Work Text:
It’s deep into the evening when Jeonghan calls. Joshua’s on the couch, some show he’s seen three times already flashing across the screen. The volume is down so Joshua can barely hear anything — it was meant more as a space filler, a time waster anyways.
Joshua picks up and “I’m so sorry, Shua-yah, but I just have so much work,” is the first thing Jeonghan says before Joshua cuts him off. Vaguely, he can see through the windows the sight of a million stars dotted through the sky.
“Hannie,” Joshua mutters. “It’s okay. I understand .”
Jeonghan sniffles from over the phone, something Joshua finds endlessly amusing.
“It’s not okay, I’m going to miss our tradition! Miyoung-ah even asked about this year and I told her it would be the same as it is every year.”
“I don’t think Miyoung cares so much about our traditions, Jeonghan-ah,” Joshua laughs, settling further into the couch. Their cat, Goo, crawls over into Joshua’s lap, and he pets his head peacefully.
“Are you implying that our daughter doesn’t care about us anymore?”
Goo curls into the safety of Joshua’s lap, purring softly. His fur stays flat against his back and the aftereffects of Jeonghan and Joshua’s overfeeding show themselves prominently in the way Goo’s body practically melts across Joshua’s leg like a pancake.
“Our daughter has a toddler to take care of, remember?” Joshua tells him softly. Jeonghan sighs over the phone, warm and fond. Goo meows up at Joshua, who rubs behind his ears affectionately.
“Ah, how could I forget? Seojunnie’s the one who named our cat.” Goo purrs even louder, and Jeonghan laughs through the phone. Joshua smiles to himself, a flush dancing across his cheeks; sometimes when Jeonghan laughs like that, it’s easier to pretend like they’re still in their twenties, as ripe as the strawberries Jeonghan always keeps in their fridge. “Is Goo-yah with you, Shua? Did I summon him?”
“He was already here when you called,” Joshua responds, smoothing down Goo’s back.
“Impossible. Don’t lie just because you know Goo loves me more than you.”
“You say that about every cat we adopt, Hannie,” Joshua argues back. Goo occupies a large amount of the space in his lap; it almost mimics what it was like with Miyoung when they’d just adopted her, a fussy grabby baby who hated both being with her dads and being away from her dads. She’d sit in his or Jeonghan’s lap for hours and subsequently ignore anything else they did. If Joshua tried to feed her, she’d take the bottle and drink on her own; if Jeonghan tried to take her to bed, she’d drag her blanket and herself there solo.
She’s still stubborn now, even in her thirties, refusing to stay with them for the holidays past Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, telling them that she wanted Seojun’s first holiday season to be at her home, across the country in Los Angeles. (Secretly, Joshua had gotten slightly scared, wondering if Miyoung no longer considered being with them as being home. It took deep conversation late into the night for Jeonghan to reassure Joshua otherwise after they’d bid their daughter farewell.)
“I do, don’t I?” Jeonghan’s voice has gone back to its roughness, the one and only downside of old age he picked up. When Joshua developed wrinkles and back pain, Jeonghan’s voice became harsh like a smoker’s.
Still, when Joshua says something funny enough, Jeonghan laughs like he did on their wedding day so many years ago. Like he did when Miyoung purposely stepped on the foot of another dancer during her first ever concert when she was five and Soonyoung was so appalled that his goddaughter could ever do something so unsportsmanlike that he put her in the back of the recital for the next year. Like he did the day Seojun named their newest cat and they both knew that as much as the idea of being grandfathers was scary, they would never love anyone more.
“Yes. And then you complain that I’ve put a spell on our cats once they come to me during movie nights.”
“You are a magical being, Joshua Hong,” Jeonghan tells him. The call time quickly moves to three minutes and Jeonghan shows no sign of hanging up. He hears the telltale signs of a clacking keyboard and knows Jeonghan has slotted his phone into the phone holder he has right next to his computer, left of the photo of him and Miyoung, Joshua holding her on his shoulders at Disney World.
Joshua begins to settle into the couch. Jeonghan has made it clear that he’s remorseful of the fact that he won’t make it home before midnight. And as much as Joshua thinks his husband shouldn’t be working so late at night, especially during the juncture between years, there’s nothing he can do to stop Jeonghan when he’s focused. He admires him deeply for this, for Jeonghan’s dedication, his passion when it comes to his work.
These late night phone calls aren’t unusual either, at least nowadays they aren’t. Sometime after they’d gotten engaged there’d been a mutual agreement that phone calls were not for them. Jeonghan never called unless it was urgent and he didn’t entertain any small talk over the phone. I’m right at home, Shua, he would say after abruptly hanging up. Just come back to me and tell me everything. There’s no need to do it over the phone.
And Joshua understood why, for the most part. They barely spoke about that period of their lives once they got married in the eyes of the law, even less once they brought Miyoung home and realized just how grievous her previous living situation had been. How the last thing she needed was to hear about the hardships they’d both experienced in their twenties.
That isn’t to say the topic was harsh in the air between them. In fact, therapy and counseling and Joshua’s prolonged job search were only things that strengthened the bond between them, repaired the tapestry of their love that’d begun to shred while they were separated.
If that meant giving up phone calls, Joshua was more than willing. Their therapist had drilled it into their head over and over: a relationship is repaired through compromise. Compromise and honesty and trust.
Jeonghan trusted he’d come back home if he had something to tell him at the end of the day. He wanted it verbally, Joshua’s hot breath fanning across his neck and Jeonghan’s arms drawing him into an embrace. That was how each of their nights ended, each of their mornings began for years and years, and even now, so many years later; wrapped around each other, just in love as they’d been the night before.
It pains him slightly, Joshua, thinking about how this will be the first New Year in nearly three decades that won’t begin with Jeonghan’s lips flush against his own. Silence drapes over him and by extension Goo, and it’s painstaking. Joshua barely finds comfort in the kitten in his lap, the bright gray fur before him, the phone right next to him with its steady typing sounds, the combined energy of Jeonghan’s tiny electric fan and his tinier electric heater because he argues that’s the only way the room stays at the proper temperature for him to focus.
“Love? Shua? Are you still there?”
Joshua sighs to himself silently. His back has been acting up way more nowadays and Jeonghan’s not even coming home in time for them to watch the ball drop — maybe he should give up on the idea of getting to the park on his own.
“I’m here, darling. I’m not going anywhere.”
Jeonghan laughs again through the phone. “I know you’re not going anywhere.” Joshua’s touched, if only for a moment. “You’re too old to get up without my help.”
“ Yoon Jeonghan, ” Joshua chastises, red and embarrassed. “You’re older than me.”
“By two months and 26 days. That’s nothing.”
“You would starve to death if I wasn’t with you for two months and 26 days,” Joshua digs back, and Jeonghan hums in return. Goo jumps out of Joshua’s laugh and migrates in search of dinner. It’s nearing midnight with every minute Joshua’s phone stays on the cushions.
“But you could never leave me for that long, right Shua-yah?” Jeonghan teases. Joshua breathes out a sigh of relief. He’s not taking it seriously. He’s not thinking about it too hard.
“Of course,” Joshua tells him. He thinks, vaguely, of years a long time ago, when Miyoung was a teenager, when she’d be buried under her covers, dead asleep after they’d gone out to the park together and traced the stars. He thinks about Jeonghan on top of him cupping his face and telling him how much he loves him, their bed endlessly warm. “You could never leave me either could you?”
“Duh,” Jeonghan remarks. Joshua's eyes curl up in the corners fondly. “A lifetime without you is a lifetime without living, my love.”
“You’re quite the poet, aren’t you Jeonghan-ah?” Joshua says inquisitively.
“For anyone else, like Soonyoung or Mingyu, never. For you, anything . You are the light of my life, Hong Jisoo. My candle in the dark.”
Joshua’s lips purse. He knows this speech, these words — he has them in the drawer next to their bed, in a book labeled His Vows along with tear tracks aged over thirty years and memories Joshua has preserved in an album on their dresser and in his mind.
“And you, Yoon Jeonghan, are the air I breathe,” Jeonghan hums, “the water I drink,” Joshua can see his shoulders relaxing into his swivel chair, “and the sun I feel against my face every morning. The moonlight that brings me back to you every night.”
Jeonghan makes an indignant sound over the phone. “Keep going.”
Joshua crosses his ankles. “You are the North Star, my source of guidance and you are endlessly irritating yet remarkably captivating. You pull me in with every smile you make and are incapable of pushing me away. You love with your whole heart and I love you with the entirety of mine.”
“How lucky am I to be able to drink morning and afternoon tea with you, my love? How lucky am I to raise kittens with you and watch you drink lemonade by the gallon? How lucky am I for you to have seen in me what I see in you every day?”
“Lucky enough for me to be sure that I can promise you a forever,” Joshua finishes. His hand drags down his face and rids the tears from the edge of his eyes.
This is routine for them, a late night, their wedding vows, both sets bouncing off one another verbatim, with as much love as they held the first time, it remaining unwavering, constant, like a flurry of midnight snow when Joshua would go to sleep seeing bare roads and wake up to snow up to his ankles and Miyoung bouncing on her toes excitedly.
“Love it when you tell me again. I love it when you remind me just how much I love you,” Jeonghan whispers over the phone. Joshua begins to lie down on their couch, arranging throw pillows beneath his head and pulling Jeonghan’s favorite fuzzy blanket over his thighs. Now, in this corpse-like position, his phone flat and warm against his chest, Joshua can pretend like Jeonghan is right there lying next to him. And with the room all dark, cloaked in night and the excitement of new beginnings, Joshua closes his eyes and sees the phosphene flash through his vision — they almost look like the scattering of stars.
“Isn’t this too prolific for a phone call, Han-ah?” Joshua questions. His chest rises and falls slowly; he takes less breaths when he’s lying down and that makes every one matter more. It’s four breaths of silence before Jeonghan answers.
“Prolific? Maybe for a phone call, my love. But never for you.”
“You’re such a flirt,” Joshua teases, his voice warm like a low flame keeping a pot of stew warm, simmering but not boiling, a constant warmth.
Jeonghan laughs again. Joshua turns onto his side and presses his cheek into the pillow. His glasses slip down so they settle on the bridge of his nose. “Would you want me any other way Shua-yah?”
“Never,” Joshua breathes. Jeonghan’s fingers continue with their typing, and unwillingly Joshua is miffed. Rarely does Jeonghan stay at the university beyond 5 PM, always getting home a couple of minutes after Joshua and burrowing into his arms. And everyone is on break, it’s the eve of a new year and Jeonghan is still working, still typing, still not with him.
“You should come home,” Joshua says mindlessly. He hears Jeonghan stop typing, the clicking ending. He hears Jeonghan’s breath tighten, and Joshua’s does as well, like they’re connected by a thread. He can’t count how long it is until Jeonghan speaks.
Jeonghan says “Jisoo,” like a desperate prayer. His voice sounds choked, and Joshua folds in on himself. Goo jumps back over, prancing onto Joshua’s arm, the one that isn’t pressing on his husband’s profile photo (one of Jeonghan and Miyoung at The Kiwi, for Jeonghan’s birthday, both of their eyes scrunching up in the same way,) like it’s his life support.
“Come home, please,” Joshua says, pleading. Goo nuzzles the inside of Joshua’s neck.
“I need to get this report in—”
“You have tomorrow off anyways. Do it from home, please. I’ll let you have as much time to work tomorrow as you want, I, just — today’s our day.”
Joshua hears, vaguely, a little sob come from Jeonghan’s side of the phone. He grasps the bottom of the phone desperately.
“Shua, I-I, I don’t want to argue—”
Joshua lurches up, appalled if anything, but then softer, when Goo almost goes flying and the rapid beat of his heart slows down. “Oh darling, I’m not mad, no no, I’m, I promise I’m not mad. I’m just—” Joshua swallows, “I miss you.”
The previous day might’ve been one of the highlights of Joshua’s life if he was being honest. Miyoung had managed to order them a cake from across the country because she knew Jeonghan would forget, and they’d facetimed until the sun started to go down. Joshua had stayed pressed up next to his husband the whole day, listening to the snap of branches, playing his guitar and letting Jeonghan sing whatever renditions of Happy Birthday he wanted, until Soonyoung barged in and told Jeonghan that if he sang one more syllable he’d rip his ears out.
And then had trailed the rest of them: Jihoon and a little bag teeming with tissue paper, Wonwoo and Mingyu who was still towering over the rest of them even in old age, Jun who’d mentioned that his wife Seokmi wasn’t able to come because of an important afterparty for a recital she’d played a big part in. The four of them had smeared icing all over Joshua’s face and Jeonghan had laughed and kissed it off even when Hansol called and made a disgusted look at the two of them. Jeonghan smiled with fond eyes and told him happy birthday again.
He’d had so much of him in the days prior, Jeonghan barely leaving his sight, his hand never tumbling out of his palm.
“I’m selfish, Hannie,” Joshua confesses. “We’ve been together for 40 years and I still want you all to myself. I know you have to work, I know, and I know I took you away all of yesterday, but can I be selfish and ask for one more day?”
Jeonghan stays silent for many minutes. Joshua's eyes flutter between open and closed. The only sound he can hear are Goo’s satisfied mewls, with every scratch he places behind his ears.
“It’s 11:50,” is all Jeonghan says when he finally speaks again and Joshua has to suck in a breath. “10 minutes to 12. I won’t be home by midnight if I leave now.”
“Just… just be with me,” Joshua pleads.
“As if I could ever leave you,” Jeonghan laughs weakly, letting Joshua mirror him. “But you have me. All of my attention, my love.”
“Go outside,” Joshua says, picking up his pillows, blanket and phone and ushering Goo out behind him. The cat stays right behind Joshua’s ankles, meowing and shrieking when Joshua steps out onto their patio and the frigid air shoots beneath his skin like shards of glass.
When they’d first bought a home after moving out of their old apartment, Joshua had known he’d wanted a big backyard. And when Miyoung was still growing up, the three of them played countless games of soccer and badminton in their backyard. Now they spend their evenings with knees touching and mugs of steaming tea more often than not, and the grass seems like a fever dream Joshua knows vividly.
“I’m outside,” Jeonghan says, “It’s really fucking cold out here.”
“Will you be okay?” Joshua questions and internally slaps himself on the arm for not remembering the circumstances of his husband; age caught up to them like a chariot in a running race, and they’re both their own breeds of frail and lethargic now, even if Joshua spends more mornings at the gym than he spends watching the sun rise, and Jeonghan walks everywhere regardless of the distance or weather outside.
‘Of course I’ll be okay. God, I’m not dying , Jisoo.”
“I am,” Joshua whispers into the phone.
“I’m sorry… What?”
“I’m dying to be with you, darling,” Joshua tells him. He can already see Jeonghan’s indignant eye roll, his offended sigh, the slight downturn of his lips.
“You… you’re not funny.” Joshua laughs ostentatiously at that, his voice leaving his mouth in loud guffaws making Jeonghan giggle. “That doesn’t count.”
“It does.”
“No.”
Joshua gets up from his seat and drags himself down onto the grass. There are still tracks from the days before, when Miyoung and Jeonghan had played a game of one-on-one football, cleat tracks dragging in the dry mud, while Seojun sat tucked away in Joshua’s arms and Joshua stared at his grandson who sported the same pink nose as him, the same doe-like eyes at him.
Whenever Miyoung smiled, Joshua had a hard time believing she wasn’t their daughter. She wasn’t a byproduct of their DNA mixing and mingling, flirting and intertwining, and instead a little girl that’d crawled into their lives and never failed to make it even more rich in love and laughter.
And she’d given them a grandson, something Jeonghan and Joshua could’ve never even wrapped their minds around as a couple in their thirties, submitting adoption forms to centers, waiting for the fateful envelope in the mail, the call telling them they would have a child.
“Did you know we’ve had 33 New Years since we adopted Miyoung,” Joshua says once he’s settled beneath the stars. He can see the time now, four minutes to midnight.
“33? Already? God, Shua, it feels like yesterday that we were trying to get her to the ER after she got that really bad fever at daycare. And now our little girl has a baby of her own.”
Jeonghan and Miyoung’s thing was sports; not watching them, not joining a team, but just football matches full of tricks, adding a second ball into the mix, saying that there was an interference because a cat had gotten in the way, Jeonghan somehow summoning Joshua from the patio onto the field and forcing him in the goal-keeper’s position, saying that it was all Joshua’s fault the ball went in the goal, not his own.
Joshua and Miyoung watched the stars at night while she told him about her day and Jeonghan would sit on a wicker chair, read a book, and complain about not being able to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Shua?” Joshua hears Jeonghan say. It’s 11:59.
“Hannie, my love,” Joshua says, softly. “Raising Miyoung with you, being your husband, loving you since 19 has been the greatest privilege of my life.”
“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Hong Jisoo,” Jeonghan chastises, his tone fleeting, but Joshua hears him sniffle over the phone. He’s not here, but his voice is close, real and teeming with emotion; and of course Joshua has his face committed to memory, from the crow’s feet surrounding his eyes to the slenderness of his legs, the wear and tear of his stride.
“I wish you were here,” Joshua says, as the clock strikes 12. Unlike every year prior, where he could hear cheers from parties on the other side of the park, it’s dead drop silent. Even Goo has gone quiet, sitting in unremarkable reticence and peering up at Joshua with wide amber eyes. “I wish you were with me.”
“Shua,” Jeonghan says. “In my eyes, I never really left.”
“Ah, right. You’ll always be here, with me.”
“Yep. Right where I belong.”
And while Joshua looks up at the stars, the promise of a new year dawning over him, swaddling him like the warmest blanket, he thinks Jeonghan couldn’t be more right.