Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Any ideas who you might bring along with you?" 

Junmyeon snaps back to reality. The ice in his drink clinks against the glass as he sets it down, looking back up at Minho. His wide eyes are bright, looking at him expectantly. 

"No, I hadn't really thought about it. It was just an idea, really. Maybe I won't even go."

"It might be good for you, hyung," Jongin chimes in. He's been nursing a cocktail for a while now, running his thumb along the edge of the glass in circles like he does when he feels guilty for ordering a drink he doesn't like. It had been Junmyeon who encouraged him to try something new. "See somewhere new. The world is your oyster!" 

Junmyeon smiles at him. He remembered a time when Jongin had lost his childlike wonder, when he had seen so much of the world he thought there was nothing left for him to see. He's glad to see someone chucked new wood into the fire.

There are few places Jongin has seen that Junmyeon hasn't. He considers his options silently, glancing back over the glass wall that serves as a railing. They were tabled outside; the late-summer air is warm and still, settling in around him and muffling his thoughts. There's a small lamp in the center of the table to illuminate them. He can see the muscles in Jongin's cheeks twitch like he wants to say something else, but nothing comes out.

Minho points out a building far in the distance, and he and Jongin become enveloped in a conversation about the school near them Minho used to attend. Junmyeon watches them talk, mind drifting to the different cities he's been to, the different people he's met.

His drink is tepid by now, but the aftertaste lingers up until after he's waved goodbye to Jongin and Minho and slotted the key into his apartment door. He leans his back on it as soon as it's closed, letting his eyes shut and running his hands through his hair. It's gotten long. Once every two weeks--that was the military mandate. It's close to falling into his eyes, which he's never liked, but for some reason he can't bring himself to unearth the pair of scissors he keeps in the drawer in the bathroom. 

Toeing his shoes off in the entrance, he fills a small glass of water from the tap and sits at the keyboard set up in the corner in his room. There are a lot of songs ringing at his fingertips, but he doesn't want to play any of them. He dances around short three or four note melodies until he finds something nice and easy to repeat, filling the quiet apartment with a slow refrain that stops abruptly when he finds his eyes are starting to droop.

Peeling off his shirt and dress pants, the last thing he thinks of before drifting to sleep is that he's definitely going to cut his hair tomorrow. 

-- 

Are you still in Beijing? I was thinking of coming for a few days.

The sun has barely crept up over the city skyline, the white of Junmyeon's queen-sized bed a dull blue. The wall clock ticks by as Junmyeon stares at the double check marks indicating the message was successfully sent. Yixing is probably still asleep. 

He shuts his phone off and stares outside. He hadn't slept very long, but he isn't tired. He has a free day today. Seoul has always been beautiful to him, like this. He can imagine all of the people stumbling home from a drunken night out, laughing as they fall over each other; or people regretting how much they drank or what they may have done in the process. Junmyeon's condo is on the tenth floor, though, in a part of the city that sits elevated from the rest. The view had been a big reason he settled on his apartment. 

It's approaching ten-thirty when he leaves. With his mask on and baseball cap pulled down, almost nothing but his ears are exposed. In the mirror, he turns to one side and then the other, wondering what he must look like to strangers. He doesn't find an answer.

It's a nice hiking trail. It's a bit of a climb in the beginning, the foot of a small mountain making uneven terrain, but it levels out soon enough. He brushes his fringe back into his cap when he first notices a bead of sweat threatening to drip onto his nose, and he thinks he sees some clouds vaguely form a pair of scissors when the trail breaks from the leaf cover. He's only passed one or two people; older couples looking to stay in shape despite their age. Their walking sticks poke holes in the ground, and Junmyeon wonders what aging is supposed to feel like.

The sound of a creek catches his attention, when the sun has passed its crest and a light breeze has picked up. It's one of those trails that loops around in a circle, but he's not sure he wants to walk through the rest of it, and Junmyeon has never liked repeating things. There's a worn path that leads towards the sound of babbling water, and he follows it, hoping his bug spray is strong enough to ward off the countless mosquitos waiting to accost him in the foliage.

It's a small creek. He should have turned back ages ago, he realizes, when his knees ache with the effort of sitting on a flat rock that cuts across the stream. His boots are waterproof, so he lets them rest in the shallow water. It's crystal clear, rushing around tough rubber soles. There's the beginning of a melody pressing at the front of his mind, running along with the water and getting away from him, but he doesn't mind. He shuts his eyes and lets the sound rise and fall as it wants. He finds himself leaning into it. A bear hug. He regrets not bringing a notebook or a pen at least; the melody will be gone by the time he gets back to civilization. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. 

I am. When were you thinking of coming?

Joonmyeon thinks for a moment. 

Maybe next weekend? I could stay for a week.

Yixing begins typing, then stops, then starts again. Stops.

The babbling brook has risen, he realizes. So much to say. He has to take a larger step to get back to dry land. His phone buzzes.

That sounds good. I might be busy for a few days, but we should catch up. I'll try to make space.

Don't rearrange your schedule for me, hyung Joonmyeon sends. Yixing's reply is immediate.

It's okay, i want to

The flight is short, and Junmyeon packs light. Clothes, a notebook and pencil, his laptop. The essentials. 

Yixing meets him at the airport with a tote bag and a bright smile. It's canvas, with a cartoon of tigers on one side. They hug, and Junmyeon had forgotten how nice it felt to hug and be hugged. Together they head back to Junmyeon's hotel, and it's there that Yixing unearths the two bottles of wine from his tote bag. 

"It's only three," Junmyeon says, but he unwraps the plastic cups provided by the hotel anyway. Yixing shrugs.

"Never a bad time to celebrate," he says.

"Am I worth a celebration?"

Yixing laughs. "Fine. If not you, then here's to you finally getting out." 

Yixing doesn't need to be Korean to know how stifling the military can be. Junmyeon smiles as they toast, and again, the aftertaste is stronger than the drink itself.

They shoot the bull for a while; neither of them actually end up drinking that much. Junmyeon tells him about the beginnings of a song that had danced around his head at the brook. He tries to play a little of what he remembers on Yixing's piano app, but it's lost to him now. Yixing tells him about the promotions for his latest album, and how he regrets how he hasn't kept up with his Korean. 

"Your Korean is fine," Junmyeon tells him. Yixing scoffs.

"You've been saying that since we met. You'd say that even if I could barely count to ten."

Junmyeon can only laugh, because he's right. But Yixing has always been there to support him. He doesn't mind exaggerating to keep his spirits up.

When there's a lull in their conversation, Junmyeon stares at the grain of the wood at the small circle table. The air conditioner blows cold air at his socked feet. He can feel Yixing's eyes on him.

"What's on your mind, Junmyeonnie?"

Junmyeon meets his eyes and thinks about what Yixing would want to hear. 

"Not much," he settles on. "Just wondering what comes next."

"What comes next?" Yixing echoes, but there's that lilt in his voice that says he knows exactly what Junmyeon is talking about. Junmyeon nods.

"Everyone is doing their own thing now…NCT is SM's money maker these days." There's so, so much more time on Junmyeon's hands. Time he hasn't had since he was a pre-teen. "I can't stop thinking about…"

About the group. About Chanyeol and Jongdae and Tao and how far they've all come together. The record skips and skips and skips. 

"...about everyone else?" Yixing finishes for him. Junmyeon looks up at him. They used to joke that if Yixing wasn't an idol, he'd be some kind of monk or seer. Right now, Junmyeon wants to liken him to that of an angel. The wine is strawberry. His tongue is probably stained red.

"Yeah. I guess so."

Yixing swirls the cup around gently, the liquid inside moving asynchronized to the motion of the plastic. "I'm not going to tell you something corny, like, 'But why doesn't Junmyeon think about himself?' Because I know you do. Otherwise you wouldn't have come here, right?"

Junmyeon nods. It sounds right, but he isn't 100% sure.

"A decade is a long time, Junmyeonnie. It's only natural that you want to linger."

Exo is more than just album sales and fansigns. He knows that as well as any of the other members. 

He hopes he doesn't linger for much longer.

-- 

Junmyeon can't read the nameplate of the waitress that comes to his table, but he's able to get by with what little Chinese he remembers. She returns shortly with a black coffee and a chocolate muffin, smiling and bowing politely before stepping away. Her hair is a perfect bob. Junmyeon wonders what kind of salon she had gone to. 

Yixing had other arrangements to attend to today, so Junmyeon had come to the cafe alone. The coffee is stronger than expected. It's barely breakfast, but he doesn't mind. There isn't as much pressure to watch his form these days. 

There's an arts district two blocks down from the cafe, a place with small hole-in-the-wall businesses nestled in between stone skyscrapers. The roads are made of brick and the only motor vehicles are scooters nimbly dodging in between the sparse crowd. Junmyeon dips into a small tapestry shop, a gold-and-blue curtain with a dazzling flower pattern catching his eye. He's just about to turn to a nearby clerk when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

are you free right now? lets get lunch

It's from Baekhyun. Junmyeon smiles. 

I'm not sure I can catch a flight soon enough to come meet you

Instead of a text response, Baekhyun calls him. 

"I know you like to travel alone, hyung, but at least let one of us know when you're going somewhere," Baekhyun scolds, but there's playfulness in his voice. 

"Jongin knew. And Minho."

"Minho? You met with Minho, and you didn't invite me?" Baekhyun's voice rises, and Junmyeon notices the store clerk glance in his direction. He steps out of the store to avoid being a disturbance. 

"Why do I always have to be the one to text you when I'm doing something? You can invite me places too, you know."

Baekhyun laughs. "That's fair."

From there, Baekhyun launches into a rant about a series of emails he's been dealing with from some of the producers from Don't Fight The Feeling. Junmyeon humors him, agreeing with Baekhyun when he can get a word in, and interrupting him when he doesn't. He finds himself abandoning the tapestry shop completely, content to move along with the flow of the crowd while listening to Baekhyun through his earbuds. He spies a bridge at the end of a smaller through-way, and takes care not to bump into someone as he makes a sudden turn towards it. 

The water is crystal clear here, too, and he pulls out one earbud to listen to it crash gently against a stone foundation. Red and green vines crawl alongside it, up and out of the water, reaching up to Junmyeon at the top of the bridge, peering down. 

"Hyung?" 

"I'm still here," Junmyeon says. "I'm still listening. I was just watching the water."

There's some shuffling at the other end, the sound of fabric. It's a quarter to noon. Baekhyun must still be in bed. 

"Hyung, why are you in China?"

He shrugs, even though he knows Baekhyun can't see him. A crane peeks from around the corner, its spindly legs causing ripples in the water. "I don't know. I just wanted to go somewhere."

"You always disappear when there's something on your mind." Junmyeon laughs. It's true. It was harder when they were actively touring, but he always found ways to get away.

"You know you're the only one who ever noticed that?"

"Hmm," Baekhyun thinks. "Maybe. Maybe I'm the only one to bring it up to your face."

Junmyeon is technically the leader of EXO, but he likes to think the other members could have taken care of themselves just as well without him. He spoke during interviews and made sure nobody slept through their alarms, but nothing ever fell apart if he wanted to take a day or two to himself. 

"So, what's on your mind?" Baekhyun continues. There's the sound of a door creaking, a cup knocking against another in the background. Junmyeon can perfectly picture Baekhyun's too-long plaid pajama pants dragging against his wooden floor. He squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, there's a gaggle of young girls hunched together and not-so-subtly staring at him. Time to go, then.

"I don't know," he answers, and it's the truth. "I just felt like I had to get out for a while." 

Baekhyun doesn't say anything for a while. He pulls his bucket hat down a little more as he quickly absconds the corner, not glancing back to see if the girls have any of their phones out. 

"Well, you always liked going to China, right? Not the worst use of your time."

"Yixing met me at the airport. He brought that wine you really like."

Baekhyun smacks his teeth. "Well, I hope you enjoyed it on my behalf," he sighs, and Junmyeon laughs.

Baekhyun has a radio cameo to get to after that, so he lets Junmyeon go with a promise to call later. It's different from what he's used to. Baekhyun doesn't make promises, because they both know he never keeps them.

Junmyeon ends up taking a roundabout way back to the tapestry shop and purchasing the curtain he had seen through the window. The clerk is an old lady, gray hair done up in a pristine bun. She smiles at him kindly as she hands it to him perfectly rolled up in a paper bag. He twists a part of the gilded hanging tassels in between his index and thumb, and decides he likes it. 

--

Baekhyun doesn't call him back, but he texts him later that night when Junmyeon is wondering what to do for dinner. It's a selfie Baekhyun took with himself and Jongdae and his daughter. They're both holding her in between themselves, Jongdae's eyes happy crescents, Baekhyun's laughter lines not hidden by a pound of makeup, for once. Junmyeon can't help but mirror their smiles, saving the photo to his gallery. 

Tell Jongdae I said hi he texts. Baekhyun's reply is, again, immediate.

tell him yourself!

:P 

Junmyeon rolls his eyes and decides to stay in and get something simple from the hotel's room service. 

--

"Someone other than me caught your attention?" Yixing teases, and Junmyeon looks up from his phone with a start. Yixing looms over him with that knowing smile of his, the one that always made Junmyeon feel see-through, even when his Korean wasn't great but his skills of observation were--still are--phenomenal. They're both older now, though. He can't remember the last time he felt threatened by Yixing. 

"It's hard when you're so busy all the time," Junmyeon says mildly. "I've been all on my lonesome here."  Yixing doesn't bother hiding the way his eyes linger on his phone screen. 

"Baekhyunnie?" Yixing pouts. "He hasn't texted me in ages. I was hoping he would end up tagging along with you when you said you were coming." 

Junmyeon's heart squeezes a little. Yixing had left the second bottle of wine in his care. It sits unopened in the tiny hotel fridge. "Baekhyun likes getting attention, doesn't like giving it as much."

Yixing smiles. There's a small queue outside of the art gallery, but Junmyeon had already reserved their tickets online. "It's not always fun being the one to send the first text," he says, and Junmyeon can't tell if he's actually upset or not.

"You know Baekhyun. It's probably not personal." The line moves a little. "Besides, Baekhyun's attention isn't always the best thing. It makes me tear my hair out on the best of days."

Yixing laughs, and points out a corner of a painting they can see ahead in the lobby. He's grateful for the change in topic. His heart unclenches.

They tour the gallery together. Yixing talks about each painting and sculpture they come across animatedly, Junmyeon occasionally having to jog to catch up to him when something else catches his eye. He fills in the Korean he can't remember, and every single time, he asks Junmyeon what he thinks. He can't exactly muster up anything more than "It's nice," or "The combination of colors is interesting." The gallery has three floors, and there's a veranda at the top level that looks out over the thoroughfare. The air is awfully humid. Yixing takes off his shades to wipe at his brow and looks over at Junmyeon.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course," he says. "Does something seem wrong?" He likes being with Yixing, really. He's glad he was able to make the trip out here. 

"It's not that you're not usually fairly uncomplicated, but you seem…I don't know. Quieter. How are the other members?"

Junmyeon peers down over the railing. Colorful ants down below parade back and forth. He can feel Yixing's eyes on him.

"Fine, I guess. Probably. I don't know." Everyone but Sehun has completed their military service. The group chat is still active, even if Baekhyun, Jongdae, and Chanyeol make up the majority of it these days. Everyone is off doing something different. Junmyeon doesn't need to be keeping tabs as much anymore. "I don't know. I figure they're fine. Nobody has called me in tears asking for relationship advice or anything just yet."

Yixing is quiet, and Junmyeon looks back up at him. He's got one cheek supported with one hand, and there's a smile playing on his face. It's hard to keep one off his own.

"Really, I'm okay, Yixing. It's just been different these days. I just wanted to come spend some time alone."

"Alone," Yixing echoes. "Away from the others, you mean?"

Junmyeon shrugs. He guesses so. Away from…from something.

Yixing says he knows a really good cafe he's been meaning to show him for a while. It's on the other end of town, so they catch a taxi. Junmyeon knows he only meant well, but there's a semblance of a shadow over his heart, and no matter how much Yixing talks up the coffee he orders for both of them that's imported directly from Algeria, the flavor winds up flat on his tongue. 

-- 

Junmyeon's phone rings at eight in the morning the next day. An old picture he had taken of Baekhyun at a bar flashes on his phone screen, and he lets his eyes shut again as he brings the phone up to his ear.

"Yes?"

"Hyung, where are you staying?" Baekhyun speaks loudly into the mic of his phone. There's an announcer speaking Mandarin in the background. "I'm in Beijing. I just landed."

Junmyeon's eyes shoot open as he sits up. "What? What do you mean you're in Beijing?"

"You said you're in China, right? I came to keep you company." 

"How do you know I'm in Beijing? Maybe I'm in Shanghai. Maybe I'm in Nepal."

"I texted Yixing-hyung," Baekhyun answers brightly, and Junmyeon can perfectly imagine how much Baekhyun had wanted this exact exchange to happen. He rubs a hand over his face. It's morning, but the sun hasn't come up over the skyscrapers in the distance. "I know it's early. I can find a Starbucks or something to hang out in until you get here."

Junmyeon fills the water boiler with water from the tap. He's down to his last package of oolong. "Don't you want to set your stuff down? I'll just send you the address. I'll call downstairs to let them know you're coming." 

Baekhyun thinks for a moment. "I mean, I packed light, but that works, too. I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah," Junmyeon says. His heart is thudding, and there's a little pressure behind his eye. He hates having to get up so suddenly. "I'll see you soon." 

Baekhyun only came with a backpack and the clothes on his back, as it would turn out. His smile lights up the room when Junmyeon opens the door for him, even more than the morning sun already has two hours later. He drops his things on the floor and sits on the bed with a loud groan.

"The flight isn't that long," Junmyeon says, sitting in the chair at the desk. He's changed into a blue button-up and cargo shorts, but hasn't decided on a hat yet. 

"No," Baekhyun says. "But I'm tired, anyway. I didn't get much sleep before I came here."

"Did you buy your ticket just the night before?"

"Yeah," Baekhyun sits up. "I don't know. You know I don't like being left out." 

"Well, you can rest here for a bit, if you want. I didn't have much of an itinerary before I came here either."

"Oh, don't misunderstand," Baekhyun smiles, getting a mischievous glint in his eye. "I didn't come here without a plan."

He won't reveal to Junmyeon what these plans are, but he takes him by the wrist and drags him around what feels like every inch of the city. There's an amusement park a twenty minute train ride away, which is their first destination. Baekhyun laughs loudly and walks quickly, and he wishes he had chosen a lighter top to wear. It's hot, and he doesn't have a choice but to keep up with Baekhyun. 

There's a man with tan skin running an ice cream stand. Baekhyun films him as he does all kinds of gravity-defying tricks with the cone stuck to bright-pink ice cream, and though it's hard to relax with his mask down in public, it's easier with Baekhyun. He and Junmyeon visit almost every ride and stall at the fair, and it's just about sunset when the door to their car on the ferris wheel closes. He's sweaty, but Baekhyun is telling him about the gaggle of children he had spotted at some point and the frazzled caretakers trying to get one of them to drop something they had picked up from the ground.

"I really like this place," Junmyeon tells him. He's peering out as the car gets higher and higher, wondering if he can still spot them somewhere in the crowd below. He thinks more people have shown up since they got here. "How'd you know about it?"

"Yixing told me," Baekhyun answers. "He said you could use a pick-me-up."

Junmyeon thinks about that for a moment. "You know, Yixing is quite the meddler for a guy that's basically impossible to dislike." 

Baekhyun barks a laugh. Junmyeon can't feel the shadow over him as the ferris wheel takes them into the sky. 

"He'd probably say the same about you, you know." 

Junmyeon agrees, but doesn't admit anything. The earth below them has taken on a yellow glow. The only thing he can hear is the occasional creak of the metal contraption carrying them. Soon, they'll be back down there in the thick of it all. The sun is just barely touching the tops of the highest buildings when they reach the crest.

"I didn't come here to baby you or anything, you know," Baekhyun breaks the silence, suddenly. He's looking at Junmyeon with something unreadable in his eyes.

"I know, Baekhyunnie."

"I worry about you too though, you know?" he continues. "It's not like you to run off. I mean, it is, but it doesn't make it any better."

"I know, Baekhyunnie." I'm sorry. 

They're quiet all the way up to the train station. Junmyeon swipes his card at the ticket gate after Baekhyun, but he makes an unexpected turn away from the platform that goes back to the hotel. 

"The night's still young, hyung!" he says, predicting what Junmyeon is about to say. He spins in a circle with arms spread outward, skipping ahead of him down the staircase to the platform on the opposite end of the station. 

Junmyeon laughs, and there's an unmistakable thrum of lightness running through his arms and legs as he jogs to catch up with him.

-- 

It ends up being an underground nightclub--literally. Baekhyun hands the bouncer some kind of token--another tip from Yixing?--and they're both waved in without problem. The entrance is nothing but a heavy metal door squeezed in between a supermarket and an insurance business, curling in on itself downstairs until they end up in a bar with a small stage at the other end of the room. There's already a decent amount of people in here, and Junmyeon somehow feels simultaneously over and underdressed. A bass-heavy rhythm is playing over speakers while girls in skin-tight dresses dance with their dates; coworkers or bosses, based on their popped collars and expensive looking coats. He follows Baekhyun to the very end of the bar island and takes a seat there. The angle from the stage isn't the best here, but it's hidden. 

"We're an hour early," Baekhyun's voice raises over the din. He's grinning at him, dark eyes reflecting purple and blue hues from the empty stage. Junmyeon wishes he had his camera.

They order drinks--Junmyeon gets some kind of fancy-sounding cocktail, and Baekhyun gets something even fancier. 

"Do you know what kind of performance is coming on?"

Baekhyun shakes his head. "I've been here once before, and I want to say it was some kind of jazz thing, but I really can't remember."

That's okay. Junmyeon had been tired after the ferris wheel, but being here, he feels rejuvenated. Or maybe it's just Baekhyun--the two of them are far from aged, but if there's anyone Junmyeon knows that can make you feel like a teenager experiencing freedom for the first time, it's Baekhyun. 

They spend an hour talking before the show begins, and it's nice. They've moved their stools closer to each other so they don't have to talk so loudly, nursing their drinks while they jump from topic to topic--with Baekhyun, you can never really expect to stick to one thing. But it's nice. He's halfway through his second drink when the band comes on--and it's a real band, with a drummer and guitarist and keyboardist and everything. 

"I was expecting a DJ or something too," Baekhyun says, reading Junmyeon's expression. They introduce themselves in Mandarin, and he can only pick out a few words here and there. The crowd cheers, and the singer starts off the set with a low voice that would probably reverberate clearly throughout the room even without the microphone. 

It's a nice rhythm, and Junmyeon can't help but bounce his foot against the stool footrest. Baekhyun is completely mesmerized, and when the chorus comes, he shoots up from the island and grabs Junmyeon's wrist.

"No, no way," Junmyeon says, but he can't help laughing as he's dragged to the dance floor. It's not exactly a song to dance to, but he understands the need to move your feet, at least. Baekhyun takes his hands in his own and dances him around when the guitar picks up, stomping his feet and giggling as Junmyeon trips over his own feet. 

The set is surprisingly long, almost two hours. They're amateur for sure, singers with untrained voices that strain their throats, but Junmyeon has never been elitist about music. He can tell Baekhyun likes it, too, because he keeps trying to mouth along to words he can barely understand. His face is flushed, but his eyes only leave Junmyeon's when he thinks he's bumped into someone--and normally he would be embarrassed, maybe even tell him off, but for once he doesn't want to. Here, dancing with Baekhyun is fun, and the guitarists play enchanting harmonies that make him feel like the music is in his veins. 

The set ends, and they struggle to pay their bill in the low lighting. Places like these don't tend to take card. They manage it, though, and the muscles in Junmyeon's cheeks hurt from how hard he's been smiling all night. 

He barely manages to slip out of his socks before he collapses into the hotel bed. His head is swimming, and his feet hurt. But he's still smiling.

"Go to sleep, hyung," Baekhyun slurs. He tosses his bucket hat on the desk--or tries to, at least. It falls somewhere by the trash can. 

"What's it look like I'm doing?" he answers with half of his face smushed into the pillow. Baekhyun laughs. 

"I don't know. Like you're living too hard." Baekhyun pulls the curtains closed and climbs into bed beside him, peeling the comforter back and burying himself in feather-soft linens. He's still smiling, too. "Boring Kim Junmyeon having too much fun. His old body won't be able to keep up." 

Junmyeon reaches beneath the blanket and pinches the first inch of skin he can find. Baekhyun yelps. 

"Maybe that's a good thing," he says. His eyelids are heavy. "Maybe old-man Kim Junmyeon needs a shock to his system." 

"That's what I'm here for," Baekhyun mumbles into the pillows, or at least that's what he thinks he says. He doesn't ask, letting sleep claim him. 

--

For the next three days, Baekhyun refuses to give him a break. They never leave any later than noon, and they rarely come back before ten. Junmyeon is used to being busy, but being "busy" as an idol involved a lot more sitting around and listening to others than fans would expect. Baekhyun drags him to malls, fashion shows, cafes, botanical gardens, libraries. It's exhausting, but it's a good exhausting. There's no pressure to return to the hotel, no one waiting for him to return from his sojourn.

The flight back to Seoul is tomorrow morning. Baekhyun is lying on his stomach playing on his phone while Junmyeon does some journaling. His feet ache, but he doesn't mind. Suddenly, he remembers something. 

"I didn't even realize there was anything in there," Baekhyun says, then he gasps when Junmyeon pulls out the second unopened bottle of strawberry wine from Yixing. 

"Yixing brought two," Junmyeon says. "He had hoped to see you here, but his schedule is packed, I guess. I figured I'd save it for you." He pops the cork and pours a glass for Baekhyun, who accepts it gratefully. He swings his legs lightly at the edge of the bed. 

"Have I ever told you you're my favorite hyung?" he grins, and Junmyeon feels the air squeeze that much tighter around him. 

"Here and there," Junmyeon tosses back nonchalantly. They toast for nothing in particular, but it feels nice to celebrate this--whatever this is. He brushes a stray hair that's tickling at his eyelashes, clicking his tongue with frustration.

Baekhyun, seeing his reaction, stands to come up and run a hand through his hair. 

"You don't usually let it get this long, huh?" he comments mildly. "I might have some stray hair ties if you want."

Junmyeon scoffs. It's not nearly that long yet. "I've been meaning to cut it, but I keep forgetting."

Baekhyun just hums in response, twisting his fingers around locks of his hair idly. He can see him staring at the city lights in the reflection of the window.

Junmyeon isn't writing anything particularly private, but he trusts Baekhyun not to peer around at his notebook while he finishes his entry.

He starts snoring before Junmyeon does. Wine always knocks him out quickly. His lips are slightly parted, one hand splayed beneath his cheek with the other curled into his chest. Junmyeon doesn't know how many times he's seen his face while he's fast asleep, but for some reason right now, he looks like a completely different person.

He doesn't think he'll ask, but he can't help but wonder what the real reason he came was.

--

"Have you met Jongdae's kid, hyung?"

Jongin has his shoulders curled inward with his knees pressed together, even though there's plenty of space for him on his side of the booth. Junmyeon doesn't think it’s self-consciousness as much as it's just natural cuteness. He peers up at him through his eyelashes as he leans down to sip from the straw in his latte.

"Of course," Junmyeon says. He had been the first to show up at Jongdae's house after the new family of three had returned home. "She's very cute."

"Do you think she'll grow up to be a singer, too?"

Junmyeon shrugs. "Maybe a dancer." 

Jongin raises his eyebrows with surprise, like the thought had truly never crossed his mind. 

"Do you think you'll ever have kids, hyung?" 

The question actually startles him, and he covers his mouth to keep the bit of liquid he inhaled from flying out at Jongin. 

"Me? Why?" 

Jongin glances at the front doors of the cafe as new customers walk in, then avoids Junmyeon's gaze by staring at his coffee. "I don't know. I thought that's what people your age are supposed to think about." 

Junmyeon scoffs. "'People my age,'" he mocks. "Maybe you're just projecting your fear of aging onto me. Is that it?"

He sputters, and Junmyeon laughs. Parrying questions back at Jongin has always been easy. 

"Well, I don't know. I guess I'm just wondering what your plans are? Like, Jongdae has a family now, and Chanyeol-hyung has his fancy new building. I have a new EP soon…what are you up to?"

Junmyeon had ordered a light yuzu tea. The condensation collects on his fingers where he's cradling the plastic cup. "Maybe I don't have anything planned," he says. "You know, people seem to be really concerned about what I'm doing these days." 

"But that's not a bad thing, is it?" Jongin says. He sounds a little like a child worried he's about to get scolded.

"No," Junmyeon sighs. "I guess it isn't, really." But Junmyeon isn't like Jongin or Chanyeol or Baekhyun, who thrive off of attention and adoration from others. He likes it, but he doesn't need it.

"Well, anyway," Jongin continues, "You do seem a little different these days. Like, quieter, somehow. Calmer? I don't know. It's like you're here, but not really."

Junmyeon rests his chin on his hands, fingers braided together, and looks at Jongin. Of all the people in EXO, he thinks Jongin has changed the least. A fond feeling spreads through him, and he can't help but smile. Jongin smiles back, then laughs. 

"I don't know, hyung. It's probably nothing."

Junmyeon shakes his head. "No, no. It's okay. I'm probably just having growing pains." 

If he wasn't wearing a baseball cap, Junmyeon would reach over and ruffle his hair. Maybe another time.

--

Later in the afternoon, Junmyeon has a meeting with some producers back at the recording studio. They want him to record a new EP.

"Alright," he tells them, because he doesn't have a reason to say anything else.

--

Junmyeon pouts thoughtfully as he takes a few steps back and considers the tapestry carefully hung up on the wall opposite of the window in his bedroom. It's still just as pretty as when he first saw it in that tapestry shop, but somehow it doesn't seem to fit in his apartment. He's about to try taking down the fabric-friendly tack when his phone rings. 

"Helloooooo?" Baekhyun's voice rings loudly through the speaker, and Junmyeon jerks the phone away from his ear in surprise. Can't he ever speak at a normal volume?

"Whaaaaat?" Junmyeon mimics his intonation. "Why are you trying to make my ears bleed through the phone?"

Baekhyun giggles that signature giggle he does when he's bothering someone and enjoying it. "I'm ordering a pizza. Are you free?"

Junmyeon was planning on sitting quietly and reading, or rearranging his whole apartment. Pizza doesn't sound half bad, though.

Baekhyun shows up with a bottle of wine, his acoustic, and a bright smile. What is there to be so happy about? He leaves his socks on after toeing off his shoes, leaning the guitar case on the armrest of Junmyeon's couch and collapsing onto it, one leg swung over the backrest. His black shirt is stark against the white suede. 

"And to what do I owe the occasion?" Junmyeon extracts the guitar from its case, nudging it off to the side so it's not in the walkway. It was tuned recently, and he plays an arpeggio just to fill the silence. "Also, I don't see any pizza."

"The pizza is on its way," Baekhyun says. He can hear the smile in his voice without having to look. "And, there's no occasion. I was bored, and I wanted pizza, and eating pizza alone while bored is pretty sad, don't you think?"

In Junmyeon's eyes, it isn't that sad, really, but he doesn't mind Baekhyun's company.  It's been ages since he's played guitar; the harsh steel strings don't mesh well with his soft piano hands, but he doesn't mind. He can vaguely remember a riff from an old demo they had been given however many albums ago. Baekhyun hums the accompanying melody once he's finally got it down, before motioning to give the guitar over to him. 

"You know, Jongin asked me if I wanted kids earlier today," he tells Baekhyun, and he laughs. 

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing," Junmyeon says. "I don't want kids. Jongin just thinks too much."

Baekhyun hums in agreement. "He probably just thinks you're lonely."

Junmyeon isn't lonely. He has friends and family, and he has his piano. He's never needed very much.

He doesn't know what song Baekhyun's playing now, but it's nice--a slow, melancholy melody. It fits the atmosphere. The living room is only lit by gentle orange lamps that don't strain his eyes in the morning. Junmyeon hates bright lights. He thinks about lighting a candle.

"You know, I never really wanted to admit it because it sounds so corny, but…it really is different, isn't it? After getting out." 

Baekhyun's words hang in the air, and Junmyeon has to force his shoulders to relax. He doesn't need to elaborate for him to understand what he means.

"Yeah," Junmyeon breathes. Baekhyun's playing has gotten quieter, but he's moved into a part that's supposed to be the chorus, he thinks. Junmyeon wishes he knew the words to sing. "Yeah, really. I can't really pinpoint it, either. Everything just seems…" Less. Like moving into a new apartment and having to spend months, years building your home up again. Except nothing's changed, really, so he can't understand it. 

"I guess I don't know if all of this is enough anymore."

Baekhyun begins to say something, but he's cut off by the apartment buzzer ringing. He pays the delivery guy in cash, and Baekhyun tells him he'll pay him back later. 

Baekhyun ends the song with a sudden jarring downstroke, a chord that isn't in the same key he had been playing in. He lays the guitar on the couch to go bring plates and glasses from the kitchen. He pours some wine for the both of them and raises his glass to a toast. Junmyeon doesn't know what they're toasting to, but he's grateful for the company. 

It's fun, talking to Baekhyun. He doesn't ask too many questions, and the conversations never get too deep--not usually, anyway. He takes Junmyeon's answers at face value, and even though he doesn't pry, he can always see the empathy in Baekhyun's eyes. He has his own style of wisdom. 

They sing together and talk about this and that--Baekhyun ends up going on a rather heated rant about a series of texts Sehun had sent him a few days ago, all the while keeping up a complex riff on the guitar. Junmyeon laughs at how horrible he is at mediation, and swats his hand away when he tries to touch the guitar with fingers covered in pizza grease. He's all smiles and joviality, but somehow it's quieter--not duller, just quieter. Even in the low light, he can make out the freckles on Baekhyun's cheeks and the light acne scarring at the base of his nose. They're details he's seen before, details he's been seeing for years, but again, the Baekhyun in front of him looks different from before. Not older, not younger. More…whole, maybe. 

Junmyeon must have been staring harder than intended, because he notices. 

"Something on my face?" He swipes at his lips and under his eyes with the backs of his hand, but Junmyeon shakes his head. 

"No, it's nothing, really." He's expecting Baekhyun to make some kind of quip about his natural beauty, but surprisingly, it doesn't come. 

"Alright," he assents easily. Junmyeon thinks he's been smiling all night. Baekhyun is about to move to pick up the guitar again (after wiping his hands on some napkins), but his eyes shift a little too far past the loveseat on the opposite end of the room. "What's that over there? Did you get a new blanket?" 

Baekhyun picks up the curtain he had purchased in Beijing, huffing a breath when he realizes it's heavier than expected. He whistles as he unrolls it, admiring the intricate flower pattern on the inside. "Wow, where did you get this?"

"In Beijing. I just thought it was pretty. It doesn't really seem to fit anywhere in the apartment, though, so I just left it there for now."

Baekhyun hums thoughtfully, looking around the living room and the myriad of bare walls. A peculiar look comes across his face, the kind he gets when he wants to figure something out. Junmyeon can physically see the rest of the world fading out of existence in his mind.

An idea comes to him, and he absconds on light feet to his bedroom. It takes some rummaging through an old trunk in the closet, but eventually he unearths his old camera. It's an expensive one--he had gotten it for himself as a Christmas gift however many years ago, but he had been too busy to get much use out of it. He fiddles with the buttons and tries to remember how to get it to work--he's surprised to find there's still a little under half battery charge left.

He returns to the living room, and Baekhyun is standing on top of the coffee table to pin one corner of the tapestry as high as he can reach on the wall. Junmyeon aims the camera and snaps a photo--the shutter is loud, and Baekhyun almost stumbles, whipping his head back at him.

"Hey, what was that for?" he says, but he's smiling. He's been smiling all night.

"Nothing," Junmyeon answers. His living room somehow looks more alive like this, Baekhyun doing some mildly dangerous stunt to help out with his interior decoration. "Celebrating, maybe."

"Celebrating what?"

He shrugs and aims the camera again. "I don't know. The moment?" Click. At this angle, Baekhyun's face is lit beautifully by the lamp in the corner, skin gilded, expression open. He laughs this time-Click!- and again and again, until he's marched over to where Junmyeon is and snatches the camera from him. He's confused by the ten billion buttons on it--understandable, Junmyeon was too, at first. He shows Baekhyun the zoom and shutter buttons, and once he's got it, he points the camera directly at Junmyeon's face and presses the button without hesitation. The flash blinds him, and he stumbles backwards onto the couch with a laugh.

"That's the flash setting, you asshole!" he cries mirthfully. The flash and shutter goes off again, and before long they're a giggling mess on the floor by the wall where the Beijing curtain is hanging off the wall by one corner. With the flash setting on, the battery has depleted to a measly fifteen percent. 

There's still a little pizza left, but Junmyeon isn't hungry anymore. Baekhyun shuffles over to his half-full glass on the coffee table and retrieves it, returning to Junmyeon's side and downing the whole thing in one go. His lips are stained a little purple. Junmyeon's probably are, too.

"Even if we're the ones who have changed, hyung, at least we can choose how, right?" Baekhyun says suddenly, and it takes him a moment to even remember their conversation from hours ago. Junmyeon stretches over to grab the acoustic guitar that had somehow gotten knocked behind the couch during their impromptu photoshoot. He strums the same three chords over and over again with the flat of his fingers. The sound rings out muffled.

Junmyeon looks over at Baekhyun. His eyes are closed, arms wrapped around knees pulled to his chest. He opens them a little when Junmyeon doesn't respond, and they turn to crescents. Junmyeon returns them.

"Yeah," Junmyeon says. "At least we have that." 

The living room feels fuller than it ever has, with just the two of them there. Baekhyun's breath starts coming out heavier and heavier. In the back of Junmyeon's mind, a song seems to fill up space he didn't know had been empty.

--

Jongin's third EP is releasing tonight at 6pm KST, like they always do. Jongdae is too busy with the baby and Xiumin and Kyungsoo are out of the country, so for now it's just Chanyeol, Baekhyun, Sehun, Jongin, and Junmyeon. Jongin likes to have a lot of space, so he invited them over to his condo. 

It's a subdued affair, all of them tired after a long day of their respective jobs--although some of them have more jobs than others, Sehun points out with a pointed look at Baekhyun. They laugh along together, and pretty quickly the four of them devolve into bickering like they always do. 

Jongin had brought out a fancy looking CD player--the kind that has a radio and a handle like a suitcase--and the CD for Rover has already been inserted. Chanyeol pops the wine cork as they listen to each song, Jongin's crooning filling the air. He shuffles shyly at the other end of the couch, but nobody has anything bad to say. 

Junmyeon likes it, he really does. But he finds it hard to enjoy it with the knowledge that his own recordings are going to start next week sitting like a rock in his stomach. He watches Jongin's phone light up every once in a while with congratulations from friends, family, colleagues. He wishes he'd put the thing on silent.

Baekhyun knocks him lightly on the shoulder when they're all slipping on their shoes. 

"I left my guitar at your place, right? Is now a good time to come get it?"

Junmyeon feels around his jacket pocket to make sure he has his keys. "I don't mind, but isn't it a little out of the way?" Their apartments are almost a half hour drive from each other. It's already late.

"I'm not doing anything tomorrow morning," he shrugs. "Plus, it was Chanyeol that drove me here. I figure I'd be leeching a ride off someone either way."

"Wine hasn't kicked in yet, huh? You might fall asleep on the way there," Junmyeon teases, and Baekhyun's laugh pulls a rug out from under him, the way his heart skips a beat.

The drive back to Junmyeon's apartment is silent, but it's a good silence. Baekhyun is playing an imaginary piano on his thighs, and like a puppy, he is terribly concerned with the scenery that passes by them through the window. It's cute. There has never been a time where Baekhyun wasn't cute, even if many loathe to admit it, but Junmyeon can't help wanting to stare at the way his eyes sparkle when he's entertained.

"Still haven't figured out what to do with this thing, huh?" Baekhyun circumvents the couch to stand where Junmyeon had let the Beijing curtain fold up on itself against the wall. He hadn't gotten around to tidying up from two nights ago, but he had returned the guitar to the case and leaned it up next to the lamp. He seems to have lost all interest in it. He smirks at Junmyeon from across the living room, and he can't shake the image of a dog about to bolt from its owner at a park. Someone here is about to have a lot of fun, at least. 

"No, not really. Maybe I'll give it to Jongdae, or something."

Baekhyun hums in response, eyeing it for a moment before moving to grab his guitar. His dark coat reaches the middle of his thighs, stark against barren walls. Something in his chest lurches.

Junmyeon thinks about offering him a ride home, but somehow he knows Baekhyun will reject it. He sees him off in the hallway, and it's exactly thirty minutes after he's departed that he realizes that whatever is lurching in his chest is threatening to fall over completely. The keyboard in his room is plugged in, but it's not enough.

He slips his shoes back on and leaves again, looking through his phone contacts the second he exits the apartment complex.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Yixing," Junmyeon says. "I'm glad you picked up. I know it's only an hour's difference, but I wasn't sure…" 

"It's not super late," says Yixing. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Not really, I think. I just felt like I had to call you."

"Had to?"

Junmyeon looks both ways before crossing the street. The red crosswalk light is stark in the night. It's empty. "Yeah. I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything these days, but I know I wanted to call you, so…"

It's painful in his own head, and it's painful to say out loud. Yixing left the group a year ago. He stays on the line.

"I don't know. I'm no stranger to feeling lost, but…" But nothing on the outside has changed, really, so why does he feel this way? "I was looking forward to the military, you know. I could finally get away from all of this, for a bit." The first few months were fine, even if people recognized him. It's hard to think about anything very much, between the daily physical exhaustion and everything feeling so new. But at night, before he went to bed, the life he had left behind would whisper to him--endless streams of memories and feelings he thought he could leave behind. A lot of them were good. Only a few particularly bad ones stand out. 

On the other end, Yixing hums thoughtfully. "Well, I can't be your GPS, Junmyeonnie, but I know you know that already. What have you been doing since you got out?"

He thinks back to the last couple of months. "Reading. Traveling. I find myself in the SM studio more often than I'd like, but it's lost its spark." he sighs. "All of this sounds so trivial." All of the buildings around him seem so empty and flat, even if he knows there are people inside that have lived lives far longer and far more interesting than his. An airplane flies overhead, its red lights flashing in tandem on either wing. He wanted to be a pilot, once.

"Trivialities can be important, too." 

Even though Jongin hasn't been a child for almost a decade, even though he's several inches taller than Junmyeon, he still manages to look up at him through his eyelashes like he doesn't know any better. He takes care to still keep a case of Kyungsoo's favorite beer even though he hasn't visited Junmyeon's apartment in over a year. The gloves he's wearing now still feel new to him, even though he had borrowed them from Jongdae and never given them back. The threads are worn at the wrist. He'd hate to wear any other kind.

Trivialities.

Junmyeon ends up strolling slowly along the Han while Yixing talks to him. It's probably too dark for anyone to recognize him easily. He wonders why he doesn't come here more often.

"Has anyone ever told you you have a soothing voice?" Junmyeon says, somewhere between listening about the stray cats Yixing has been feeding and how much he misses Korean convenience stores. He snorts.

"Probably just because you like me so much," he says, and he thinks it's meant to be teasing, but it's a little true. "People seem to think I'm this wise sage or something, though."

"You definitely give that impression," Junmyeon agrees. "Does it ever bother you?"

The shuffling of fabric on the other end. It's getting late. "Not really, I don't think. I get up to my own mischief, anyway, so I'm probably not as wise as people think." 

"What about me? What's the impression I give?"

Yixing thinks for a moment. "It's a little hard to say since I've known you so long, but I remember a long time ago, Tao told me he couldn't read you at all. You were always so…how did he say it? Whatever was needed, that's what you were." A beat. "Like tofu."

The last bit catches him off guard. "Tofu? What?" he laughs, and Yixing laughs, too.

"Sorry. I'm tired. I just mean you soak up what's around you. You're very…"

Plain. Unassuming. Blank.

"...Junmyeon. You're just Junmyeon." he finishes. He's found a bench to sit on while Yixing was thinking of the right thing to say. Junmyeon likes to think part of Yixing's mischief stems from the extent of the care he takes to not rock the boat. 

"I see," Junmyeon intones. He can hear the frown in Yixing's voice when he speaks.

"Don't think of it as a bad thing. I can't think of a single bad thing anyone has said about you, you know."

Junmyeon shakes his head even though he know Yixing can't see him. "No, it's not that. It's just…is that really all there is? Is that really all I am?"

"Do you disagree?"

And there's the kicker. Along the river, a cormorant's wings thwack against the water as it lands, its dark figure disappearing when the water settles. He had forgotten to take his earbuds along with him. His hands are beginning to get cold. It's barely October.

"I don't know," is all Junmyeon can say. It seems like the only thing he can ever say, these days. "I feel like I don't know anything about myself." 

Another shuffle of fabric. He should really let Yixing go. "Well," he says. "Never too late to start learning."

--

Junmyeon absconds from the recording studio as quickly as possible without hurting any feelings. They've yet to decide on a title, but there's an unusual guitar track in the background of track one that adds an intensity he doesn't know he can do justice.

He doesn't hate it, though, which makes the recording process much less burdensome. Down the street from the studio is a bakery, so he picks up some scones and donuts before hailing a cab. He had fancied a walk this morning, but the temperature had dropped in the few hours he was in the studio, heavy clouds looming over the city. His hands are cold, but the donuts are warm. 

He's waived into the photo studio without so much as a word. In the hairstyling lounge, Kyungsoo sits with closed eyes while they fiddle with his fringe. Baekhyun is sitting on a couch in the corner, talking to one of the stylists. He beams when he sees Junmyeon approach, and he pretends not to notice the way her face falls as Baekhyun gives him his full attention. 

"I thought you'd flake," he says. They've already done his makeup; there's a gentle layer of glitter under his eyes, and the freckles have disappeared. "I know you hate the cold." 

"It's okay. I didn't want to disappoint." There's a loose strand of hair that's come loose from where the others have been meticulously brushed back. His hand twitches to put it back into place, but after a moment, he thinks it might look better that way. 

"Your hair is long," Kyungsoo says by way of greeting, his lips curling at the edges just enough for Junmyeon to notice, and he finds that he had missed Kyungsoo's blunt comments that would be rude if it were anyone else. He laughs, running a hand through his fringe. It's almost longer than Baekhyun's, at this point. 

"Good to see you, too."

The photoshoot passes by quickly. They stick Junmyeon in a soft turtleneck and jeans, and Baekhyun keeps teasing him about how much he looks like a teddy bear. Kyungsoo disagrees, saying it just makes him look like an asshole.

They stop at a cafe afterwards, Junmyeon and Kyungsoo ordering tea while Baekhyun sips on some hot chocolate. He's grateful Kyungsoo had made the suggestion; he's been really bad at keeping up with friends and family these days. He apologizes.

"That's alright," Kyungsoo waves a hand. "You know how I was when I first got out, too."

He does. Junmyeon had all but wondered if he was trying to fake his death, but he came around, eventually. It all ended faster than I thought it would. I didn't feel ready. 

Junmyeon had thought he was ready to rejoin society. He knows better, now.

There's a shadow over Baekhyun's face from his baseball cap, completely ruining the stylists' meticulous work with his hair. The makeup is still there, though, a gentle blush highlighting his cheeks. It's beautiful. 

"How have you been, anyway?" he continues. It takes Junmyeon a moment to realize Kyungsoo is talking about him.

"Oh. Uh. I've been okay." 

Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. "He's been getting into photography," Baekhyun butts in with a grin. "I'm his favorite subject, you know."

"You wish. You're just insistent on getting in the way of the camera."

Kyungsoo carefully tears open a packet of sugar to add to his tea. He looks back and forth between Baekhyun and him, and he can't read his expression at all. "I remember you got that camera forever ago, but you never really used it. It's good you're putting it to use."

"Yeah. It is," Junmyeon says. "And what about you, Baekhyunnie?"

"Me?" Baekhyun purses his lips a little. "Oh, you know me. I keep myself occupied."

"By…?" Kyungsoo chips in.

Baekhyun stares into his hot chocolate for just a bit too long. "Staying in bed all day and watching TV, I guess. Bothering Yixing too much, probably." He's smiling, but it barely reaches his eyes. Kyungsoo's attention has moved to some commotion going on at the other side of the cafe. He can't meet Baekhyun's gaze, and he doesn't get to even when they part ways after their drinks.

--

Baekhyun drags a stool from the kitchen into the bathroom and motions him to sit. The marble is pristine, the mirror flawless. Junmyeon wonders about ramming his forehead into the glass; the image is so vivid, he's a little surprised at Baekhyun's notably non-splintered reflection looking back at him. He's wearing his glasses this time, the big round ones that soften him around the edges. It's not nearly as misleading as he used to think it was. Byun Baekhyun, beneath all the extroverted bluster, is horribly domestic.

"I can do this myself, you know," Junmyeon protests, but he knows it won't mean anything to Baekhyun. The words barely mean anything to himself.

"I know," He runs a hand through Junmyeon's hair, neatly trimmed nails caressing his scalp. If he could purr, he would. "But I don't mind."

The hair scissors are perfect, too; he's not sure he's ever even used it after taking it out of the packaging. He trusts Baekhyun knows what he's doing. He gets this concentrated look on his face when he starts snipping at the edges of his hair, humming a melody Junmyeon can't recognize. 

His chest is nearly pressed up to Junmyeon's back. Nearly. He wishes he hadn't turned the heat up so high. 

Baekhyun ends up falling asleep on the couch later, one hand over his phone face down on his stomach, the other hanging off the side of the couch. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths. It's a still scene. The living room has never looked more vibrant, more tangible.

Junmyeon can recognize dangerous waters when he's near them, but for once, he doesn't mind putting some parts of himself on the line.

--

There's a rocky coastline an hour's drive away from Seoul. It's a brisk fall this year, but the ocean breeze is heavy in the air even without the humidity. He had brought his camera out with him, but it's still hanging at his side with its strap secured around his shoulder. 

The wind picks up the closer he gets to water. There's nobody else here. It's not a pretty beach, really, stones and seaweed coating the shoreline, but that's part of why he came. There's less expectations.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes. He thought he had set it to silent. He thinks about ignoring it, but it scratches at his brain until he gives in. Yixing's contact appears on his lock screen, Photo attachment written beneath his name.

Junmyeon wants to open it. Or at least, he thinks he wants to--he thinks he should. But he stares at Yixing's name, written both in Chinese and Hangul, until his screen goes black again. His own reflection stares back at him. It isn't that he doesn't recognize himself, but the face staring back at him looks like someone completely new.

He returns his gaze to the horizon, sliding his phone back into his pocket and holding down the power button until it's turned off completely.

Nobody would hear him if he tore his vocal cords through and through right now, if he put his heart into the loudest sound he's ever made. It would echo somewhere far, far away, and never come back to him.

He shuts his eyes and parts his lips--

Nothing comes out.

--

The two and a half months of prep for Junmyeon's EP fly by. The photoshoots are fun, and sometimes Jongdae or his manager send him delivery, so it's bearable. 

They're having a party to celebrate the last song on Junmyeon's EP being recorded. It's a short one--no more than six tracks. He had asked for it to be truncated from the original ten. There were other projects he wanted to focus on, he had said, and he didn't want this to take a long time. It was mostly true.

He likes it, for the most part, even if none of the songs made him feel particularly excited. He hopes nobody can tell. He's always done a perfect job. He's wondered more than once if it's true, or if he's just convinced himself, too.

He's grateful the rest of the members seem more concerned with the movie that's on than the album, though. Not that Junmyeon can say the same for himself. Kyungsoo is seated on the floor between Jongin's legs, letting Jongin play with his hair. He wonders how many times he's seen them sit like that, together. He lets Baekhyun do it too sometimes, but right now he's grinning at something Chanyeol and Jongdae are talking about. Xiumin is right beside Kyungsoo, both of them watching quietly with rapt attention.

Junmyeon wonders if he's the only one feeling the way he does. There is a thin transparent wall between him and everyone he's with, even though Baekhyun's shoulder is bumping against his while he fidgets, and the scratchy fabric of Jongin's couch is nice against his fingertips. He's lived in Seoul his whole life. He's been all around the world, and he could go anywhere he wants whenever he wants. He's luckier than most. 

You can talk to me about anything you want, hyung. Even the bad stuff. Jongin tells him at least once a year. The others say it too, in their own ways, and he knows they'll end up saying it again, in the exact same way they always have, and maybe always will.

Again and again and again. His fingernail catches a stray thread in the armrest, and he accidentally tears the edge off, uneven and burning. He bears the pain silently, bringing his finger up to his lips. The taste of blood is faint. Nobody notices.

The colors on the TV are blurred to him, nothing but white noise filtering in through his ears. My name is Kim Junmyeon. Again and again and again. I'm thirty-one years old. He's had the same coworkers for over a decade, and some he's known even longer than that. He still keeps in touch, because that's what he's supposed to do. I like to sing, and I'm currently contracted to SM Entertainment. There has to be more than this. There must be more than the blood bubbling up from his torn cuticle, than the comfort of his loved ones, his job, his home. No matter how many times he tries to let go, he ends up right back where he was before, again and again and again. Junmyeon isn't sure how many more agains he can live through. 

Jongin's wide-open living room feels too small. He had undone the top button on his dress shirt, but the base of his throat feels constricted, anyway. He stands up a little too quickly, accidentally knocking a foot into Xiumin's side.

"Sorry," he says, and his throat feels thick with everything he doesn't want to let spill out. "I'll be right back."

He takes care to close the door silently, and he's anxious about the people he's left behind in the other room. He wishes they wouldn't care so much about him. The ghosts that haunt him aren't really ghosts at all, he supposes. They're living and breathing and they fill every crevice and pore in his life that isn't being occupied by his job or his music. 

It isn't that he wants to let go, really. He just wants to know when this stops feeling like all there is.

"Hello, Kim Junmyeon," he says to the mirror, bracing himself on the edge of the sink. There's a person there looking back at him, copying everything he says and does, but the image doesn't stick in his mind. He's faceless. The only thing he can recognize is expensive clothes and hair that Baekhyun had trimmed. He can't stare for too long. The mirror seems to waver at the edges, fault lines coming into view and making his eyes burn.

There's a knock at the door, and it cracks open as Baekhyun slips inside, closing it behind him. He leaves a hand on the knob. A bulwark. 

"Why are you talking to yourself in the mirror?" he asks, frowning. 

"I just needed a moment. I wasn't feeling too good." 

He shouldn't think of Baekhyun as someone full of facades. Junmyeon is far, far worse than he is.

"Did you have too much to drink?" Baekhyun notices the torn skin on his finger, blood dripping onto the pale ceramic of the sink. He goes digging around through Jongin's  medicine cabinet for bandaids--he finds a small package alongside some rubbing alcohol. "What happened?"

"I just tore a nail. It got caught in the armrest." It'll probably hurt more later, when there's less alcohol running through his head and the wall has thinned. Baekhyun nudges him out of the way to grab a square of toilet paper, dousing a corner of it in rubbing alcohol and motioning for Junmyeon to bring up his hand. He does, obediently, and he expects a teasing comment from him, but that's not what Baekhyun has forthcoming.

"You're not cutting your hair, and you're barely trimming your nails. Have you been biting them?" Junmyeon tries to focus on the sting of the alcohol, because Baekhyun's scolding hurts worse. "What's gotten into you?"

Maybe it doesn't come out as nice as he intends to, because Baekhyun's eyes are soft as he looks at him questioningly. He's standing a little closer than necessary. Jongin's bathroom is big, too. 

Baekhyun feels like a cool gust of wind that's blown away all of his worries from just moments before. He wants to sit on a cloud and let that wind carry him far, far away. 

"You don't have to take care of me," Junmyeon murmurs, because he doesn't know what else to say. 

"I know. I already told you I don't mind." 

Baekhyun doesn't like being coddled, and neither does Junmyeon. But he knows if the positions were reversed right now, he wouldn't let Baekhyun go without mothering him, too.

His fingers are soft as he wraps the band-aid around his finger, and he doesn't let go of his hands afterwards. There's something almost like a frown lingering on his face, but something in Junmyeon's expression must be silly, because he smiles suddenly, and it sends heat right up to his cheeks. 

"We've always been like this, huh?" he says. Always. The word seemed like the devil barely five minutes ago, but the way Baekhyun says it, it sounds like a pleasure. "Caring for others is easier than caring for ourselves."

Baekhyun has changed a lot since he first met him back during their trainee days. There's still that fundamental childishness to his disposition, but over the years he's only grown more and more refined, more and more sensitive to the world around him and his place in it. He doesn't find places to belong--he makes them.  

Junmyeon had thought, sometimes, that if they weren't idols, Baekhyun would have been someone he could admire. Instead, he laughed alongside him on good days, and wanted to shove him into a closet and lose the key on bad ones. Still, his resilience is something Junmyeon has grown to appreciate. Baekhyun's joviality isn't natural; it's something he taught himself.

Through all his years, Junmyeon still doesn't know how he had managed it. He can only see walls and guidelines no matter where he goes in life. No matter how far he runs, the leash eventually tugs back. Ghosts cling to him like an abalone on the bottom of a ship. They're okay, most days. On days like these, they're irreconcilable.

"Do you think we'll ever change?" Junmyeon asks. He has Baekhyun's full attention, and he can't imagine how any of Baekhyun's past lovers could have survived his gaze, because Junmyeon feels like he's melting under heavy brown eyes. Baekhyun moves to hold Junmyeon's wounded hand in both of his own, one thumb drawing light circles into the sensitive skin of his wrist. His knees feel weak.  

"It's all the same to me, I think," he replies. Everything about Baekhyun is so terribly familiar, but he isn't ghastly like everything else. Junmyeon wants to pull him closer, but he doesn't. He settles for a hand on the back of his neck, twisting a lock of hair in between his fingers. The skin is burning. Baekhyun has never been shy about being touched like this. "But it seems to matter to you, hyung."

Junmyeon looks down at the hands that cradle his own, and he wonders what's changed about himself, why Baekhyun just stroking his wrist is making him react this way. An image comes unbidden, of kissing him, over a decade's worth of personal history tangled up between their lips--how nice it must feel to be so intimate with someone so familiar.  What would Baekhyun's voice sound like then? What kind of new sounds could he coax out of him? There are borders he's well aware of in all of his relationships. The ones with Baekhyun seem to keep stretching.

"Everything matters to me," he admits, banishing the images and breathing a sigh. The arousal in the pit of his belly is a bit more resolute, but he ignores it. "That's why I can never really run away." 

But when you're here, I feel like I don't need to.

"I think no matter how many times you run away, someone is going to come back and fetch you. That's what I've been doing, anyway." 

And Junmyeon has to smile, because when it's Baekhyun, he doesn't think he minds being led back home.

When he gets home that night, he nearly collapses on top of his camera. He had meant to take it with him earlier, he thinks--he fumbles his shoes and socks off while the camera powers on. Muscle memory helps him navigate to the gallery, and the first thing he's greeted with is a blurry shot of Baekhyun making a goofy face at the camera. The next one is one of Junmyeon hunched over on the backside of the couch; after that, it's Junmyeon laughing at something Baekhyun must have said, and it's so novel to him he's almost stunned.

He keeps flipping through photos. He hadn't realized how many he had taken that night. There's one with Baekhyun balancing a spoon on his nose, another that's the two of them sitting on the couch with serious expressions, immediately preceded by the same shot, this time with Baekhyun's composure breaking. 

The photos seem like a lifetime ago, but maybe that's just the alcohol. He flips through every single photo in the gallery until he reaches the end, and it's dated December 24, 2016--it's a shot of the kitchen he had all the time.

I look so normal on the outside, he can't help but think. The Junmyeon in these photos and the Junmyeon he had seen in the mirror are two completely different people. 

Something uncomfortable twists in his stomach, and he sets the camera down on his nightstand. He doesn't know how many times he's counted these patterns on his ceiling. He doesn't feel like doing it again, so he shuts the light off.

--

"Why were you so sad the other day?"

He's come to Baekhyun's apartment, this time. It's smaller than his own, and a lot neater--although he doesn't own all that much stuff. He keeps his piano in the living room instead of his bedroom. There are square divots in the carpet just beside each leg of the stool and the keyboard, like he had just shifted it a couple centimeters over. 

"Sad?" Baekhyun echoes. Junmyeon can only see his backside from the couch, but he has a headache, so he lets his eyes shut while Baekhyun messes with the piano. He flows from song to song, entering a new melody before the last one can end. "I doubt I was sad. A little tired, maybe. Or bored."

"You know I'm not going to push. But I've known you for a long time, Baekhyunnie. I can tell when you're bored, and when you want to kill someone, and when you're sad. And you seemed sad."

Baekhyun switches to something much slower, much simpler than what he was playing before. His feet bob up and down on the pedals, socked feet stark against the back of the sleek piano. It sounds familiar, but Junmyeon can't place it. 

"I don't know, hyung," Baekhyun says. His hands have gone still. "Life just comes at you quickly, I guess."

It's scary to hear Baekhyun talk like that. It really is. But Baekhyun has never liked being coddled. "Did something happen during your service?"

"No. It's not that. I think this started before that, really."

He picks up the song again from somewhere in the middle, a bit faster this time. "And I can only distract myself so much." Baekhyun's house is dead silent save for the weighted keys and the pedals knocking against wood. Junmyeon can barely hear the music ringing out.

He hates this. He really does. He sits up from the couch, accidentally toppling a throw pillow over in his wake. "Hey, Baekhyunnie. Let's go do something." 

He looks over at Junmyeon finally. "Like what? Boring Kim Junmyeon wants to take me on an adventure?" There are only vestiges of a frown left on his face. The lights are so bright in here; they aren't doing him justice. He needs something gentler. 

"Why not?" He stands and motions for Baekhyun to scooch over so he can sit beside him. Junmyeon starts playing an old song, a ballad from however many decades ago. He's playing it an octave higher than the original, but he kind of likes it better like this. "We can go anywhere. We can go to Beijing again. We could see Yixing. We could go to Japan or Europe."

Baekhyun is looking at him like he's grown a second head, but he huffs a laugh anyway. "You only get like this when you want to help someone."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Junmyeon begins humming the first verse of the song. "Anyway, not this time. This is purely a selfish endeavor. You just happened to be around when I thought of it."

"I don't believe you," Baekhyun says. He picks up the second verse this time, and even when he isn't singing very loudly, his voice fills the room to the brim--Junmyeon could lean in and sink into it.

"You don't have to," Junmyeon tells him, just before the chorus comes, and he doesn't even realize his headache has abated until the song has ended, and Baekhyun asks to sing it again in its original octave. 

It suits his voice better that way, and Junmyeon finds he's changed his mind--he can't believe he ever thought anything could sound better than how it does now.

--

He only remembers the message Yixing had sent him days later. It's a photo of himself, Jongdae, and Yixing together at a restaurant. He can't quite place the date, but they're much younger versions of themselves, that's for certain. There's a sign in the background written in English. They look happy. 

I forgot to send this to you. You asked me to all those years ago, and i only just now remembered it! Haha

How can you remember something like that? Junmyeon sends. I don't even remember where this is. 

He nearly bumps into someone on the sidewalk while he walks and texts, mumbling a surprised apology. 

Somewhere in new york, i think Yixing's reply pops up. Also, go to bed

It's only a little past midnight. He reacts with a thumbs down and pockets his phone.

He tosses and turns for a while in bed before giving up and reaching for it again on his nightstand. He navigates to the photo immediately, and he finds himself staring at it until his eyes start to burn--tears from wanting to cry or because the phone screen is too much, he doesn't know, and he doesn't bother to figure it out. When he forces them shut, the image lingers behind his eyelids, and up until sleep finally takes him, it feels like he's still back there with them.

--

"You know, I haven't smoked in almost two years. You're not doing me any favors with that."

Baekhyun steps out from the glass sliding door, barefoot in one of his plain oversized shirts. The lamp from inside highlights him in yellow all around the edges, but the city lights still reflect in dark eyes. Baekhyun knows he's beautiful, but Junmyeon wonders if he knows how angelic he can look away from bright lights and cameras. He takes a long drag from the cigarette, tapping the ash into a tray.

"Same boat as you, but I've always liked Japanese cigarettes, you know. This is my treat." 

Baekhyun comes to lean over the balcony with him. He eyes the cigarette in between Junmyeon's fingertips for a moment, but doesn't say anything. It's a cool night in Wakayama. Probably warmer than it should be, this time of year. "I never liked when you smoked, hyung. It stressed me out." 

"Why?" 

Baekhyun shrugs. Junmyeon doesn't press. He puts out the cigarette and leaves it in the ashtray. He barely got through half of it. 

"It's fine now though, I think. I barely even think about it."

You're a bit difficult to worry about, you know.

Yixing's words hadn't meant very much to him back then. They float to the surface now, poprocks too far back on his tongue. 

"I'm sorry."

Baekhyun shakes his head. 

"I kind of get it now, though. It's easier when you only have yourself to worry about. Even if you have to pretend. Then people don't look at you like you're a sad, wet dog." 

Baekhyun is so still while he speaks. There isn't even a breeze to ruffle his hair. 

"You have to be careful, though," Junmyeon starts. "Do it for long enough, and after a decade you start to wonder if you can lose yourself in hiding."

There's a lull. A group of girls laugh somewhere down below. He bats away a fly that's flittering somewhere in front of him.

"I haven't lost you," Baekhyun murmurs. "Yixing hasn't either, even if he's far away." 

I know. Junmyeon runs a hand through his hair. "I'm not very good at this stuff, you know."

"I know. I also know that usually people end up giving you the sad wet dog look anyway, but you pretend they aren't."

"You don't, though." 

Baekhyun smiles. "No. I try not to. I know what it's like." 

Junmyeon hates that he does, because he shouldn't have to. He was supposed to deal with this alone.

Later, Baekhyun puts on music while Junmyeon is in the shower. He can't hear it very well with the water running, but it's still playing when he comes out, and Baekhyun comes and sweeps him up in a dance when he pokes his head into the living room. 

Junmyeon's feet are still a little damp, but the song is a moving one, with a violin that pulls and pushes and shouts and whispers alongside a soft repeating melody on the piano. Baekhyun takes him around the living room, and his smile is enough to make everything else disappear. If Baekhyun had suggested taking a leap of faith over the balcony rails right now, he isn't sure he would say no.  

The song comes to a bittersweet close, and he knows both he and Baekhyun are caught up in something, a whirlwind that neither of them know how to navigate. He can feel it in the way his hands grip his wrists lightly, and he sees it in the erratic movement of his feet, in the stress lines around his eyes and the heavy lifetime that stares through them. He can recognize it so easily because he can barely recognize himself in the mirror, but in Baekhyun, all he sees are endless vestiges of himself--his grief and his joy and everything that comes in between. 

Baekhyun leans on the counter of the kitchen island, eyes closed and cheeks flushed. Junmyeon comes to stand in front of him, arms on either side, and presses their foreheads together.

He doesn't know how long they stand there together like that, but he listens as Baekhyun's breath slows down and feels the heat dissipate from his body. Hands come to rest on his waist and he isn't pulled as much as he falls into Baekhyun's embrace. He tucks his head into Junmyeon's shoulder. He smells like sweat and whatever flowery smelling shampoo the Airbnb had given them, and a little bit of his cigarette smoke from earlier seems to have clung to his shirt. 

"It's easier when you're around," Baekhyun murmurs into the space between his neck and shoulder. 

Junmyeon takes his words in and thinks about how nicely they sound alongside the melody dancing around behind closed eyes.

--

The album has a run time of twenty-seven minutes and twenty-five seconds. The company wouldn't renege on a music video, at least, but Junmyeon had asked them to let this be something small. No music shows, no live streams. The music can speak for itself.

He had written the words for a lot of it, and worked closely with the producers on a few of the tracks. It was easier than he had expected. There were a handful of times where he had thought that he should have just composed a song himself from the ground up, but he changes what he can, and settles for what he can't. 

Originally, there were only going to be five tracks--but a week and a half before the completed tracklist deadline, Junmyeon was struck over the head with the rock of inspiration. 

It happens on a random weekday, in the evening when he's staring at the rooibos seep into steaming water in his mug. He isn't sure why--as steady and predictable as he knows he is, when it comes to music, his style of work is always closer to that of sudden motivation rather than a long, dedicated effort. 

He thinks he's lost his staff paper, but he finds a lone page sitting under an empty vase in his living room. He can't remember why he had left it there. There's a circular wine stain on one corner, faded pink like strawberries, and Junmyeon thinks it's perfect.

It's his first time playing through it, closing his eyes and letting his fingers move the way they want to, bringing the melody that's been sprouting in the back of his head into reality--but every note feels familiar, like he's played this a billion times before. Maybe he has, in a way. How many months in the making has this been brewing? He's decanting it now, and he doesn't know why it's all suddenly clicked into place.

What he does know, though, is that each note he draws on the staff, inside every bubbled in circle and crooked flag, there's an image of someone in his mind that he hopes sticks to the ink and seeps into the paper. It's not a key Junmyeon usually sings in, but it feels right. It only comes to mind later that it's a key perfect for Baekhyun. He can so easily imagine his tongue curling around the words he writes, and he's still not completely sure if he had written the song about Baekhyun or for him. 

He sticks the demo on a USB and brings it into the studio the next day--they're surprised, but with only a few changes to the rhythm here and there, they let him record it as-is, and it's appended as the final song on the EP.

He doesn't worry too much about its reception, because for the first time in god knows how long, it's something that's felt real to him.

The day the EP releases, everyone from the group sends him congratulations, and he returns their messages gratefully, like he always does. 

Everyone except Baekhyun. He doesn't need to, because he's laying with his head at the foot of Junmyeon's bed, eyes closed, while Junmyeon sits at the piano. Baekhyun has the album playing from his phone speakers, and Junmyeon is playing and singing along to them. Truthfully, he hates the idea of Baekhyun hearing the songs as they appear on the album. They aren't real to him. He changes the lyrics and rhythm as he sings, taking some verses up a half-step and dropping it at the next, trying to find something that doesn't fit around him like a jacket that's just a bit too tight. 

He succeeds with some tracks more than others, but the last one doesn't need any fine-tuning. The piano part is more than muscle memory; each note takes on a life of its own, all of them breathing and dancing together as he skates fingers over the keys. The words, too, feel more tangible than the other tracks on the album. He doesn't realize Baekhyun had turned off the playback on his phone until after the final verse, when it's just an ad-lib and the rising piano melody fading out into something calmer, softer. 

He feels a little shy, looking back at Baekhyun. He hadn't meant to become so involved in a performance just for one. Junmyeon finds he hasn't changed his position at all, but there's a smile on his face that wasn't there at the beginning of the EP. 

"I like it. I like it all," he says. "But I liked that last one the most."

Something uncoils in Junmyeon's chest, like a flower suddenly blossoming in the light.

"Really?" he asks, and even he knows the smile in his voice is loud. "I'm glad."

"Tell me about it. The last one."

Junmyeon turns back to his piano, playing the first couple notes idly while he considers his words. "Well," he begins. Maybe the string on the kite is worth losing. "I wrote it with you in mind."

He hears shuffling. Baekhyun has sat up now, eyebrows high in disbelief. "Me?"

"Yeah," Junmyeon confirms. "Just you." 

The lyrics aren't straightforward. Nothing about Junmyeon's feelings are. But there's an intimacy in the composition, in the strain of his voice when he sings certain lines, that are difficult to describe as casual. Baekhyun means a lot to him. More than he ever has.

Baekhyun stands and comes to sit beside him on the piano bench. Their shoulders brush, as do their thighs. He doesn't need to be this close, but Junmyeon doesn't mind. He doesn't mind anything about Baekhyun.

"Can we sing it together?"

There are a lot of things Junmyeon still doesn't know about himself, about the world. About where his future lies, and what place his loved ones will have in them. He knows about wanting to shed his skin, about wanting to relive everything he's experienced so far so he can appreciate what he has. He knows about feeling like a caged animal, and he knows about feeling left out alone on the open ocean without so much as a life vest. 

Music has always helped him. It's been a way out for as long as he can remember. What words can't express, he lets the melody do in its stead.

Baekhyun is new. Junmyeon has seen enough of him to know what he sounds like when he's just woken up in the morning, or when he's just toeing the line of being too drunk to be left unsupervised. He knows what size clothes fit him, even though he always buys things two sizes up, because he likes to be cozy. He's watched him stubbornly cover the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose like it were life-or-death, and he's watched him slowly come to love the specks of skin smudged with paint over the years. Freckles are just where your past lover kissed you the most, Baekhyun had said, once. 

Some beautiful things in life take time--he's just in between mountains right now, chilled from the cold air sunken in the valleys. He knows, even if he can't see past the heavy fog. 

Junmyeon doesn't need Baekhyun in order to fall in love with the world again, but when he does, he wants him to be there. 

The feelings bubble up before the words can, like they always do. Baekhyun doesn't seem surprised when Junmyeon brings a hand to cup his cheek, lightly stroking a thumb just beneath his eye. There's no trace of sleepiness in them now, and the last thing he registers before leaning in and sealing their lips together is that, very briefly, Baekhyun moved in, too.

It's a horribly gentle thing, kissing Baekhyun, and yet it feels like he's falling, rapidly reaching terminal velocity with nothing below to catch his fall. He feels Baekhyun sigh into his lips, and Junmyeon can't help but smile a little. His lips are soft, and Junmyeon can taste the hot chocolate he had earlier--dusted lightly with cinnamon and vanilla, it's so terribly Baekhyun, and he wonders if he's going to swoop Junmyeon up in a big gust of wind or if he's falling fast, too. 

A hand slides up behind Junmyeon's neck and tugs lightly, and Baekhyun tilts his head, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. The rush of affection that he feels is overwhelming, but for once, he doesn't want to run from it. He doesn't want to run anywhere--he wants to walk through all of the roads he's walked before, this time with Baekhyun by his side, laughing with him and pointing out details Junmyeon never would have noticed before. 

It's been a hard two years for both of them, two years that they're never going to get back. Two years that, despite it all, feel like nothing more than fifteen minutes between a stage curtain rising and falling, that uncomfortable anticipation mixed with the sorrow of a story coming to a close, both too long and far, far too short.

He pulls away, running his hand down Baekhyun's jaw, over his shoulders and resting on his arm. The whole world seems to fit inside Baekhyun's pupils, and there's a gentle brush of pink over his cheeks that make Junmyeon want to kiss them, so he does lightly, reveling in the giggles he gets out of them. 

"There's nothing I'd want more."