

He reached blindly for his phone, hoping that he would find some kind of distraction in it.

One day, Chan would learn to watch what he wished for.

Because sitting in Chan’s new messages, was one from Soonyoung that read:

Soonyoung: Chan! It was so so great today but I completely forgot to tell you that there’s a super cool fun amazing dance showcase coming up!! 

Soonyoung: I would say you’re invited, but I don’t think you actually have much choice as to whether or not you come… 

Soonyoung: So I guess I’ll see you there! Don’t worry, you’ll only be in the audience, so you can wear something nice ;)

Chan spent approximately two minutes staring at the messages, before he locked his phone, turned onto his front, and screamed into his pillow without bothering to try and respond to Soonyoung’s flurry of texts.

Now he not only had the mysterious question of what his cousin was going to tell him lingering in the back of his mind, he also had the new added pressure of having to attend an event without a clear fixed dress code.

Sometimes, he considered jumping off the damn fire escape instead of just sitting on it.