Archive of Our Own ^beta

PART 1: Déjà Vu

Prologue: Every Summertime

Seungmin visits his grandmother in the summers of his childhood until he turns 11. 

She shares ownership of a farm estate with her sister and makes a laborer out of her grandson whenever he visits for the few weeks he does every summer. 

He dreads this time of year. He hates the smell of soiled pasture and fly-clung goats. He hates the feeling of dirt buried under his nails, sweat seeping into his shirt, and the unbearably cold buckets of water they’d pour over his head for midday showers. 

But he loves his grandmother more than he hates all those other things. She keeps him grounded, reminds him to remain sturdily unchallenged, and teaches him a number of things he’ll never be able to apply the skills of after he’s already back in the comfort of his air-conditioned home. 

She shows him how to make a rice box intended to be inoculated with a population of fungi and tells him it’s an old practice adopted by Korean farmers to help tend the soil using what they had in the natural environment. 

Seungmin didn’t understand any of that at the time, but he remembers watching her make one and more distinctly remembers wincing whenever she showed him a muddle of rice wrought with fuzzy mold. 

She shows him photographs of strangers at a wedding and explains that although it is hard to tell, the foreground comprises the estate they stand on. 

She cuts freshly grown fruit for him and abates claims from his parents over giving away her merchandise for free. She keeps him full and happy despite how the sun tugs him down and the stench of farm life hangs over him. 

When he turns 13, his parents stop taking him to her farm for the summer. He forgets to ask why, then forgets again the next year, and then stops wanting to know the year after that. 

It isn’t until the summer of his senior year of high school that he decides to ask about it. A passing thought. A swift, ‘Whatever happened to halmeoni’s farm?’

His mother is busy trimming the stems of a tuft of tulips, but her attention doesn’t waver when she firmly answers, ‘She’s buried in it.’ 

So, he can only guess it’s no longer in the business of weddings, cattle tending, and vegetable growing. Memories of summer visits to her estate had long since died with her.

1.1 - Setting: Mithril Ridge Residence Hall, Status: Present, Time: 10:00 PM

Seungmin hasn’t had a proper fashion crisis in some time.

Ever since settling into the rustic aesthetic of being a college student, he’s never really had to question what he wears on the regular because it’s usually a remix of the same recurring pieces. 

It’s not like he dresses badly. He quite likes his style. It’s an appropriate degree of casually laid-back, just enough that it looks like he put in some thought but not too much.

Right now, though, he is thinking hard. 

What do people wear to parties? Is he meant to wear what he usually does? There’s no use in deriving inspiration from Jisung’s closet because he primarily dresses like he’s trying to get pledged into a fraternity himself. 

Jisung is his crepuscular college roommate. He always chooses to describe him as such before anything else because it was the first thing he learned about him. And also who he learned the word from.

Crepuscular, meaning someone who is only active during the twilight period – that is, before the sun rises and after the sun sets. Usually, the term is reserved for zoologists describing the sleep patterns of animals like rabbits or deer. 

Jisung does this thing a lot, as Seungmin has now become accustomed to, where he deliberately picks out non-conventional words to describe himself and others. He says he’s “foraging for stuff” when he heads to the grocery store, describes the raccoons that camp outside of his favorite café as “facetious”, and his Differential Equations professor as “granular”.

That last one is particularly troubling. Whenever Seungmin hears Jisung rattle off one of these words, he has to non-discretely pull up his phone and look them up in hopes of ascertaining what his friend is attempting to convey. With context, it usually makes less sense. 

And though he admires Jisung for his nonsensical nature, he doesn’t think he’d like to borrow style advice from him. In some ways, Jisung’s style is crepuscular too. Best when concealed by twilight. 

Ultimately, he winds up digging out an old jean jacket from the depths of his closet, pulling it over a graphic t-shirt and pairing it with a generously distressed pair of black jeans he didn’t know he still had. His slightly-tattered sneakers aren’t swapped for anything else, though, because he’s a little too attached to their familiarity.

His reflection in the mirror feels like an extension of himself that he can barely catch up with. He careens his fingers through his hair, deciding at the very last second to attempt to style it differently. 

He finds a barely-used tub of hair wax shoved into the back of one of his drawers and begins working it in. After brushing large tufts of hair to either side, he awkwardly pats the product in, ensuring too much didn’t melt into the strands. He intends to free his forehead from its hair-sheltered prison and manages to make it look somewhat decent rather than the mismatched emulsion he was afraid of.

Jisung, expectantly, knows exactly how to get to the fraternity’s settlement, and Seungmin’s chest-pressed dread grows the more it peers into view. He’s never seen a frat house in person, though he guesses it looks about as rightly advertised; a small, lodge-like bricked house with well-trimmed hedges of green framing the entrance and a hand-painted sign with three Greek letters hung above the entrance: ΦΧΨ. 

Its doors are propped open, and a small crowd is settled about the backyard, either stewing in lawn chairs or dipping their cups into a kiddie pool that Seungmin can only imagine is not filled with water. 

Even before they’ve stepped into an enclosed space, Seungmin can feel the sticky quality of the air around them pressing into his skin. The scent is a hazy blend of tangy alcohol, sweat, and…weed, maybe? Sure, let’s go with that. Seungmin can only do as much as guess his way through every step and every breath taken in.

The stench weighs heavier once they’re inside, despite the carbonated quality of the building’s air-conditioning. Seungmin barely has time to register his aversion to the crowding of bodies scattered about before mentally addressing the state of the house on first impressions.

It’s a quarter past 10 because Jisung insisted they’d look like losers if they showed up on time, so most of the house’s fixtures have not been trashed beyond recognizability. Everything from the couches to the wall lamps to the dressers looks like they’ve aged through lifetimes.

Confetti streams, sprayed string, and remnants of a foam attack incident litter the scenery, and Seungmin can appreciate the craftsmanship of it all. The combination of dated furniture and party offerings feels like the optimized idea of what Seungmin has always imagined a fraternity house to look like.  

Red solo cups are still being passed around, and people are beginning to reach for a snack table’s offering. With how small Seungmin feels under the weight of a rowdy sharing of laughter and loud chatter, he wonders if he can decide to leave now. Alas, he swallows the thought, hoping to make an example out of lasting at least 15 minutes. 

It doesn’t take long for Jisung’s roaming eyes to land on someone he finally recognizes. He bounds over to them quickly, and Seungmin has no choice but to follow him. The person he faces looks vaguely familiar, and Seungmin realizes he’s seen them in some of Jisung’s Instagram posts. Their hair kept changing color, so Seungmin would forget that it was not, in fact, just a group of quadruplets that Jisung was acquainted with. 

This time, their hair has been stripped of color, akin to a silvery blonde. They look intimidating at first, eyes lined with black and offset with a dark shimmer, but then they smile.

‘Jisung, hey!’ They immediately reach for him, curling their arms around him in a swiftly fitted hug. Despite the extension of only two words, they’re exuberant enough for Seungmin to pick up on their voice’s deeper, accented quality – Australian, only so recognisable now because Seungmin has been around one almost every Monday and Thursday for the past two months, or so. Chris Bang, his debate team’s President of Operations. Seungmin stops to wonder if they know each other and if their university has its own Australian society. 

Once they pull apart, their hand twines against Jisung’s, smoothing against the skin as if to memorize its quality. ‘I’ve been looking all over you.’

‘I’m here now.’ Jisung breathes the words out like they’re his first, and Seungmin faces the doomful realization that he is effectively morphing into a third wheel. 

‘Oh!’ Jisung seems to realize a second too late, wide eyes turning to Seungmin’s slightly strained self. ‘Sorry, um, Seungmin, this is Felix. Felix, Seungmin.’ 

Felix perks up, directing their warmest regards in a smile that looks slightly different than the one they’d given Jisung, ‘You’re the roommate? I’ve heard so much about you! It’s nice to finally meet you.’

Seungmin almost says some dumb shit like ‘Good things, I hope’ but instead settles for a simple ‘Likewise.’ even though he’s never heard of them at all.

‘Some of the guys are starting their first round of beer pong, if you’d like to join?’ Felix looks like they’re attempting to direct the question towards both of them, but their other hand smoothes along the curve of Jisung’s arm, and Seungmin feels ready to jet-launch himself away.

‘Sure!’ Jisung answers. Seungmin thinks that he’d probably say yes to anything Felix asks for.

‘I’ll…pass.’ Seungmin says, though he’s still unsure if he was even being asked. Beer does not agree with him in that it tastes like a cup of piss that’s been used as an ashtray, and he does not think he would be lucky enough to avoid downing it at all under the occasion.

‘You sure?’ Jisung asks, placing his heart eyes off to the side for a second, and Seungmin can tell he feels bad for essentially beginning to ditch him after having made him come here.

‘I’ll be fine. Go ahead.’ Seungmin assures him.

Jisung pauses briefly before asking, ‘Do you want me to take you home, at least?’ 

‘It hasn’t even been 5 minutes. Let me test the waters first,’ Seungmin tells him, ‘and I can find my way home if I really can’t stand it anymore.’ 

Jisung’s teeth sink into his lips, and he appears wary but relents, ‘Ok. Call me if you need anything.’ 

Seungmin hums, motioning for him to leave already, and feels a sincere smile stretch across his cheeks when the pair leave with their hands still entwined and their forms pressed close upon entering the kinetic crowd.

It doesn’t take long for him to find someplace to sit that feels both secluded enough and out of the possible range for big spillages, like the seating area by the snack table. The couch he’s chosen sits under him in a way that reminds him that it’s probably been seating people for centuries.

Seungmin wonders about the history of this couch. Or that of the plush carpet under his feet. How many spillages it’s taken, how much dust it’s held onto, how he’ll continue to sit here while these thoughts permeate. 

Seungmin wonders, for a moment, how differently he could be spending this night if one of the domino pieces trailing the thread of his life had forgotten to fall. 

This is as far back as he’s willing to go. Jisung, about two weeks into the semester, rambles about Greentrail’s active clubs because he was thinking of joining one. One of them is the Organized Debate Team, and it catches Seungmin’s attention swiftly because, and he didn’t know how to admit this casually, but he was in his high school’s debate team for four years, and he was its longest reigning member, and he won them a ton of awards, and he’s traveled for competitions, and–

But that was just the first domino piece. The next was joining the club, and then after that, making friends from different colleges through the team, and then, finally, getting in good with the ones that knew people that knew whatever frat was hosting this party. 

So, while Seungmin feels pretty cool for having been invited to be here, he is not about to put any effort into scouting anyone he may know. Mostly because there’s so much clamor and movement and light-flashing around him that he thinks if he’s anything but seated, he may go into cardiac arrest. 

He has no choice but to start being on his phone when he stops wanting to think about the sheer history of the couch he’s seated on. The debate team’s group chat has notified him of new messages. He only reads the most recent bunch.

Chaeryeong : hey you guys i’ve never been to an actual frat house do people really hook up in the rooms or is that not allowed 

Chris: Why do you ask…?

Ryujin: why do you think

Chris: I mean…I guess so? You could ask around for one of the head frat chairs to be on the safe side

Minho: don’t listen to him just do it 

Jeongin: i’m in the upstairs bathroom and i think there’s a couple breaking up next door 

Girl Hyunjin: yeah that’s me and the girl i pulled by being silly

Chris: You’re on your phone in the middle of a breakup?

Jeongin: dude

Seungmin stops reading there. His relationship with every debate team member is varied. 
Chris Bang, he sort of looks up to, in the way someone inevitably does when they’re still lost, and they know the other person has their shit figured out. Chaeryeong Lee, he’s probably closest to because she, like him, has a major in Liberal Arts and upkeeps conversations with him outside of club meetings. Ryujin Shin is Chaeryeong ’s girlfriend, and though Seungmin feels bad for characterizing her just as such, does not know much else about her. He knows she’s an English major because her debate style makes as much obvious, and he knows that she looks intimidating until she smiles. 

Then there’s Yunjin Huh. Huh . Seungmin knows even less about Yunjin. She’s, for lack of better phrasing, a girl-next-door type. She’s nice, sporty, and a lovely guitar player, but Seungmin hasn’t ever really talked to her outside of the debate hemisphere. Hyunjin Kim has a very colorful personality, so it’s hard for Seungmin not to admit that he’s learned much about her over the last few weeks. Chaeryeong has silently warned him to hold onto his belongings with heightened precision whenever he’s around her, and he still doesn’t know if she was joking.

Jeongin Yang has only known Seungmin for three weeks and three days, but he seems to be still making his mind up about him. Seungmin imagines that the trajectory of their relationship depends solely on whether Jeongin decides if he thinks he’s cool. So far, he’ll offer a toothy grin when he pleases, but he does not hold back from directing a (hopefully playful) insult or two someone’s way if he feels it’s warranted. 

And, oh, would you look at that? It seems we’ve made it to the end of the list. Hopefully, Seungmin hasn’t missed anyone in this quick-time recollection of everyone on his treasured team of debate assassins. 

Ok, we do need to talk about Minho Lee.

1.2 - Setting: West SH6 Sports Hall,  Status: Past, Time: 3:58 PM 

Seungmin isn’t sure how someone can be so nervous about a presentation they aren’t making. 

He’s reviewed the Greentrail Debate Team appointed email what has felt like a million times over. A printed copy of it sits in his hands now, and there are smudge marks over the sentences he’s run his fingers over every time he’s doubted himself on attending. 

 “We are happy to hear that you have already had plenty of debating experience and would like to inform you that we have received your request to join. We would be happy to welcome you as long as you are able to meet the following requirements:

* Attending our annual team-run orientation session, set to be held on September 19th from 4-6PM, at the SH6 Sports Hall. We’ll be going over tryout details, our team mission, scheduling information, etc., and answering any queries attendees may pose….”

Funnily enough, Seungmin never sent in any requests himself. Jisung had snuck onto his laptop, answered his too-simple security question, and sent a surprisingly well-worded email their way. 

Apparently, the stories he’d pulled from the deep recesses of his mind, of late-night snack runs with his old teammates before small competitions or early-day coffee runs for practices, had appealed to Jisung’s gentle soul.

Jisung, for some reason, had become hooked on the idea of Seungmin getting into debating again. Which was a weird thing for him to think of doing at all. Debate felt like such a temporary stint when he was younger. Thinking of stepping back into its skin was only strange because he’d never considered that he could.

In the end, he thinks it wouldn’t hurt to attend the orientation session. After all, it didn’t present him with the clause of needing to apply.

The university’s SH6 Sports Hall is scarcely used for what should be its intended purpose. From what Seungmin’s heard, it’s mostly used for seminars or as an exam room whenever there’s apparently a shortage of the halls intended for such occasions. He’s surprised to see it well-decked after squeezing through a fresh line of students rummaging towards the double doors making up the main entrance. 

Blue and white cloth-like material decorate the walls in swirling patterns, adorned with pearlescent accents and glimmering streamers that run down certain panels on the wide ceiling. A few balloon arches cross over each other, emulating a big centerpiece. Apart from the chairs set out for attendees, all that stands before them is a silk-draped table at the front of the stage.

Seungmin thumbs the left strap of his backpack before setting it down against the chair he’s chosen for himself. Not particularly isolated from everyone else, but not so close that he’d be within small-talk distance.

It’s not that Seungmin is incapable of socializing or that he disdains people. He just doesn’t have the time to make friends, and doesn’t feel up to it most of the time. 

A voice blares from the hall’s overhead speakers. It’s shrill and incredibly loud, but considering it’s only a quick ‘Mic check—’, one can only assume this was not the expected feedback.

The speaker, a short, 20-something-year-old guy, is standing behind the silk-draped table in front of them, a microphone in one hand. He smiles bashfully, silently extending an apology for the unintended reverb issue. His hair, something between brown and black, is semi-contained under a black baseball cap and curls slightly at the edges. Based on his choice to wear sweatpants and a hoodie for the event, Seungmin assumes that he is also a student. Only one other person stands next to him. He looks vaguely disinterested in his surroundings, too focused on hooking his laptop up so that they could begin projecting whatever they were required to.

Then, he remembers something he’d read in that email. Many times because he’s revisited it many times over. 

“Greentrail University’s Parliamentary Debate Team is an entirely student-run competitive debate team, and we accept students of all sorts of debating backgrounds.”

Student-run. Right. That was important to Seungmin; to be part of something completely conspired and operated by like-minded, and yes, like-aged individuals. His best memories in the extensive circuit of high school debating were, after all, shared outside of proctoring eyes. Not that there was anything wrong with their team supervisor, Mr Brown. In layman’s terms, he was just difficult to cooperate with — because, yes, a more convoluted explanation is warranted.

The feedback problem is resolved quickly when that same guy speaks into his mic again, the inflection of his voice light and breezy, ‘Hello, everyone! Happy to see that we’ve got such a great turnout this year!’

Usually, Seungmin thinks, when someone says this, there’s a comically exaggerated lack of people in the audience. Not in this case, as it were. Although the plastic chairs they were currently seated on did not take up the entire hall span, the event’s attendees did take up most of the seats set out.

The guy holding the now-operational microphone introduces himself as Chris Bang, and Seungmin remembers him as the ‘President of Operations’ from the email. He’s clearly an upperclassman, based solely on how he carries himself — and maybe also on the dome-shaped craters under his eyes. Seungmin has to guess that he’s probably in his last year.

Despite Chris’s slightly disheveled exterior, he does not carry anything close to actual listlessness in his tone — a heavily accented one, Seungmin thinks. Maybe Australian? — which is good, considering the fact that he is heading a debate team. He reviews the information they’re probably required to divulge first: the team’s mission statement, general objectives, and an overview of scholastic debate as a practice. Seungmin tunes most of this out. But then, the other guy, who had kept quiet until now, steps in.

Seungmin hadn’t gotten a proper look at him before, but now that he is, he feels a strange sense of familiarity wash over him. Like he’s already seen him somewhere before. Maybe in passing? His pondering barely has time to fester before he’s thinking about something else. 

More specifically, his clothing. He’s wearing a cropped, checkered cardigan, a puffy-sleeved blouse, and high-waisted slacks. Seungmin feels like a scouting agent with how heavily he’s begun ogling every item of clothing. He looks, for a lack of less promiscuous phrasing, strait-laced. Like the opulent son of a family of legacies. 

Seungmin forces himself out of his imagination, chalking his observations down to his journalistic instincts. 

‘Hello,’ The well-dressed man takes over, ‘my name is Minho. I’m the team’s Vice President of Operations. Not because I’m good at this, but because I’m the only other member.’

His comment is met with a light smattering of laughter, but Seungmin feels it was not intended as a joke. Minho’s face does not falter from its slightly eerie apathy — not the kind worn over fatigue, but the kind worn over mystery.

Do I know this guy? Seungmin thinks to himself, I feel like I should know this guy. 

And then, the strangest signifier finally gives him the push he needs to rid himself of this intense feeling of untended déja vu. 

One of the pictures on the slides Minho is now presenting features a group of past debate members, along with Chris and Minho, standing before a red Mazda. Seungmin doesn’t listen to what Minho is talking about because he’s overcome with the hastening of this realization. 

Motherfucker. 

Seungmin remembers. He’s the Red Fucking Mazda.

Seungmin was getting into his car three days ago, steaming in the bitterness of a long, sour day with his workshop supervisor. He was pulling out of his parking spot when a distinctly red Mazda nearly rammed right into him after turning a corner. 

Honestly, Seungmin might have let it go. Until ‘Red Mazda’ yelled at him from the wheel, offered a repertoire of choice words, a prolonged honk, and their middle finger. 

Seungmin had a few things to say, too. It was not a pretty sight for anyone that may have been around them. 

And yeah, okay, maybe Seungmin can be described as something of a petty grudge-beholder, but he was angry that day, and that anger bubbled over when he had been dealt the last straw, and now he can’t let it go. Because if Minho, who he caught the briefest of glimpses of on the day of the near-accident, had rammed into his car, he’d have to get it fixed, and it would’ve cost a lot, and now…

Now that he looks at him, he knows he must have some wealth on his back. More than Seungmin can say for himself, at least. And now he’s really mad at the prospect of having to pay for damages instilled by someone with more money than him when he could barely cover his cost of living.

Seungmin can barely keep his focus throughout the rest of the presentation, too busy replaying the scenario he’s been slightly vexed by for the past few days and wondering if it was worth persisting a wave of anger for. It was bad in the moment. He was angry in the moment. It’s fine now. Minho could still make a good debating adversary. 

The next hour is dedicated, mostly, to going over tryouts and how to best prepare for the process and answering any lingering queries anyone may have left for the end. Seungmin can tell who amongst those inquiring had participated in organized debate before. He doesn't think that it takes an expert to conclude that some never had.

‘So, uh, can you ever, like, bullshit your way through an argument? Like, can you make shit up as you go?’ Asks someone leading up to the end of the session. 

‘Oh, well, factual integrity is one of the main pillars of debate, so…,’ Chris trails on, ‘No.’

Seungmin has a question, too, but he doesn’t let himself ask it until the session ends, and people are collecting the application forms sitting in a pile on the silk-adorned table up front. Considering Chris’s ease of speech, he hopes to catch him before he leaves but quickly finds that he is too busy being crowded by a number of attendees that either knew him personally or really liked his presentation skills. So, instead, Seungmin has to opt to ask Minho, who is busy unhooking the projecting equipment.

‘Um, hi, I—,’ Seungmin pauses, fully engulfed by a deluge of nerves the second Minho’s eyes flit to his. He what, what? Is he gonna introduce himself, ask if he remembers him— No, don’t do that, obviously don’t do that . 

 Seungmin isn’t sure why he’s become so suddenly overcome by an aura of tenseness that hadn’t been there until Minho acknowledged his presence. You are not two aggravated cars caught in a road rage incident; you are two people, Seungmin tells himself. 

‘What?’ Minho’s tone isn’t quite snappy, but it’s also not particularly warm.

Seungmin clears his throat, hoping he isn’t as dumbly wide-eyed as he feels like he is. ‘I just wanted to ask if you two are the only team members left. It’s just…there were so many people in your photos.’

Minho does not look pleased. Again, it’s not like he’s holding a strong frown or is ardently directing a glare in his direction. He just looks displeased, like Seungmin is his pupil and should be conducting himself better. 

‘We’re the only two left because everyone else has graduated.’ 

‘Oh,’ Seungmin eloquently responds, ‘Okay then, um, sorry to trouble—,’ 

Before Seungmin can finish his sentence, Minho swiftly turns and walks away from him, having packed up all his things.

Seungmin pauses, a disbelieving sigh floating into the frigid air from his agape mouth. He doesn’t even notice that he’s begun accidentally scrunching the application form in his hand.

‘Hey, dude— woah!’ Jisung peers into view, having promised to meet him right after the session in hopes that he’d consider applying. He peels the paper out of his grip, taking the liberty of grabbing another copy for Seungmin and opting to hold it himself. 

‘You okay?’ 

‘I’m getting on that debate team.’

‘That’s great!’ Jisung links his arm with Seungmin’s, blissfully unaware of how his friend’s eyes still twist at the sight of the spot Minho had been standing in a few seconds ago. ‘Don’t be mad, but I asked your mom to show me videos from your old debate competitions, and dude, you are super assertive on the stand. It’s like, what I used to think being a lawyer was like–,’

Seungmin lets his friend ramble, unable to lend him the knowledge that he’s only sure of joining in the hopes that he’ll get the chance to crush Minho in debate format himself.

1.3 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party,  Status: Present, Time: 10:20 PM

When Seungmin imagined seeing someone he knew at this party, he hadn’t expected to be transported through hyperspace and made to stare into the face of his teenage wiles. 

Let’s backtrack.

Seungmin is only on the second level of a new puzzle game he’s just downloaded when he feels the other side of the couch dip slightly. The person doesn’t seem to direct their attention towards him until their gaze firmly settles over him.

‘Seungmin?’ 

Seungmin hates that he immediately recognizes the voice, his heavy-lidded heart leading a band of drummers down the street of his veins to begin pounding into his chest. 

He turns to face a voice that had kept him company on long school nights. A voice that had been the source of his angstiest teenage frustrations. The voice of the man that used to make his head spin and his skin heat up. Changbin Seo; his first crush.

Picture this. Seungmin is 13, almost 14. He’s considering signing up for his school’s debate team because Mr Brown, his English teacher, insists it’ll broaden his prospects and help fill the space in his schedule where an extracurricular would customarily go. He isn’t sure what to make of it but reluctantly agrees, and thus comes to meet Changbin, an upperclassman by one year, who helps him adjust in the first few awkward weeks of meagerly sticking to the back.

Changbin had a loud personality. He was boisterous and commonly burst into song and felt like someone that should exist leagues outside of Seungmin’s life. But he was also gentle and sweet and listened so well whenever Seungmin needed to complain. 

He calls it a crush, but it is the kind that consumes a person’s entire being, everything from one’s thoughts to actions to memories. Whenever he thought of debate club, he first thought of Changbin and what he had meant to him then.

Seungmin’s “small crush” lasted three years. On the day of Changbin’s last meeting with the group, the last day of his senior year, Seungmin confessed his feelings to him. And then the strangest thing happened. As he said the words, he came to digest them in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to do before. When he said them — ‘I like you.’ — he realized in one singular moment that he didn’t really like Seo Changbin, or at least hadn’t for some time. 

Seungmin liked the idea of liking Changbin because it was a comfortable place for him. Because it was a reminder that he was still a kid with silly, unrequited crushes and didn’t have to move on from the simplicity of that notion. 

Just as he’d said those words, he’d received a kind of closure he didn’t realize he needed. So when Changbin fumbled to translate any form of ‘I don’t like you that way’ to him, he cut in to tell him, ‘Actually, never mind. I don’t anymore.’ 

It was their very last conversation.

Until now, of course.

Changbin looks different, Seungmin thinks, but the good kind where you can tell that he’s grown into himself more. His cheeks are rounder, and his build is significantly bulkier, though he still hasn’t grown in height since the last he’d seen of him.

He looks older, yes, because obviously, he does, but he also appears older in how he talks and carries himself and definitely in how he takes his alcohol. Seungmin isn’t entirely sure what he’s drinking, but he can smell a strange fusion of cinnamon and notes of oak and something fiery, so he knows it's something he wouldn’t be able to withstand.

The idea of catch-up talk usually haunts Seungmin because he’s never really sure how to summate what he’s been doing for however many years it’s been since he’s seen the person, but it isn’t too hard to do with Changbin. Mostly because he’s easy to talk to, a fact that hasn’t changed in the 4 years since he’s had a conversation with him.

‘So, um, what about you?’ Seungmin directs, ‘What have you been doing?’ 

Seungmin wonders, briefly, if maybe he should’ve kept better contact with his high school friends if only to have learned that at least one of them attended the same university as him.

‘I’m a Health Education major,’ Changbin supplies, ‘And I’m also, kind of, an active member of this frat.’

‘Oh,’ Is all Seungmin can muster, lost in his indecision as to whether this made sense or not. He decides that it kind of does. ‘Wow, um, for how long?’

‘It’ll be three years next month,’ Changbin tells him, a kindred brightness in his eyes. ‘I mean, It was kind of a spontaneous decision. Someone in my preliminary classes, my first year, was a member of the university’s debate team — actually, I think he still is. But anyways, he heard that I used to do debate and wanted me to join, but I wanted to move on from it, so I went for the first thing that fit into my roster.’ 

Seungmin knows exactly who that must’ve been.

‘But you get what I mean, right?’ Changbin continues. ‘Like, debate was fun, but you have to start new ventures at some point.’ 

Um…

‘Right,’ Seungmin decides to go with instead of exposing himself as a persisting loser. ‘I have a feeling I wouldn’t fit well into the frat culture, myself.’ 

Changbin gasps in exhilaration, ‘It didn’t even cross my mind before, but wouldn’t it be great if you did? Joined us, I mean. We’re still accepting pledges— Oh, and you could be my Little!’

All Seungmin can utter is a long, stretched-out ‘Uh…,’ 

So much for all those “Repeat your speech whenever you hear yourself Uh-ing” debate practices.

Normally, Seungmin would be thankful to have a conversation interrupted when he can’t find a way out of it. This time, however, it’s a toss-up on whether he should feel relieved or reprehensibly bitter that Minho is the one to do it.

‘Jason’s looking for you.’ Is all he says, and Seungmin feels his tongue grow numb in his mouth. Minho is wearing leather pants. Seungmin is unnecessarily mad because of this. He can barely hold long enough of a breath without feeling the permeation of heat in the room press into his throat. And Minho has the audacity to wear leather on his legs like it’s nothing? 

He looks about as nonchalantly indifferent as always, his half-lidded eyes plastered with a smokey, shimmery shadow. It complements the trio of gem pieces tacked on around his eyes and the cherry-like tint painting his lips. Like many other times before, he looks down at Seungmin like he’s not worth his time.

‘Oh, alright, thanks.’ Changbin says, patting Seungmin on the back before insisting, ‘We’ll talk later, yeah?’

Seungmin nods but is not sure he’ll still be around by then.

Minho doesn’t linger, finding his way back from whatever hellish hole he’d crawled out of to get here. 

Seungmin only stalls for a minute before picking himself up, his feet taking him to the small kitchenette area, where a flurry of people mix strange concoctions and pour them into their cups. Hopefully, at least some of them are Chemistry majors.

Seungmin catches sight of Chris off to one side, pouring a pale-pink blend into three separate cups.

‘Hey,’ Seungmin intrudes on his pouring session, accidentally cutting into his responsive greeting with a composed ‘I want to drink something. Can I have what you’re having?’ 

He decides that it doesn’t smell repugnant, and it’s pink, so how bad could it be?

‘Oh, uh, Smirnoff Ice is pretty strong, so I’m diluting it with pink lemonade. You sure?’ 

Seungmin shrugs, ‘Yeah.’ 

Seungmin catches sight of a tray carrying shot glasses of the neat liquor. Before he can ponder over it, he sneakily draws one to himself while Chris isn’t looking and downs it like it’s not the first time he’s ever taken a shot of anything.

It does not feel great, but after a full-bodied grimace, he’s back to living in the moment.

After having a cup of mystery liquid placed into his hands and a random shot of vodka dissipating into his blood, Seungmin feels like a party-goer. He walks across a walkway that leads directly into a hallway, where the crowding only slightly deflates in volume, and eyes every house fixture that passes him by.

There’s a stuffed bear head mounted on the far wall, tufts of stuffing peeking out from where a patch of its stitching is disturbed. People are starting to pack random objects into it. Seungmin takes his first sip of the swirling pool of pink in his hands. Its zesty quality stings the pinpricks of his tasting nerves, and a lime-based sourness tails shortly after, but by the time it's down his throat, he decides it’s alright. He goes for another sip and continues sightseeing.

A cupboard of framed photos is situated by a room with a door that looks grander than any others. The photos are of alumni and active members alike. Despite the current setting, most of the frat’s framed ventures are of hosting philanthropic events and charitable fund-raisers. Still, it doesn’t appeal enough to Seungmin’s frontal cortex for him to seriously consider pledging.

This is probably why his first instinct upon seeing Changbin’s distant figure shuffle out of a room down that hall is to hide. In the moment’s haste, he reaches for the first door to his right and closes it behind him.

The first thing he hears is the subtle drip-drop of water splattering against pristine ceramic. He realizes he’s in a bathroom. Belatedly, and with great misfortune, he realizes he’s in a bathroom with someone else. Even more a misfortune than the last, Minho is the person standing before him, having just used the sink from which a few droplets of water have not ceased falling.

‘Great.’ Seungmin breathes out, unbelievably impressed with how little luck he led. 

‘If you haven’t noticed already, this bathroom is occupied.’ Minho denotes the obvious, his voice interwoven with a dull heaviness. Seungmin notices that he has a hand stretching out the fabric of his silken, pearlescent shirt, where an incessant scrubbing of water only slightly lifts off a blotchy crimson stain. 

‘Is that a wine stain? Water won’t get it off.’ Seungmin says, completely unprompted.

Minho’s eyes narrow disdainfully, ‘Why are you still here?’ 

Seungmin almost elects not to answer and just show himself out, but then he hears the unmistakable drawl of Changbin’s voice right outside the door. He can’t leave just yet.

‘I’m avoiding someone.’ He simply answers.

‘What does that have to do with me?’

‘You don’t own this bathroom.’ Seungmin mutters, drawing the cup back to his mouth and taking another derelict sip, unsatisfied with how its metallic grit does not get any easier to get down, even with the sugary offset of lemonade to counteract it.

‘Not that I don’t love explaining elementary concepts to you, but I don’t have time to go over the idea of privacy with you.’ Minho turns the tap back on, brashly scrubbing at the stain again before groaning in frustration when it only seems to spread further.

‘White vinegar.’ Seungmin proclaims.

‘What?’ 

‘White vinegar gets red wine stains off.’ 

Minho pauses, breathing out a sigh and rolling his eyes back. He looks at himself through the mirror again before heading for the door. For a moment, Seungmin doesn’t move away in time, and Minho’s hand brushes against his as it reaches for the knob. An electric sensation snakes across his arm from where that one point of contact was made, and Minho walks out before Seungmin can think anything of it. 

1.4 - Setting: West SH6 Sports Hall,  Status: Past, Time: 12:05 PM

The first day for tryouts are held in the same hall, just five days following the orientation session, and Seungmin has since sent in his application form. As had been debriefed then, tryouts would be divided into two main parts: a written assessment of argumentative skills and a short oral presentation.

The hall remains bedecked in the same rudiments of blue and white, but tables accompany its previously secluded seats, and a generous distance separates each attendee. 

Seungmin almost allows himself to use this space for distractibility until a familiar face makes itself known, startling his heart into overdrive. Minho is still, aggravatingly, dressed too eloquently for this occasion, and Seungmin feels significantly dulled in his old sweatshirt and baggy jeans.

There aren’t as many attendees today, so the pool has already shrunk, and Seungmin is even closer to his objective. Once the papers are passed out, he makes sure to read every argument with the precision of a cat on a tree branch. He looks for good footholds, makes “for” arguments on things with lesser reputability and “against” arguments for things that are too easy to agree with.  

 Seungmin isn’t too thrilled to be one of the first to set his pen down, familiar with the implications of finishing too early. He reviews his paper enough times to recite his written words from memory before officially deciding to flip it onto its blank side. Maybe it’s by the will of wicked coincidence, but Minho is passing by his table just as he does this. 

He peers down at him, and a lock of his hair flutters downwards with the motion. Seungmin didn’t notice it before, but there is a tinge of purple in the brown of his hair, highlighted by the luminescence above them. His cattish eyes and motionless lips leave virtually no obvious facial queues for Seungmin to bounce off of. 

‘Sure you’ve locked everything in?’ Minho points a manicured finger to the sheet on Seungmin’s table. 

Whether Minho means for it to sound that way, Seungmin considers his question demeaning. Yes, I was able to find all the questions, asshole. His inhibitions, though internal, seem to translate into his teeth-baring gaze. He and Minho do not exchange a verbal word for a few seconds, communicating only through their eyes. 

Finally, he says, slowly and methodically, ‘Yes.’ 

Minho raises a perfectly shaped brow in what seems to be brief contemplation, his terrifyingly restrained stare curdling into his. 

‘Alright.’ He moves to shuffle away, peeling Seungmin’s paper off from his table very slowly, before leaning over him in the kindred stance of a professor explaining a question, ‘I hope for your sake that you can debate better than you can drive.’

Seungmin’s teeth sink into his cheek, and it takes everything in him not to start a confrontation. He begins strangely yearning for the sanctity of a car honk and its simple way of translating angry sentiments. When Minho makes another round back and briefly has his back turned to him, Seungmin is glowering with the ferocity of a thousand suns, an unending degree of hostility pooled into one singular blaze of hatred.

1.5 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party,  Status: Present, Time: 10:37 PM

Seungmin spends another 5, maybe 10, maybe 15 minutes downing the rest of his drink gradually whilst loitering in the drafty bathroom. The tang and the zest and the burn don’t go down any easier, but once he’s emptied the contents of his cup, he finds himself wanting more. 

He takes his extra time alone to wash his face and then stares at himself to ensure he still inhabits his body. Every motion he makes is mirrored back to him, so he thinks he’s safe. 

When he pulls himself out of the door, he realizes that the room's lack of a lock is circumvented by a sign hanging against the handle. It had been turned to the face that read 'Occupied'. 

(What if someone were to turn the sign from outside just to mess with whoever was inside?)

Two steps into his trek, he notices a fuzziness in his chest, cheeks, arms, and legs that hadn’t been there the last time he’d trekked down the same halls. The buzz streaming in his veins makes him feel slightly lethargic and like he could, maybe, jump a 2-meter hurdle. He’s definitely not drunk because he’s only had about two shots worth of something strong, and even then, it was mostly drowned out by something very saccharine. 

(Oh wait, sugar and alcohol, is that not a good mix?)

His journey towards the small kitchen area is cut short, however. It’s Jisung, thankfully, and Seungmin is really happy to see him.

‘I’m really happy to see you.’ Seungmin tells him, patting him on the back, maybe too aggressively. ‘I’m so happy for you. You’re getting out there. You’re, um, you’re— I forgot what I was gonna say.’ 

‘Are you drunk?’ Jisung decidedly asks.

‘No,’ Seungmin stretches the word out, ‘I’ve never been drunk. If I was drunk right now, I think I’d feel like I was dying.’ 

He doesn’t realize that he’s yelling now, but it’s okay because if he weren’t, Jisung would not be able to hear him over the clamor around them.

‘What did you have?’ Jisung examines his empty cup before lifting it closer to his nose, inhaling it for remnant traces. ‘What was in this?’ 

‘Um,’ Seungmin hums, ‘I don’t know. Let’s do something fun and sporadic that I wouldn’t do sober.’ 

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Jisung has to shout to be heard over the noise, ‘Look, I’m sorry for leaving you alone. I still feel bad, you know. It’s your first time at a big party, and—,’

‘Hey, man, it’s fine,’ Seungmin shrugs, attempting to look past him nonchalantly at the kitchenette area for remnant signs of fuzzy pink drinks. ‘Where’s your, um—,’

He pauses, trying and failing to place a name onto the color-changing icy fairy he’d met just 15 minutes before. 

‘Friend.’ He finishes, despite suspecting that the status is far grander. 

‘Felix?’ Jisung finally hands him the name, and Seungmin stops himself from “Ohhh ”-ing in recognition at the risk of sounding like a douche for forgetting so quickly after being introduced. 

‘They’re right where I was going to take you,’ Jisung explains before appropriately beginning to snake them through the criss-cross of people in the way, leading the way whilst going on about who he’d bumped into so far, one being—

‘This guy, Changbin, says he’s looking for you. What’s that about? Do you know him?’ 

‘Sort of,’ Seungmin stops himself from visibly cringing at the premise of seeing him again and attempting to politely abate anything that may allude to a future status as anyone’s fraternity Little. ‘I knew him from high school. Just caught up with him tonight.’

‘Oh, wow, see, experiences are being had! I told you this would be good for you.’ Jisung has now begun winding them down a narrower hallway. The music and surrounding noise from the central living area have dulled in frequency to a slightly-distant throb. 

The floor still feels like it’s shaking, but Seungmin can now say that most of the soul-stirring he can feel is internal. 

Jisung stops short in his tracks to turn and ask, ‘Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Where’s Minho?’

Seungmin sneers. Of course, he does know where he last saw him, but he doesn’t love the insinuation being made that, of course, he’d know where he last saw him.

‘How am I supposed to know?’ 

Jisung directs an addled stare towards him, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Are you two bickering again?’ 

Seungmin almost laughs. And then he does; he laughs, committing to its exuberance completely.

‘Again?’ Seungmin reiterates. ‘That’s all we do.’

‘That’s not true,’ Jisung rolls his eyes, ‘you always dramatize it while it’s happening, but once you make up, you’re all over each other. You’re like a married couple. It’s disgusting.’ 

That stops Seungmin, all remnant traces of joviality slipping off his face. ‘What?’

‘I’m not wrong, am I?’ Jisung continues walking, but Seungmin is too aghast to follow along.

‘No, what do you mean, we make up, and then we’re all over each other?’ 

Jisung doesn’t get to answer because, just then, their very source of discordance makes itself known. Minho enters the scene, having rushed out of a previously shut-off room.

‘You!’ He points an accusatory finger to Seungmin’s chest, which looks funny because he has to look up at him as his features twist to accommodate a malevolent rage. 

‘Me?’ 

‘Yes, you!’ Minho scowls, ‘What the hell have you been telling people?’ 

Seungmin wonders if being (maybe, slightly) tipsy makes you imagine really weird scenarios that aren’t actually happening.

‘I haven’t been saying anything. What are you talking about?’ Seungmin gently smacks his accusatory finger away. From his peripheral vision, he can see Jisung looking on as if watching a ping pong ball fly from one side to the next.

Then, he sees people pool out from the room Minho had just been in. He recognizes some faces but isn’t thrilled to see them under such peculiar circumstances.

He sees Ryujin trailing along, Chaeryeong in tow with half her body leaning against her girlfriend whilst she giggles vociferously into her palm. Jeongin is holding his phone up, filming the ordeal like a little punk. Chris is standing closest to Minho, appearing most concerned with whatever has come over him. 

‘Oh my God, are we doing an improv thing? Is this for debate?’ Seungmin recognizes Yunjin's voice from the back. 

‘No, we— Wait, are we?’ Chris begins answering before directing the question to Minho. 

Minho does not respond. He extends yet another condemnatory glare in Seungmin’s direction, who sends one back — although his is much more riddled with confusion.

‘What’s going on?’ Chris asks Jisung, who is still standing closest to Seungmin.

‘I think they’re arguing again.’ 

‘Again?’ Seungmin and Minho respond to the simple proposition at the same time. Neither is happy about seemingly being the only two on the same page.

‘Yes, again!’ Jisung exclaims.

‘This is the weirdest improv performance I’ve ever witnessed.’ Ryujin comments. Chaeryeong pulls at her sleeve, ‘Oh my god, we should pretend like we’re fighting, too. I hate what you’ve done with your hair.’ 

‘You’ve been telling people that we’re dating.’ Minho finally translates his transgressions, albeit at the expense of Seungmin’s already tumultuous level of confusion.

‘Why would I do that?’ Seungmin exasperates, ‘Seriously, why would I want people to think that?’

‘Wait, you guys broke up?’ Jisung asks, sounding nothing close to comical, even as the premise is.

‘We’re not dating!’ Minho exclaims like he’s already had to say it a few times. Seungmin still thinks he’s dreaming this entire thing up. Maybe he passed out somewhere between his brief sips of that pale pink concoction.

‘So you did break up?’ Chris inserts himself into the impromptu investigation. ‘When?’

Minho groans, irritation still glazing over his pretty features. Seungmin sees him moving to tug at his arm, just barely letting him drag them both into the first open doorway he finds before promptly shutting it closed. A broom that had been leant against the door, propping it open, clatters to the floor.

It’s a closet space, Seungmin quickly ascertains, barely big enough to hold four people simultaneously. One light bulb dangles overhead, their only source of illumination. It gives them enough outward radiance to tell that it must be used as a sort of small storage space with how many stacked boxes surround them. 

‘What—,’ Seungmin’s expression of perplexity is muffled by Minho’s palm laying plastered over his mouth before he can finish being confused. 

Seungmin thinks of biting him, but Minho shushes him before he can and firmly points to the door. Only then does he begin to hear the muffled squabbling from behind its thin frame.

Seungmin understands, and thankfully, Minho’s hand peels off his mouth in time for them to press their ears to the door and eavesdrop on the others outside.

It’s greatly muffled, but Seungmin can just about make out Chris’s voice ‘Should we just leave them be? 

Jeongin’s voice cuts in, clear and pronounced. ‘Nobody takes someone else into a closet unless it’s to secretly make out. I don’t wanna be around for that.’ 

Jisung’s sigh is way too audible. ‘Yeah, I don’t know, their fights are always weird. I say we leave them be.’

‘Why don’t we ever break up and make up like that?’ Enters a foreign voice. 

And then they don’t hear anything else.

Minho moves away from the door first, pinching two fingers against his temple. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t believe that you didn’t make up a lie, or something , because the way Chris was talking about—,’ He pauses, gesticulating between them, ‘this, us. He made it sound like… like–,’

‘Like we’ve been together for a while now?’ Seungmin finishes. ‘With everyone suddenly under the impression that we’re dating and that it’s common knowledge? Trust me, that is the last thing I’d want people to think.’

Then, before Minho can continue berating him, Seungmin notices something. The stain that had previously taken up a large corner of Minho’s shirt, splayed against the fabric like an intentional piece, is mostly gone. Now, all that remains is a translucent imprint that something had previously stained it. 

‘You got the stain off.’ 

Minho follows the direction of his stare, folding his arms over his chest as if hiding himself from Seungmin’s eyes. ‘Yeah, so?’

Seungmin feels a grin nibble at his cheeks and tilts his head in pliant satisfaction. ‘You tried my thing, didn’t you?’

‘No,’ Minho attempts to look irritated, but Seungmin can finally see the bloom of bashfulness draw him backwards. ‘There are other ways to get rid of wine stains.’ 

‘Right, right,’ Seungmin hums, grin expanding twofold, ‘just like there are other meanings as to what gifting someone buttercups may entail.’

Minho doesn’t even think to dignify that with a response, but Seungmin can tell he’s finally achieved the impossible goal of making Minho look at least a little flustered.

‘I’m heading home because you’ve effectively ruined my night. You better find a way to fix this, or it’s your head on a platter once I get to you again.’ Minho tries to reach for the knob again while Seungmin thinks over how he’d like his head to be severed, but the knob doesn’t budge. 

They pause, exchanging brief glances extending an equal share of weariness between them. Seungmin reaches for the knob next, but it still doesn’t budge. Then, the panic really sets in. Minho repeatedly tries for it, cursing when it still doesn’t turn. 

‘Oh ,’ Seungmin grasps after a brief recollection, ‘that’s why they had a broom holding it open.’

Minho looks ready to use the same broom to choke Seungmin to death. 

‘You were the one that forced us in here!’ Seungmin holds his hands up in a defensive stance. Minho doesn’t respond, hefting out an exhale. He reaches for his pockets, panic reaching his eyes again when all he pulls out is a thing of lip balm, linked keys, and a hair clip.

Seungmin is smiling off-handedly again when Minho’s eyes settle on him again.

‘Need something?’

Minho rolls his eyes, ‘You’ll have to call someone eventually.’

‘No, I’m fine with waiting for someone to contact me first.’ Seungmin pats his right pocket, where his phone is. This is not a good idea. 

Minho lunges for the spot, attempting to pry off Seungmin’s hands from where they keep him from reaching into the pocket. 

Then, they hear a prominent ding.

Seungmin’s lips purse sheepishly, ‘See, it worked out for both of us.’ 

He pulls his phone out, thankful when it turns out to be a text and not a Duolingo notification reminding him to start a language back up.

It’s from Jisung, and it reads:“hey dude we found where they keep the board games so we’ll be chilling n playing while you uhhh do whatever you’re doing in case u guys wanna join afterwards”

Seungmin feels a wafting of heat nip at his skin at the insinuations being made, and it’s all the motivation he needs to text back swiftly: “Please come get us out we’re stuck in here.”

It takes Jisung about two seconds to respond with:“LMAOOOO”

Now it’s Seungmin’s turn to sigh. Thankfully, Jisung responds again shortly after with: “alright i’ll come get you but i better not be faced with anything that’ll change the trajectory of our friendship forever”

Seungmin and Minho cannot be standing further apart when they hear the door click open, Jisung’s face blooming into the light, appearing as their personal savior. Minho doesn’t waste his time before heading straight for the stairs, startling Jisung as he hastily leaves.

‘Um, I take it that make-up session didn’t work out well for you two?’ 

‘Can you guys please stop messing with us?’ Seungmin feels all of his previously attained party spirits evaporate through the skin of his teeth. ‘Minho has it out for me. He’s physically appalled at the idea of dating me.’ 

‘That can’t be true. He’s crazy for you. You’re crazy for him. This will pass.’ Jisung shakes his head, adamant in his words. It confuses Seungmin that there isn’t even a trace of hilarity in his features — Jisung is a terrible liar, and it constantly haunts him that Seungmin is better at pulling pranks between the two of them.

‘Okay, I think you’re all very funny, really, but I think I’ve had enough of tonight.’ Seungmin decides, tired of dissuading Jisung’s colorful depictions of a relationship he isn’t in. ‘I’m going back home.’ 

Jisung’s gaze still does not falter in its sincerity, the frown on his lips not wavering to reveal a mischievous grin. ‘Okay, but we’ll talk about this tomorrow. Do you want me to drop you off?’ 

Seungmin shakes his head, ‘Like I said, I’ll find my way back.’ 

And then he’s down the stairs, too.

Their square of Northern residence halls is not situated too far from the fraternity/sorority housing area. Seungmin is thankful for the somewhat-lengthy walk it gives him the opportunity to take whilst the drivel of the night’s outcome pounds into every unoccupied facet of his mind. 

He wonders if he might have stayed for board games if Minho had, too. He wonders when the leaves that came with fall would stop crowding the walkways. He wonders himself sick until he’s finally up to his floor.

Too tired to change or mull over anything for any longer, Seungmin gets into bed and doesn’t struggle for sleep any longer than 5 minutes.

1.6 - Setting: Western LASS campus,  Status: Past, Time: 1:15 PM

The day Seungmin finds out that he’s been accepted into the debate team is pleasant until it isn’t.

There’s a stream of trees lining a path just on the outskirts of the campus courtyard. The same area used to house a big, scenic water fountain that reflected splatters of sunshine against the stony framework of the benches spaced every two trees. Of course, the fountain is still there, but there’s no water streaming from it. Now, it just carries a collection of sweeping autumn leaves.

Seungmin sits on one of the benches overlooking it. Smaller patches of sunlight peer past the leaves on the tree hanging over him. He holds a book in his hands — Orlando  by Virginia Woolf — and feels the edges of the pages flutter with the passage of wind. The leaves above him flutter, too, though they emit a different sound. 

This is pleasant. Seungmin listens to the world around him, reading from its splendors and breathing in its tangy scents.

And then it isn't.

When he first feels a figure hovering over him, a deeper shadow cast against the gravel underneath his feet, he assumes it’s Jisung. It almost always is, to the point where Seungmin has begun contemplating if he’s fed him a tracker. 

But then the person moves to sit next to him, and he looks over to find a face that has been haunting his nights and ruining his days. 

Minho. But of course.

He’s smiling. Devilishly so. Seungmin barely has time to acknowledge that he’s carrying a small bouquet of the brightest yellow flowers Seungmin has ever seen.

‘Good book.’ Minho starts off, barely offering Seungmin a glance, as if he’s only found himself sitting next to him by sheer coincidence. His eyes, instead, are cast over the scenery of people scuttling about in the distance, raucous joviality swimming in the air around them. If only it could extend here, as well.

Seungmin takes a moment to deliberate before glancing down at his book as if just now remembering that he had been reading it. ‘I just started it.’ 

‘You probably won’t get it. The book, I mean.’ 

Seungmin sits in a gust of astonished silence for a bit before he realizes that he should feel offended. 

‘Sorry?’

‘I said; you probably won’t get it. If you can barely understand basic road safety laws—,’

‘You were the one that didn’t bother checking your surroundings before almost swerving into me—,’

‘Here.’ Minho cuts him off. He holds the bouquet of yellow flowers out to him, still turned away to face the front. 

Seungmin blinks, feeling his soul lift from his body and descend into the clouds. He eyes the bouquet, then turns to ascertain the look in Minho’s eyes for the implications of a practical joke.

‘Just take it. It’s tradition.’ 

‘Tradition?’ Seungmin does not take the outstretched bouquet, still sensing the ebbings of a trick. ‘For what?’

‘What do you think?’ Minho scowls, ‘Joining the debate team.’ 

‘But I haven’t—,’ Seungmin cuts himself off, pausing to think about whether he was caught up on his emails.

‘Oh, sorry, I must have forgotten to send an email informing you.’ Minho’s cattish grin is Cheshire-like, and only when he presents Seungmin with it does he finally turn to face him.

‘Take the damn flowers.’ Minho insists, his hair flittering with the wind in the same manner as the leaves ruffling over them. Some of the longer, framing strands flicker until they’re pressed against his cheeks. 

He hates how quickly he can feel his cheeks pinching red upon coming to the realization that he is accepting a bouquet of flowers from a beautiful man. A beautifully horrible, evil man. But, still.

He takes the flowers, smoothing a finger along one of its petals. They don’t smell like anything, and Seungmin appreciates that they only carry a faint, earthy aroma. A blooming of red still sours his cheeks, so he attempts to subtly use the bouquet as a shield for fear of shaming his own morals.

Seungmin turns to ask what kind of flowers they are, only to find that Minho had miraculously lifted to the clouds and disappeared without being heard. It’s more likely that he just walked away while Seungmin was too busy sniffing flowers to notice. 

Just before he picks up his book, he sees something white stuck between two open-faced petals and picks at it, revealing a folded piece of crisp paper. Semi-cursive handwriting is inked into it and reads: “It’s customary to give your opponents their flowers to establish a fairground. Buttercups represent childishness. Take this as a sign to start acting your age. - Minho”

Seungmin folds the note back up and slips it back into the bouquet. The sigh that follows is poignant in how it lingers long after. The first time Seungmin gets given flowers by a boy, and it’s an insult. Two can play that game.

Before he can begin mercilessly plotting, he receives a text from Jisung.

Jisung: HEY JEONGIN JUST TOLD ME HE GOT INTO THE DEBATE TEAM!!!!!

Jisung: DID YOU GET AN EMAIL TOO

Seungmin: Not exactly…but I also made it in

Seungmin: Hey do you know if he got any flowers 

Jisung: from who???

Jisung: are you giving out flowers?? am i getting flowers???

Seungmin: No

Seungmin: So he didn’t get any flowers from anyone

Jisung: no??? I don't get it why would anyone get flowers is it my birthday??

Seungmin: No jisung it is not your birthday 

Seungmin: Do you by any chance know where i can buy flowers??

Jisung: hmm yeah there’s a place called sepphy’s flowers it’s like 5 minutes away

Jisung: so should i be expecting flowers from you anytime soon 😚

Seungmin: No

Jisung: ok sure ;)

Seungmin: No seriously 

Jisung: okkk ;)))

Seungmin: Stop

PART 2: Déjà Su

Interlude: mirrorball

Seungmin learns that he has to have the same conversation repeatedly whenever they visit his family in Korea. 

Because his Korean is at risk of being limited to variations of the same three phrases, he can’t exonerate himself from repetition.

The result is a steady game of catch. Someone will ask him the same question for the fifth time in a row, and Seungmin will smile sweetly and respond like it’s the first time he’s ever answered it. 

Which is why he doesn’t expect it when one of his aunts asks him something more perplexing than the questions about career plans and independent living.

‘Have you found a good Korean girl yet?’

He knows the pulls and swoops of the question well because his mother has asked it before. In English, yes, but the tone is seldom different. 

‘Not yet, Imo.’ 

2.1 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party,  Status: Present, Time: 10:28 PM

Seungmin wakes in a state of disorientation. He blearily squints against the harsh fractals of light swimming in the edges of his eyes. The feeling of being out of his own body almost distracts him from the fact that he is standing. 

He blinks between longer increments whilst attempting to adjust to the overwhelming nature of the everything surrounding him. The lights, the disassociation, the sharpness of his adrenaline. And then, all at once, he stills. He stands up straighter, eyes roaming around him. But what he sees doesn’t do well to aid his confusion.

He’s standing in a bathroom. The same bathroom he was in the night before, where he hid from Changbin and advised Minho on a stain remedy. Once his senses catch up to him, he can hear music blaring in the foreground. The people, the chatter, and the party are still ongoing outside. Yesterday's party, that is.

And then he can feel. A cup is in his hands. It’s about half-full, and a pale pink blend makes up its contents. Is he…dreaming? Is he dreaming about the night he just had? 

He’s heard of vivid dreams. Eerily vivid, tangible dreams. But he’s never had one, and even then, he can’t bring himself to believe that he could conjure one up on a whim. He feels too solid not to be corporeal.

What had he been doing at this point in time?

Oh, right, Minho had just walked out. He remembers the sensation like static electricity trailing up his arm as he passed by him. His hand reaches for the knob, twisting it open. He nearly startles himself into dropping his drink, the door pushing outwards at the same time he tries to pull it open.

It’s Minho, of course, and Seungmin is glad it is because he’d been attempting to piece the scene together. But then he remembers that it didn’t go like this. Minho had walked out of the bathroom last night, Seungmin stayed there for about 5, 10, or 15 minutes, and then the madness began.

And then, the madness began.

Minho looks to harbor just as much of a stupor as he does, so Seungmin decides to act impulsively, pulling him in and shutting the door behind him, effectively landing them both inside again. 

‘Is this a dream?’ Seungmin decides to ask, hoping his subconscious will help him out.

Minho doesn’t say anything, and for once, it’s more obviously because he doesn’t know what to say rather than his bearing of a general desire not to respond.

‘This has already happened, but it’s a little different this time.’ Seungmin continues, hoping to get at least a sliver of a hint from the man standing opposite him.

Then, he notices the stain still prominently pressed against the fabric of Minho’s shirt.

‘You haven’t done the white vinegar thing yet.’ 

‘I didn’t use that.’ Minho crisply retorts, finally sounding like himself. ‘They didn’t have any. They had club soda and salt, and those worked just fine.’ 

‘But you still looked for the white vinegar.’ Seungmin points out, satisfied with his impact. Even if it was seemingly just within the confines of the most lucid dream he’s ever dreamt.

‘Even in a dream, you’re incredibly annoying.’ Minho observes.

Hmm, Seungmin thinks, pretty meta. Who knew his mind could concoct such wildly accurate measures of his reality?

‘Prove it, then.’ Seungmin decides to test the limits of his imagination. ‘Show me the club soda thing while you still have that stain on you.’ 

Minho doesn’t look like he wants to agree but probably has to solely because this is Seungmin’s mind, so he motions for him to hurry along as he begins walking away. Seungmin decides to leave his drink behind, wondering if there may be an adverse effect to drinking whilst dreaming.

The vivacity of their surroundings is startling. Could the brain remember so many concurrently moving fragments of memory and produce such a vivid recollection of it all?

Yes, Seungmin remembers the noise and the buzz and the lights and the storm and the calm. But remembering something and visualizing every detail like he had the time to notice every single one were two different things. In grasping at straws, he supposes he can conclude that his mind is just filling in the gaps, as minds usually do.

Minho stops by the kitchen area and heads for the rightmost cupboard. Then, he looks off to the side, as if expecting something to be there, and frowns when he doesn't see it.

‘There was a step stool...right here.’ He motions to an empty spot on the floor. ‘Damn it. Someone must've taken it while I wasted my time talking to you.’

Seungmin doesn't say anything, too perplexed by the situation. Remembering visual elements in such a graphic manner was one thing. Was his brain now constructing alternative versions of, not just his, but also Minho's night?

Again, he doesn't have time to mull over it when he notices Minho is distressed because he can't reach the club soda. It's too far back and on the topmost shelf. This, he can solve.

He steps forward to stand next to Minho, appearing as quickly as a phantom over his shoulder, and stretches a hand over him to grasp onto the large bottle with graceful ease. He offers it to him with a not-at-all-wicked smile. 

‘I could've gotten it myself.’ Minho mutters, though he accepts it swiftly.

He brushes past Seungmin, reaching for a small salt shaker from where it's propped sideways against a countertop and then a dish rag behind a potted plant. He stretches the hem of his shirt out again, wets the rag with the club soda – taking no care to avoid spillages – and then shakes some salt onto it before wiping at his shirt. 

It's not perfect, but after a bit of intense scrubbing, it leaves him with something close to how Seungmin last remembers seeing it.

‘There you go.’ He hefts out a sigh, tossing the now-crimson rag back onto the countertop he found it on. ‘Now, can you, maybe, tell me what we're doing here?’

Seungmin doesn't respond immediately, too busy attempting to recall if maybe he'd ever heard of the club soda and salt thing or if his mind made the remedy up. Minho is impatiently waiting for an answer he doesn't have.

‘Um,’ Seungmin leans against the countertop Minho is standing in front of, shortening himself exclusively to peer up at him before saying, ‘I was kind of hoping you would tell me that.’

Minho is having none of that response. He faces him more firmly and mirrors his stance. He moves closer, leveling their faces and nearly sending Seungmin's (dream) heart leaping up his throat. 

Minho's eyes examine him as if attempting to memorize his features. Seungmin feels most effectively like he's lost the plot in this dream scenario.

Minho doesn't move when he draws his voice to a whisper and says, 'You look too real.' 

Seungmin thinks the same, and only then does he decide to explore the possibility that this wasn't merely a strange dream. 

But if not a dream, what else could it be?

Seungmin nearly startles himself into losing his footing when a third voice ripples in, just boisterous enough to be heard over the noise Seungmin had almost been able to tune out.

‘Hey! There you guys are!’ Jisung exclaims before solemnly drawing himself back slightly. 'Oh, sorry! Was I interrupting something? Oh my God, I vowed never to cock-block a friend. I'm so sorry, man.'

‘We weren't doing anything!’ Seungmin blurts; simultaneously, Minho goes, ‘Ew.’

‘Okay,’ Jisung stretches the word out, winking despite Seungmin vehemently shaking his head. ‘Anyways, this guy, Changbin, says he’s looking for you. What’s that about? Do you know him?’

‘No thanks.’ Minho answers, grabbing Seungmin by the sleeve because God forbid he lets their skin make any kind of contact. They swivel through more people, bumping into many, despite Seungmin's attempts at peeling his grip off. 

‘What are you—,’ Seungmin doesn't get the chance to finish snapping down his biting remark because Minho suddenly halts in front of the bathroom door again, turns the sign hung against its handle and pulls them both inside.

‘What is with you and trapping me in rooms?’ Seungmin grills, but Minho doesn't respond. He moves past him to stand before the sink, staring intently at his reflection. He leans in, smoothing his hands over his face, and then runs them through his hair and down his neck, as if hoping to memorize with touch.

Seungmin is officially too confused to remember what he was angry about. It doesn't help when Minho pulls at his sleeve again, motioning for him to join him in standing in front of the mirror. Seungmin obliges, if only because Minho is kind of scaring him now.

He sees himself. Okay, cool. That is, in fact, his face.

‘Perfect reflections.’ Minho tells him.

‘Um, I don't think any mirror reflects things perfectly, but—,’ 

‘No, you idiot.’ Minho asserts, ‘I thought this was a dream, but it can't be. Things don't reflect normally in dreams. Words don't look normal, but I could read the label on the club soda. I– We are not dreaming.’

Seungmin frowns, ‘Okay, well, that sounds like something someone in a dream would say.’

‘You know how I know this isn't a dream?’

‘How?’

‘Because even I can't make up the stupid shit you say.’

Seungmin's frown deepens. ‘I'm gonna wake myself up and prove you wrong.’

Then, there's a silence that strains his movements whilst he racks his brain for how to do something he's never had to do before. Minho stares at him, judging him quietly.

‘Maybe I can slap you.’ Minho offers.

‘No,’ Seungmin says, ‘I'll just make myself fall asleep.’

Minho looks disappointed at having been rejected from an offer he'd have loved to exact. He shrugs, 'Go ahead, then.'

'Not here.' Seungmin attempts to hold a sense of conviction in his movements as he turns for the door. 'I'll find myself a room.'

'Good luck with that.' 

Seungmin closes the door behind him, Minho's audibility dying with the motion. He sits with the noise, lights, and music around him and thinks, yeah, this can be a dream. This is definitely a dream.

He holds onto the thought when he lands before the first door that doesn't sound occupied. He tries not to think about the fact that he's settling into a stranger's bed when he lies beneath the covers.

His phone ding's before he can let himself dose off despite his lack of tiredness. It's a text from Jisung that simply reads: “hey dude we found where they keep the board games so we’ll be chilling n playing while you uhhh do whatever you’re doing in case u guys wanna join afterwards”

He tries not to think about how it's the same text as last night, verbatim. He knows for a fact that he doesn't have a photographic memory. 

And he falls asleep.

2.2 - Setting: Liberal Arts and Social Sciences College (Main Building),  Status: Past, Time: 5:22 PM

Seungmin doesn’t exactly like playing the role of a demonstrator. For some reason, he believes himself to have been cursed under its oath, consistently asked by teachers and faculty over his years as a student to help demonstrate something for the class. 

Sure, he usually sits to the front and has his eyes locked on his superiors like they’ll fade away if he isn’t consistently looking at them, but…

Ok, it is all starting to make sense.

This time, however, he makes up an eighth of his team, and they are all seated equidistantly from one another. So the answer to how and why he was chosen for the demonstration is much simpler. Minho is now hell-bent on making his time here a misery unturned.

Although Chris and Minho are students and team members just like the rest of them, they are also President and Vice President, respectively, meaning they have enough jurisdiction to make them do things meant to train their debate skills.

Chris has caught on enough to the friction Seungmin and Minho share when within several feet of one another, so he attempts to avoid pairing them up for everyone’s collective sake. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much of a say when Minho uses Seungmin as a pawn to thwart, like a fly on his shoulder.

But Seungmin is not thwarted at all, and it amuses him to know that Minho believes his little tactics may do as much when all it does is fuel the competitive compartment in his brain. 

‘Let’s try that again. Remember, don’t let your opponent distract you from your objective.’

The debate team has only been a coalesced group for about a week. They’re on their fourth meeting overall, and Seungmin is dismayed that they have yet to stop working on elementary-level exercises for debate practice. Chris deems it necessary because a few of them have had no experience with organized argumentation, but Seungmin can’t help but feel a tad helpless when all the little games they come up with are far beneath his abilities.

Today’s exercise is particularly unchallenging. So Seungmin doesn’t care about Minho’s intentions when he calls his name without a moment to deliberate over sending up anyone else.

They call it “Make it sound good, Make it sound bad”, but it can wear a hundred other names and still sound familiar to any seasoned debater. The premise is for both sides to receive the same, simple prompt, like “Paris is a common travel destination”, and derive either a positive or negative connotation from the phrase.

It isn’t meant to be a difficult exercise, but Minho manages to make it feel like it is. 

They are, after all, still on the first prompt. 

“Journalism is not a profession.”

Seungmin’s first thought is, “This is not a simple prompt like the one they posed as an example.” And then, “This was clearly written for me.” And then, “Finally, a challenge.”

Seungmin is the only Journalism and Mass Communication major in the room. Being given this prompt is no coincidence. He knows as much only because it’s Minho facing opposite him, handing him the slip of paper with the words scripted on in his – now recognizable – handwriting. Crisp and smooth as it is, Seungmin wants to tear through the paper as soon as Minho extends it toward him like a certificate. 

It seems both Seungmin and Minho have filed away significant bites of information about the other because Seungmin has also walked into this classroom equipped with the knowledge that Minho’s major is Early Childhood Education , which is a really hard thing to try to derive snarky remarks out of. Seungmin was hoping to learn that his expensively clad self was a Business major or something.

Seungmin, as anyone would, tries to glean positivity in the premise of his future career not being a real career. Minho bats every attempt he makes with a quick retort, which is certainly not the way of structured debate, but Seungmin has to remind himself that this is the rawest, most unstructured form of it. 

‘The work of a journalist does not have to be profound to be valuable,’ Seungmin says, somewhere between hasty and methodic. ‘Journalism exists in the acts and words of anyone with anything to say about the world and its people. To deduce it as an evil because of–,’

‘My opponent seems to have forgotten the prompt,’ Minho grittily remarks, turning to their quietly observing audience. ‘Shall we remind him? We are attempting to debate whether the idea of journalism not being a profession is a good thing or a bad thing. We’re not asking ourselves whether the claim is valid or not.’

Seungmin bites into his cheek like he always does when he wants to say things aloud that he can’t. His eyes do not even attempt to gauge the reactions of their watching team members. Now, even Chris is silent and surveying. Seungmin’s attention remains stable and in one place. 

‘Okay, then, let me start over. Journalism is not a profession. It is not a profession in the same way that artistry isn’t. It isn’t validated solely by,’ Seungmin pauses, the rest of the sentence lodging itself in his throat while Minho’s blank amuse tears through him. 

‘By a degree.’ Seungmin finishes, ‘To consider something a profession is to insinuate that you can be professional at it, and giving anyone the power of calling themselves a professional journalist is like announcing to everyone that their opinions matter because they got a shiny certificate to show for it.’ 

Minho smiles. This was his objective. To get Seungmin to audibly express the fruitlessness of his path in life. What he hasn’t factored in, however, is that Seungmin has built a tough skin around the subject. He had to, after all, handle the aftermath of telling his parents what he’d applied for whenever he first started applying for universities. 

‘Thank you for your help with the demonstration, Kim Seungmin.’ Minho clasps his hands behind his back like a welcoming host. Since knowing him, Minho has never called him by his first name. It’s been either “Kim Seungmin” or “You”. 

Seungmin mirrors his smile. ‘Anytime.’

Any time .

‘Well.’ Chris chimes in as Seungmin walks back to his seat. ‘Moving on,’

2.3 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party,  Status: Present, Time: 10:28 PM

Seungmin wakes in a state of disorientation. He blearily squints against the harsh fractals of light swimming in the edges of his eyes. The feeling of being out of his own body—

Wait. No, no, no, no, no. No. This cannot be happening again.

Seungmin looks down. He's standing. There's a pink blend in his hands, he's still wearing the same clothes, and there's music and chatter outside, and oh no, he’s back in the same night. 

This time, he doesn't reach for the door at the same time as the person on the other side. Minho bursts in, closing the door behind him with great pronouncement.

He doesn't even have to say anything, merely crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head back as if to demean him quietly. Surely enough, the stain is still there, and he looks about as full of vitriol as always.

'Hyung?’ Seungmin voices, realizing just after that this is the first time he’s ever addressed him directly. Seungmin doesn’t like Minho, but his mother would sense it if he purposefully evaded the use of honorifics where appropriate. ‘This is the same night, again, right?’

‘Yep.’

‘We’re…living the same night…again?’

‘Yep.’

Seungmin stutters forth several incomprehensible words before landing on a coherent thought, 'Right, so…,’

‘Groundhog Day.’ Minho mutters as if having just remembered something.

‘Sorry?’ 

‘Groundhog Day, the movie. That’s what this is like.’ Minho clarifies, though all Seungmin does is furrow his eyebrows in thought because he’s not sure he’s ever seen it. 

‘It’s a classic!’ Minho frustratedly bellows, shaking his head before explaining, ‘In the movie, Bill Murray’s character realizes he’s stuck in a time loop and keeps reliving the same day over and over again.’ 

‘But that’s…,’ Seungmin’s brain attempts to rationalize the information. ‘That’s just a movie.’ 

‘And this is just the fundamental laws of physics being defied before our very eyes, but by all means, come to your own conclusion.’ Minho turns his back to him again, hand moving for the door handle.

‘Wait, wait!’ Seungmin almost grasps his arm, deciding against it for fear of what it might induce. ‘Tell me more about the movie.’

Minho raises a declarative eyebrow before deciding, ‘No,’ and deflating Seungmin’s spirits.

‘What?’ Seungmin asks, having expected a storm-out or something. 

‘No. Look up the synopsis; I’m not your walking encyclopedia.’ 

Seungmin scoffs, wondering, with all the might of the world on his shoulders, why he could’ve ever conceptualized a world where he and Minho could cooperate. 

This is a really, really long dream.

‘Do you have any other nuggets of wisdom to pass onto me, or are you gonna leave me alone now?’ Seungmin asks.

Minho doesn’t respond immediately. His hand is on the door handle, and his back is turned to him when he says, ‘No. I wouldn’t want to be the person to stifle you from falling asleep again.’ 

Seungmin must be pumped with more contempt than he initially thought because he flings his half-full cup at the door just as Minho leaves. He knows he’s a beat too late and watches the plastic cup fall to the ground, leaving behind a dripping splatter of liquid snaking down the damned doorway and pooling at the ground. 

Seungmin crosses his arms over his chest, assessing what he’s done. Great , now he’s acting like the toddler he feels like he is. He peers down at his phone’s screen, and the time reflects in his eyes. 10:34 PM.

Despite it all, the night is still young.

In the past two variations of this night, Jisung scouts Seungmin out. Not the other way around. Seungmin doesn’t realize he would be better off standing in one place to be spotted, too restlessly consumed by energy to remain still.

It’s less that he’s energized and more that he’d like to be energized. Unfortunately for him, his only source of quick-time invigoration is splayed against the bathroom floor of a frat house.

Seungmin takes the opportunity of snaking across various planes of the house to continue sightseeing. Someone in a spritely suit is pouring tequila shots down a blow dryer while someone else tries locating an outlet to connect it to. Someone sporting a lab coat is asking people to write things on it to celebrate their dropping of a Biochemistry major. Seungmin belatedly notes the burn stains dotting the sleeves before his attention settles over the next thing.

Changbin is talking to– Wait .

Amid being showered by the strangeness of the past few events, Seungmin has forgotten that this all started when he tried hiding away from Changbin. The sprouting agent to his current state of misery – or, at least, the working theory – stands but a few feet away from him, and all Seungmin can do is awkwardly duck beneath the crowd in an attempt at shielding himself.

Alas, there is no doorway to run to, and Seungmin is a little too stalky to stay hidden, and Changbin spots him easily.

Recognition sparks in his eyes, and when Seungmin can only stare back at him with globed eyes, he has no choice but to comply with Changbin’s motions to join in on whatever conversation he’d been having.

‘Hey! I was starting to worry that you already left,’ Changbin chuckles airily, and Seungmin has to follow with his own slew of awkwardly forced jumble of laughter. He’s landed in the party’s epicenter of liveliness. Party-goers are louder than ever, and the music feels like it’s booming from the walls themselves. This confuses Seungmin and his desire not to believe that the university may be providing its fraternities with surround-sound systems.

‘Nope. Still here.’ Seungmin’s voice is dripping with dryness, but he’s either too quiet for a tone to be discerned, or Changbin is too blindsided to pick up on it.

Changbin finally turns his attention back to the person he’d been conversing with only moments earlier. He wraps a hand around Seungmin’s shoulders, startling him forward. He has to strain to even reach and can barely get his arm completely around the width of them. Still, Changbin somehow manages to make Seungmin feel like he’s seconds away from being lifted off the ground by the firmness of his grip.

‘This is Seungmin, the guy I was telling you about! I’m telling you, he’s exactly what we need. He can argue for facilities and stuff like no one else.’

Seungmin tries not to roll his eyes. He had managed to secure most of the funding to provide his school’s debate team with things like transport for competitions and dedicated displays for their efforts. Even then, it was only ever the scraps, and Seungmin had the upper hand of being a student council member.

Does Changbin truly believe he has the prowess to argue for the budgeting privileges of a fraternity? Then again, Changbin only knows him from a small lens. It’s dated, yes, but it’s also in the context of Seungmin’s studious persona. Seungmin was only good at pretending to be on top of everything when he could secure a spot on the student council and brown-nose his way to top scores. 

But Changbin doesn’t know that. And the more Seungmin hears him ramble about the variety of traits he admires in him, the more he realizes that he, too, only knows Changbin from a small lens.

They say never to meet your heroes, but Seungmin thinks it’s just as bad to meet your ex-crushes after you’ve gotten over them because you start to question what you ever saw in them. 

Changbin talks with his hands, and since one is still curled around Seungmin, he does so with the hand holding the same drink he’d been working on earlier. Seungmin can see it more clearly now. Burnt orange liquid swirls against the cup's walls, constantly in motion as Changbin gestures wildly whilst laying on his propositions thick. Seungmin is a team player. Seungmin is great at following instructions. Seungmin is this, Seungmin is that.

Changbin’s proximity makes his breath feel like fire wafting into his face, and Seungmin guesses it’s because of whatever’s been snaking down his throat for the past half-hour or so.

And then, like a light uprooted from the vast darkness of a spiraling tunnel, Seungmin is saved by his ringtone. The iPhone-standard call tone rings into the air, and Seungmin wastes no time detaching himself from Changbin’s half-embrace and excusing himself. 

Seungmin rushes to find a quiet spot to take his call, just barely catching the contact’s name as he slips into a somewhat-quiet corner and hides behind a bamboo divider. It’s Jisung.

‘Hey!’ Seungmin worries he sounds a little too enthusiastic to be extending a simple greeting, but Jisung seems to take it as him needing to compensate for the noise surrounding them. 

‘Hey, dude, where are you?’ Jisung’s voice barely cuts through the line. Seungmin has to press his hand into his other ear, straining to listen. ‘This guy, Changbin, says he’s looking for you. What’s that about? Do you know him?’

‘Uh, sort of,’ Seungmin’s volume drops, though he continues with more audibility. ‘I know him from school. Doesn’t matter; where are you ?’

Thankfully, Jisung doesn’t think to prod him further, ‘Upstairs! Come up; I’ll wait for you right by the stairs.’ 

‘Yeah, okay, I’ll be right there.’ Seungmin says, not even considering returning to inform Changbin of his departure. 

Thankfully, Seungmin doesn’t have to reenter Changbin’s field of vision to get to the staircase. He does, however, have to eloquently sweep past multiple stair-loiterers, clinging onto the banister like it’ll save him from accidentally stepping over strange liquids and peculiar greens. 

Once he finally reaches the top after what feels like a journey traveled, he immediately spots Jisung. 

Unlike the last he’d seen of him – technically – he is not alone. Felix, the mysterious ice fairy, is chatting him up. Rather than yell to hear each other over the surrounding clamor, they lean into one another and extend almost-whispers. Felix keeps one hand on Jisung’s arm, and they’re both casually pressed into a corner as if entrapped in their own little universe.

Seungmin stops to think. Jisung has never really talked about Felix. Occasionally, he’ll mention hanging out with a friend, and Seungmin will vaguely hear about his goings and outings. Is it wrong to think it would’ve been nice to know if Jisung was either pursuing someone or actively doing so? Sure, Jisung is a physically intimate person through and through, but Seungmin knows what their shared glances entail.

Seungmin feels like an intruder when he makes his presence known. Despite this fact, Jisung and Felix greet him warmly.

‘Hey! Where have you been?’ Jisung asks.

Seungmin mulls it over. He’s been in the downstairs bathroom a few times, the kitchenette area a couple of times, roaming around this house’s various halls a bunch of times, under some random frat member’s sheets, in a small closet space, having a variation of this conversation one other time.

‘Just around,’ He vaguely attests, ‘what were you two doing?’ 

Jisung and Felix visibly stiffen. Felix fumbles with their hands, their line of sight unable to linger over one spot for too long. Jisung isn’t much better, airily chuckling like he always does before changing the subject.

Seungmin gets the hint, ‘I mean, what are you about to do?’ 

‘Oh! Yes, yeah, that’s why I called,’ Jisung recollects his wits, motioning for Seungmin to follow him while they begin returning downstairs. Seungmin represses a pained groan at the prospect of retraining this battleground. Jisung seems to sense the restrained nature of his mood. He links one hand with Felix’s and one with Seungmin’s, leading their short chain line down. It’s slightly more bearable, though Seungmin has to be the one to apologize for nearly flattening someone’s fingers as if they weren’t in his way.

Seungmin knows where Jisung is taking them because he’s crossed this road before but tries to pretend he’s being led. He has to wonder briefly if their trek will be interrupted again. If Jisung will turn to ask him if he knows where Minho is, or if that same face will come bursting through a door and pointing fingers at him again. 

But none of that comes. Seungmin makes it further than before, stepping into the aforementioned room without interference. He almost expects to wake up just then. Springing up from his bed, holding a hand to his head, vowing never to step out of his comfort zone again, and giggling to himself over the absurdity of the entire premise. 

That doesn’t happen. Instead, Seungmin is greeted by the face he’d been dreading to see just moments before. It’s Minho, of course. Seungmin wouldn’t have been surprised to see him considering the circumstances. What he is surprised to encounter, however, is the intonation of something foreign on Minho’s tongue when he greets him.

Sweetness.

‘I’ve been looking all over for you, Seungmin-ssi.’ Minho strains to say, ‘Trying to avoid me?’ 

2.4 - Setting: Mithril Ridge Residence Hall, Status: Past, Time: 8:23 PM

Sepphy’s Flowers is a flower shop perched precariously between a slew of cafes and cake shops west of Mulberry Walk, where you’ll find roaming university students at any time of the day. By nature, it’s not as commonly graced by those same students unless it’s Valentine’s week or November, a strangely popular anniversary month.

Seungmin discovers they have a site from which one can browse through their selection of flowers, seeds, pots, and bouquet paraphernalia. He thinks about perusing the shop in person but realizes he’d have no idea what to say when a clerk inevitably asks him what he’s looking for. 

It’s a nice, clear day when he decides it’s time to buy his counterattack in flowers. It should be a fairly easy task, but his initial plan of looking up an intelligently phrased “Flowers that mean I hate you” backfires when he discovers that one standard opinion of a flower’s symbolic meaning rarely exists. One site tells him the epitome of hatred signaling is giving someone black roses, but another tells him it alludes to rebirth and new beginnings. 

The spiral continues. Orange lilies either symbolize deep feelings of hatred or passionate admiration. Petunias either symbolize resentment or hope. Monkshood, or Wolfsbane, symbolizes hatred and the caution that danger is looming or–

Wait. That’s it. Wolfsbane does not have any positive affirmations. It’s literally poisonous.

Would trying to send Minho a tuft of deadly flowers be too daring? All Minho had done was call him childish. But that wasn’t just it. Minho was testing every fiber of patience still present in Seungmin’s pride. And Seungmin’s pride is sacred, so he takes it most personally when a guy wearing diamond-encrusted earrings and driving a car he shouldn’t own has the gall to call him childish.

Seungmin types every variation of the flower’s name into the search bar of the shop’s site. No results. 

Of course, it’s not listed. Why would the cute little flower shop sandwiched between a coffee house and a cake shop sell poisonous flowers? Seungmin’s next best option is buying them off Amazon, but he doesn’t believe he can commit enough to the bit to pay that much for shipping.

And what if they arrived in unfavorable conditions; would Seungmin have to take the extra leap of writing a complaint about how the leaves on his revenge flowers are flaking off? 

Seungmin’s head drops into his hands, and he scarcely stops himself from slumping into the ground in the moment’s agony. 

The sun has already dipped past the horizon, painting the sky in angry shades of blazing orange and corally red. And he is spending his time browsing for flowers to give to someone he hates to solidify said hatred. 

He does hear the lock turning and then the door creaking open, signifying Jisung’s arrival. But he doesn’t untwist from his position of head-in-hands despair. He hears Jisung set down the cluster of things he’d been holding. After several clanks and clinks , he feels something pat against his head, ruffling his hair.

‘Hey, man, you good?’ 

Seungmin hums something incomprehensible that expresses his inability to provide a clear answer. 

‘Are you shopping for flowers?’ 

Seungmin lifts his head now, watching Jisung peer down at his screen. ‘For…?’

‘No, not for you,’ Seungmin sighs, ‘It’s, um, not for anyone. I just wanted to look at flowers.’ 

‘Just wanted to look at…?’ Jisung repeats, disbelieving. Then, the stretches of recognition bloom against the shadows of his expression, and he turns to stare back at the fruits of Seungmin’s shame. Yellow buttercups. Set prettily in a pot with 3 parts water and 1 part Sprite – the sugar keeps them satiated for longer. 

Despite his sugary concoction, some of the flowers have already begun wilting. They’ve lost much of their vibrant yellow, closer to beige now. 

‘Please tell me you’re not getting him flowers, too.’ 

Seungmin pauses, trying and failing to appear nonchalant and unaffected by the presumption. ‘N-no.’ 

‘Dude.’

‘What? He did it first!’ Seungmin reminds, ‘It’s only fair that I return the favor.’ 

‘Return the favor,’ Jisung parrots again, as if tasting the words for himself to discern how to feel about Seungmin’s line of thinking. ‘And how are you planning on doing that? Ordering them online and then sending them to his doorstep?’ 

‘Actually, that was the initial plan,’ Seungmin leans back against his chair, turning it one way and the other while Jisung squints down at him. ‘But, for some reason, Chris won’t give up where he lives, so–,’ 

‘Probably because he’s afraid you’re trying to plan his friend’s murder.’

Seungmin ignores him. ‘So I’m going to buy them in person and then…,’

‘Give it to him in person?’ 

‘Yeah?’ Seungmin confirms, though he’s still unsure of the logistics of doing so. Minho had done the very same thing. It’s not like he wouldn’t see it coming. What if he dumps them in the trash before Seungmin’s eyes and leaves it at that, expanding his unsettled chagrin twofold?

Jisung gently clamps his laptop shut, leaning one arm against Seungmin’s desk before fittingly meeting his eyes, ‘I’m hungry. Are you hungry? We should get something to eat.’ 

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, suspicious of his friend’s clear attempt at burying the issue until they inevitably have to argue over it again. Still, he appreciates the sentiment of knowing that a need for distraction is imminent. 

‘Sure.’ 

Jisung drives them to the suitably named Wishmaster Plaza. The public square is known for housing an array of restaurants with increasingly specific and unique qualities. Mindy’s Palace has a waitstaff that is obligated to treat customers like actual royalty. Sandcastles is a fine-dining establishment that prepares an exquisite menu of 3-to-5 meal options every day and then never redoes any of them. Crankbait only serves Carp-based meals. Seungmin didn’t think the last one was too weird until he learned about their Carp cakes.

A massive wishing fountain is situated at the head of the plaza’s entrance. A bed of rusty coins sits at the bottom of the well-like structure and it’s so thick it looks like it’s part of the stonework. When Jisung drives past it, Seungmin sees a mother guiding her young son’s hand to send a small coin skipping across the water like rocks against a lake’s surface. He looks away.

Strangely, Jisung picks the square’s most normal restaurant. The last time he’d driven them here, he attempted to explain how Carp cakes might taste better than they sound.

Today, he’s brought him to an “Italian” restaurant dubbed Breadsticks that offers (seemingly) unlimited free refillings of breadstick plates. Seungmin’s been here before and can’t say he’s very impressed.

‘Their breadsticks aren’t even that good.’ Seungmin crosses his arms over his chest, directing a steely glower across the table where Jisung is already working on folding a few breadsticks into napkins to shove into his bag.

Jisung shushes him, looking over his shoulder as if afraid the restaurant owner himself will pass by just as Seungmin demeans their staple offering.

‘They don’t have to be great, they’re free.’ Jisung shakes his head. 

Seungmin begs to differ. The restaurant takes its name very seriously; giant breadstick statues guard the main entrance, and garlands of mini breadstick figurines line the walls. The front signage uses breadstick-like shapes to make up the letters. A basket of breadsticks is set out on every table before the customers make an order. 

‘Next time, I’m driving.’ Seungmin grimaces, looking back at the menu images of pasta plates made of three-quarters sauce and a quarter of pasta ribbons.

A server pops into view before Jisung can say anything. They begin speaking before looking up, eyes glued to their notepad, where they already seem to be scribbling down the table number.

‘Hi, my name is–,’ He begins but is cut off by Jisung, who makes the same sudden revelation as Seungmin.

‘Hyunjin?’ 

The waiter looks up, gasping with the same tilt of clarity. To be clear, this is Hyunjin Hwang, not Hyunjin Kim, Seungmin’s newer debating acquaintance. 

They’ve collectively known Hyunjin Hwang a little longer. He lives in their residence hall, only a few doors away from theirs, and sometimes shifts at the lobby’s reception desk.

‘Oh, hey, you guys! What a funny coincidence. This is, like, my second day on the job.’ He immediately loosens up, dropping any remaining stiffness in his stature. 

‘I thought you were working at a dog grooming place?’ Jisung questions.

‘Oh, yeah, I still am.’ He waves a hand, leaning his weight onto one leg, ‘But since you guys don’t have a dog, I guess this is the first time you’ll get to judge my job skills. So, how am I doing?’

Seungmin frowns. ‘We don’t…know.’ 

‘Oh, right!’ Hyunjin straightens, ‘Ready to order?’ 

Hyunjin is nice, but his biggest fault is not knowing how to stop his trailing thoughts from getting the best of him. He’ll start a sentence, remember something, drift into a story, and forget where he started. 

‘People seem to like getting the Olive Tapenade to eat their breadsticks with, but I’ve tried it, and I can honestly say – too much salt. Not that there’s anything wrong with that– I mean, of course, it’s salty, it’s made with olives, so I feel like there’s no reason to caution you from that–,’ 

They get the Olive Tapenade. Seungmin orders a  hearty soup for himself, thereby angering Jisung’s “Two big meals to share” policy. This time around their designated lunch-dinner outings, Jisung usually pulls up a weird personality quiz and tries answering based on what he thinks Seungmin would choose. Or he starts talking about one of his strange professors in a way that elicits the image of a steampunk goggle-wielding person with flaming hair – that’s what engineers look like, right?

Tonight is quite different. Jisung’s eyes catch onto something in the background, flitting somewhere behind Seungmin, and he leans forward to murmur, ‘Dude, 6-o-clock. Be subtle.’

Seungmin looks confused for a moment before he remembers his clock hands. He turns to look behind him, attempting to do so casually. It doesn’t take long for it to catch his notice, too.

Or rather, for him to catch his notice.

Minho Lee. How ironic for the universe to allow their crossing of paths to occur outside of university grounds, too. Seungmin is surprised Minho’s extravagance hasn’t extended towards the preference of dining in a fancier establishment.

He’s seated at a small table and is not alone, though Seungmin doesn’t have a good view of the woman before him. Her back is turned to them, though he can see her hair clasped up in a neat updo.

Seungmin remembers thinking he’d seen the ruby-red claw clip in her hair somewhere before. 

Their half-finished plates of food are swept to the side to make room for the sheets of paper scattered between them. The woman is flipping through the pages of a binder whilst Minho silently watches her. He looks resigned, as he always does. Firm, as he always does. But the twinkle of something Seungmin’s never seen on him resides in his eyes. 

He appears nervous. Seungmin sees him fumbling with the hem of his blouse, one of his legs restlessly bouncing like he’d prefer to be pacing the floor. He’s not exactly watching her, either. Rather, looking somewhere just a hairbreadth away from her. As if too afraid to look straight ahead but wanting to see her from the edges of his gaze. 

Okay. This is none of Seungmin’s business. He does not care what Minho gets up to in his spare time. They are enemies by day and strangers by night, as Seungmin sees it. 

He turns back around, shrugs like he hadn’t just micro-analyzed every one of Minho’s movements, and says, ‘He’s eating out. We’re eating out. Nothing weird about it.’ 

‘You were literally just thinking about buying this guy insulting flowers, and you’re telling me you don’t care that he happens to be right where we are?’ Jisung recounts, ‘Also, dude, I really don’t get the flower thing. I mean, you’re trying to be mean to someone by giving them flowers ? What’s next, kissing to assert dominance?’ 

Seungmin feels his cheeks redden. He barely has time to sound offended because a certain image springs into his head that he has to pretend didn’t. 

‘Shut up,’ He maturely chides, ‘It’s a scholarly way of discrediting someone. You know, the passive-aggressive way.’ 

‘So, what you’re saying is, we’re not going to find his car and key it while he’s not there to stop us?’ 

Seungmin considers it. ‘No, that’s too far.’ 

Jisung sighs, ‘Whatever, man.’

It takes him less than two minutes to forget about the subject matter and find a personality quiz to take. This time, it’s a “Voltron: Legendary Defender character assignment” quiz.

Seungmin pretends not to understand the questions in place of not wanting to reveal to Jisung that he’d had and overcome a fanatic Voltron phase. 

(He has the convention pictures to prove it.)

(...He cosplayed Matt Holt).

(...The younger, nerdier version).

All this to say that Seungmin allows himself to completely forget that Minho is still seated a few tables away. He isn’t even thinking about what force of nature could elicit so much nervous energy in Minho. Not at all.

Seungmin doesn’t notice that he’s subconsciously thumbing the leaf of a basil plant when Hyunjin rounds back to their table and sets their considerably varied meals down, a thing of Olive Tapenade having already been dug into whilst Jisung was reading out the questions to a “What’s your gender on a scale of trans to Italian?” quiz. 

Hyunjin does take notice, however, and briskly comments, ‘We sell those, you know.’ 

Seungmin looks up, having been stuck in his head for considerably long.

‘What?’ 

‘The basil,’ Hyunjin points down at the pot Seungmin’s hand now hovers over, ‘you can buy them in clumps. They’re freshly grown. Although, I mean, I honestly don’t know what that means, like aren’t all vegetables freshly grown? I don’t know, they just tell me to say that, but if you’d like some– Oh! I just remembered something–,’

Oh, brother .

Seungmin hopes, for Hyunjin’s sake, that he’s only this chatty with them because they’re well acquainted. 

‘I’m taking a Victorian Studies course, and apparently, general Victorian society hated the smell of Basil so much that they considered it an insult to be given it.’ Hyunjin explains. This new fact induces two very different reactions from Seungmin and Jisung.

‘Aren’t you a linguistics major?’ Jisung asks. Seungmin’s question is a little different.

‘Can I buy some?’ 

Hyunjin doesn’t register both questions, only catching Seungmin’s. ‘Oh, sure, should I get that ready for you on your way out, or–,’

‘No, actually,’ Seungmin wearily thinks over his decision. ‘If I were to buy it for someone in this restaurant, could you personally deliver it?’ 

2.5 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party,  Status: Present, Time: 10:48 PM

The room Jisung and Felix have led Seungmin to is hard to describe outside of the added context of it being in the ground floor of a frat house.

A big pool table takes up almost half of the room, a few billiard balls still rolling against its surface as if having just been played with. Sickly yellow armchairs are situated next to it. Semi-familiar individuals are either slumped against one or leaning against a coffee table from which a few board games are stacked. One is laid open, player pieces and semi-filled score sheets scattered within a bright rectangular box.

Jeongin and Ryujin are reading over its manual, their murmured speech garbled by laughter with every rule read. Hyunjin, who Seungmin hadn’t been able to denote the presence of earlier, is sloped against one of the armchairs with her head hanging against one armrest whilst her legs dangle against the other. She’s quietly conversing with another girl sitting on the floor next to her with criss-crossed legs, too busy inspecting a piece of candied gummy lifted from a cluster sitting in a Ziploc bag to give much else notice.

The other side of the room is mostly occupied by a floor seating area, from which  canopy-like draping is hovered. Blue beaded links trail along the wall from there, and Seungmin can hear them chink and clatter whilst people shuffle about the space. Chris is telling a story that elicits reactions from the group lounging around him, and based on his gestures, it is not a very honorable one. Seungmin only recognizes Yunjin among that crowd.

Chaeryeong is laying on a hammock. It’s gently swaying as the aftermath of being rocked, held up by a curtain pole with no window and no curtains.

This room, Seungmin will come to appreciate, truly epitomizes the college experience. 

He doesn’t really get the opportunity to do so now, as he’s a little too preoccupied dissecting the vision of a man before him like he’s had to do so many other times before. This time proves quite different, because while he’s always had difficulty finding the words to respond to him, he’s never felt quite as stumped as he does now. 

 ‘I’ve been looking all over for you, Seungmin-ssi.’ Minho strains to say, ‘Trying to avoid me?’

What the fuck? What is that supposed to mean?

One of two very likely scenarios is taking place. The first is that the dream may have discovered that Seungmin is its only weary pawn, so the added obstacle of Minho being the only person to believe himself to be his lover has been placed on him. The second is that Minho is fully aware of who he is and the nature of their relationship and is just messing with him.

The principle problem remains the same.

Seungmin has yet to wake up.

Whatever the scenario, Seungmin is dumbly staring back at Minho’s Bambi-like dumbfoundedness until Jisung pats him on the back two times before murmuring, ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ and retreats towards the direction of Chris’s insane story recounting, Felix shortly in tow. 

Leave him to what? LEAVE HIM TO WHAT?!

Minho and Seungmin wordlessly stand by the door long enough to feel like the room is silent and everyone’s contributing chatter is just white noise.

‘So, uh,’ Seungmin starts, but Minho cuts him off as if waiting for him to get the first word in, only to interrupt. 

‘You didn’t go to sleep.’ Minho chimes, the tilt of playfulness swimming in his tone and all sugary sweetness drowned out. 

Oh great, so it was the second scenario.

Seungmin does not respond, attempting to slip past Minho’s aggravatingly solid presence.

‘Wait, wait,’ Minho stops him. Seungmin isn’t sure why, but he does. ‘Did you read about the movie I was telling you about?’ 

Seungmin isn’t sure how much he was really “told”, but he firmly shakes his head, ‘You mean the loopy time thing?’

Minho does not respond, extending a still stare that has become synonymous with the way he always looks at him. 

‘Whatever, no, I did not read about your stupid movie.’ 

‘You’re stupid!’ Minho almost yells, consciously looking behind him afterwards, as if afraid someone will have heard the outburst. Seungmin bites into his cheek in lieu of trying not to smile at the ludicrousy of the action. 

‘Anyways,’ Minho clears his throat, ‘You’re stupid, and also, I hate you.’ 

‘Anything else?’ 

‘This night is gonna loop again, and when it does, you’ll have no idea what to do.’ 

‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’ Seungmin says, attempting to entertain the premise for a bit. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to do this for too long, as Jisung reappears next to him like a lively phantom. 

‘Hey, guys, we’re gonna start playing a round of Clue, in case you’re interested.’ 

Seungmin’s instinct is to readily agree before remembering that the question is directed towards the two of them. He stills, waiting for Minho’s response before he can make up his own. 

Minho smiles small, the waning edges of honeyed sweetness dripping back into his voice.

‘We’d love to.’

2.6 - Setting: Liberal Arts and Social Sciences College (Main Building),  Status: Past, Time: 4:50 PM

Seungmin has started attending every debate meeting early for one primary reason. 

It frustrates the hell out of Minho.

Or at least he thinks it does. It could very well be that the very sight of him is reason enough to appear annoyed. Seungmin likes to think that it’s fueled by him appearing before any other team member and offering to help Minho and Chris with setting up.

Minho doesn’t seem to appreciate the gesture as much as Chris does. 

Chris greets Seungmin with a smile and gratefully accepts his offer of helping haul over a box of miscellaneous items to be propped over the classroom’s front desk. Minho hisses with his eyes when Seungmin over-enthusiastically extends a cheerful greeting his way.

‘How has your week been?’ Seungmin inquires. 

‘So-so,’ Chris responds, ‘been making good progress on my senior project, but my supervisor is a right cunt and won’t respond to our progress reports.’ 

Seungmin and Chris maintain a steady stream of chatter whilst he helps him set the items down as directed. They bond over vitriolic sentiments for deadwood professors, and Minho silently works on his own thing in another corner. 

Seungmin smiles, feeling light-weighted in his step, when he decides to skip over to the tail end of the room where Minho keeps to himself. He’s writing words into small slips of paper, and Seungmin realizes that he’s naming the objects he and Chris had just set out.

‘How has your week been?’

‘Great until right now.’ Minho murmurs. Seungmin considers this answer a success, as he had been anticipating not getting a response at all. 

‘You smell great today,’ Seungmin starts, casually dropping the compliment like he’s said it many times before. This catches Minho’s attention beyond just the feeling of casual aggravation. The sound of pen on paper stills, and Seungmin delivers the rest of his line with practiced suave.

‘What are you wearing? Basil-scented perfume ?’

Minho’s chair squeaks noisily against the floor. He stands up so abruptly, Seungmin is sure Chris’s attention has to have landed on them, but he doesn’t turn to check. Seungmin keeps his eyes leveled, pressed over Minho’s in the hope that he’ll bleed something close to recognition in them.

Seungmin thinks if this were anyone else, they’d exclaim something like ‘That was you?!’ in true melodramatic fashion, but Minho is ever-graceful and does not let his guard down. At least not around Seungmin. 

Instead, he says, ‘Maybe you should get your nose checked. I’m wearing Chanel No. 5’ 

Seungmin loses his smile quicker than he loses his train of thought. Of course, he knows Minho always rocks into debate practice whilst doused in powdery notes of jasmine. Of course, he knows because the scent is shoved into his face the second he’s within a 3-meter radius of the guy. 

That was the point of the joke.

Seungmin refuses to bow down, ‘That’s all you have to say?’

Minho peers at him through his eyelashes. They’re half-downcast, shading his gaze in an enigmatic way. He tilts his head, assessing Seungmin in a way that makes it look like he’s steadily peeling back the layers that make him up. 

‘There’s a pen mark on your cheek.’ 

Seungmin stiffens, baffled by the comment. His instinct is to pull up his phone’s camera to validate the accusation, but he doesn’t want to give it to him.

‘Yeah, so?’ He decides on instead, not weighing out the cons of doing so.

‘That’s all I have to say.’ Minho shrugs. And then he’s sitting back down, picking up his pen like none of this has phased him.

Seungmin doesn’t care that he’ll pretend to be indifferent to the very end. For now, he can say he’s gotten the last laugh. 

PART 3: Déjà Vécu

Interlude: A Pearl

Seungmin starts having a recurring dream where he’s falling shortly after he turns 6.

He dreams that he can scale mountainous terrains and gnarled trees despite having only ever seen either thing in picture books. He dreams that he climbs to the top but never stops himself from tripping and descending. He always wakes before the crash but startles awake with the feeling that he’s still falling. His hands grip his sheets, and his heart thrashes so wildly in his chest that he’s afraid it’ll run past him. 

The dream swoops him along like the wind on a cloudy day. He feels light, weightless, and unafraid in the first few seconds after the fall. The panic only overtakes him once he’s woken up to find himself safe and grounded. 

When he tells his mother about them, she tells him dreams aren’t real and that he can’t fear something that isn’t real. He’s unsure when they stop, but they eventually do, and he feels he should owe it to this simple realization that dreams aren’t real.

They return in fuller force when he’s 12, before a big spelling bee match that he feels the pressure of winning because he’s playing for his entire grade. They’re back when he’s 14, the day after his first debate competition, where he fumbled his opening speech. When he’s 16, after he's just confessed to a boy, but he’s not yet caught up on why it came so easily. When he’s 17, after he’s accepted into Yale Law School and tears up the application and lies to his mother about it.

For the first time since he first dreamt this dream, when he dreams of falling, and he’s 17, and he is feeling anything but pride at the sight of the formal document in his hands, and he’s dying to take control of his life, and he’s daring to dream…

He feels like he’s soaring. He carries the feeling to the very end, and wakes up wanting to fall back into the dream once again. 

3.1 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party,  Status: Present, Time: 11:26 PM

When Jisung proclaims that they’ll be playing Clue, Seungmin’s preconceived assumptions of having to learn about an outlandishly vulgar college party game flies out the window. I used to play Clue with my cousins , he thinks. How violent could such a simple game get? he thinks.

They have to stop playing it soon after starting it up because everyone starts describing increasingly gory stories to explain how the game’s central murder would’ve taken place, and someone begins interpreting it in such morbid detail that it puts them all off. 

‘I’m a human biology major,’ Jeongin shrugs, ‘just being realistic.’ 

‘I’m an English major, but you don’t see me waxing poetic any chance I get to.’ Ryujin rebuttals, her eyes fanning over her nails, which Chaeryeong is in the midst of painting. 

‘You tried to get away with explaining how the guy’s eye was wrenched out with a spoon.’ Jeongin argues, ‘There is no spoon in the game! There’s a literal wrench. You could’ve used the wrench. Also, who dies from losing an eye?’

Seungmin, ever the kind to keep to himself, kept his murder accusations light and breezy. His character, Colonel Mustard, wasn’t a big target of suspicion from anyone because it was revealed early on that he wasn’t the culprit. This, naturally, made it all the more aggravating when Minho, without fail, used every one of his accusations to indict Seungmin’s character.

Considering Minho hasn’t abated everyone’s still-present assumption that they are a couple . This looked a little strange to everyone until Seungmin started accusing Minho’s character every turn, and they quickly accepted it as a weird, quirky Seungmin-and-Minho thing.

‘I think it’s cute,’ Yerim quips, her hand playing with the ends of her dangly cherry earrings. ‘It’s like a game of cat and mouse. Isn’t that kinda romantic?’ 

Yerim, Seungmin learns, is the name of the girl that tagged along Hyunjin. She wasn’t playing but watched them do so and occasionally commented on Seungmin and Minho’s dynamic in a way that made him feel like flames were consuming the room.

Minho is sitting next to him on the floor, pretending to accidentally bump into him, thus making the head of his leather boot knock into the exposed skin on Seungmin’s left thigh. Nothing good ever comes from wearing distressed jeans; he’s learned his lesson.

‘Can we please stop talking about this?’ Jisung eventually remarks, ‘I’m not high enough for this.’ 

‘Funny, you should say,’ Hyunjin starts speaking. Every time she says anything, it happens so abruptly, Seungmin imagines she just randomly materializes out of thin air and disappears when he’s not looking at her. 

She wordlessly holds up the plastic bag of gummy candies Seungmin had previously seen Yerim handling, and everyone seems to get it except for him. He hears some gasps, Ahhs, and Oos and remains oblivious until Felix speaks up.

‘Woah, did you make these yourself?’ Felix asks, leaning forward to inspect them.

‘No way,’ Hyunjin pulls one out for herself, ‘But if you're willing to use my code, you can get 15% off.’ 

‘I used to make pot brownies like it was a full-time job,’ Felix coolly explains, 'The secret is a nice pecan-based icing.'

‘Oh.’ Seungmin breathes out to himself, too quiet to be heard over the ruckus consuming everyone’s attention. Unfortunately, Minho isn’t interested enough not to have caught it.

‘What, you’ve never gotten stoned?’ Minho whispers. He doesn’t lean towards Seungmin, yet the extension of a whisper from him makes it feel like he’s breathing in his face. He dislikes that he isn’t immediately appalled by the idea. 

Seungmin doesn’t respond. Partially because he doesn’t know what to say and because the starkness of the night crashes over him every time he looks at Minho and remembers everything that’s changed in the past few hours. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that they were now playing along with the sudden belief that they’d been dating and how that’s still weirder than the fact that he’s started this night over twice before.

But in this disparaging moment, Seungmin is just comprehending that Minho is the only constant thing in this room, and he knows he is far too ill-equipped to try edibles. So he does the smart thing of standing up very suddenly and going, ‘I need some air.’

His feet take him outside faster than he can think about what he means by this, and once he’s out the door, he realizes that the hall of this cramped frat house won’t do, so he starts forward and keeps going until he finds a back entrance and can finally feel the night breeze prickling his skin again. 

There is no place to sit or relax by this side of the house, so Seungmin is alone and thankful for that one piece of grace. Until it’s abruptly broken by the creaking of the door behind him. He hears it open and being gently drawn shut again, but he doesn’t want to look behind him to find out who has decided to join him in the gloom of the area’s only quiet spot.

‘I’m sorry for provoking you.’ 

Seungmin recognizes Minho’s voice but chooses not to turn to face him. His eyebrows furrow, unable to discern whether Minho was apologizing for a long list of provocations or the one little thing from just now. Even still, he should be more surprised. He should be asking him to repeat those words over and over again and relish in the satisfaction of making Minho apologize first. But it doesn’t feel as astonishing or as satisfactory at this moment. 

Still, he has to ask, ‘You’re apologizing?’ 

‘It’s not fun arguing with someone if they aren’t gonna fight back.’ 

This makes Seungmin turn. He’s unsure if he’s surprised to see Minho staring through him. It feels like he’s looking just at him and not at him at all. 

Are they having a, dare he believe it, sincere moment? One not fueled by disdain preceded  by a series of tumultuous events?

‘I’m all out of arguments.’ Seungmin says.

‘That’s not good,’ Minho reminds him, ‘We have our first competition event in three weeks.’ 

Seungmin huffs, his hope deviating, ‘I’ll be ready for that.’ 

Then, it’s quiet again. The night is still despite the chaos in its foreground. Seungmin looks up, and a star sits north of the moon. He wonders how a single dot in the sky can feel so spectacular, even from here.

‘Why are you here?’ Seungmin asks.

He hears shuffling and looks over to see Minho make a seat out of the collection of wind-swept leaves scattered against the ground. 

‘Maybe I wanted some air, too.’ 

Seungmin sneers, ‘There’s air everywhere. Why here?’

‘What, are you gatekeeping air, now?’ 

Seungmin sighs. There’s the arguing Minho was so desperate for. He almost smiles but has to bite his cheek to stop one from sprouting.

There’s another stretch of strangely comfortable silence thrumming through the air. Seungmin dislikes that he appreciates Minho’s prowling company. 

‘Do you hate me?’ 

Seungmin asks the question. Minho doesn’t stir, but his answer comes easily.

‘You can’t hate someone you don’t really know.’ Minho raises an eyebrow like this should be common sense. ‘Maybe I just hate the idea of you.’ 

Seungmin nods, somewhat satisfied with the response. Despite the situation, he can only hope that he continues to know Minho as the asshole that almost crashed into him before proceeding to honk at him for excessively long. 

Now that he thinks about it, maybe he just wants something to hate for no viable reason. Maybe he has found their symbiotic scornfulness to be quite the fun engagement. Maybe he doesn’t want to know if Minho is really an alright guy for fear of his life going back to its state of mundanity. 

There’s a comfort in knowing that Minho might feel the same.

‘I hate the idea of you, too.’ He says.

Darkness engulfs the scene so quickly Seungmin thinks he’s just had sight swapped from his senses. Trepidation coils around his muscles, curling into his blood, curdling him from the inside out.  

When Seungmin feels himself materialize whole again, he’s standing in front of a bathroom door. Drink in hand. A shudder climbs up every inch of his skin. 

Seungmin decides that feeling the loop pull him from one state of wakefulness into another is much, much worse than the sensation of waking up from a slumber to find yourself standing upright. 

He sees the bathroom door handle turn down but is registering things so slowly that he doesn’t realize Minho is standing before him until the walls stop feeling like they’re bending towards him, and the ground stops feeling like it’s sinking. 

‘That was awful.’ Seungmin says. For some reason, only after he says this does his sense of the situation return to him, and he’s back to panicking over the reality-deconstructing taking place in his mind.

‘Oh, my God. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,’ Seungmin says this at least 15 times before he decides to stop, too tongue-tied to continue without feeling his throat dry up. He looks down, the sense of foreboding doom feeling like it may consume him, and gulps down far too much of the brew in his hands. 

Seungmin groans afterwards, somehow feeling like the drink feels as heavy as the lump in his chest. He looks forward and assesses Minho’s expression. He finds that he cannot. For one scary moment, he fears that Minho may not have remembered. That maybe he’ll have to face this now evidently never-ending night alone.

‘I am the bigger person, so I’m not gonna say I told you so .’ Minho says, even though he is essentially doing just that. ‘Now, can we get serious and start strategizing?’ 

Seungmin doesn’t understand why Minho is the constant in this equation. Seungmin doesn’t get why Minho isn’t adamant about keeping away from him. Seungmin isn’t sure if he even really hates the idea of Minho as much as he wants to hate someone like Minho. But he can appreciate that he isn’t alone in this.

‘Yes. We can do that.’ Seungmin says, albeit a little dryly. 

Minho seems to catch onto his tone but doesn’t speak on it, ‘Can we do that somewhere other than this bathroom?’ 

‘Preferably far away from here,’ Seungmin suggests, ‘I’m getting sick of this house.’ 

‘Me too.’ Minho agrees. ‘Though I have the sense that we may be on somewhat of a time limit, so we may need to hurry.’

Seungmin nods, though he wishes to express an irreverent frustration with this situation, so does as any helpless man would and takes another swig of his drink. It should be a meaningless gesture in a moment of misery, but Seungmin’s eye catches onto something distinctly non-pink in the bottom of the cup. 

He blinks, swishing the liquid one way and the other to catch onto what may be splayed at the bottom of his cup. He might’ve just seen his eyelashes in his peripheral vision and gotten confused in the haze of the moment.

‘What are you doing?’ Minho finally asks.

‘There’s something at the bottom of my drink.’ Seungmin simply answers, ‘Like, marks, or something.’ 

At that, Minho’s attention is caught. He grabs hold of the cup himself, tipping its contents over into the sink. Seungmin watches, with great agony, while his precious drink snakes down the drain. 

His curiosity outweighs his desire to mourn the loss, and he peers down at the cup with Minho, squinting to make out the text. It looks like the concept of written word rather than an actual sentence. 

‘Go to Mithril Ridge.’ Minho slowly reads. Seungmin squints harder and decides he can understand where those words are meant to go. 

‘The residence hall?’ Minho questions, to which Seungmin nods.

‘That’s where I live,’ Seungmin says, then, ‘How could you make that out?’

‘My father’s a doctor.’ Minho explains simply. 

Seungmin isn’t sure what to make of that information. He can’t help but let it feed into his “Probably grew up rich” presumption jar – which is slowly morphing into a “Minho information center” jar.

They only start talking about the nature of the message sporadically appearing in Seungmin’s cup once they’re out of the stuffy bathroom, its familiarity feeling more repugnant than comforting. 

‘I don’t know what it is, but it has to be the same thing making the day loop.’ Minho tells him when Seungmin asks about it.

He hadn’t given it much thought. Despite growing up in church, he has trouble engaging with the idea that this may be the work of God or even any kind of divine intervention. He thinks that if his mother were to hear about this and believe it, she’d probably tell him that Minho may be a guardian angel sent down to watch after him. He thinks the premise is absurd and would sooner believe Minho to be a guardian demon sent down to launch chaos into his life.

Whatever is doing this, Seungmin thinks, is larger than life. That is, larger than his life, so while he’d like to think that maybe it’s the work of divinity, he isn’t particularly spiritual enough to pray the situation to rest. 

Seungmin and Minho quickly head straight for the back entrance again, aware of how many distractions could land in their way if they remain stagnant for too long.

‘What was it in Groundhog’s Day?’ Seungmin asks, adjusting his volume once they’re outside.

‘Groundhog Day.’ Minho corrects. Seungmin rolls his eyes, comfortable enough to do so openly now that he’s fallen behind him in the trek. ‘What’s what?’ 

‘What was the thing making the day loop?’ 

Seungmin is tagging behind Minho now, not thinking too properly about the implications of doing so. They nearly bump into a trail of people dripping in whatever non-water substance is making up the interior of the backyard’s kiddie pool but pass by the front of the house quickly enough.

‘You really can’t just look up the synopsis yourself?’ Minho asks, mulling over an answer despite the brash tone, ‘I don’t think they ever explain it. I don’t think we should be using a movie for actual guidance, anyway.’

‘But what if…,’ Seungmin pauses, encasing his arms around himself after a particularly strong dash of breeze sweeps past them, ‘what if the movie was written by someone that went through something like this?’

‘It’s not the first story to ever feature a time loop as a plotline. So I doubt that.’ 

‘Then why did you use it to explain all of this?’ 

‘Because it’s a very popular movie that most people know!’ Minho suddenly halts, turning to ensure Seungmin can read the irritation written on his face.

Seungmin wants to ask why they’re stopping but belatedly realizes where they’d been walking towards. A small pool of cars parked (mostly incorrectly) against the house’s driveway and beyond it.

Minho is standing by a distinctly cherry-red Mazda. 

‘We’re driving?’ Seungmin asks.

‘What would you prefer we do?’ 

‘Um,’ Seungmin scratches the back of his head, ‘walk?’ 

Minho doesn’t even dignify this with a response. ‘We’re driving.’ 

‘In your car?’ 

Minho stares back at him, ‘Yes. My car.’ 

‘And you’re driving us?’

‘What, seriously?’ Minho catches onto the insinuation, ‘You’re afraid of driving with me?’

Seungmin chuckles softly, mystified by disbelief. After all this time, the first wrong to have been wrought out between them has never found time to be resolved. 

‘You were in the wrong that day. You nearly T-boned my car and then started honking at me like a maniac!’ 

‘Because you were trying to back into me, you fucking psycho!’ 

‘No, I wasn’t! Nothing was behind me when I started backing out of my spot. You showed up out of nowhere; you weren’t paying attention.’

‘Hey, um, guys?’ 

Seungmin and Minho pause, sharing a look before attempting to locate the source of the new voice. Thankfully, the person makes themselves known for them, popping out between two lengthy bushes. It’s Jisung. His hair is ruffled, and his T-shirt looks askew. Felix quietly trails along behind him, though he keeps shyly to himself.

Oh, okay. 

Seungmin and Minho cumbrously return the greeting, their ‘Heyyy’s stretching awkwardly. 

‘Are you guys…alright?’ Jisung asks. Seungmin remembers his question from the first of these strange occurrences: “Are you two arguing again?”

Seungmin isn’t sure if they’re still expected to play along, but considering Minho was so resolute on doing so before, he sees no harm in following through.

‘Just a small argument.’ Seungmin explains. ‘What are you two doing out here?’ 

Jisung’s self-awareness seems to kick in as he attempts to subtly adjust the placement of his shirt collar from where it had begun leaning down one side. 

‘Just chillin’. Nothing much.’ 

Seungmin purses his lips, ‘Sure. While you’re here, could you do us a favor?’ 

He can feel Minho’s icy eyes like the thorn of a rose stem softly skating past his skin. He pays him no mind.

‘What’s up?’

‘Well, we were just heading back to our dorm, and Minho-Hyung can’t drive because he’s…,’ Seungmin starts, going with the first thing he can think of, ‘drunk.’

Minho makes no effort to look the part.

‘He is?’ Jisung asks, and Seungmin nods rapidly, allowing no room for speculation.

‘Yeah, it’s hard to tell, I know. But, it would be great if one of you could drive us there.’ 

‘You’re heading back so soon.’ Jisung comments, frowning slightly. ‘Why don’t you just drive his car yourself?’ 

Seungmin can’t be honest, so he just produces a lie that sounds like it’s probably true. ‘Minho-Hyung doesn’t like other people driving his car. Not even me.’ 

‘I can get you guys there; I don’t mind!’ Felix interjects. ‘It’s, like, a 5-minute drive, right?’

‘Must be urgent if you need to leave so quickly.’ Jisung muses. Seungmin has no idea what he’s insinuating. No, really, he doesn’t.

‘Sure is.’ He answers despite himself.

They pool into Felix’s car, save for Jisung, and Minho immediately decides to take the passenger seat. The interior of Felix’s car smells like honeydew and peaches. They play soft, lyricless beats for the short journey, and Seungmin almost feels like he may doze off. He stops himself from doing so to ask Felix something.

‘How long have you known Jisung?’ 

Felix seems startled, probably having anticipated a silent drive. ‘Oh, a little over a year, I think.’ 

Seungmin hums, but a part of him dulls at the admission. Felix has known Jisung just about as long as Seungmin has. He’s not sure why that makes him feel so terrible. Why hadn’t Jisung ever spoken to him about Felix when they were so clearly an important part of his life? 

Before he can continue digging the hole in his chest labeled “Does my closest friend consider me his closest friend?” he leans back against his seat, allowing the cyclic rhythm of guitar strings to soothe him into mindlessness. 

From where he’s sitting, he can see half of Minho’s face reflected in the mirror hovering over the dashboard. He sees Minho’s eyes flit to catch him through the reflection, and they begin secretly staring at each other as if forbidden to do so out of covertness.

Seungmin’s fascinated by Minho’s reflection for a particular reason; his eyes are still caked in dark shimmer, no part of which has ebbed into the smudgy mess you’d expect from a long night’s victim. 

The night starts over, and they do too. Any means of hair tousling, clothes ruffling, or makeup streaking is reset. He watches Minho’s gemstone eyes and wonders why Minho is doing the same with his old, plain pair.

3.2 - Setting: Mithril Ridge Residence Hall, Status: Present, Time: 10:40 PM

Mithril Ridge Hall is one of Greentrail University’s oldest residence halls, seamlessly evident in its old-timey structural dimensions. 

They say it gives its residents an edge because they live in a historical building that housed a repertoire of alums before them. Seungmin thinks it’s supposed to be motivational because they’ve barely updated its facilities since they were first implemented.

 Still, he’s pretty sure that’s just garble – that is, bullshit – to make up for the fact that it was meant to be a cheaper alternative to the flashier, eastern halls.

Because it’s a Friday night, there aren’t too many students milling about the lobby or its adjacent lounge when Seungmin gets himself and Minho into the building with his keycard. He strolls towards the front desk, recognizing the rosy tinge of Hyunjin Hwang’s hair behind it. Why would he choose to work here on a Friday night?

Seungmin prepares to quickly explain that Minho could be rung up as a guest later for the sake of urgency. He realizes, at that moment, that he’s never had to register a guest’s visit before and doesn’t know whether to feel sorry for himself or grieve that Minho’s about to be his first.

Hyunjin is brashly smacking bubblegum and playing something on his phone, his back leaning against his chair. 

‘Oh, it’s you two again.’

Seungmin blankly looks back at him, having expected to start speaking first. Hyunjin continues, eyes listless as he chastises them with his gaze, ‘Okay, look, I’m not supposed to let him up because you’ve already passed your monthly quota for guest stay-ins.’

Seungmin falls completely still. Hyunjin, ironically, would only ever comment on how astronomically impressive it was that he and Jisung never had anyone over. And now, in this time-warped situation, suddenly, he was exceeding quotas with a boyfriend he didn’t have. 

‘Um, right, but…you’ll make an exception?’ Seungmin settles on. 

He watches Hyunjin blow a bubble that matches the coral-like pink of his hair before waving a dismissive hand.

‘Whatever,’ Hyunjin mumbles, his bubble deflating with the motion. ‘But next time, just save yourself the trouble and sneak him in.’

Seungmin nods and murmurs a short ‘Thanks.’ before turning to the next hall, where a pair of elevator doors await them. It does not play music, so they sit in a cloudy silence the whole way up. Seungmin lives on the 12th floor, so it feels stiflingly long.

Only when they land in front of Seungmin and Jisung’s dorm room does the former recall the state it had been left in before they’d gone out. Alas, he has no choice but to abide by fate’s desire for them to be here, so he unlocks the door and shuffles inside.

Seungmin’s fervent search for the right thing to wear that night resulted in articles of clothing left to scatter across his duvet and some half-spilt out of his dresser. His rarely-utilized hair products are left screwed open and dispersed over various surfaces, including his mini fridge. He does not remember making this much of a mess.

Jisung’s side of the room is permanently tangled in messes, so it doesn’t help matters. He uses empty take-out boxes to keep his nightlight standing and leaning over his bed in a particular way. There’s a plate of something severely burnt by microwave heat on his actual nightstand and far too many other regularities that should not be such a staple to the Seungmin-Jisung dorm experience. 

Seungmin’s eyes bore into the room’s contents because it does not look like how he remembers leaving it. Or maybe that’s because he’s looking at it from the perspective of a fresh set of eyes for the first time since moving in.

‘Wow,’ Minho comments, ‘I love what you’ve done with the place.’ 

Seungmin is, admittedly, not proud of the display he has to offer his first official guest. Still, he feels nothing but irreverence hearing snark from Mr Chanel No. 5, who probably lives in a single bedroom flat off campus.

‘Make yourself at home.’ Seungmin says, settling against the foot of his bed. This is a bad idea because it causes Minho’s eyes to land on the vase of still-wilting flowers pushed against a stack of books on his shelf. 

On it are also figurines of his that are still sheltered in their packaging boxes, and beside it are taped-up posters of Seungmin’s favorite musical acts. Normally, he’d be embarrassed to have these things on display to someone that barely knew him, but the flowers are much worse in this context.

‘You kept them.’ 

Seungmin’s eyes feel as ablaze as his cheeks do. He looks behind him like he has no idea what Minho is referring to and attempts to shrug it off, ‘Yeah, well, they looked nice.’ 

‘They did look nice.’ Minho reiterates, emphasizing the past tense. ‘Remind me to get you new ones sometime.’ 

Seungmin’s face feels like a self-regulated radiator at this point. He’s becoming very unamused by the sour feeling it spreads into the skin of his cheeks. Whatever Minho’s intentions would have initially been in gifting him flowers with a derogatory connotation, the idea that he’d buy him another tuft so he could house them in his little vase is eliciting a new slew of feelings.

Very new feelings.

Minho swiftly moves on before Seungmin can even think of something to say. He settles down on the swivel chair by Jisung’s desktop PC setup and asks, ‘Is this yours?’

‘No, that’s Jisung’s.’ Seungmin glances at the jumbled chaos of wires sticking out from the case. ‘He built it himself.’ 

It’s not the cleanest job, but it’s certainly better than Seungmin would’ve been able to manage – i.e. the fact that it even works at all.

‘Can you get it open?’ Minho asks. His fingers skim around the top of the casing, finding the power button and pressing it before Seungmin can respond. 

‘He doesn’t use anything for authentication.’ Seungmin tells him, which is to say that anyone can get it open. He grabs his own chair to assess what Minho would be using the computer for, watching it wake and take them to a Windows start screen. Seungmin clicks its wired mouse once, prompting the home screen to be loaded.

‘Seriously?’ Minho’s bafflement is ostentatious. 

Tell Jisung to build you a PC, and he’ll immediately begin surfing for components, but tell him to come up with a password, and he’ll use the same one registered under his old Moshi Monsters account. 

‘Isn’t he in IT?’ Minho asks.

‘Engineering.’ 

‘That’s even worse.’ 

Minho wastes no time delving into Jisung’s computer, prompting his web browser up. When his hand abruptly moves to clasp onto the mouse, Seungmin’s attentiveness doesn’t catch up fast enough for his hand to move away from where it is already hovering over it. For a second, Minho’s hand almost rests atop his, and Seungmin’s egregious unfamiliarity with the gesture makes him wrench his hand away with a speed that would have you convinced he was physically repelled.

 A shrinking feeling lingers in Seungmin’s chest, but Minho remains seemingly unphased as he starts typing into the browser’s search engine, “Groundhog Day Synopsis” .

Seungmin sighs, leaning back against his chair. ‘I thought you were going to start looking for answers.’ 

‘I am,’ Minho arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. ‘Weren’t you the one trying to find answers in this movie?’

‘Well, yeah, but you said–,’

‘I know what I said, Kim Seungmin.’ Minho clicks on a link and points at the screen before he’s even gotten a look at its contents, ‘Read.’

Seungmin subtly attempts to adjust his posture, squinting at the bright, flashy colors adorning the site Minho has chosen for him to read from. He stops after getting past the first part: 

“What would you do if you had to live the same day over and over… and over? 

And over.

...and over.”

Seungmin stops, frowning to himself. ‘I don’t think reading this is very unnecessary. We’re basically living the plot.’ 

‘Keep reading.’ Minho tells him, his tone suggesting he has no option but to do so.

The premise is fairly simple. The main character, Phil Connors, is described as an egotistical weatherman who begins continuously reliving a day in which he visits a small town on an assignment to cover the annual Groundhog Day festivities.

The movie is structured in the stages of Connors’ psyche throughout the loopings, despite the monotony of the situation. First, he freaks out. Then, he uses the situation to do deceitful, amoral things. Then, he falls into a depressive cycle. Then he manages to, in perfect rom-com fashion, become a better person and try to affect positive change into people’s lives despite the limit on his time. 

But Seungmin realizes, in reading this quick overview of events, that he should feel less inclined to take this movie’s plot as a guiding light. Both because the consensus is that Phil Connors’ day has to have looped over the span of years . It’s only been about three nights for Seungmin, and he’s already mourning the loss of day. 

Connors’ central problem was that he was such a narcissistic asshole that he was required to endure years-worth of a fate-issued curse to better himself. 

He thinks about his and Minho’s relationship. He thinks about how they’d harbored an instantaneous animosity for each other from the second they caught eyes after their road rage incident. 

He thinks about how it’s been a little over two months since then. They’ve seen each other at every debate meeting in that time and have spent most of their shared time together arguing or purposefully provoking one another. Seungmin through cavalier smiles, and Minho through snide remarks. 

He thinks about how the second Minho entered his life, it has felt a little more chaotic. And how he welcomed the chaos the second he decided he wanted to kickstart a feudal war between them. He thinks about how powerful chaos is and how it cannot be a coincidence that they’ve both been chosen as chess pieces on its board.

‘What are you thinking?’ Minho asks. 

Seungmin must’ve gotten eerily quiet for a little too long. He spares him a glance but lets his gaze fall to his lap, where he’s begun twisting a loose thread hanging from a rip on his jeans. 

‘I’m thinking that, maybe, whatever’s doing this wants us to change things about ourselves. Like in the movie.’

‘The thought crossed my mind.’ Minho attests, ‘Usually, in these stories, it’s a morality thing. Like, forcing someone into physical purgatory, so they have to be forced to reevaluate themselves.’ 

‘So you agree?’ 

‘No.’ Minho shakes his head. ‘I’m a good person.’

‘That’s subjective.’ 

‘Listen,’ Minho dismisses him, ‘there has to be a reason this all started with a big anomaly that didn’t exist in either of our lives before this started.’ 

Seungmin appears momentarily confused before remembering what led him back here on the first night before the loop began.

‘People think we’re dating.’

‘Right,’ Minho nods, ‘It’s like we’ve popped into an alternate universe. The nature of our lives is different to everyone now. What indication do we have that it stops there? What if other things in our lives are different now?’

Seungmin doesn’t want to believe that. Everything else feels as normal as ever, especially when placed against the strange anomalies Minho is referring to. Still, he’s struck by an idea, intrigued by the presumptions being made. 

‘Photos.’ Seungmin says.

‘What?’ 

Seungmin stands up, heading towards his bed again before digging his hands under the pile of clothes scattered against it and feeling the cool surface of his laptop under his palms. 

‘Photos are like visual timelines.’ He sits at the edge of the bed and props his laptop open, watching the screen light up.

‘I’m working on a project for one of my workshops, and the medium is photography. Most of my subjects are the people in my life.’ 

‘So, you think I might have magically become one of your subjects?’ Despite his wording, Minho sounds mildly satisfied with the notion. He pushes away some of the clothes blocking the spot by Seungmin’s and takes it up.

Minho is close enough for his face to take up the entirety of Seungmin’s right-sided peripheral vision. He tries not to look anywhere but straight ahead, deadly afraid of how his heart may respond to the closeness of contact. 

The folder he’s stored his digital photos in takes some time to load, prolonging this feeling of absent torture. Once it does, he can feel Minho leaning closer to observe the images with him, though he’s too preoccupied to formulate a single thought on that.

He has to scroll through a slew of photos he’s seen a million times since first capturing them. There are ones of Jisung that are all taken in this room because it’s where they see each other the most often. There are ones of his older sister from whenever she’d recently taken him out to the English tea places she liked so much. 

There are some of the debate team members, too. Jeongin and Ryujin engaged in a very memorably rule-suspending form of 1v1 debate. Chaeryeong finishing off her sixth helping of banana milk, the other empty cartons discarded on the desk before her. Chris drawing out flip-flops on a whiteboard for them because he’d been calling them thongs throughout one meeting and fueling misunderstanding. Hyunjin (Kim) cutting up a tall can of coke with scissors for what Seungmin has to assume is weapon crafting. 

Minho is the only member not pictured. 

Seungmin realizes it just as he’s scrolled past all of them. Despite his earlier afflictions with doing so, he turns his head. Minho has not moved, peering over his shoulder with his gem-graced eyes and the smallest tricklings of bewilderment in the pits of them. 

The look they share feels like the one he was getting on the car ride here. As if he’s only looking at Minho’s face reflected in something else. Slightly off-kilter. 

They don’t say anything. Seungmin continues browsing and finds more of the same photos that he remembers taking with enough clarity for his earlier theory to start feeling baseless. 

‘Wait,’ Minho stops him before he can scroll any further. Seungmin thinks he’s spotted himself, but Minho points at a picture with an entirely different face as its focal point. ‘How do you know this woman?’ 

Seungmin enlarges the picture, wondering if Minho is seeing things wrong. When he doesn’t hear anything from him, he chuckles lightly, ‘Um, this woman is my mother.’ 

It’s a nice photo. It’s the only photo his mother had greenlit wherein she is not actively smiling and choosing how to pose for the camera. She has an avid distaste for candid photos, which are Seungmin’s forte, but had accepted this one for a reason he did not anticipate hearing. 

“I look like halmeoni here.” She told him. 

She was smiling so bright the sides of her face creased, the pinpricks of tears held in the edges of her eyes. Laughter boisterously spilled past her lips and it sounded so familiar Seungmin wanted to laugh and cry with her. 

In it, she had been wearing her favorite, swishy sundress with floral embroidery and a wide sunhat she’d owned since Seungmin was little. Despite the thematics of her outfit, the weather consisted of disagreeably strong winds and halfway into his impromptu photoshoot by the porch of their house, her hat had lifted off her head and she’d struggled to grab hold of it whilst it swam in the breeze for a bit. 

The moment he’d taken the shot, the hat was a few finger-stretches away from her, and her features were screwed taut in displeasure.  

“Halmeoni always made this face.” She told him. “Use this one, Seungmin-ah.”

Seungmin almost didn’t want to. It felt too personal now. But it was her own request, and Seungmin thought it was her way of etching a piece of his grandmother’s memory into his work. 

He doesn’t tell Minho any of this, of course, but he falls silent long enough for Seungmin to reminisce about the moment with himself. The moment of peace is needed because he has no way of anticipating what Minho tells me next.

‘Kim Seungmin…,’ Minho slowly starts, eyes glued to the image like a moth to a light. ‘I think our fates may be entwined in more ways than one.’

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Your mother is my internship supervisor.’

Tawny Brews is a small coffee and baked goods stall sitting in the heart of Mithril Ridge. Standing amongst it are two vending machines, one for cold beverages and one for on-the-go snacks. 

These three things make up the residency’s constituent threads of tethering; that is to say, if Mithril Ridge didn’t have the two vending machines and a quaint coffee stall in this room, it wouldn’t be as heavily occupied as it always is. 

Even as it is – to reiterate once again – a Friday night and nearly midnight, Seungmin and Minho are not the only two seated in the communal area from which the stall and the machines sit mere stretches away. 

Normally, Seungmin wouldn’t like to have a personal conversation out in the open when his surroundings aren’t lively enough with chatter to muffle his words. Still, because he’s sure that the night will loop again, he can’t find it in him to care much for potential eavesdroppers. 

The shock of the news he’s just had delivered to him has not yet worn off. It blooms in his chest more heavily than when he’d been zapped back into that dreaded bathroom and finally realized that he was totally and irreversibly fucked. 

Minho’s new revelation didn’t make him panic the same way the loops did. The registration of shock that jolts him into silence isn’t because he doesn’t know how to respond or push the questions prodding into his skull onto Minho, but because he can’t stop thinking.

Minho doesn’t have to tell him, but he realizes it at the same moment. That evening at Breadsticks, seeing Minho seated a few tables away with a mysterious woman whose frame looked familiar and who wore a claw clip that Seungmin swears his mother owns too. And oh, oh, oh , it all makes sense now.

His mother is – was – a teacher. She taught kindergarteners how to read and write for a spell and then began introducing her own curriculums, implementing some of her old school’s best programs and initiatives. 

She was Seungmin’s first teacher, too, despite never having shared a real classroom with him. Any room Seungmin studied in whilst in her presence became a classroom of hers, in a sense. Seungmin should’ve known better than anyone that she wouldn’t quit teaching even in her retirement. 

For the past year or so, she’d taken on the role of helping supervise aspiring preschool teachers seeking internship opportunities. He knows that she oversees applicants and shadows their work but hasn’t ever given much thought to what kinds of people would be under her jurisdiction.

And even if he had, Minho’s pretty face wouldn’t have ever popped into his head as a potential one. Maybe because he’s failed to consider that they could be around his age.

‘If it makes you feel better, you might have fucked up my chances with that Basil gift of yours.’ 

The condensation on the can of iced coffee sitting in Seungmin’s hand sticks onto his skin and feels more like sweat. Seungmin hasn’t said much since Minho offered to get him something so they could talk things out. This is the first thing Minho says after they sit down with their respective beverages in hand. Minho is drinking peach-flavored iced tea.

‘No,’ Seungmin says, eyes still staring into space. ‘It would’ve intrigued her, probably. Applicants need something to stand out, don’t they? She’ll be thinking about you as the guy who got a delivery of Basil sent to him during an important dinner. That’s good. She’ll remember you.’

‘And is that your way of implying that I wouldn’t have stood out otherwise?’

Seungmin finally allows himself to meet Minho’s eyes. They’re as immersive as ever, but his stature is still easily slackened. His lips are pulled up one corner into a sly smile. A barely-there smile, but a customary one. Seungmin wants to selfishly believe that Minho might be attempting to ease his current daze by egging him on, but thinks off-handedly that this is just what he’s like.

‘Don’t take it so personally,’ Seungmin shrugs, ‘there’s just not much you can put into an application that would make you stand out above everyone else.’

‘I think you just want to take responsibility for my impending approval.’ 

‘And why are you so sure you’ll even get approved?’ Seungmin asks. He’s already crossing his arms over his chest and leaning forward, and– Okay, yes, Minho’s decision to begin bantering with him did help ease him out of his stupor, but whatever.

‘Something, something, I’m good with kids; do you wanna address the elephant in the room or not?’ 

Seungmin frowns, ‘There are many elephants in this room. We’re living through a never-ending night, and it’s not even a good one. Also, everyone thinks we’re in a relationship, and somehow, you’re so involved with my life that it is making me question if the universe is telling me we have no choice but to team up.’

‘Yep, we’ve established that already,’ Minho responds with a comparatively dull tone when heard just after Seungmin’s emotionally charged one. ‘The next thing to address is how we’re going to get ourselves out of this.’ 

Seungmin tries to remember if they’d even gotten to the point of beginning said discussion before the big Jenga collapse of news about his mother and Minho’s relations struck him. He realizes that they did not.

Seungmin sighs a sigh of a thousand apprehensions. He takes a sip of his beautifully bitter brew and savors the notes of tartness that linger on his tongue afterwards. Minho is so unmoving that Seungmin’s not sure he’s blinked in the past few minutes.

‘You were talking about anomalies, our unique situation, and how other things might be different now.’ Seungmin slowly recalls, hoping that Minho will unburden his inability to come to a conclusion.

‘You may not like the idea I’m about to propose. I’m not so thrilled about it myself.’ Minho takes a derelict sip of his tea, savoring it long enough for it to feel like deliberate torture while Seungmin waits to hear him out. 

‘What is it?’

‘Maybe we’re supposed to play along.’ 

‘Play along?’ Seungmin thinks about how they’d unquestioningly obliged with the note scribbled at the bottom of his cup. 

‘You know,’ Minho vaguely waves an arm around. Seungmin does not know. 

‘No, I don’t know.’

‘Maybe we’re supposed to pretend to date.’ 

Seungmin hears the can in his arm crinkle after he unknowingly tenses. For the first time in ever , Minho is shyly avoiding his eyes. Fidgeting with his hands. Unable to remain completely still. Just like that day at Breadsticks. He’s nervous around him . Seungmin is finally witnessing what would’ve seemed impossible a day ago, yet he has no room for satisfaction.

‘Haven’t we already sort of been doing that?’ Seungmin inquires.

‘Yeah, well, I don’t know about you, but I was just doing it to get on your nerves.’ 

Seungmin swiftly sends another swig of cold coffee down his throat, hoping it’ll help him avoid gulping too audibly.

‘Yeah, no, me too.’ He lies.

‘But we have to take it more seriously, now.’ Minho explains, ‘We have to really sell it.’

‘How do you suppose we do that?’ 

It’s certainly a valid question. What about Seungmin and Minho’s current dynamic screamed “convincing couple”?

Minho doesn’t get the chance to respond before they’re abruptly sinking into a familiarly expansive darkness once more, hurtling away from tomorrow.

3.3 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party, Status: Present, Time: 10:28 PM

Bathroom tiles. Brown door. Solo cup. Tattered sneakers. Pounding head. 

Seungmin doesn’t even give himself a few seconds to process the starkness of whiplash pinning him with needles before he reaches for the door. Like the first time, Minho is doing the same on the other side, and they nearly walk into each other after the door swings open.

Wordlessly, Minho grabs the cup in Seungmin’s hand and dumps its contents out again. Seungmin still feels slightly pained by the action. He stares down at the cup, appearing dejected, before turning it around to look at its red walls and brashly placing it down upon accepting that it carried no more scribbly instructions. 

‘You didn’t have to dump that all out…,’ Seungmin quietly laments. Minho ignores him.

He digs through his pockets and pulls out lip balm, car keys, a hair clip, and his phone. He turns the first three things over, observing them closely as if hoping for a clue to make itself known. Then, he clicks his phone on, scrolling through a slew of notifications feverishly.

‘I think we should–,’ Seungmin is interrupted when Minho turns to him. 

‘Take off your jacket.’ 

‘What? Why would we do that?’

Seungmin swipes at Minho’s hand when he tries to pry it off himself. ‘Hyung, calm down!’ 

‘We have an hour and a half.’ Minho finally stills, exhaling deeply like he’s not breathed since respawning outside. 

‘Until…?’

‘Until it loops again!’ Minho reminds him. ‘We don’t get a full day. We don’t have time; if there’s a clue to be found, I’d much prefer to find it now because otherwise…,’ 

Minho’s sentence goes unfinished, but Seungmin gets the gist. Because otherwise, they’ll have to go through with their plan.

It’s stiflingly quiet for a few beats of stuffiness until Seungmin interrupts it.

‘Why would you have wanted me to take my jacket off?’ 

‘I don’t know. I thought you might have something scribbled on your arms.’ 

Seungmin looks at Minho’s own barren arms. He can see only the lower half, the rest ( barely ) shielded by the slightly transparent shirt hugging Minho’s torso. He keeps forgetting that the blotchy red stain will always be there and guesses Minho has given up on the menial task of cleaning it every time. 

Seungmin sighs, peeling his jacket off to appease Minho’s line of thinking. He holds his arms out for Minho to see, ‘There. Nothing.’ 

‘Wait.’ Minho’s hand catches his arm. Seungmin takes too long to understand why he begins smoothing his fingers along something inked onto his skin, albeit more permanently than what would’ve been expected.

Minho has spotted Seungmin’s tattoo.

‘That’s, um,’ Seungmin quickly shields the inked piece from view before pulling his jacket back on. ‘That was there before.’ 

‘Oh,’ Minho sounds pleasantly surprised. ‘You have a tattoo.’

‘Yeah,’ Seungmin feels his face heat up. It takes everything in him not to pinch his cheeks in the hopes that the sensation will go away. ‘So?’

‘I’m just a little surprised,’ Minho shrugs, smiling in a way that feels slightly eerie, ‘that you’d be the one between us to have a tattoo.’ 

Seungmin scoffs, ‘I assume you think too highly of your precious skin to get something permanently marked on it.’ 

‘You think my skin is precious?’ 

‘No, I think you think your– never mind,’ Seungmin quickly shuffles past him to the door, intent only on dulling the pinkness undoubtedly splattered across his cheeks. 

‘Hey, hey,’ Minho stops him just as they file out, because Seungmin looks like he’s about to storm away angrily – he’s not; he just wanted to conceal himself under dimmer lights. ‘Remember: we have to act like a c… like a…c–,’ 

Seungmin rolls his eyes. ‘Like a couple?’

‘Yeah, that.’ 

‘So? People already think we’re dating; the hard part is dealt with. What are we supposed to do?’ 

Minho blinks, turning his gaze one way and the other before settling down. Seungmin follows his line of sight. Minho’s hand is a hair-breadth away from his, and he seems to be putting up the biggest fight of his life just to hold his hand for once instead of just tugging at his sleeve and pulling him along. 

Seungmin breathes out the tiniest trickles of laughter, watching Minho direct his frustration into an irritable glare. Seungmin moves his fingers methodically, carefully holding his palm out testingly, whilst Minho indicates no strong desire to move away. Finally, he gently curls his fingers between Minho’s, watching them clasp together like it made any sense for this to be happening. 

Seungmin grins. ‘I’m sure this’ll convince everyone we’re a real couple.’

‘Shut up.’ Minho grumbles, pulling him along and down the small hallway they’d ventured many times. ‘Your hand is cold.’

‘Yours is warm.’

Minho momentarily turns to look at him, the imprint of confusion screwing his features. Seungmin does not say anything else, so Minho stares straight ahead again until they’ve snaked past enough people for Seungmin to realize where they’re headed. 

‘Wait, why are we going back here?’ Seungmin stares back at the door, behind which is a pool table, a hammock, and his debate friends. 

‘Because…,’ Minho pauses, ‘I assume we have to?’ 

‘What, why?’ 

‘I don’t know. Because we were invited, so naturally, that’s probably how this night is supposed to go.’ 

Seungmin tries not to scoff. This night isn’t supposed to go like this because Seungmin isn’t supposed to live through it with a fake boyfriend, but putting all of that aside…

‘We already tried that, remember?’ Seungmin exasperates, ‘We even played along with the dating thing. And nobody suspected otherwise. What would be the point in retracing our steps?’ 

‘The whole point is that we don’t retrace our steps.’ Minho tells him.

It takes only one cataclysmic second for Seungmin to imagine the scenario Minho suggests. They walk in, holding hands, put on the most sickening act of non-existent, requited love, and avoid nagging at each other. That sounds impossible.

‘I…I disagree.’ Seungmin relents.

‘You disagree?’

‘People believed we were dating even though you kept provoking me,’ Seungmin reminds him, ‘Maybe this isn’t it. Playing along. Maybe it’s something else.’ 

Minho groans, ‘If you suggest that self-redemption thing, again, I swear,’

‘Would that really be so crazy?’ Seungmin asks, ‘Look, we’ve already done your idea, so–,’

Seungmin is interrupted abruptly by the sound of wood jamming against wood. He looks to his left, watching someone struggle to open the door they’d been standing by before huffing out a sigh. It’s Jeongin.

‘Oh, it’s you two.’ Jeongin says. ‘These walls are thin, you know.’ 

They don’t say anything, staring back at him as if having been caught doing something devilishly worse. 

‘I was hoping I’d get to eavesdrop on another breakup.’ Jeongin pulls something out of his letterman jacket’s pocket, and Seungmin momentarily thinks it’s an inhaler until Jeongin takes a puff of it, and strawberry-scented mist lifts into the air.

Minho frustratedly swipes at the gust of smoke infesting the air, ‘Today’s your lucky day. This is breakup number two.’ 

Seungmin’s attention flits to Minho, who unwaveringly looks back at Jeongin, who sluggishly leans against the wall. He attempts to translate any iota of confusion through just his eyes, but Minho doesn’t face him. He feels him squeeze his hand once and knows that Minho is likely trying to communicate reassurance, but it’s so unfamiliar that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can feel himself begin to sweat through his palms now.

‘Yeah, right,’ Jeongin chuckles into the mouth of his vape, ‘you say that, like, every week.’

‘Well, this time, I really mean it.’ 

Then, with dramatic gravitas, Minho drops Seungmin’s hand and pushes at his chest. ‘I can’t do this anymore! I can’t be with you anymore; you drive me insane!’ 

‘Wh–,’ 

‘I try to have one sincere conversation with you; all you can talk about is your stupid photo project, or whatever. God forbid I try to talk about any of my work! And don’t even get me started on your horrendous gift-giving skills. Basil? Seriously? Who the fuck does that? Man, I’ve had such a long and hard day; I sure hope my boyfriend gets me some basil to ease my pain. ’ 

Seungmin finally catches on. He remembers something Yunjin had asked on the very first version of this night: ‘Oh my God, are we doing an improv thing?’

‘You…you love basil!’ 

‘I like basil. I like having it in certain meals. I don’t like that you thought it would be a great gift.’ 

‘You’re breaking up with me because of some basil?’ 

‘I’m breaking up with you because you don’t listen! Because you don’t realize I’d hate to be gifted basil after generously offering you such pretty flowers.’

Seungmin scoffs.  

‘And because you always talk about yourself.’ Minho adds onto his stream of insults, ‘And because you are a terrible fucking driver.’

‘You are the terrible fucking driver!’ Seungmin loudly exclaims, surprised at the vigor with which he does so.

‘Guys!’ 

Seungmin and Minho’s heated display had attracted the attention of many faces, just as it did last time. Both familiar and unfamiliar stare back at them, half-bemused and half-morose. 

Chris stands closest to them, having been the one to interrupt them. Jeongin has predictably been filming their entire argument. 

Minho wastes no time before grabbing Seungmin’s hand and pulling him towards the garishly familiar sight of an open doorway. They hear a broom clatter to the floor and the door lock click, which echoes much more ominously within the tiny room now that they know they’ve effectively locked themselves in.

‘Hyung, I don’t understand–,’ Seungmin is firmly hushed, and he is struck by a formative sensation of déjà vu that should already have familiarized itself with him by now.

He doesn’t have to think before following Minho's advance of pressing his ear against the door. 

‘Should we just leave them be?’ Chris.

‘Nobody takes someone else into a closet unless it’s to secretly make out. I don’t wanna be around for that.’ Jeongin.

Minho registers it before Seungmin does, edging away from the door and sighing exasperatedly, ‘I hoped this time would be different.’ 

Seungmin does the same, crossing his arms over his chest, ‘You’re trying to recreate the first night.’ 

‘Without the blind frustration, yes.’ Minho hums before dropping himself down to sit cross-legged against the carpeted ground of the small space. Seungmin sees him take his phone out again.

‘What are you doing?’ 

‘Writing.’ Minho explains whilst also clearing nothing up. 

‘Writing…what?’

‘Just sit down, Kim Seungmin.’ 

At this point, Seungmin is well enough accustomed to Minho’s lack of flair when communicating his actions, so he wordlessly takes up the spot opposite Minho. There’s just enough room for them not to intrude on each other’s bubble of space, which is an iota of good in a plentifully bad situation. 

Still, he has to lean forward slightly to make out what Minho has begun rapidly typing into his phone. He’s pulled up his Notes app, and Seungmin takes a moment to register what he’s written as its heading. “Timeline so far”, it reads.

‘Timeline?’ 

‘I’m trying to map out everything we know and at what pace it’s happening.’ 

‘What’s the point? Next loop, it’s gonna be wiped off.’ 

‘Way to be optimistic.’ Minho briefly looks up before refocusing his attention on his screen. ‘ You wanted a plan, didn’t you?’

Seungmin mumbles something childishly malevolent and reads the points he has down so far:

• 10:28 – Automatically respawn by first-floor bathroom. 
• 10:35 – Chris texts me to meet at the Billiard room.
• Sometime around 10:40 – Jisung looks for Seungmin.

‘Changbin’s looking for me, too.’ Seungmin adds.

‘Why would he be looking for you?’ 

‘It’s…a long story.’ 

‘One that I need to be aware of.’ Minho reminds him.

Seungmin sighs, ‘He just wants me to pledge for the frat.’ 

‘What? You? For this frat?’ Minho laughs like he hasn’t been fed a joke in a century, having to clutch his stomach and keep a hand propped against the floor to keep from toppling over.

‘What is so funny?’

‘Please,’ Minho manages to gasp out between fits of laughter, ‘what isn’t?’

Seungmin’s phone dings just as Minho is recovering from the spirit of raucousness that briefly possessed him moments before. He peers down at the message that pops up and feels Minho do the same. 

It’s from Jisung and reads: “dude. we need to talk. hope you and minho are just fucking around again but based on the video jeongin posted i have a feeling this argument is a tad bigger than the usual ones eeughhh hope you’re good”

Seungmin and Minho exchange a look. Seungmin fiddles with his fingers before asking, ‘What should I write back?’ 

Minho doesn’t even bother to indulge that question, reaching for the phone himself. He steadily types into the message bar, “The video jeongin posted?”

It’s only then that Seungmin completely internalizes those words.

Jisung responds immediately. “oh shit dude im sorry i thought you knew”

And then, “do you want me to ask him to take it down??” 

Seungmin and Minho look up from the phone to make eye contact again. Minho seems to be waiting for Seungmin’s input, so he shakes his head. Minho nods, seemingly on the same page. 

He types, “No it’s ok let him leave it up” 

As if by premonition, their phones begin being rattled by a deluge of notifications and alert sounds. Seungmin silences his phone, watching Minho do the same, and looks at him squarely once more.

‘What now?’ 

‘We wait.’ He says, and Seungmin understands that he means so literally , within the closed confines of this closet. Only then does he seem to internalize what sharing a tiny space with Minho within the contextualized situation would mean. It’s not exactly the scenario that would elicit easy small talk.

‘We’re not really breaking up, you know.’ Minho says, and Seungmin is effectively stumped.

‘I mean,’ Minho assesses Seungmin’s confusion, ‘We’re not fake-breaking-up. We’re just making them think that we did.’ 

‘And then…we’re fake-getting-back-together?’ 

‘Something like that.’ Minho shrugs. 

Seungmin doesn’t exactly understand the logic behind that, but it beats having to pretend to date Minho much more openly, so he doesn’t refute it. 

He expects to sit in the silence they so often shared for longer, but Minho doesn’t let it settle for long before he asks him something.

‘Why a shooting star?’ 

Seungmin blinks, momentarily addled before recollecting the events preceding this. His tattoo, the simple, small imprint of a shooting star. It sits by the junction between his upper and lower left arm. You could barely catch it unless you were looking for it. 

The question mostly surprises him because he didn’t know Minho had gotten a good enough look to understand what it’s meant to be. Wispy, twined lines jutting out from a 5-pronged star. His shooting star.

His instinct is to remind Minho that he doesn’t need to know everything about him to accomplish the task of pretending to date him. Still, he so readily becomes enamored with the idea of explaining it sincerely. If only because no one’s ever asked.

‘My high school English teacher used to draw them instead of check marks while marking papers. She–,’ He thinks carefully about the implications of his next words before saying them. 

‘She was my favorite teacher. I wanted to, I guess, honor everything she’d done for me. I asked her to draw me one last shooting star before I graduated, so I could get it tattooed, and she loved the idea.’ 

Minho smiles. It’s not snarky, abrasive, or cutting. It’s the smallest he’s ever seen him smile, but the brightest. ‘That’s pretty sweet. I was hoping it was for a stupid reason.’ 

‘Can I ask you something?’

Minho folds his arms over his legs, pulling them to his chest. He slowly nods.

‘Have you always wanted to be a teacher?’ 

Minho chuckles shortly. Not mockingly, but as if rattled with sardonic amusement for a moment, ‘No. Definitely not.’ 

‘Then what was it gonna be?’ 

Minho shrugs, ‘I didn’t have an exact plan. I kept jumping from one interest to the next. Veterinary science was a strong contender for, like, two years.’

He pauses and looks back at Seungmin’s quietly listening form, as if wondering why he was telling him all of this, but continues anyway, ‘Psychology, at one point. Anthropology at another. I was stuck in a weird cycle of finding too many things interesting but knowing I couldn’t devote myself to any of them.’ 

‘So, then, why education?’ 

Minho smiles, ‘Same reason you got your tattoo. Realizing how rewarding it would feel to have the chance to shape minds. Maybe it’s kind of an ego thing, but I don’t think that’s all bad.’

Before Seungmin can add anything to Minho’s slightly aspirational tangent, he continues, ‘Did you always want to be a journalist?’

Seungmin finds the idea amusing but knows it’s not exactly far-fetched. Dreaming of writing think-pieces on topics that could range from trivial to groundbreaking; maybe he would’ve been better off housing such fanciful ambitions.

‘I was going to study law.’ 

Minho whistles lowly, ‘Hah. Law.’ 

Seungmin assumes he’s going to make fun of him because this is his make-fun-of-Seungmin tone, but instead, he stuns him once more.

‘It’s good you didn’t,’ Minho says, ‘go for that, I mean. Doesn’t suit you.’ 

Seungmin furrows his eyebrows, unable to interpret if he’s meant to be offended, ‘Is that a jab at my debating skills?’ 

‘No, I just don’t think the guy who likes getting into silly disputes and taking photographs would be fit for something like that. It’s too stiff for you. You chose the right thing.’ 

Seungmin should feel slightly affronted by having his identity psycho-analyzed by someone like Minho, but all it does is make him feel seen in a way he isn’t accustomed to. In a way that he’s always wanted for himself.

‘Thanks, I guess.’ 

Minho doesn’t respond, only unlocking his phone briefly to view the time. 

‘It’s 10:47.’ He says, ‘Time to advance.’ 

‘What, how?’ 

Minho doesn’t seem to know either. Then, Seungmin sees the ebbings of an idea pop into his head, the workings of them etched into his expression. He goes from looking inquisitive to slightly disturbed and then resolute.

Seungmin quietly watches him reach into his pocket again before pulling out that familiar tube of lip balm he keeps seeing. He watches him uncap it and then, without warning, lean forward. He’s so close to his bubble of space that it effectively shatters, and any illusion of distance is circumvented.

Seungmin, in the haste of his shock, tries backing away but quickly feels his back hit the wall before Minho can stop feeling suffocatingly close. 

‘Calm down. I’m just going to put this on you.’ He motions for the cherry-crimson balm.

Seungmin knows it’s the one Minho is wearing because he’s caught himself staring back at the stain on them several times. He doesn’t understand why they should have to match lip shades until he sees Minho pursing his lips, and an image blooms in his mind, and–

Oh my God. Minho wants to make it look like they have been making out this whole time.

‘Uh, I– Uhm,’ Seungmin can only muster forth a slew of unidentifiable sounds as he comes to the revelation, ‘I could just…do it myself.’ 

The knowledge of what they’re attempting to fake is enough for Seungmin to feel like he’s been hurtled into the sun and has no choice but to feel his waxen wings melt. It’s not that the image it procures in his head is bad ; it’s that it isn't. A fact that slightly scares him.

‘You could, but it might look too obvious that you just put it on yourself.’ Minho proclaims, the expert on exchanging tinted balms by lip contact. Then, he does the unexpected thing of asking, ‘Is that okay with you?’ 

He’s unsure if he should be baffled to hear Minho asking for explicit consent, having taken him as the kind of guy that does things without consultation, as he already has so many other times with him. He guesses this scenario and its implications just require a different attitude.

Seungmin isn’t sure why he answers, ‘Yes, that’s fine.’ 

Minho leans closer, and Seungmin feels the boosting drum of beats batting against his chest like a line of band kids marching down an open street. He almost clutches a hand to his chest – as if it’d even help calm the heavy thuds - but is too afraid that Minho will notice that this is making him nervous and doesn’t want to deal with the consequences.

Minho looks focused whilst he dots the balm onto Seungmin’s lips, as still as he can be, although it doesn’t even rival Seungmin’s state of motionlessness. He watches him tilt his head whilst brushing the balm against his bottom lip and then on the skin around and under it. 

Then, Minho exhales softly, examining the rest of his face. Seungmin would think that whilst having this done to him, he’d want to look anywhere but forward, but Minho’s demeanor demands attention. There’s something lucidly intoxicating about watching him diligently spread balm across his lips like he’s fabricating a piece of art. 

He watches Minho lift the balm again as if contemplating placing it elsewhere on his face. He doesn’t, instead opting to spread the balm onto his fingers before resolutely patting the product against Seungmin’s jaw and then down his neck.

Seungmin isn’t an idiot; he understands why it wouldn’t be enough to spread some color onto his lips, but he’s so far beyond coherence that he believes he may have fallen into a daydream. 

He feels Minho’s fingers press against his skin, and all he can think about is that he no longer feels cold and wishes Minho’s touch wasn’t so gentle because now all he can think about is whether his lips would feel even softer against him. 

‘Are you alright?’ He hears Minho ask him. Seungmin registers how far beyond controlled he’s become. He can feel his chest rise and fall like he’s mentally checked out and is fantasizing about strange things after a strange run of things.

‘I’m…I’m fine. Why?’ 

‘You seem troubled.’ 

Minho’s fingers are still grazing the skin on Seungmin’s neck, so pressureless you’d think he was handling something fragile. 

‘How so?’

‘I can feel your pulse.’ Minho whispers.

Seungmin wants to ram his head against the wall behind him and feel himself shatter into a million glass-like pieces. ‘You’re really close. Proximity-wise.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Minho nods, ‘Is that it?’ 

‘Yep. That’s it.’ Seungmin reconfirms, even though that working answer doesn’t bode well for him anyways.

‘This isn’t looking right.’ Minho comments. He frowns at his handiwork. ‘They don’t look like lip stains.’

That’s because the only way you could get that is if you really kissed me, Seungmin wants to say.

Instead, he says it with much less eloquence, ‘Maybe they’d want us to…to really…I mean, maybe if we’re meant to sell the con that we’re together, we have to really…,’ 

‘Kiss?’ 

Seungmin gulps. Minho’s fingers are feather-light imprints on his skin, and his heart has not stilled. He has no inkling of where his motives are, but he silently wishes for Minho to act like himself again and abate his request. 

Say no, he thinks. Push me away, tell me it’s a terrible idea. Start insulting me again; remind me why I’m not supposed to like you.

Minho does none of that. He sets the balm down. His touch falls from Seungmin’s skin, and any warmth it would’ve brought starts receding away. 

‘You’re bolder than I thought, Kim Seungmin.’ He says, something close to a whisper. ‘Ask me again.’ 

Seungmin doesn’t blink. He can’t. He wants to catch every lilting shred of brightness in Minho’s glassy eyes and feel himself surrendering any shred of his vulnerability for him. If only for a moment. Just a moment of this.

‘Kiss me.’ It’s not a question. 

Minho looks pleasantly astonished momentarily, and Seungmin thinks this is it. This is when he pushes you away, reminds you of your place, and laughs at you for ever thinking he’d indulge such an idea.

But, again, he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he rests his arm against the floor, his fingers nudging his before feeling him lean close enough for his breath to curl against Seungmin’s. 

When he exhales shortly, Seungmin tastes wafting pockets of something saccharine and sweet. He inhales, and along with a misty gulp of air, smells the scintillating odor of powdery jasmine caked along Minho’s neck. 

Minho’s eyes are half-downcast, a canvas of brown gems and shimmery shadows, and it’s all Seungmin can do to remain immobile as he feels Minho’s nose graze his with the same hesitancy he’d given to their hands entwining. 

Minho lines his lips against his so quickly that Seungmin wonders if the thought has swum in his mind before, too. He hovers over him, barely pressing. Skimming. Teasing. 

And then, just before Minho can press his lips to his – before they can even really kiss – they hear the door creak open. And then they’re torn apart.

‘Are you mad at me?’

Pool table. Sickly yellow armchairs. Hammock. Canopy-curtained seating area. 

The fraternity’s “Billiard room”, as Seungmin now knows it, houses one primary difference in this version of the night’s events. Ok, maybe two.

For one, Seungmin initially counts fewer heads, belatedly realizing that Hyunjin, Yerim – the girl with the cherry earrings – and Felix are sprawled against the floor behind the armchair semi-circle. They’re laying under the bright head of an Ikea floor lamp and are reportedly ‘Light-bathing’. They’ve probably already ingested a couple of gummies.

Secondly, the mood is just slightly less opalescent. Seungmin thinks it has something to do with the confusion surrounding his and Minho’s status if the eyes that flicked over to him as he popped into the room with Jisung were any indication. 

Seungmin wonders with them, too, where he and Minho stand now that they’ve effectively put their entire dynamic into question. But like the swift swivel of a hammock, the question was jammed between a rock (Seungmin’s brain) and a hard place (A different, more logical part of Seungmin’s brain).

Just after Jisung’s accidental interruption, Minho sprang up and excused himself, sparing Seungmin not a second more of his time before drifting away like a phantom. Jisung was too busy spurting out panicked apologies to register that Seungmin was attempting to allow his soul to reenter his body. 

Once he had, however, he offered to take Seungmin back home for what he didn’t know was the fourth time. Then, when Seungmin said he needed a drink, he complied like a good friend and, shortly after that, got him a cup of something he didn’t bother to observe before allowing it to trickle down his throat. The first gulp is too big, and the flavor profile immediately tackles him with its tarty, dry bitterness, but that is shortly followed by a splash of peachy sweetness.

The reprieve was nice until Seungmin remembered that Minho had gotten peach iced tea for himself just a few hours before, which made him want to drink more. But the drink only saddened him further, so Jisung took it away.

And now he’s trapped him in the canopy-covered corner of the billiard room, left to be forced to face a conversation he has no desire for.

‘No, I’m not mad at you.’ Seungmin mumbles a little too long after Jisung’s initial question.

‘Are you…mad at Minho?’ 

‘Can we please talk about something else?’ 

Truthfully, Seungmin has wanted to translate his frustrations with every dreadful thing that has occurred thus far to his friend. He wants to sit him down, tell him squarely that this is an alternate reality where the night just can’t end and he and Minho never dated, and yes; he’s mad at Minho because he’d been adamant about working together but has left him to deal with the consequences of his choices on his own.

But even Jisung, whose fantastical ideas know no bounds and who loves to suspend his disbelief for otherworldly concepts, wouldn’t believe any of that. 

And it’s just all too much to work into one pristine explanation: Is he really mad at Minho, or is he just mad with himself for having scared him off and potentially sacrificed his one ticket towards exiting this treacherous loop? 

Seungmin thinks his head might explode if he decides to explore every question rattling against the walls of his head.

‘For the record, I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you.’ 

Seungmin finally turns to face Jisung. He’s leaning against a big cushion and has his eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

‘Worry about what?’ 

‘You’re not really breaking up over this, right? I mean, basil and bad driving? That’s the thing to break you guys up?’ 

Seungmin frowns. Of course, this is still a fictional scenario, fabricated by universe overlords and his and Minho’s terrible scheming, but he can’t help but feel defensive.

‘Those are very plausible reasons, actually. I mean, being a bad driver; that’s one of the worst things you can be. A complete disregard for people’s safety or potential inability to secure car insurance.’ 

Jisung’s eyebrows furrow, ‘That’s awfully specific.’

‘Is it?’ Seungmin scratches his head, ‘Look, Jisung, I just don’t want to talk about this anymore. Will you please drop it?’ 

Jisung frowns like a dog having just been asked to let go of the strange bone he’d picked up from roaming outside, ‘Yeah, sorry.’ 

Seungmin doesn’t mean to lead them into the next topic of conversation until he observes Felix sitting up from the corner of his eye. They lift a strand of Hyunjin’s red hair and hold it up to their face as if attempting to ascertain whether they’d suit the color or not. 

‘How long have you and Felix been together?’ 

Seungmin is still staring head-on but can see Jisung startle from his periphery, jolting like he’s just been asked something scandalous. 

‘I’ve known them as long as I’ve known you. They were in some of my preliminaries–,’ 

‘No, I know that, I mean, how long have you been dating ?’

When met with silence, Seungmin elects to turn and observe the source of his friend’s quietude. Jisung is twiddling with the hem of his shirt, biting the corner of his lip.

‘We haven’t really…put a label on it.’ 

‘But you’ve been more than friends for…a while now?’

Seungmin wants more than anything to approach this topic casually, but nothing in his tone supports that desire. He’s unsure how to bring this up without sounding confrontational and even more unsure whether it would even serve Jisung right to be prodded with so many questions.

‘I don’t know- I guess? How would you even define “a while”?’ 

‘Jisung,’ Seungmin breathes out, setting up no indication of answering the question, ‘I just want to know why you never told me about them.’ 

It’s not like Jisung and Seungmin don’t talk about things outside the context of being two university students sharing a dormitory room. Seungmin knows Jisung grew up in Santa Fe, has a younger sister, and was in a band for much of his high school years. He knows he played the guitar, barely does anymore, and still wears T-shirts he’s owned for nearly a decade.

And yet he’s never really heard of Felix.

‘I just…I didn’t–,’ Jisung cuts himself off, seemingly unable to rationalize whether this was a confrontation. ‘I never thought to tell you.’ 

Seungmin’s chest is not numb, and so he registers the tidal wave of emotions that curve over him as he tries to determine how he feels about this. And then, resolute in his stance, he asks, ‘Why?’ 

Jisung’s eyebrows are dipped down in the way they do when he’s feeling anything from purely frustrated to agonized and confused. Seungmin feels just a little bad, but he knows this conversation will have never happened soon enough.

‘I don’t have a reason. It just never occurred to me.’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘Seungmin, I don’t know.’

‘That doesn’t make sense.’ Seungmin exhales. He tends to speak a little louder when he’s adamant about getting answers, even if he doesn’t wish to express his anger. ‘There’s a reason; you just don’t want to say it.’ 

Jisung is stuck grasping for a word to follow up with, chuckling breathily in a manner that insinuates he’s so perplexed by this conversation that he can’t believe it’s happening.

‘I don’t get it. Are you mad at me? For not telling you about an unlabeled relationship?’ 

‘I never said I was mad.’ Seungmin says, a permanent frown etched across his face. ‘I’m just confused. We’ve been living under one roof for over a year now; you never bring them up even though you’ve known them for that long, and as soon as I witness you two within the same proximity, you’re swooning against each other like you’ve been apart for eons.’ 

‘Okay, I get it, now. You’re projecting.’ 

‘I’m- what?’ Seungmin bewilders. 

‘You’re projecting your frustrations onto me because of your relationship problems.’ 

Seungmin scoffs, disbelieving the words he’s hearing. How is he meant to get a fair assessment of what kind of friend he is to Jisung if it’s going to be surmounted by a relationship he’s not even in ? 

‘This has nothing to do with anyone else; I’m talking about you and me .’

‘Me and you?’ 

‘Yeah, you and me, me and you, this, us .’ 

‘We’re friends, Seungmin.’ 

‘Friends tell each other important life advancements!’ Seungmin declares. ‘Like relationships, like the important people in their lives.’ 

‘Jesus, Seungmin, we’re not married.’ Jisung’s downturned expression finally morphs into a more recognizable and distinctive frustration. ‘I don’t owe you that.’ 

‘You’re my only friend, you dipshit.’ Seungmin finally admits. ‘You’re my only close friend. You know more about me than anyone ever has, and…’ 

Seungmin pauses, hoping to hear anything from Jisung before he can trail on. Life around them prevails; people are still endowed with spirit, chatter, and laughter. Seungmin hears something like playing cards splatter across the table. Someone’s singing along to a karaoke video on Youtube. Jisung stares back at him, quieter than he’s ever seen him.

‘And maybe I just wanted to hear directly from you that I’m not the only one in yours.’ 

The furrow between Jisung’s eyebrows doesn’t go, but his eyes appear wistful and glazed with the worst emotion anyone could ever feel for Seungmin. Pity.

Seungmin knows he’ll have more to say because this in no way resolves the squabble they’ve just had, but he feels his phone ringing in his pocket and excuses himself quickly. Jisung doesn’t try to call for him to stay longer, even as his eyes continue to betray that.

Seungmin doesn’t look down at the caller ID before answering the call, pressing the phone to his ear as he trails down that familiar path to the back door.

‘Yeah.’ He answers just as the door closes behind him.

‘Is that how you always answer the phone?’ 

Seungmin’s breath is caught in his throat momentarily. He doesn’t need to lift the phone away from his face to confirm his suspicion over the caller on the other line; he knows his voice aggravatingly well. 

A multitude of responses spring into his mind. Not many are very nice, and most are fueled by the argument he’s just had, only amplified because of the person speaking to him. He wants to say a million things to Minho, but the ease with which he can hold a no-strings-attached conversation with him is too strong to resist.

‘I’m a little distracted. Why, were you hoping for a cheery “Hey, how are you?”’ 

‘Yes, that would’ve been funny.’ 

Seungmin registers those words. Minho’s line is as quiet as his, although not disturbed by the breezy wind surrounding Seungmin’s end. He wants to ask Minho where he is. He wants to know if he’s uncomfortable with Seungmin now, hates him a little more, or likes him a little more. He wants to know if it’s a little bit of everything above like it is for Seungmin.

He doesn’t ask, though, instead hoping that Minho will tell him why he’s called. He doesn’t, exactly, but he does ask him something that momentarily alarms Seungmin with its unassuming nature, ‘Are you okay?’ 

‘Yeah. Peachy.’ Seungmin mumbles. ‘Only that the boyfriend I was supposed to be getting back together with is M.I.A.’ 

‘The boyfriend would look to apologize for that.’ 

Seungmin laughs. ‘Oh, I’d love to see that.’

‘What, me apologizing?’ 

‘Yes, actually. Sounds like something within the realm of impossible.’ 

Seungmin can hear the scowl in Minho’s expression. 

‘I can apologize.’ 

‘Then do it.’ 

‘I am deeply apologetic for abandoning the plan we established.’ 

‘Okay, first of all, it’s not an apology if you can’t even say “I’m sorry” , and we did not establish anything together. That was all you.’ 

‘Yes, and the burden of carrying it alone made it fail. Would it have killed you to help a little?’ 

Seungmin doesn’t respond. Minho must feel like he’s pushed on his buttons enough.

‘Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t think the plan was working, and I needed to be alone, but I should’ve just told you that. Happy?’ 

‘Extremely.’ Seungmin tries to dampen the smile pulling at his face but finds that he can’t. He hopes it can’t be heard over the line. ‘So, what now?’ 

‘You still want to do this together?’ 

Seungmin thinks about Minho’s proposition. 

Minho hasn’t brought up the trifling ‘Almost-kiss’ thing, and he’s explicitly expressed that the plan was in shambles before it could even be completely exacted. That was just a foil in their plans. A jagged piece. An unneeded venture. He doesn’t need to bring it up; things don’t have to be different now. 

‘Yeah, of course,’ Seungmin decides, ‘we have to, don’t we?’ 

Minho doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but Seungmin can hear shuffling from his end. ‘I was worried you would want to continue without me.’ 

Seungmin feels himself licking his lips before he can think anything of it. He faintly tastes increments of peach and cherry-flavored balm. He thinks about the toffee-like sweetness of Minho’s breath when it skated against his. 

‘I can’t do this alone.’ 

‘Me neither.’ Minho responds. Seungmin is so accustomed to hearing Minho leave threads of conversation unanswered that it should shock him to hear this, but he’d have known even if Minho decided not to voice it.

Seungmin pulls the phone away from his ear to peer down at the topmost corner of his screen, reading the time. It’s 11:50 PM. He thinks about the last time he’d been out here, sinking in the solitude of sharing the silent company of someone else.

He holds the phone to his ear again. ‘Hyung?’ 

Minho hums.

‘Will you please stay on the phone with me? I know it’s almost 12, but I don’t want to be alone.’

Minho hums again. 

Seungmin listens to the drafty sound of his breathing on the other end, or the barely-there hum of it, and tries to feel warm again under its clasp.

3.4 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party, Status: Present, Time: 10:28 PM

As soon as he’s formally greeted with the same bleak view again, Seungmin wastes no time with pleasantries and dunks his drink down the drain. He peers down at the cup, sighing when he sees nothing. 

He hears Minho enter and stand behind him but doesn’t bother making as much known. It only comforts him to know he’ll always get a do-ever, no matter how bad their attempt is.

Still, he expects Minho to begin rushing and scouring him for clues again, but he remains perfectly still as Seungmin leans against the sink.

‘You got a plan, O Captain, My Captain?’ Minho finally asks when it seems like Seungmin has fallen into an idle NPC state.

‘I’d give anything to hear you call me that again, but I have a feeling that was my first and last preview.’ Seungmin says, eliciting a very demeaning eyebrow raise from Minho. ‘No, I don’t have a plan.’ 

‘Well, let’s start with the obvious. Are we dating?’ 

Seungmin thinks about it. What good would come from them consistently trying to rebuke everyone that faithfully believes something about the two of them already? All it would do is make them look like the crazy ones.

‘I think we have to roll with it, no matter what.’ Seungmin answers. ‘I just don’t think that’s all we’re meant to do.’ 

‘Well, you wanted to explore that “bettering ourselves” angle, right?’ 

Seungmin scratches his head, ‘I mean, I’d like to, yes, but where does one even start?’ 

‘Hey, if you need help naming things you need to fix about yourself, I’m willing to give suggestions.’ 

Seungmin bleakly stares back at Minho, attempting to hold his most resigned glare. ‘No, thanks. Maybe it’s more like when a ghost has unfinished business.’ 

‘Are you suggesting that we may be dead?’ 

‘No,’ Seungmin says, but that doesn’t stop him from considering it for a second. ‘I mean, maybe there are important loose ends we’re meant to tie and are being given an extremely limited amount of time to do so.’ 

Seungmin doesn’t miss the flash of recognition that passes over Minho’s eyes. 

‘I can’t think of anything.’ Minho says, clearly lying.

‘Like Hell, you can’t.’ Seungmin crosses his arms over his chest, ‘Have anything to share?’

‘I’ll share it with you on one condition.’ A smile pulls at Minho’s features, though his eyes remain somewhat apathetic. 

‘What?’ Seungmin asks, unable to mask the real degrees of fear he’s feeling consumed by.

‘You let me drive you somewhere.’ 

Nobody can tell Seungmin he doesn’t classify as a risk taker.

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, Seungmin thinks as he peers down at the pristine, red handle of Minho’s stupid car. His hand lingers against it, and he realizes with a triumphant epiphany why this is so profoundly hard for him to do.

Although he wants to believe it’s because he doesn’t trust Minho behind the wheel, he knows it falls closer to the issue of maintaining his pride and the sacredness of doing so. His pride is everything to him, and doing as much as sitting in Minho’s car was like surrendering himself and saying, “You win”.

‘Oh, come on.’ Minho had already gotten into his car and turned on his ignition, but he now peers up at Seungmin through the passenger seat’s open window.

‘This is harder for me than it is for you, Hyung.’ Seungmin reminds him.

‘Ugh, you’re such a baby.’ Minho unlatches his seatbelt and pushes his door open before meeting him at the other side. Seungmin holds back from reminding him that he’d probably do the same if they were getting into his car.

Minho pulls the passenger door and motions inside. Seungmin sulks as he finally yields and cautiously crouches in. 

‘And they say chivalry is dead.’ 

He sees Minho roll his eyes as he forcefully shuts the door closed. By the time he’s back to his side of the car, Seungmin has latched his seatbelt on and is clasping it firmly. 

Minho’s car is very clean . It’s not that Seungmin’s isn’t; it’s just that this one is hospital clean. It looks like it either undergoes routine sanitization or was purchased earlier that day. As much is clearly not true because Seungmin has resented this car for over a month.

A pair of fuzzy dice with cats in place of dots hang against the rearview mirror, and Seungmin transfixes on them for so long he doesn’t realize Minho is staring at him, seemingly waiting for him to throw a fit. 

‘What?’ He asks.

‘Just thinking about the full circle moment we’re having.’ 

Seungmin frowns, adamant that Minho wouldn’t do the same if this were his car. ‘Sure, well, are you going to share that important thing with me, or will I have to let you drive me in this death machine before then?’ 

‘I’m not telling you anything.’ Minho says. 

Before Seungmin can inevitably retaliate, he reaches over him and presses the glove compartment’s latch down. Seungmin barely breathes as he hovers by him for fear of being heard.

Minho is oblivious, fishing a folded paper from the compartment before closing it. He holds the piece of paper out for Seungmin to take.

‘What is–?’ Seungmin looks back at him.

Minho doesn’t meet his eyes. ‘Just read it.’ 

Seungmin unfolds it. Lines of wear and tear scour the length of the page as if Minho’s been holding onto it for years. But there’s a date on the top corner of the page that reads “September 16th, 2022” . The imprinted text under it reads as follows:

Applicant Name: Minho Lee

Position Requested: Assistant Teacher 

Dear Mr. Lee,

It is our deepest displeasure to inform you that your previously confirmed position as Preschool Assistant Teacher at LilyPads LLC has been put into question due to information that has recently come to light.

Claims have been made concerning your sexual orientation and personal life choices that have raised concern among board members due to your sensitive position within our organization. Board members, including concerned parents, worry that the nature of your identity may pose a risk for indoctrination or the unlawful sharing of political views and beliefs with the children.

Your application has not been formally rejected yet, but we kindly ask that you understand our need for revision. You will be informed of your position once your application has been examined again by the necessary eyes.

If you can dispute the claims made against you, please do not hesitate to inform us so that these concerns can be put to rest. Consider doing so if you believe you are serious about this position.

Regards,

Marcia Johnson 

HR representative

LilyPads LLC

Seungmin is silent as he finishes skimming the words on the page. He can hear his heart thrashing against his chest, disquieted with rage. ‘Hyung, this is…awful.’ 

And then he feels a little stupid for diluting the severity of it into such a simple word. It’s more than awful; it’s horrendously obtuse. It’s disgusting. It’s polite rhetoric being used to tear someone down. 

‘I got this the day you almost crashed into me,’ Minho tells him, ‘I was mad, I wasn’t paying attention, and I almost drove right into your car because of that. I’m sorry.’ 

Seungmin, a month ago, would be ecstatic to be hearing such an unfiltered admission. Seungmin, now, feels nothing short of terrible. 

‘I’m sorry, too,’ Seungmin supplements, ‘for sending basil to your table during an important interview.’ 

As he voices this, he realizes, ‘Wait, why were you meeting with my mom if you’d already been semi-rejected?’ 

Minho purses his lips, biting into the skin. Seungmin watches the shimmer dance on his eyelids whilst they’re cast over his eyes. The prowling image of night casts him in its everglow.

‘I wasn’t applying for an internship. I was applying for a paid position. Part-time, of course. I met up with your mom because she wanted to review the situation and strongly contended that I argue for a position as an unpaid intern and be given fewer privileges. I’d have been fine with that, but I just completed an internship last term. Felt redundant.’ 

‘That’s so unfair,’ Seungmin says, once again at a loss for how to properly compose the grievances he’s harboring. ‘You have to work for free just because you’re gay?’ 

That makes Minho laugh, his head lolling back to hit the headrest of his seat whilst his eyes remain shut. ‘Your mom did suggest something else. I told her I’d think about it. It was the first thing I thought of when you were talking about tying up loose ends.’ 

‘This isn’t really a loose end as much as It’s a…loose stitch,’ Seungmin contends, ‘but what is it?’ 

Minho exhales, ‘She thinks I should lie and tell them I’m not gay. All the works; get myself a fake girlfriend, pretend to live with her. Be really convincing about it. Whether they’d even buy into it or be pleased with the effort is still beyond me.’ 

‘My mom told you to do that?’ Seungmin frowns, his head spinning with the disparaging momentum of that knowledge. He thinks about his visits to Korea. The winding nature of a conversation topic that he’s long since memorized the divots and the swivels of.

“Have you found a good Korean girl yet?”

Minho’s eyelids lift, his lashes fluttering like blades of grass shifting with the wind. Seungmin isn’t sure whether it's his highly emotional state or the fact that the moment feels vulnerable, but he reaches forward and lays his hand against Minho’s.

‘You can’t do it. You can look for other places.’ Seungmin feels Minho’s fingers twitch under his, and for a moment, he’s sure he’ll just shake his hand away. Instead, he slowly slips his fingers between his.

‘Seungmin, this is my entire life,’ Minho says, a somber tune to the timbre of his voice, ‘I mean, there’s nothing else; I don’t want to do anything else, and now I’m learning that I may never really find a place in it because there will always be a parent mad about someone like me teaching their kid.’

Seungmin holds onto the knowledge that this is the first time Minho’s ever addressed his first name without the “Kim” to preface it. He chooses not to mention it.

‘There have to be places that will combat that. Don’t treat your personhood like it’s some expendable thing.’ Seungmin wants his words to mean everything to Minho. Still, he can’t help but feel how deeply foolish he must sound, preaching about a positive outlook to someone who had already been scraping for opportunities. Someone that couldn’t afford to overlook realism. 

It’s through the understanding that he needed to offer Minho more than just pretty words that he decides to share his mightiest secret. One that he’s only ever shared with the ghosts of his undriven path.

‘You know, I got accepted into Yale before Greentrail even got back to me.’ 

He feels Minho’s shock register in the grip against his hand before he sees it in his eyes and his now-heightened posture.

‘Yale? You’re joking. You have to be joking. There is no fucking way you’d go for Greentrail over an Ivy.’ 

Seungmin grins like a man crazed by delirium, ‘I was offered a full-ride scholarship. You know, Yale doesn’t give those away based on merit. I requested one specifically because we wouldn’t have been able to afford the tuition fees.’ 

‘Kim Seungmin, you are a fucking idiot.’ Minho shakes his head, disbelieving the words lifting out of his permanently beaming counterpart. ‘You were this close to getting something people would kill for, and you settled for this place? Why?’

‘I didn’t want to study law.’ Seungmin shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. ‘You even said it doesn’t fit me. You’re right; it would’ve killed me. And besides, I never wanted to apply to any of the Ivies because I knew that if any of them accepted my request, my mom wouldn’t have let me consider anything else.’ 

‘So why are you sitting outside of a Greentrail fraternity house right now when you could be in the prestigious halls of Yale?’

Seungmin bites into the skin of his lip, displeased when the taste of cherry balm doesn’t register anymore. He thinks about dropping the subject and leaving the most critical part of this unsaid. But he knows he’s come too far with this admission to stop himself.

‘I–,’ 

And then, in routine fashion, his phone rings. 

For some reason, needing to fish his phone from his pocket makes him uncurl his hand from Minho’s as if the person on the other end might’ve physically intruded on their conversation. He offers Minho an apologetic look before pressing the phone to his ear after answering, forgetting again to check who was even calling.

‘Hey, dude, where are you?’ Jisung’s voice can barely be made out. He’s clearly wherever the noise in the party is most concentrated. ‘This guy, Changbin, says he’s looking for you. What’s that about? Do you know him?’

‘Uh, what?’ Seungmin processes the words slowly, belatedly remembering that he’s taken this call before under completely different circumstances. 

The knowledge that he’s had a soul-bearing conversation with his friend, who recollects nothing of it, is slightly terrible. He’s not sure how to compose himself whilst making it seem like he’s not effectively ignoring Jisung until he can approach the impending conversation again – but with, hopefully, more grace.

‘I don’t know, some guy named Changbin. So you don’t know him?’ 

Seungmin feels Minho’s eyes on him but promptly ignores them for fear of succumbing to their draw.

‘No, no, I know him. Sort of. From school.’ 

‘From school? Wow, small world. Anyways, where are you?’ 

‘Uh, you just missed us. We just left.’ Seungmin remembers his meager promise. He motions for Minho to start driving, who, although puzzled, complies quickly. The car jerks awake, the fuzzy dice hanging on its rearview mirror swaying with the motion of Minho slowly pulling it out of its parking spot.

Seungmin subtly keeps a steady hold on his seatbelt like it’ll act as a shield if chaos ensues. He’s not religious but mentally sends a prayer to whatever deity may have the misfortunate task of helming his thoughts.

‘Who’s we?’ Jisung has to nearly shout to be heard over the apex of music booming from his end. ‘Oh. You and Minho?’ 

‘Yeah, me and him, him and me, us. Is there a problem with that?’ 

‘Uh– no, dude, that’s fine. Have fun. Let me know whenever you get home.’ 

Seungmin purses his lips. Jisung does not deserve to bear the lingering shards of his vexation. Especially when it surrounds an argument this Jisung hasn’t had.

‘I will.’ He says, entirely too brash in its delivery. He recognizes the state of his tone, and attempts to soften it, ‘You too, if you’re there before I am.’ 

He hears Jisung hum compliantly and voices his farewells before hanging up. Seungmin exhales afterwards like he’d been holding his breath for the entire call.

‘What was that about?’ 

‘Same call I always get when Jisung can’t find me.’ Seungmin explains, glancing down at his phone. 10:45 PM . An hour and 15 minutes to do whatever Minho had planned for him. 

Now that they’re skating along the empty campus roads with nothing but the heads of streetlights to illuminate the path, he can’t find it in him to care much for incessant pride or full-circle moments. The hum of the car’s engine and its tires sliding against the pavement provide him with enough residual buffer noise for his mind to feel like it can think of nothing at all.

‘No, I mean, what was with your tone? You sounded like you wanted to bite his head off.’ 

Seungmin sighs, ‘We had a fight.’ 

‘What, when?’ Minho doesn’t have to wait for a response, registering that it had to be when he wouldn’t bear witness, ‘Oh, I see. He doesn’t remember, but you do.’ 

Seungmin hums affirmatively. Then, because he’s unable to filter himself anymore, he asks, ‘Do you wish you could’ve been stuck in this loop with someone else?’ 

He’s sure Minho tenses at the question, and then he feels bad for asking it because it’s so unbelievably stupid. Of course, Minho would prefer to be looping his night with someone closer to him. Of course, he wouldn’t want it to be with the idiot he met through a confrontation on the road.

He doesn’t even know he would answer it.

‘Wouldn’t have been my ideal pick,’ Minho eventually tells him, and Seungmin thinks that’s far beyond an understatement. ‘But you’re not all bad if that’s what you’re worried about.’ 

‘Even though I now know you were accepted into an Ivy and rejected them , which makes me want to hate you.’ He quickly adds on. ‘So what was it you were going to tell me?’ 

Seungmin isn’t sure if he feels as ready to say it aloud now that the weariness of having confessed to any of it has settled into his bones, wreathing through him as if attempting to shake the foundation that made him up. The looming threat of insolence has followed him since that day and is still prowling over his shoulder, even as he’s advanced so far that he can’t fathom looking back. He feels dirty and awful, and now that he’s made himself into something of an alright guy in Minho’s books, he’s so afraid of reversing that progress. 

But when he looks at Minho, he doesn’t feel the icy grip of fear rattle him as he expects to. Minho’s eyes take on a different kind of glean to them here. In an almost-darkness. In the half-cast light of his car’s interior. He can’t help but think individuals like Minho are made for tethering other people to the ground when the threat of floating away is too grand. 

He thinks that though he wasn’t born to be a journalist, Minho was born to be a teacher.

‘I tore the application apart. I got rid of any digital footprint it left behind. I burned it. Literally and metaphorically. I never told my mother. I never told anyone.’ Seungmin says this all in quick succession. The memory breathes its images into his mind as he does.

He waits in the throes of an almost-silence to hear what Minho will say. But he doesn’t. Instead, he huffs out a string of tangled chuckles before fully falling into hysterics and filling the silence with his cackling. 

Seungmin is initially alarmed, astonished by how quickly the volume within their small space had risen. But then, he realizes it is pretty funny. 

He burnt an acceptance letter to an Ivy League. A university with an admission rate sitting at less than 6% was inviting him to be admitted, and he lighted that motherfucker up – an entirely indulgent act; shredding it or throwing it into a public garbage bin would’ve been quite enough, but he just had to burn it for the symbolic release.

Before he realizes it, he’s following Minho in practically convulsing with laughter over the shared secret. The implications of his decision were so, very, hilariously mindless. An act you wouldn’t expect from someone having just been admitted for wit and studiousness. With the person he’d have least expected to do so with, he laughs at himself until his stomach aches.

3.5 - Setting: Landslide Lofts Apartment Building, Status: Present, Time: 10:55 PM

Seungmin seems to forget that Minho is driving them to an undisclosed location until he begins taking him through unrecognizable territory. Seungmin tests his patience with the question of where they’re heading every few minutes, an endless mirage of “Are we there yet?”s to accentuate his impatience.

Thankfully, for the sake of Minho’s capacity not to ruin the kindred moment they’d just shared, it’s not long before he pulls into a private lot, and Seungmin sees that they’re parked in front of an industrial, rustic-looking apartment building.

‘This is where you live?’ Seungmin asks. He uses the time he takes to peer through his window, up at the horizon-grazing top of the building, to gauge how he feels about Minho’s decision to take them here. 

The premise of getting to see where the Lee Minho sleeps, bathes, and cooks – because he knows the man can cook from the few times he’d brought something for the debate team to nibble on whenever he supposedly “Just happened to have leftovers” – feels nothing short of exhilarating. 

Seungmin has to grapple with whether that’s because his almost-friendly acquaintance feels like such a mystery or because he just wants to test the working theories he’s preemptively made about what Minho’s living situation must look like.

Minho doesn’t answer his question, probably because the answer is obvious, and instead wordlessly turns off the car’s engine and unclasps his seatbelt before swinging his door open. Seungmin gets the message and hastens to catch up with him as they walk towards the entrance.

Getting in, passing through the lobby, and stewing in a droning elevator should feel familiar, but Minho’s building exudes an element of grandeur that Seungmin never senses in his residence hall. Even the air feels too expensive for his lowly self to breathe. 

Nothing can prepare him for the sight that befalls his eyes when Minho gets them into his apartment – which is, thankfully, on a lower floor than his dorm room. Seungmin is barely past the doorway before he’s stuck in place, busy ogling its contents. 

Minho’s apartment is a loft and is, therefore, the most compact yet expansive way to live as an individual. The ceilings are high to accommodate the fact that there’s a small, elevated platform from which Minho’s “bedroom” is spotlighted – really, it can hardly be called a room as it’s made up of a bed, a closet, and a desk on a hovering floor. 

The walls are bricked and mostly obscured behind wall decorations, shelves, and a TV wider than Seungmin’s bed. Minho’s furniture pieces and decorative fixtures are colorful and complimentary in a way that feels cozy and familiar, as if pulled directly from an Architectural Digest page. 

An absurd amount of greenery litters the place, from hanging plants to robustly-leafed pots framing shelves of books. Ornamental pieces to floored ones with fanning leaves and big ceramic pots. Seungmin feels dwarfed by their thriving states, remembering all the plants he’s killed over the years of attempting to raise any himself. 

Minho’s loft is so singular and well-compressed that he can see the kitchen’s wide entrance, the door to what he assumes is a bathroom, and Minho’s floating bedroom, in one wide-span view. He knows it makes sense for someone to live in a space like this alone, but he can’t help but feel that he’d be susceptible to frequent bouts of loneliness if it were him.

Minho has already brashly peeled off his boots and placed his pocketed items on the coffee table in his living area as if just having come home after a long day and not a twisting rabbit hole. Seungmin appreciates that he’s given them a chance to wind down, even if they won’t be waking up to daylight.

‘Take your shoes off.’ Minho promptly orders. Seungmin centers himself again and steps over his heels to quickly slip his sneakers off. 

He’s not sure what to do outside of instruction, too unfamiliar with his surroundings and the homeliness of it all, so he immediately opts for tagging behind Minho like a lost puppy. Minho doesn’t seem to have a problem with this as they both begin ascending the small set of stairs to Minho’s floating room. 

Usually, someone’s bedroom is the window to their true selves, but Minho’s is so impersonal it could’ve been mistaken for an Ikea display. His maple wood closet takes up the most space, and Seungmin looks at it first as he recalls every brand item Minho has graced his presence in. 

However, the distraction is not sustained for very long when Seungmin catches sight of a weighted movement from the corner of his eye, belatedly realizing that it’s something rustling on Minho’s bed. 

Minho gleams, seeming not at all dazed as he moves to lift a corner of his duvet up to reveal a gray-brown lump that Seungmin gradually realizes is a cat being shadowed under bed sheets. 

‘Hi, baby,’ Minho coos, his voice softening so quickly Seungmin would seldom believe it was coming from him if he wasn’t watching this exchange. ‘Did you miss me? I missed you too.’ 

Seungmin watches Minho scratch between its ears and feels obstinately more like an intruder than when he’d first walked in. 

‘Are you not going to ask to be introduced?’ Any deposition of previously acquitted warmth freezes over in Minho’s voice. Seungmin awkwardly shuffles from one foot to the next, attempting to translate his next sentiment as kindly as possible.

‘I’m not really a cat person.’ He admits.

Minho blinks up at him. As does the cat. Staring at him with a surly, doe-like gaze and glaringly unturned expressions.

‘First of all,’ He begins, and the tone he wears feels shakily familiar and not at all friendly. ‘That’s irrelevant. Mind your manners. Second of all, why?’ 

Seungmin is stumped for words. It’s not that he doesn’t like cats; it’s more that he doesn’t know how to act around one when so closely familiarized with the kinship of a dog’s energy. Cats could be nice, he guesses, but he is completely unwilling to test its patience with him when it seems more likely that it would have none. 

‘Seungmin, this is Dori. Dori, this person isn’t worth your time.’ Minho finally decides to mediate the introduction. Seungmin, for some reason, decides to wave like the cat will casually wave back.

‘You are such a loser,’ Minho looks at him half-amusedly, half-disbelievingly. ‘He’s a cat; you can try petting him. He’s a good boy.’ 

Seungmin sighs, thinking how befitting it is that Minho happens to be a cat dad and how unsure he is on if he should hate that fact or not. ‘I’m good.’ 

‘You’re going to reject my open invitation for you to pet my cute cat?’ 

‘Cats don’t like me.’ He settles on, recalling when he’d gone to a friend’s house to work on a project and had to relocate because their cat kept hissing at him. And the many times strays on random sidewalks went out of their way to try to make him turn the other way. 

‘All cats?’ Minho asks, still smoothing a palm along Dori’s back, the cat contentedly ‘ mrrrow ’ing in response.

‘Every cat I’ve ever interacted with.’

‘Perhaps they sense something foul in you.’ Minho offers. Seungmin thinks he’ll let it go then, but instead, he walks the length of the room towards him and beckons him over to where Dori is kneading his paws into the sheets.

Seungmin groans but lets himself be led over. Dori, ever-curious, nimbly jumps down from the bed and saunters to meet them halfway. He stops short by Seungmin’s legs, and Seungmin is suddenly overcome with visions of his old friend’s cat attempting to claw his ankles clean off. Minho seems to sense his hesitations and guides him down, his hand gently secured around Seungmin’s wrist. 

Dori indulges in his curiosity, immediately drawing all his attention toward the strange men sitting cross-legged before him. Minho has yet to guide Seungmin’s hand, so he lets Dori sniff around his general area before deciding not to be abhorred by his presence. So far, so good?

‘He’s just getting a sense of you,’ Minho explains, and Seungmin thinks the softness in his eyes as he peers down at his feline feels somewhat analogous to Dori’s as he attempts to gauge Seungmin’s cool meter. ‘Dori’s the best around new people.’ 

Seungmin doesn’t think too long about the connotations of that last comment, assuming Minho did not mean that he was the “Best” out of a particular group of cats.

Then, as Dori finally lays a small paw over Seungmin’s ankle – the kinship of which is only momentarily disturbed by Seungmin flinching on instinct – attempting to use it as leverage, Minho slowly moves Seungmin’s hand forward.

‘Let him smell you first. Don’t move too much.’ Minho tells him. Seungmin is sure he doesn’t mean for it to sound so ominous but stays extremely still as if doing anything more than that would have him losing a finger.

Seungmin feels the fuzzy sensation of his tiny snout sniffing along his outstretched hand before he finally turns his head to rub his cheek against his fingers and utter his first Seungmin-directed ‘Mrrow.’

Seungmin is so proud of this advancement he could cry, but then Minho lets go of his wrist and motions for Dori’s small head, ‘There’s your stamp of approval. You can try petting between his ears first.’ 

The loss of straight direction momentarily staggers Seungmin, but he decides he’s achieved far too much to back out now and begins lightly smoothing the tips of his fingers along Dori’s head. He elevates it in response, accepting the pets happily, even as Seungmin is clearly inexperienced in the department.

‘Hi,’ He happily greets his new friend, feeling an unsuppressed grin bloom onto his face, expanding his strokes so that Dori was receiving more than just generous pats. ‘My name is Seungmin. Sorry I didn’t want to meet you earlier.’

Dori yips again, and Seungmin hopes his innate cat senses understood and accepted his words. Satisfied with this lifetime achievement, Seungmin willfully glances back to extend a delightful grin in Minho’s direction but is somehow still stunned to find Minho looking back at him already.

Minho’s expression is hard to read in how earnestly quiet it is in translation, but if Seungmin has managed to pick up on anything in having spent so much of his recently allotted time with him, it’s that Minho is never indifferent. He may wear the mask of indifference more often than the average person, but his eyes betray him too easily.

What does leave him stunned, however, is that Minho doesn’t pretend to keep up the facade or look away like he normally would. Instead, he redirects a smile, too. The smallest upturn. The subtlest difference. The biggest difference. 

The exchange of sincere rapport is cut short when Seungmin hears the enthused padding of little feet slowly snaking up the stairs. Dori leaves the spot under his palm as quickly as he had found it, and Seungmin is left catless for just a moment until he begins hearing a mixed string of short mewls stretch into the air. 

He looks behind him, half-expecting to see an army of other cats barreling towards him but is instead met with a simpler sight. Two ginger cats attempt to grab Minho’s attention and ascertain what had changed about the place. Dori greets them back, hopefully saying, ‘Don’t worry about the new guy; he’s cool.’

‘Oh.’ He exhales, drawing back to Minho’s earlier consensus of Dori being the best around new people. The best out of the three, Seungmin realizes, unless there’s a larger band of cats downstairs waiting to meet him, too. 

Minho seems to be juggling the attention of the ginger duo, making use of his two palms whilst Dori decides he’s had enough of human interaction and pads back downstairs. 

‘There are two more.’ Seungmin stares on, wondering if he’ll have enough luck to charm the attention of two other cats in one night.

‘This is Soonie,’ Minho pats one’s head. It has white sock-like paws, and buggier eyes. ‘And this is Doongie.’ 

Doongie has a more expansive white underbelly and squinty eyes. Just as Minho introduces him, he loses interest in the situation, pays Seungmin no mind, and treks over to inspect one of Minho’s desk legs, which Seungmin has just noticed is wrapped generously in wooly thread, bits of which have already been pulled apart – undoubtedly by greedy feline nails.

‘You have three cats.’ Seungmin reiterates, noticing Soonie gaining on his presence and cautiously tip-toeing toward him. ‘That’s…triple the amount I initially thought you had.’ 

Minho begins to stand, paying no mind to the mental olympics currently playing its course in Seungmin’s mind whilst he’s faced with the realization that he’ll have to obtain Soonie’s trust without mediation.

‘Well, having only one would have rendered the existence of their playroom quite silly.’ 

‘Playroom?’ Seungmin recalls trying to grasp all of the contents of Minho’s loft at once, wondering if he’d really managed to miss an entire room in that inspection. He’d peer over the railing to spot it, but he’s already at the stage where his hand has been held out for Soonie to intercept the integrity of. 

‘They have a room to themselves,’ Minho explains simply, ‘That way they can jump around in their own space as much as they want, and I can rearrange the cat trees and tunnels as many times to make them believe they’re getting new stuff.’ 

‘They get their own room, and you sleep on a floor with no walls?’ At this point, Soonie has accepted Seungmin’s presence quite differently. He begins circling him slowly, lightly nudging him with his shoulder, but he doesn’t let himself be pet. Soonie reminds him the most of Minho so far.

‘It’s not so bad.’ Minho shrugs, and Seungmin realizes he’s been digging through his closet for something. He pulls out two articles of clothing, and before Seungmin can acknowledge what he’s witnessing, begins unbuttoning his shirt. 

Seungmin clears his throat, but because it’s wedged with nothing, it sounds incredibly forced and worse than if he’d just kept quiet. He looks away whilst Minho continues, peeling off those dreaded leather pants, and reminds himself that the man is merely changing in the open space of his own home.

‘So, um,’ Seungmin starts because he physically can’t keep his mouth shut, ‘what, uh, what are we doing? Are we strategizing? Looking over my unfinished business theory?’ 

‘You can’t look at me while you’re talking? What are you, 12?’ Minho evades the questions. ‘I’m done getting dressed, Sir Kim.’

Seungmin bites his cheek, looking up at Minho’s sweats-clad self. The latter is currently brushing his hands through his hair, attention set on his reflection whilst Seungmin attempts to literally bite his proximity to redness down. Soonie has already moved on, far oblivious to his surroundings.

‘You didn’t answer my–,’

‘Are you hungry?’ Minho asks before Seungmin can finish his sentence.

‘Uh,’ Seungmin eloquently responds, ‘Well, sort of? It’s weird because my body hasn’t caught up to the feeling as much as my mind has. I’m guessing it’s a time disparity thing.’ 

‘Well, then, I’ll cook us some dinner. We can talk while we eat. Would that keep you happy?’ 

Seungmin pouts slightly, humming his affirmation quietly. 

‘Good.’ Minho crosses the length of the room. Seungmin expects him to pass by without another glance but, instead, feels a soft weight over his head and fingers ruffling through his hair. The sensation is gone just as he begins fully grasping that Minho Lee, of all people, has just pet him. 

‘Whenever my cats look sore, I give them a little head tousle, and they usually spring back into action. Are you good, or do you need another, Kim Seungmin?’

All previous attempts at keeping Seungmin’s proclivity to blush at bay are useless now. He knows it would be better to make a snide remark or say anything other than what comes out of his mouth, but he and his fuzzy chest can’t help themselves.

‘Actually, I think I’ll probably need one more for good measure.’ He smiles an astute, yuppified smile, attempting with all his willpower not to balk at the sourness in his cheeks. 

Minho should walk away or hit Seungmin in the chest, where an intense sensation of sugar rocks melting into soda pop is sprouting. Instead, he obeys Seungmin’s silly request, and it’s so much worse the second time.

Maybe it’s because Seungmin is asking for it this time or because Minho squats down, so they’re eye-level and staring back at each other as it happens. It’s probably because Minho doesn’t skittishly mess with his hair but instead smooths a palm along it with so much tenderness Seungmin would’ve rather he just messed with him again.

‘Thanks.’ Seungmin chokes out between pitters of that pop-rock-sensation sputtering in his veins. 

‘I’m making Kimchi-jjigae. Is that alright with you?’ 

Seungmin hums, refusing to look away first before Minho pitters downstairs too. 

Seungmin is not the best presence in a kitchen setting. Notoriously so, having been bribed with cookies or new sticker packs as a kid to keep him from hovering over his mother while she cooks. 

It might have to do with his severe inability to assist in cooking without somehow cursing the process with impending disaster. It might have to do with the time his mother caught him attempting to cut off his bangs with kitchen scissors. Or the time he tried putting out a grease fire with water. 

(That last one happened just a year ago. Jisung had to be the person to stop him. It set a fire alarm and forced everyone in his residence hall to evacuate. Many people on his floor still antagonize him for it.)

To be fair, when Seungmin initially asks Minho if he can assist him with dinner, he initially seems reluctant to agree. When Seungmin confesses his kitchen-based misdemeanors, his reluctance turns into downright refusal. So, while Minho is halfway through prepping his ingredients, a pot of broth already boiling on the stovetop, Seungmin is given free rein to distract himself while Minho quote-unquote “Works on self therapizing”.

Minho puts on the first thing he sees on his Netflix homepage like he’s trying to keep a child busy with baby sensory content. Seungmin has no trouble complying once he realizes it’s a reality dating show, and therefore exactly what’ll keep him distracted.

Sitting still and quietly watching a show is not enough for Seungmin’s desire to be stimulated from every direction, so he finds himself browsing Minho’s shelved displays – the most personal part of his place thus far, apart from his cats and their dedicated space.

Minho’s bookshelves are organized like the sections of a bookstore; there’s one dedicated to fiction novels, one for existentially-challenged memoirs, and one for textbooks on education and early development. 

He has a cat-shaped savings box, a small globe of constellations, pots of origami flowers labeled with crayoned names, and stacks of displayed cards with wobbly illustrations. Seungmin realizes the last shelf he lingers on is just of kid-crafted memorabilia, made personally for Minho to display proudly. The insinuation makes him angry and riddled with devastation all over again, so he stops browsing there.

He finds himself roaming until he’s stopped in front of Minho’s small workstation, leaning against the kitchen island Minho has treated as a prep station. The wafting scents that’d been fainter just moments ago lift to envelop his senses more completely, and Seungmin feels like he’s been transported back home for a bit. The spiced, sour pinch of kimchi brine lingers in the air, along with the overpowering aroma of gochujang and green onions. Seungmin knows he doesn’t have to be hungry at all to have a taste for such familiar components.

‘Hyung, can I ask you something?’ He asks, instead of opting for his initial question of how much longer Minho would take – both because he would probably throw a utensil at him for it and because their time crunch is obvious enough.

Minho sniffles, having just shaken a sprinkling of packeted gochugaru into the bubbling pot of red-orange stew he’s steadily stirring. He hums, seeming like he expects Seungmin to ask him something stupid, which he can’t fault him for.

‘What’s your teaching philosophy?’ 

He thinks of the books on Minho’s shelf.

The ones about the integral stages of a child’s development. The selectiveness of educational systems, or the exclusion of attempting to be inclusive in the weight of educating children with special needs, or the opposite effects of gifted programs. He wonders if his mother has ever philosophized on these things. The cards on Minho’s shelf. The shooting star on his arm. 

‘What do you mean?’ Minho asks, caught off-guard by the abruptness of Seungmin’s query. 

‘I mean,’ Seungmin pauses to mull it over because he’s not quite sure what he means and why he means it, ‘I mean, like, you’re meant to work around really young kids. Is there a specific way you’ve decided to conduct your teachings?’ 

Minho should rightfully have more to follow Seungmin’s out-of-left-field line of questioning, but he wordlessly motions him forward with a sluggish gesture. Seungmin, accustomed to his forthrightness by now, follows through. 

Being on the other side is slightly thrilling because Seungmin has quite literally been banned from stepping too close to the proximity of any of the kitchen appliances on his floor. And also because it reveals that Doongie and Dori have been silently watching Minho cook, entranced by the seemingly mundane activity. He bends down to give Dori a scratch between the ears. Doongie looks back at him, disinterested. Seungmin decides not to try his luck with him.

Minho doesn’t waste any more time. He unties his waist apron and shuffles forward to wrap it around Seungmin, instead.

Seungmin instinctively leans back when he realizes Minho is edging too close not to force him into regenerating a lot of particular memories concerning proximity.

He barely utters his words without stuttering, ‘I can put that on myself.’ 

‘If you were one of my kids, I’d be helping you put this on.’ Minho clarifies. 

Seungmin is so busy mentally slapping himself to think about the implications of those words.

‘Okay,’ Minho straightens after bending down slightly to secure the cloth around Seungmin’s waist. ‘Now, just try your best to follow my instruction.’ 

Seungmin nods like a helplessly thoughtless dog. 

He pulls him back toward the island, in front of a chopping board wherein half of a daikon radish sits next to a large knife. Seungmin gulps at the sight, remembering his history with knife-based accidents. 

‘It’s okay,’ Minho tells him, ‘I know you must be worried. Why don’t you try something simple, like cutting it into circles?’ 

Seungmin hesitantly hums. He reaches for the knife, wincing when he hears it slide across the board and tries his best to position it against the vegetable in a way that doesn’t make him look like an actual kindergartener. 

‘Okay, I’ll stop you there,’ Minho already interjects, ‘only because I don’t want you hurting yourself. You see that?’ 

He points at the positioning of Seungmin’s other hand from the point at which it’s attempting to steady the vegetable. He has his thumb looped around the underside.

‘If you started cutting it with your fingers there, you could end up with a really nasty cut and a very big ouchie.’ 

Seungmin frowns, somehow unoffended by the elementary language. ‘Oh. Right.’

‘That’s okay. Now you know not to do that.’ Minho motions with his own hand while he continues explaining, ‘Instead, just to make sure not to nip one of your fingers, curl them like this, and press down like this.’ 

He helps Seungmin mimic the description with his own hand and then asks him to try cutting it again. Seungmin bites his lip, more concentrated than he’d ever anticipated being, and clumsily presses down at the handle. He comes away with no ouchies but a very badly sliced circle. 

‘Do you see anything wrong with your slice?’ 

‘It’s uneven,’ Seungmin looks closely at it, ‘and somehow both too thick and too thin.’

‘That’s right. And it’s good that you could spot that. See, the problem is how you’re gripping the knife,’ 

Minho’s engrossed state as a teacher is a bit scary, if only because it’s directed at Seungmin. Still, he feels somewhat like he’d appreciate getting lessons like this one with everything else he sucks at in life.

Minho’s hand shadows over his, pointing out his mistakes and miming the proper way of gripping the knife and motioning his cuts. Seungmin is so caught up in the geniality of his voice, his words, and his patience that he knows immediately if he had a teacher like Minho, he too would’ve made cards and origami flowers for him. 

‘Are you still listening?’ Minho asks, and truthfully, he isn’t. 

‘How much time do we have left?’ Seungmin asks, evading the question this time. 

Minho furrows his eyebrows but catches up to him more quickly than Seungmin would have if it were the other way around. He rushes back to the stove, lifting the pot’s lid and adjusting the burner’s heat while Seungmin shakes off any remnant endearment still lacing his stride. 

He checks the time while Minho rushes to lift the pot away and place it on a silicone mat. At the risk of possibly ushering away Minho’s steadily built tolerance for him thus far, he decides to help by rummaging through his cabinets for bowls and utensils. 

‘We have twenty minutes left.’ He tells him, having successfully fished out two pristine bowls and collected the necessary cutlery from a drawer. 

Minho is lifting the pot again to take it to his living area, with silicone holders gripping either side. Seungmin hastily follows him with his collected cutlery and notices that Doongie and Dori are following them, too. He wonders if they naturally tag along with Minho’s everyday activities whenever he’s at home. He notices Soonie padding out of an open room, joining them as Minho sets his steaming pot of jjigae down on the low coffee table before settling down before it. 

The table sits at Seungmin’s waist when he crouches down. It’s the perfect height for a hearty, sit-down meal. He tries not to think about how domestic the scene feels. The muted sound of the tv makes up the foreground noise while Seungmin offers to serve a helping of the stew for Minho first, thanking him for the meal whilst the sight of its swirling contents and intoxicating smell makes him want to drown in it before he can even gulp down the first spoonful. 

Any promise of strategizing while they can flies out of the window once they start eating. The silence between them is one he can appreciate, especially as he’s too busy feeling so heartily warmed from the inside-out to feel anything other than positively about the current situation. 

‘I wish I could’ve had more time,’ Minho says halfway into their meal, ‘I would’ve made us some rice. Some side dishes too.’ 

If Seungmin had a lock of hair that went past his shoulders, he’d be curling a finger around it surreptitiously when he says, ‘Maybe when all of this is over, I can come over again, and you can do that.’ 

Minho doesn’t say anything at first; perhaps that should be Seungmin’s distinct signifier to stop talking. But he continues anyway.

‘I can help next time around now that I know how to cut a radish.’ 

Minho chuckles at that. Seungmin feels oddly proud at having elicited a chuckle that held no snark in it for once.

‘You stopped listening halfway through my lesson,’ He says. ‘But yes. That would be nice. When all of this is over.’ 

The clock strikes 12 just as Seungmin lifts his spoon again.

3.6 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party, Status: Present, Time: 10:28 PM

Bathroom walls. Pink drink. Queasy feeling. You know the drill. 

Seungmin knows he should be more acquainted with his fate-tied redos, but the feeling of tearing through space and time just to be relocated in the same atrocious setting never gets easier.

He’s glad neither he nor Minho has to communicate the next plan of action before they’re already sneaking through the back door.

(The action plan is that they’re sick of this party and don’t want to be in the frat house any longer than necessary).

‘Mute your phone.’ Minho tells him once they’re situated in his car again. He’s already turned on the ignition and begun backing out of the driveway by the time Seungmin has done as much. 

‘Woah, slow down; I don’t have it in good faith that if we die, the night will just loop again.’ Seungmin immediately rushes to secure his seatbelt. 

‘Do you still feel unsafe in my car?’ 

‘Well,’ Seungmin’s words hitch in his throat, ‘you did admit to being in the wrong.’ 

Minho scoffs, an airy laugh following his deposition of disbelief, ‘I thought we were beginning to see eye-to-eye, Kim Seungmin.’ 

‘We are, but I don’t have to love your driving, and you still exclusively refer to me by my full, legal name.’

‘So?’ Minho shakes his bangs out of his eyes, ‘What am I supposed to call you? Seungmin-ie?’ 

Seungmin falls silent. Why the fuck would he say that? 

‘Or just Seungmin. Seungmin-ah. I don’t know. Be normal, maybe.’ 

‘That’s: be normal, Hyung, to you.’ Minho reminds him, ever the advocate for manners.

‘Where are we going?’ Once he realizes he’s allowed Minho to drive him toward an undisclosed location again. ‘Back to your place, again?’ 

‘No.’ Minho says. Seungmin is a little disappointed. Not just because he’s already mourning the last bit of jjigae he never got to finish off but because he had been hoping to make a better first impression with Minho’s cats.

‘We’re scouting kindergartens.’ Minho says.

Seungmin pauses to think about his words. He’s disappointed to find that he has no idea what the fuck he could be referring to upon further inspection. 

‘Scouting kindergartens?’ 

‘Yep.’ Minho confirms. ‘Listen, the only downfall in my life at the moment is the fact that my primary employers are homophobic, and you said that I was better off looking for the right places, so…,’

Much to Seungmin’s confusion and utter dismay, Minho leaves his sentence unfinished, as if enough context clues existed for the rest to be filled in.

‘So, what? What kindergarten is open to be scouted this late at night?’

Seungmin’s valiant question is met with a silence that feels intentionally malevolent. He looks over to assess Minho’s expression, only to find that he’s begun wearing a smug smile that Seungmin can only interpret as trouble.

‘No kindergartens are open to be scouted this late at night. It would be insane if any were.’ Seungmin articulates with himself, ‘I mean– you know that, obviously, so do you mean that we’ll just be doing it all online, or–?’ 

‘I mean, sure. That’s part of it. ’ Minho nods, his eyes catching onto casted moonshine and blurring street lights. They pass over a speedbump, and the motion of dropping and lifting carries into Seungmin’s chest. ‘But I also hoped to use the time to inspect the premises as much as possible.’ 

Seungmin is quiet as he attempts to derive any amount of coherence from Minho’s words. His conclusion is shortsighted.

‘You want us to break into them?’ 

Seungmin can hear Minho’s smile leave his face. The draftiness of the air blowing in from the car fans somehow expands tenfold. He kind of wants him to crash the car now.

‘Kim Seungmin,’ Minho starts, the spriting force of an impending fit of laughter already evident in his voice. ‘I meant that we could inspect them from the outside .’ 

‘Oh, right, that makes more sense.’ Seungmin awkwardly laughs into his palms, attempting not to melt into his seat.

‘You thought…,’ Minho begins, but is already interrupted by a fresh set of lively giggles, ‘You thought– I mean, no, you were basically on board with the idea.’ 

‘I was not– I was going to dispute it, actually!’ Seungmin rushes to defend himself, but it’s to no avail, as Minho has already begun ludicrously bursting into maniacal laughter. 

‘It is not that funny.’ Seungmin crosses his arms over his chest, pouting at the window like the moon will appease his embarrassment.

‘It is so funny; I mean, this is in the context of me being an educator ,’ Minho is interrupted by another simpering stretch of tee-hees. ‘You would be okay with breaking into a bunch of schools for me, Seungmin-ie?’

Seungmin, in an attempt at masking his mortification with aggravation, trains his eyes on the car next to them and groans childishly. ‘Can we please get back on topic?’ 

‘Yes, of course, but if you get the sudden urge to climb over the gates whenever we stop by one, just let me know.’ 

Seungmin does not respond.

‘Okay, I’ll stop laughing at you,’ Minho says, but then chuckles shortly thereafter like he’s getting it all out of his system, ‘I do still need your help with the scouting part, though.’ 

Seungmin hums, ‘You need me to look up any ones that are nearby?’

‘Yes, but I also need you to, I don’t know, run a quick background check on the ones you do find. See if you can determine if they’re…,’ 

‘Homophobic?’ 

‘I was going to say inclusive, but yeah.’ 

Seungmin frowns at his phone, attempting to ignore the mini mirage of missed messages and calls from Jisung under his Do Not Disturb banner, and thinks about how he’d go about completing Minho’s request.

‘How the hell am I supposed to figure that out?’ 

‘I don’t know; derive context clues, pay attention to the rhetoric used on any About sections,’ Minho swiftly lists off, ‘I mean, you’re studying to be a journalist, aren’t you? Just pretend like you’re doing research for a “ Top 10 Queer-Inculsive Kindergartens ” article.’ 

Seungmin scoffs, entirely offended, ‘I’m studying to be a serious journalist, not a WatchMojo variant.’ 

‘What about WatchMojo isn’t serious to you?’ Minho asks, somehow sincerely, ‘Anyway, you get what I mean. This should be your forte.’ 

It’s mostly because Minho has decided to place a sterling level of trust in Seungmin for this portion that he’s quick to jump onto his phone and begin tip-tapping away at his search bar, scrolling and scrolling through a multitude of websites for any insinuation of open tolerance.

The closest he gets in his quiet search is with one called the “Happy Sun Fields Kindergarten” because it seemed like it was using gender-neutral terms to refer to parents looking to apply their children, but then Seungmin stumbles on its two-page long “Our Standards on Religious Integration” and decides against looking into it anymore. 

It feels like all hope is lost until Seungmin’s deeper digging – looking through a local Facebook forum – takes him to the “ Shining Stars Learning Center ” website.

‘I think I may have found a good place,’ Seungmin tells Minho after being leant quietude to browse and conduct his extremely advanced research. ‘Hear me out on this; It seemed at first like it was one of those snobby, we only let in kids with wealthy parents places, but–,’ 

‘Sounds great so far.’ 

‘–If inclusiveness is what you’re aiming for, it seems pretty intent on it. It’s called the Shining Stars Learning Center , and–,’ 

‘Oh, no, not that one.’ Minho quickly evades, ‘Anything else?’

‘What, why?’ Seungmin frowns at his phone, ‘They seem perfect. They have an inclusion specialist, a variety of learning aids, tranquility spaces – whatever that means,’

‘It’s just a room they let kids cool off in whenever they’re overwhelmed or need to resolve an issue.’ 

‘So you’ve already seen the place,’ Seungmin reasons, ‘I don’t get it; it sounds great. What were its faults?’ 

‘It’s not as embracing as it prides itself to be,’ Minho’s tone is poignantly short. It seems like he doesn’t have anything else to say but quickly adds on. ‘I used to attend it.’  

Seungmin peels his eyes away from the screen, attempting to gauge Minho’s expression in the wake of this admission. He looks mildly aggravated, clenching his jaw like one would after trying a too-sour candy.

‘Oh,’ Seungmin says, unable to decide if he meant to extend an apology or dig deeper. Ultimately, he decides he’s well within the right to do the latter. ‘Well, is it just the thing of feeling awkward about teaching at the place you attended, or…?’ 

‘I asked you if there was anywhere else.’ Minho dodges.

Seungmin sighs. ‘No, Hyung, there is literally nowhere else within a 5-to-15-minute radius that holds a candle to this one. Will you please at least explain to me what your problem with it is?’ 

‘20 minutes is fine, too,’ Minho says. However, he seems to read Seungmin’s silence as one of vexation, so he manages to answer his question. ‘It’s like you said. It’s just a snobby school for wealthy parents to drop their kids into in place of doing any of the parenting part themselves.’ 

‘ Oh .’ Seungmin exhales. He internally negotiates how he wants to respond to that admission, his eyes awkwardly roaming about the space whilst Minho makes no motion of unloading anymore of his undealt baggage. 

‘Do you think that maybe…,’ Seungmin cringes, feeling extremely unequipped for this conversation, ‘that may have just been your specific…,’ 

Minho looks to the side momentarily to watch Seungmin wildly gesticulate instead of saying anything potentially insensitive. He rolls his eyes, ‘My specific situation?’ 

‘Yeah?’ Seungmin unconfidently confirms.

Seungmin is about ready to drop the subject and extend his search to farther establishments, but then he hears the chiming of a turn signal and realizes Minho is pulling over by the side of the road.

He waits patiently, watching Minho sigh into his raised palm whilst the rumbling of the engine dissipates, and the sound of cars zooming past them carries through more succinctly. 

‘I’m going to be extremely vague,’ Minho starts, fiddling with his fingers, intent on avoiding Seungmin’s eyes. ‘Because I don’t really want to open up to you right now, and I have a therapist for that.’ 

‘That’s fine!’ Seungmin rushes to insert.

‘There was a point in time where I was able to talk to my teacher about my,’ Minho pauses, looking around him like something will remind him of his words, ‘home situation, and it resulted in her prescribing the idea of family therapy, but all it did was give my parents more of an excuse to argue all the time.’ 

Seungmin isn’t sure why, but his first thought is to say, ‘Are your parents divorced, too?’ 

‘No,’ Minho looks straight at him this time, a chuckle threatening to lift past his lips, probably having expected Seungmin to default into sorrowful pity. ‘But they should be. I mean, they hate each other. And all that therapy idea ever did was make that more prolific.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Seungmin says, more closely in response to his mistake than to the situation described, ‘I mean, my parents have been divorced for most of my life, and getting them in one place is always a recipe for disaster, but–,’ 

‘You’re gonna try telling me that it wasn’t her nor the therapist’s fault, even though the situation was left worse in the end by her intervention, aren’t you?’

Seungmin frowns, ‘Um, well, yeah.’ 

‘Um, well, my therapist has already tried that on me several times,’ Minho says, seemingly aware of the irony in that sentiment. ‘Whether I can find catharsis in that doesn’t matter. I don’t want to teach at that place. That’s it.’ 

Seungmin leans forward in an attempt at carrying over any amount of serenity in his next proposition. He tries his best to meld his tone into a quieter, more placating one. 

‘Why don’t you take us there, anyway? I mean, maybe seeing it again will help change your tune?’ 

Minho looks at him. There’s a crease between his eyebrows and a slight pout in his little frown. Seungmin, completely leaning into the insanity of his choices as of late, does the first thing that springs into his mind and holds a hand out before gently patting Minho’s head.

As he does this, he sees Minho’s expression shift from slight irritation to confusion and finally to plain astonishment. His usually feline stare looks more deer-like.

‘What are you doing?’ He asks simply.

‘You-you said,’ Seungmin’s one strain of confidence begins slowly ebbing out of his system, ‘you said that when your cats are– I’m doing the thing you did earlier,’ 

Minho arches an eyebrow, smiling despite himself, ‘I don’t feel much better, Kim Seungmin, but thanks for trying.’ 

Seungmin nods, just about ready to throw himself out of the car when Minho restarts his engine, the rumbling of which reminds Seungmin they’re still on the side of an operating road. 

‘Just for your gall, I’ll do it.’ He says as they finally land back on the moving street.

‘We’re seeing the school?’ 

‘Sure,’ Minho nods, although his tone contradicts his words. ‘And who knows, maybe I’ll get my closure out of indulging in some property damage.’

Seungmin hopes he’s joking.

PART 4: Déjà Vecu

4.1 - Setting: Shining Stars Learning Center, Status: Present, Time: 11:08 PM

It turns out that Minho’s maybe-joke of having to break into his old preschool to accomplish catharsis is not one that they even have the option of exacting.

This much was not evident whenever Minho had begun rounding his way nearer to school premises, pointing out the big string of letters making up its signage. From that distance, the dark helps turn attention away from the fact that the gates are open, so you can imagine the duo’s state of confusion upon catching said sight and having to approach from the back so as not to be spotted snooping around the open premises.

Minho swiftly parks them under a shaded tree and pulls out a pair of small binoculars from the passenger seat compartment without warning or explanation. Seungmin watches him, minutely stunned, whilst Minho discreetly zeroes in on the school’s main entrance, ‘There are two guards posted outside. It looks like they may be hosting an exclusive event.’ 

Then, he lowers the mini binoculars and directs that fiery stare of impatience in Seungmin’s direction, ‘What are you waiting for? I asked you to look into it.’

‘Yeah, um,’ Seungmin smartly refocuses, thinning the ‘O’ shape his mouth had taken on. ‘Just curious, why do you own a pair of binoculars?’ 

‘Kim Seungmin, please focus.’ Minho grunts.

Seungmin innocently hums, pocketing the query for later, and turns back to his handy phone and its informative sources. He does the first thing his mind supplies as a solution and clicks on the link redirecting him to the center’s Facebook page. And then he waits not a second longer as all the information they require pours through the first scroll.

The odds of a children’s learning center hosting a parent-teacher charity banquet as late into the night as a frat party on their looped night are low, but apparently not impossible. 

Seungmin relays this information to Minho as he reads it and watches his features gradually twist as if controlled by a rotating lever. 

‘A parent-teacher charity banquet.’ Minho baffles, ‘To fund what? Tranquility room expansion?’ 

Seungmin squints at his screen, ‘Um, actually, they’re raising money for children in foster care.’

Minho goes quiet, evidently stumped from responding snarkily in the name of a good cause. Seungmin lets them sit in the solemn quiet, waiting with pronounced difficulty for Minho to propose anything. Eventually, Minho sets the binoculars down, looks right at him, and says, ‘Today’s your lucky day, Kim Seungmin. We’re finding a way in.’ 

Although Seungmin would like to believe that a version of these next events could’ve been smarter and handled more tactically, he is resigned to admitting that they did have to break in. 

Minho lays down the groundwork for their tangled plan whilst they hide out in his car. ‘We find a way in, hide in plain sight, and spy on conversations between faculty and parents. I get to decide if I can morally align myself with them. The night loops before we get caught. Everyone’s happy.’ 

‘I’m not!’ Seungmin exclaims. ‘That is a terrible plan. Besides the fact that I’m not sure why you’re so confident we can get through a gated building–,’ 

‘I have that covered.’

‘–how will we not be drawing attention to ourselves? You don’t think they’ll wonder about the two randos showing up an hour and a half into an active event with a guest list?’ 

‘Oh my God, Seungmin-ah, use your brain,’ Minho taps Seungmin’s forehead a few times, eliciting a frown from the receiver. ‘What would characters in a movie do in pursuit of trying to infiltrate a party?’ 

Seungmin dumbly stares at him, ‘I don’t know, hide in a dining cart.’ 

‘No,’ Minho says, tone heavied by exhaustion. ‘We disguise ourselves as someone in the catering party. Or as cleaning staff. Simple.’

Seungmin stares at him with his eyebrows furrowed, both frustrated by the implication that this is Minho’s obvious solution and that they could somehow manage a heist-like strategy like that.

‘This isn’t a movie.’ 

‘Oh, I’ve heard that one before,’ Minho swats Seungmin’s reminder like it’s a fly on his cheek. ‘Look, worst case scenario; we get arrested, and then what, the night loops before we can be taken to the nearest station?’

‘Why do we always assume the incoming problem will be solved once the night loops? What if the night doesn’t loop, and it ends there?’

‘You don’t have to do this,’ Minho tells him, ‘I can go in alone. This isn’t even your problem.’ 

Minho’s tone is resolute. His eyes are shaded by so much surrounding darkness that they should be hard to read, but they seem to shine with a brighter resilience when splayed against the inky tincture of night. 

The relentless nature of his tone, stance, and stare should make Seungmin feel as if his words are meant to be traded with malice. Like he’s attempting to tell Seungmin he’d feel more comfortable doing this on his own, anyway. 

Seungmin knows he would’ve read it like that if he had heard it a few nights back. He knows he would’ve had a childishly snide quip ready. But he doesn’t think Minho wants to do this alone. And he doesn’t think he wants to push him away at this moment.

‘Your problems are mine now, too.’ He tells him. ‘How do we get in?’ 

Shining Stars Learning Center’s spirited and colorful exterior is hard not to take notice of, even in the absence of sunlight. Upon getting his first sight of the main building’s entrance and accompanying courtyard, Seungmin is lost for words at the feeling its cute design choices elicit in him. He almost wants to be a kid again just to attend it himself.

The pathway inwards is painted over in neat multi-patterned segments with vibrant pigments of color, sandwiched by neat hedges trimmed to look like green waves. Flower-shaped picnic tables are laid out underneath an area shaded by wooden pergolas on one side, whilst the other houses a small cabin constructed to look like a big dog house, a dedicated spot for scooter parking, a fountain with a winding car track structure, and large steps extending from a grass-carpeted platform. 

Seungmin and Minho are ducking behind a unique structure the former had completely missed through his first-impression examination.

Seungmin naturally assumed that the courtyard would be gated the same way all around but was perplexed to discover that a good portion of it, just in front of the pergola-shaded area, is made up of giant color pencils instead of the customary steel bars. 

‘It’s just really thick wood.’ Minho informs Seungmin whilst he holds a hand to one of the colored pencils, denoting that the width of it is larger than his palm’s. The space between each pencil is not wide enough to slink through, and each one is sturdily sunk into the ground. He can’t fathom why Minho’s decided to test their chances with it. 

‘I need you to give me a boost.’ Minho tells him.

Seungmin stares at the sharp tops of each pencil, the sight of its wooden teeth much more domineering in this context. ‘That sounds like a really bad idea.’ 

‘Not onto the gate. Onto that tree,’ Minho points at the willowy tree conveniently pressed against the rightmost pencil, on the other side of the gate. ‘I’ll scale down, find a way to distract those two guards, and then you can just sneak in.’

‘How the hell are you going to manage to get both of them away from the gates?’ 

‘Leave that to me, Kim Seungmin.’ Minho impatiently motions for him to duck down. 

Minho is smaller and shorter than Seungmin; this gives him the misinformed disillusion of having no trouble hefting him up with his arms, but all it takes is one press of Minho’s raucous boot for Seungmin to begin howling involuntarily.

‘Ouch! Ow, Ou–,’ Seungmin immediately loses hold of Minho, ‘Why would you do that?’ 

Minho violently shushes him, ‘Do what; exactly what we agreed to do?’ 

‘You tried putting all of your weight onto me at once,’ Seungmin whines, ‘your boot alone would have crushed my fingers.’ 

Minho exasperatedly guffaws, but any potentially ensuing argument is cut short when they hear the distinct sound of a foreign voice cutting into the air, farther off and in the direction of the guards’ post.

‘Did you hear that?’ 

And then, another voice, ‘Yeah. I’ll check it out.’

Seungmin and Minho exchange a series of panic-stricken stares and whispers before Minho quickly bends himself down, placing one palm over his other and motioning for Seungmin to use him as a boost.

Seungmin doesn’t have the time to mull over the fact that he’s never had to tack himself onto a tree before nor scale one down, but they can hear footsteps gradually approaching, and Seungmin somehow trusts Minho. So, he sets one foot onto Minho’s step-stool palms before being hastily hoisted upwards – with more ease on Minho’s part than he could’ve managed himself.

Seungmin scrambles to use a gargantuan pencil as a foothold for a moment before, with the most effort he’s ever had to exert onto his unathletic build, curling his arms around a branch and attempting to stronghold himself onto it.

It’s mostly Minho, but he manages to find his grip before scraping to slink himself against the junction between his chosen branch and the tree’s trunk. He takes a moment to breathe at having managed the quick escape and feels a warm sheen on his palms. He assumes it’s just sweat from exerting such groveling effort, but chances a glance upon feeling the dull stinging it was evoking and notices a few small slashes of red on his left palm.

Seungmin dismisses the sight, attempting not to focus his energy on the pangs of pain it was beginning to spread out, and attempts to look over the penciled gates discreetly. Minho isn’t there anymore, but he just briefly catches sight of one guard returning to the main gates. 

‘Didn’t find anything.’ He hears him shout over and is relieved to know Minho wasn’t caught in the act of retreating. But then his relief morphs into a panic. What is he meant to do now? Carry along and infiltrate the building without Minho? Wait for him to make himself known somehow?

Thankfully, it’s not too long until Seungmin receives one primary confirmation when he hears something small knock against his tree and then, quickly thereafter, flit against his head.

‘Ow!’ He manages to only whisper-exclaim this time, rubbing his uninjured hand against the spot, attempting to locate its source.

Thankfully, Minho’s frantic waving makes itself known relatively quickly, and Seungmin peers over another edge to see Minho sheltered further away from the guards’ post.

Minho, whose tinier frame is standing against the steel gates overlooking the eastern parking lot, motions for him to climb down as they meet eyes. Seungmin is momentarily stumped, wondering how to manage this request with one friction-burned hand and no climbing skills to refer to.

But the clock is ticking, and Seungmin guesses if he thinks about it for too long, he’ll feel resigned to spending the next hour clinging to this tree. So, with his cheeks puffed and his heartbeat ringing in his ears, Seungmin stretches one foot forward, attempting to use the next branch down as a foothold. He tries to reposition his arms gently, attempting not to clench his left hand into a protective fist.

His first few tentative steps are shaky, and it causes the weaker branches to quiver and bend in a way that doesn’t feel very reassuring. Every small creaking sound his descent makes echoes louder in his ears than it probably does to the surroundings – if the uninterrupted conversation those two guards are still having is any indication (one of them hates their stepson, and the other is thinking of starting a new life in Canada).

Seungmin is busy clenching two sweaty hands around the scratchy wood of this tree when he hears a closer, whispered ‘Seungmin!’

He doesn’t have to turn to recognize that it’s Minho, who has now returned to his post by the color pencil gates. 

‘What?!’ He whisper-exclaims back. 

‘Just jump down, you idiot.’ 

Seungmin peers down. He is hovering about 6 feet above the ground. 

‘Oh,’ He mutters, scraping down a tad more for good measure before plopping down. He lands with a stumble, and the grass rustles under him. He waits with bated breath when it seems like the guards’ conversation halts until one of them says something about “favorite pizza toppings”, and Seungmin knows he’s in the green.

‘What now?’ Seungmin peers at Minho through the spaces between the giant pencils, remembering the latter’s plan for a distraction.

‘I need you to follow every step exactly as instructed,’ Minho says very seriously. ‘Cross the courtyard and take those large stone steps up. The balcony it’ll take you to has a lookout corner that overlooks a giant glasshouse – hard to miss. Find yourself a rock; there should be one literally anywhere around you because it’s constructed to emulate a zen garden. Aim for the glasshouse. It shouldn’t be too hard to strike it.’

Seungmin remains quiet throughout the entire overview, but when it seems like Minho has nothing more to add, he quickly asks, ‘So, um, what will that do?’ 

‘That is the distraction,’ Minho patiently alludes, ‘You do all of that, and when what should be a huge crash catches their attention, I’ll be able to sneak past them. That balcony extends off a big playroom, so you have a quick in. You can wait for me there.’

Seungmin should have more to say, but Minho has asked him to follow a very concise set of instructions, and they’ve gotten this far. So he merely offers Minho a salute, watches him actually roll his eyes this time, and sets himself in motion.

The large stone-grass steps are on the other side of the courtyard, so Seungmin has to approach them as quietly as is manageable. It helps that the two guards have their backs turned and are engrossed in a conversation that has already swerved topics since the last minute or so. He somehow makes it to the other side without a fatal accident and begins his ascent. As he keeps one uninjured hand on the stone railing and the ground is distanced further from him, he sees Minho’s tiny figure disappear behind a tuft of foliage until he’s completely obscured. 

Never before has climbing a set of steps felt like such a grueling activity. Seungmin suspects the lowness of the stony bannister is for the children’s convenience, but he doesn’t like that he has to hunch so much to not be seen over it.

Although it feels as distressing as the journey upstairs to the frat house’s second floor, he gets there without any qualms and instantly locates the lookout corner. His next objective is to find a rock sturdy and big enough to shatter an entire glasshouse. 

Ok, maybe not the entire structure. Maybe just a significant part of it. Maybe just a large hole will do.

As Minho predicted, finding a good rock does not take long. He sees a small sandbox from which big, smooth rocks are distributed and rake-constructed lines are still imprinted. He holds a few of them to test their weightiness, settling for one just sturdy enough but not so heavy that it’ll derail his throwing arm.

Seungmin steps onto the small lookout platform and spots his target rather quickly. The last time he remembers throwing something and having an aim ready was while practicing his pitching stance with his dad in their backyard.

He wants to shake the memory away as soon as it crawls out from the recesses of his brain but decides he might as well put it to good use. He bends his knees slightly, pitching back to support his throwing arm, and puts all his energy into one flinging motion before he finally sees the rock rapidly hurtling past him.

It lands. The resulting crash reverberates in the air as disparate particles of sound. It feels, to Seungmin, like a stretched echo. One strike bleeding into another, bleeding into another. He’s stunned, instinctively crouching for cover but marveled by what he’d accomplished. His senses return to him as he hears the guards leap into action, and he wonders how far the sound must’ve traveled. If the guest parties were alarmed by the grandness of it. Or a passing car was startled by the suddenness of it. 

At this moment, he is exhilarated. His heart pumps into his chest with pronounced presses. He feels gallant, not scared. Like he’s done something worth his while for the first time in a long stretch of it. As he skitters away, he quietly completes the last of his assigned tasks and twists the handle to the transparent doors that take him inside. 

All is still. He steps further inside while the guards’ urgent hollering shelters away, and his emotions race towards a receding crescendo until he’s plopped down on a puzzle-piece playing mat. There’s a Pompurin plushie on the ground next to him. He picks it up and stuffs his face into it, feeling his cheeks squish against its soft, minky fabric.

He breathes in and feels the memory in his head take shape again. Gaps filling in where he had been trying to filter them out. His father stood so high above him when he was small, but he’s since outgrown him, so the image is hard to construct.

He peels his face away from the plushie’s belly and pats his pocket before pulling out his phone. It’s at 23%, but it’s just enough for him to make a call. He starts typing ‘A…’ and then stops, tapping back into his recent contacts list and pressing the fourth one down.

He hears three long beeps before his mother picks up.

‘Hello?’ 

Seungmin exhales, hugging Pompuring to his chest, ‘Hi, Eomma. What are you doing?’  

‘I was going to watch a movie,’ He can hear the hum of a microwave on her end and the unmistakable popping of popcorn kernels to accompany it. ‘Your sister recommended it. What’s wrong?’ 

Seungmin smiles to himself. It’s not that Seungmin doesn’t call often, but his timing is precarious, and she often presumes he needs something from her urgently in the event that he decides to call rather than text.

‘Nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice,’ He replies, ‘What’s the movie about?’ 

‘It’s a romance comedy. With Julia Roberts and George Clooney. Seungmin-ah, it’s late. Did something happen?’ 

Seungmin inhales, but instead of exhaling with clarity, he catches onto a hitch in his throat. He wonders whether Minho is safe or if he’s just cooped himself into a self-induced panic for no reason. 

His voice wobbles when he says, ‘I just wanted to hear your voice.’

‘Seungmin-ah,’ He hears shuffling from his mom’s side and imagines her sitting down to prepare for whatever will come from his end. He imagines her twisting the necklace in her hand like she always does when she gets nervous or needs to soothe herself. ‘Please tell me what happened. I’m listening.’

‘I just…,’ 

Seungmin can’t know what to say at this moment. There’s too much to say so it’s always been easier to say none of it.

He wants to ask her why every argument they’ve ever had never finds its resolution. He wants to know why he feels like she’s the only person that will ever love him unconditionally but never feels comfortable enough to confide in her. He wants to know why she missed so many of his important debate competitions despite getting a free invite. He wants to know why she didn’t seem to understand how important they were to him. He wants to know why she never even bothered to ask if he wanted to pursue law in the first place. 

His eyes catch onto something. Just barely spotlighted by the slivers of moonlight splintered through the glass panes on the balcony doors. A pair of male dolls are seated on a park bench outside of a mansion-like dollhouse. They’re holding hands, or at least trying their best to with the restrictions of plastic immobility. 

‘I’m gay.’ 

The line stills. The hum of the microwave and the popping of popcorn kernels are clearer now. The ground feels heavier at his feet. The phone is like weighted steel in his hand. He can’t breathe, and yet all he can feel is that he’s breathing.

‘What?’ 

Seungmin stills. He thinks about how this could be another moment to recant. If the night will loop once more and save him from the irreversibility of his words. He finds that having as much take place would be disappointing. This moment feels so harrowing and so right. Calling his mother on the cusp of midnight while she’s getting ready to watch a rom-com. Coming out as if he hadn’t spent long drawls of time dreading having her find out.

‘I’m gay.’ He repeats, more audibly this time.

‘Are– Are you sure?’ He can imagine her twiddling with her necklace, but he’d pay real money to see the expression on her face.

He laughs. His brimmed tears are streaks on his face now, but he’s laughing, and it’s so funny because he’s not scared anymore. 

‘I’m sure,’ Seungmin confirms, continuing despite his mother’s inability to process what he’s talking about completely, ‘I like someone. A boy. I like him a lot.’

She doesn’t say anything. Seungmin hears the four loud beeps from her end and guesses her popcorn is ready. He waits.

‘What’s his name?’ 

‘Minho.’ He answers, opting not to reveal his last name to not delve into the semantics of her knowing exactly who he is. 

‘How do you know?’ She asks, and he doesn’t have to ask her to elaborate.

Seungmin sniffles, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand, ‘When I see him, I think that I never want to be without him.’ 

She exhales with a whimsy that feels less exhaustive and more pensive.

‘Is he good?’ 

Seungmin laughs again, so elated, emotional, and consumed by thrill that he can barely contain it. His mother’s acceptance is quiet in how it presents itself. As is her scorn. As is her anger. As is her happiness. But it’s there, and Seungmin will always know how to detect it. She just needs to know that Minho is a good guy. It’s okay for now that he’s a guy. He just needs to be good.

‘He’s great. He’s smart and caring and really sweet.’ In a way that is quiet, he thinks. Minho is quiet in the way he does things too.

‘Okay,’ She says, her voice small, ‘Seungmin-ah, I will try to understand. I’m sorry. This is hard for me.’

He thinks about his mother’s wishes for a daughter-in-law, numerous grandchildren, and a big family. How devastated she was that Seungmin didn’t get the typical arrangement growing up. He wants to tell her he never thought their family felt distorted. He wants her to know so much but can’t say it all at once. 

‘I know. It’s okay.’ He nods, although she can’t see him. He can hear something outside. It’s muffled, but it’s clearly headed towards this room. ‘I need to go now.’

He thinks she’ll try to end the call normally to gauge a sense of routineness to the otherworldly chat they’d just had. 

‘Please visit soon,’ She tells him, ‘I’m lonely here. I want to talk more.’

His heart twists, and the strings holding it up feel like loose ribbons, ‘I will. I promise. Bye-bye.’

‘Bye.’ She hangs up first. He thinks of it as letting her end the conversation on her own terms. He imagines this much is necessary when dropping important news like that onto someone.

The lowly rumbling outside finally makes itself known. Thankfully, Seungmin’s initial suspicion is right, and it’s just Minho, who he can see attempting to nudge the door open whilst wheeling in a big janitor’s trolley.

‘Hey, sorry if it felt like I took too long. I had to find a janitor’s closet. This place is a maze, and I went here when I was 5, so,’ His speech is halted once he’s gotten closer to Seungmin’s seated frame. 

Seungmin is attempting to casually wipe the salty streaks from his cheeks, hoping the lack of proper illumination will back him up. It doesn’t.

Minho looks at him. He crouches down so he’s not awkwardly hovering over him, and tilts his head like he’s assessing the damage, ‘Hey. Are you ready to go?’

Seungmin watches his eyes carefully. Minho’s question is simple, but not careless in its delivery. He waits patiently to hear from him, and Seungmin guesses however he chooses to respond will tell Minho whether he’ll want to be consoled or treated indifferently.

Seungmin is not an emotional person. He’s cried, and he’s felt, and he’s lived without reservation, but he is not ordinarily consumed by the heft of his emotions. In the past 5 minutes alone he’s felt elation, whiplash, fear, and a melancholy twisted with passion. He wants nothing more than to, from here, return to the adequate normalcy of what infiltrating a private event entails.

‘Yeah,’ Seungmin answers simply, smiling in a way that he hopes doesn’t look purposefully faux. He adds on, ‘I called my mom.’ 

Minho tilts his head, ‘Was it a good call?’ 

‘It was, I think.’ Seungmin nods rapidly. A few stray leaves fall from his hair. ‘I think it tied up some loose ends.’ 

‘Good.’ Minho says, ‘In the name of getting out of the loop, of course.’ 

‘Of course.’ 

He reaches out to help Seungmin up, who is a little sad to have to leave Pompurin behind. Unfortunately, Minho’s stupidly ambidextrous self can use either hand to reach for Seungmin’s, and because he chooses the right one this time, he accidentally grips his injured hand which elicits a sharp yelp.

Minho stares down at the few red dots transferred onto his palm and slowly turns Seungmin’s clutched palm to stare back at the damage, ‘You’re hurt.’ 

‘Yeah, just a bit.’ Seungmin attempts to dismiss it, although he’s wincing. ‘From the tree. It’s fine.’ 

‘I know where the nurse’s office is. It’s on the way to the party’s venue. I could patch you up.’ 

‘Uh, no, it’s really fine,’ Seungmin pulls his hand away, almost wishing to see Minho back to calling him an idiot for having trouble dropping down from a tree. ‘Plus, we’re on a tight time limit.’ 

He’d just checked the time on his phone. It’s 11:33. He knows they’re at risk of getting charged for trespassing and private property damage, but he almost doesn’t want the night to loop. Mostly because he’s afraid if it only lives in his head, it’ll have never really happened.

Minho begrudgingly agrees, but his eyes linger on his hand as they get up. He motions to the cart, ‘There are two janitorial uniforms in there. I’m guessing we can inconspicuously get in and start cleaning something up.’

Seungmin isn’t entirely sure what Minho wants to get out of eavesdropping on guests at this party, but his desire for the adventure’s completion hasn’t dissipated, and he knows this is Minho’s time for clarity. He’s also stopped giving a shit, so even as Minho tells him he can try putting the uniform on over his clothes, he begins undressing in the open.

‘Wow, look at you, all grown up.’ Minho teases, despite the fact that they’ve both turned away. For decency’s sake, or something like that. 

Once dressed, with Seungmin’s extra accessory being a pair of gloves and Minho pushing the cart next to him, they make their leave. The halls are dully lit, but Seungmin still uses the opportunity to look around him. What he sees of it is unironically prettier than his college’s interior. 

Pretty embellishments grace the walls; wooden flower-like structures with cubbies for personal items. Dangling, multicolored lanterns. Tarps of storybook paintings. Plywood chairs that emulate beanbags. 

Seungmin really, actually wants to go here.

Minho seems to navigate the diverging paths quite well, or at least does a good job of acting confident in their trek. He finds an elevator at the end of one hallway and whispers, ‘Finally’, which tells Seungmin it’s the latter.

Once on the ground floor, their trek resumes and it all goes by so smoothly that once they begin hearing signs of other life, Seungmin realizes that he has reason to be more cautious. He is, after all, cosplaying as a janitor, and he knows nothing about what it takes to take on the job.

‘Down there,’ Minho points to their next turn, ‘are you ready?’ 

Seungmin neglects the use of speech and nods instead. The sound of chatter grows as they turn the corner. Two wide doors are flung open, and its ensuing brightness hits them so abruptly that Seungmin feels like he’s crossed into daylight. 

Along with the chatter, the sound of polite laughter and plate clanging reverberates in viral patterns, while simple orchestral music plays in the background. Minho and Seungmin stand out pretty obviously, but because the universe decides to aid their struggles, a woman expectantly rushes toward them.

‘There you are! We’ve been waiting for ages. Clean up that mess over there, will you?’ 

She doesn’t have a British accent, but she speaks with the condescending poshness that some of them have. Her lanyard-held ID badge helms the title “Event Coordinator”. 

‘Right away.’ Minho tells her before Seungmin can say something stupid.

Ironically, the mess she points them to is that of the shattered shards of an expensive-looking wine bottle and its crimson contents. 

‘I hope they don’t assign us to clean after the glasshouse, too.’ Minho mumbles, rummaging through a compartment on their dutiful cart before successfully locating a dustpan. 

‘I’ll pick up the bigger shards.’ Seungmin assigns for himself, motioning at his safety gloves. 

After a few seconds of glass picking, Seungmin thinks he could work as a janitor. Maybe for a day before it inevitably becomes unbearable.

‘About the glasshouse,’ Seungmin says, careful not to lean his knees against the ground. ‘How will that be dealt with? Do you think the people here know about it?’ 

‘I don’t think they’d want them to,’ Minho shakes his head, sweeping the smaller shards onto his pan. ‘It’s an exclusive event. They probably don’t want to freak people out.’ 

‘But aren’t the people here suspects?’ 

‘I think they’d notice if someone snuck out,’ Minho shrugs, ‘or at least they think they would’ve. In any case, they’re probably still scouring the grounds, and I doubt they’d bring that here.’ 

Seungmin relaxes. He may have found his unlawful act to be exhilarating, but the looming knowledge of having done it is flustering. He is figuratively and literally red-handed.

By the time most of their glass is swept up, and Seungmin decides to take on mop duty, Minho looks up and freezes, unreceptive for a few seconds.

‘What’s wrong?’ Seungmin asks, attempting to meet his line of gaze.

‘That hag is still working here?’ He’s looking at a woman wearing a long, flowy skirt and a turquoise blouse. ‘My God, some people really don’t know when to quit.’ 

‘Who’s that?’ Seungmin asks, attempting to coolly lift the cart’s mop from its bucket with the nonchalance of someone that has done this many times before. He starts scrubbing the floor.

‘The teacher that contacted my parents and suggested family therapy,’ Minho’s eyes are now squinting into dagger-like slits. ‘Also known as the root of my problems.’

Seungmin bites his lip, thinking about the conversation with his mother, ‘You should talk to her.’ 

‘You sound like my therapist.’ 

‘Is that a bad thing?’ Seungmin cautiously asks, ‘I mean, look, I don’t know about you, but the only conversations I’ve eavesdropped on so far have been pretty boring and reveal nothing, so,’

He doesn’t finish his sentence, settling for generally gesturing in her direction. 

‘I’m not going up to her,’ Minho decides, ‘that’d be awkward. If she somehow finds herself in this general area, then maybe I’ll consider it.’ 

Seungmin glances next to him. They’re standing next to a table of pristine hors d'oeuvres and various refreshments. He’s guessing the odds of this happening aren’t as vastly low as Minho is making it out to be.

Minho is busy checking for remnants of smaller glass pieces, and Seungmin is taking his mopping so seriously that neither of them notices when a lady in a turquoise blouse stalks up to them.

‘Do one of you gentlemen mind passing me that plate?’ She asks, keeping away from the infested area.

Minho is struck with a glaring inability to say anything, so Seungmin politely nods and extends it towards her. She places a few of the assorted finger foods onto her own plate and is about to leave when Seungmin directs a quickly acknowledged glance in Minho’s direction.

‘Wait!’ Minho yelps, springing up. 

Thankfully, this only catches her attention and doesn’t result in the room-spread silence Seungmin would’ve feared. 

‘I was one of your students,’ Minho quickly explains before she can make anything of his exclamation. ‘About 15 years ago. I don’t know if you remember me. My name’s Minho Lee.’ 

‘Oh!’ She brightens up instantly. ‘Well, of course, I do!’ 

Minho smiles, but he doesn’t look like he really believes her. Seungmin doesn’t imagine she’ll know that, as Minho’s aim is probably to seem genial.

‘I took this job because I wanted the chance to really see the school again.’ Minho swiftly lies. It’s convincing, but only Seungmin can detect the increments of weariness in his tone.

‘Oh, that’s very nice.’ She says in the way people do when they’re put in a place to force politeness. 

Seungmin can’t imagine what this must be doing to Minho’s psyche. Whatever Minho’s personal gripe is with his perception of his old teacher and his time here, one central thing remains true; she will forever take up a place on his mind that he could’ve never had in hers. Minho’s decision to become an educator couldn’t have come without the qualms of doing the same to someone else.

Maybe it’s this idea that propels him to do what he does next. Maybe it’s because he can feel that the conversation is going nowhere and will have to end on the premise that Minho is delighted to be here again. He says something stupid without thinking.

‘Minho and I are married.’ 

Seungmin has no idea how she reacts to this information because he looks right at Minho as he says it, and watches the bewilderment strike his eyes in real time.

‘And we’re thinking of admitting our…daughter here.’ Seungmin fills in, unable to backtrack now that he’s made the decision to affront her with an elaborate lie.

He looks at her then, unable to continue addressing the silent perplexity trailing through Minho’s expression. 

She laughs, equally baffled but for a different reason, ‘Well, we could’ve just organized a tour so you could see the premises without having to…work. Have you sent in any applications?’ 

‘We like doing things the unique way.’ Seungmin tells her. He imagines that she fully believes that they’re both messing around and have no intentions of admitting their fake daughter. It doesn’t deter him. ‘And, um, we’re working on that. She’s transferring from another school, after all.’ 

‘Okay, well,’ She smiles in a way that is also just for the sake of politeness, ‘you could speak with Mr Landon, our HR representative. I’m sure he’ll be happy to assist you.’ 

She leaves them with that, scrambling out of sight more hastily than was probably intended, and Seungmin enthusiastically waves goodbye despite the fact that she’s turned herself around.

‘This floor looks plenty clean to me.’ Minho finally says, swiping the mop from Seungmin’s hands and planting it into its designated bucket before taking control of the cart again. He trails forward without another word, and Seungmin expectantly follows.

‘Hyung, are you mad?’ Seungmin attempts to formally assess the consequences of his actions, trying to keep up with Minho’s heightened mobility.

‘No.’ Minho says, and this time, his voice is steadied by an air that Seungmin has now trained himself on learning on his path to understanding all of Minho’s states of being. He’s trying not to laugh. 

He fails in doing so once they’ve made it past the event hall and turn a corner, his giggles spilling into the air and knocking against the walls in echoes. He leaves behind the cart, and before Seungmin can comprehend what he’s doing, he’s being led behind a door.

Minho’s last trickles of laughter sound heartier and less controlled once they’re behind a closed door. Seungmin initially assumes that Minho has just taken them here so he could laugh without restraint until the lights flicker on.

It’s the aforementioned nurse’s office. A few curtained beds make up one half of the room, whilst the other comprises shelves and medical supplies cabinets.

Minho exhales sharply, ‘That was one hell of a story.’ 

Seungmin should be laughing too, but he’s so stunned by himself that all he can feel is trepidation. Like something foreign but not unsightly had been possessing him this past hour. The buzz of his chaotic streak is reaching its state of dejection. 

‘Well, now we know the school would be okay with accepting a same-sex couple’s kid,’ Seungmin rationalizes, ‘so, one way or another, we know that they’d employ you.’ 

Minho hums. ‘That’s gracious. But I still don’t think I’ll be considering them.’ 

He pats the spot on a bed with its curtains drawn back. Seungmin doesn’t even think before plopping down on it, even when Minho turns to inspect the shelves.

‘Is it because of your history with it?’ Seungmin tries to word this carefully.

‘No, not really,’ Minho props a cabinet door open before successfully finding what he’d been seeking and pulling a tin box out. 

‘I think it’s more that I can’t see myself working here.’ Minho says, ‘The only reason I was so adamant on keeping my spot at LilyPads was because I’d already made a connection with the kids. It’s a quiet, small environment. It was good.’

Seungmin remembers the origami flowers and the personal cards on Minho’s shelves. His heart aches. 

Minho has rounded the room back to him, and Seungmin realizes he’s holding a first aid kit. He sets the box down and unlatches it before gently removing Seungmin’s left glove. 

He doesn’t say anything, letting him tend to his little scrapes. They know it’s not necessary. It’s almost 12, and they can just wait it out. But Seungmin isn’t abject to being cared for. 

Minho reaches for a bottle of water on a counter nearby and wets a cotton bud from the kit before padding away at the dirt around his wounds. 

‘Thank you.’ Minho tells him. 

‘For what?’

‘Everything you’ve done for me tonight,’ Minho muses, his voice a willowy melody. ‘I know it wasn’t all just to get out of our situation.’

Seungmin doesn’t know what to say, so he opts for a simple, ‘You’d do the same for me.’

Minho doesn’t meet his eyes but says nothing to allude to denial. He sets the cotton pad down, having thoroughly cleaned off any residual blood and grime. He reaches for antibiotic cream next. 

‘Have you done this before?’ Seungmin finally decided to ask. 

Minho affirms this with a hum. ‘I used to be a camp counselor. I got first aid training to ensure I could patch campers up if they were too far from the nurse’s hut.’

‘You were a camp counselor?’ Seungmin asks, attempting to picture this.

‘When I was in high school.’ Minho clarifies, shaking his head like that time in his life passed decades ago. 

‘You were looking after kids when you were still one yourself.’ 

Minho exhales, ‘I guess that’s true.’

All is still. Seungmin should be riddled with exhaustion from being swept across the hidden patches of time that shouldn’t logistically exist. He should feel weary and bone-tired but he wants nothing more than to get a few more hours of quietude in Minho’s presence.

Though he’s not tired, he’s relaxed. As comfortable as one is in their home, under a warm set of fresh sheets, a long day given away to exhaustion. This state of tranquility only serves to make Seungmin feel that he’s owed the time to finally extend some honesty.

Minho is wrapping a firm gauze around his palm, making him a makeshift glove. 

‘I was going to tell you that I wanted the Spongebob band-aids.’ Seungmin intones in a way that expresses his sore disappointment, ‘You could’ve just plastered a bunch of them on.’ 

‘If I wanted this to be done badly, I’d have just given you the kit to patch yourself.’ 

Seungmin hums, pretending to believe that Minho didn’t just want to retrace his training and play Nurse for a bit.

This is the part where Seungmin’s tongue cannot be held back any longer.

‘Hyung?’ 

Minho hums.

‘I was really disappointed when we didn’t get to kiss in that closet.’ 

Minho hovers over him but Seungmin’s eyes are tacked onto his lap because he’d sooner speak his embarrassing truths than see how someone would facially respond to them.

It’s not too long that Seungmin goes without hearing a response, but the heaviness of his admission is weighing on him badly enough that he decides to keep talking.

‘I couldn’t tell you because I thought I was being selfish,’ Seungmin sighs, ‘I didn’t think it would’ve been a necessary addition to our ploy. I just wanted to kiss you.’

Seungmin has to sit in this grueling confession until Minho sets the kit aside in one tinny motion and takes the spot next to him. Their forms press together in a way that feels befitting, and Seungmin almost forgets to feel frightful for whatever will come next. Minho doesn’t seem like the type to sign his rejections with an ‘I like us as friends.’ 

Seungmin waits for the feeling he got after confessing to Changbin. He waits to be freed from his own delusions and faced with the relief of having his verbalized thoughts sound silly once aired out. All he feels is the intense ache of how much it would suck to have them in an awkward place whilst still under the requirement of cooperation.

‘Seungmin.’ 

Minho’s voice slithers through the fissures left behind from the state of his unruly thoughts. Seungmin is left to relish in the shambles of his sleeve-displayed heart in that dopey way someone does when they’re wearing rose-colored glasses.

‘Would you want to kiss me now?’ Minho’s breath is a wispy spirit, mounted by his whispers and sweetened by toil. Seungmin thinks his presence alone tastes like peaches and cherries and toffee. 

‘I would want to kiss you anytime.’ Seungmin says, although he has to try very hard not to wince at himself. 

There’s more silence.

‘What are you waiting for?’ 

‘Uh– Well,’ Seungmin looks around like he’s being inspected by multiple parties, ‘I didn’t know if…I didn’t want to catch you off guard.’ 

Seungmin’s inability to string his sentences together is stretched thin. Minho smoothes his fingers along his left cheek before leaning his forehead against his. When his lips skate against Seungmin’s, he isn’t smacked with the sense of familiarity he’d anticipated. Nothing about the feeling is anything Seungmin thinks he’ll ever be able to anticipate.

His heart is thrashing against his chest, and Minho is pressed against him; all he can do is breathe. It’s like the tides are crashing over them, but Minho is shielding him with an umbrella, and–

Seungmin finally feels Minho’s lips against his when he’s again thrown into abysmal darkness, down the winding path of reversed time. 

With his feet planted onto new ground, the sensation of a buffeting displacement doesn’t leave behind the thrill of the moment. He’s still exhausted, excited, and complacent, and he sure as hell still wants to kiss Minho.

The cup in his hand is discarded in seconds. He pulls the door handle just as Minho pushes. Neither of them gets a word in before Seungmin is pulling him in. He presses his lips to his, and they kiss in a way that is restless and unrestrained. Seungmin is breathless, but he can’t be because all he can do is breathe Minho in.

They kiss until Minho’s back is against the door, and all Seungmin can feel is his presence molded against him like he was always meant to be there. Until the feeling of Minho’s hands on him would leave him feeling cold without their touch.

They don’t untangle whenever they manage to pull apart. The perspiration on Seungmin’s forehead is as stuck to him as Minho’s hold when he hears him say, ‘Your lips are red.’

4.2 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party, Status: Present, Time: 10:32 PM

Seungmin is enamored. 

He thinks about how it feels to be swept through pockets of time and wonders how doing something as simple as holding Minho’s hand can invoke a feeling so synonymous. 

Standing in his presence feels different now, too. Every part of the space between them is palpable with an energy he’d write love songs about. Seungmin is not a hapless romantic, but he thinks he can become one if it’d make it easier to explain why he can’t stop smiling and why his body feels like it’s full of cottony stuffing.

He’s so riddled with this heedless euphoria that he can imagine himself spending every repeated night with Minho and feeling content with that. The lack of permanence of that image pulls him out of that spell. It’s not too long until they pull themselves out of that dreaded bathroom and scout the billiard room again.

‘It’ll be different this time,’ Minho leans closer to tell him as they snake past the neverending maze of partygoers. ‘We can just let loose. No grand plan. We’re just hanging out with our friends.’ 

Seungmin thinks it should be weird to be in this strange liminal place with someone; where they’ve only just kissed and haven’t come to discuss the terms of what they could be, and are about to step into a space that cordially perceives them as a couple. But then, he remembers the softness in Minho’s grip in his and barely registers the feeling of a cold, metallic ring against his skin until they’re at the door.

Seungmin knows things may look different upon entering. He’s never ventured into the room this soon after the loop’s restart point. But he knows Jisung probably wouldn’t be there yet and doesn’t believe their presence should have any reason to cause an uproar.

The first thing he registers is that Jisung is closest to the door. The next thing he registers is the loud cry of ‘Surprise!’ led by everyone in the room that makes him nearly leap into the air in alarm.

And then every other glaring anomaly stares him in the face at once. A big, gleaming banner is hung against the wall with the hammock that reads “Congratulations!” and the room is adorned with streamers and confetti bombs.

Seungmin and Minho stand idly by the door whilst the room’s occupants whoop and shout and come up to them to yield a smack on the back and an extra, more personal congratulatory note.

Once Jisung is close to him, Seungmin meekly asks, ‘What is this for?’ 

‘Your engagement, of course!’ Jisung excitedly announces. 

Seungmin doesn’t know what the first few thoughts to cross his mind are. He’s unsure if he can tell up from down, and all he can feel is Minho’s hand slowly receding from his and the scrape of a ring against his palm. 

Seungmin lifts his other hand and stares blankly at the ring encased around his fourth finger. He looks at Minho, who is doing the same with his own ringed finger. 

Seungmin excuses the two of them for a moment, trying his best to put on a normal face before secluding them in a corner whilst their friends celebrate a fake engagement.

‘Hyung?’ 

‘Yeah?’ 

‘We’re engaged.’ 

‘Yes, I can see that,’ Minho slips the ring off, inspecting it under a stream of light directed from a karaoke machine in another corner that Seungmin definitely doesn’t remember being there. ‘Oh my God, it’s engraved.’

Seungmin slips his own ring off. The inside is marked with either of their names. There is no escaping this. 

‘Do you think this is because I lied about us being married?’ Seungmin apprehensively asks, weighing the probabilities in his head, ‘Does this mean we have an adopted daughter that we don’t know about, too?’ 

Minho looks at him with begrudging bafflement, ‘I’m sure that’s not it.’ 

‘So then, what do we do?’ 

Minho shrugs, ‘We play along.’ 

Seungmin thinks this has to be the universe’s idea of a good joke. They get paired up as a fake couple? They play along. They actually wind up interested in one another? Now they’re engaged.

Seungmin might have to really propose to Minho for the next loop to hand them a marriage license.

‘Play along?’ 

‘Okay, look, what good has walking away and trying to plan things out resulted in?’

‘I think of our time spent the past few nights as quite valuable.’ Seungmin surmises, forgetting his bewilderment to offer Minho a grin and lean over him like he’s trying to pick him up at a bar. 

Minho looks like he’s trying to feign annoyance, but his crimson ears and bit-down smile say otherwise. Seungmin is already top in his class in the Minhology course. 

‘We didn’t organize this party for you guys to flirt in the corner!’ They hear Jisung bellow from the other side of the room. He’s standing by the karaoke machine, seemingly assessing what it offers for song choice.

‘You didn’t help organize this at all.’ They hear Chris yell back.

‘It’s a party for us.’ Minho reminds him, smile returning. 

Seungmin looks down at his engagement band, twisting it with his thumb. Its cool steel feels as real as everything around him. ‘Okay. Fuck it. Let’s party.’

4.3 - Setting: The Greentrail chapter of Phi Chi Psi Fraternity’s “Homecoming” Party, Status: Present, Time: 10:40 PM

Seungmin doesn’t expect to enjoy a party based on a fake engagement so much. 

They play a few rounds of beer pong despite Seungmin’s earlier gripe with it. Perhaps it's his newly minted confidence that helps him land so many good shots, but he’s happy not to have been put in a place where too many cups of it have to swing down his throat. Minho poses the role of supportive (fake) fiancé quite well, cheering for anyone on the opposing side but offering Seungmin a kiss on the cheek for every cup pounded nevertheless.

Several people take advantage of the karaoke machine, even as its sound quality makes them sound like they’re singing underwater. Seungmin stays away from it until he sees Avril Lavigne’s Complicated on the list of offered songs and simply can’t help himself.

‘You can sing.’ Minho declares to Seungmin after greedily accepting the drunkenly raucous applause following his performance.

‘What? Oh, I like to, yeah.’ Seungmin shrugs. He’d just rejected Hyunjin’s offer for a cannabis gummy and hadn’t drunk much since the game of beer pong, but he feels tipsy with energy. 

‘You have a really nice voice.’ Minho tells him. 

Seungmin remembers watching Minho cheer along with everyone else whilst he had been engrossed in the rousing thrill of singing an Avril song. He remembers almost stumbling over his words, laughing into the mic, and observing how Minho could look in his barest form. He may have been whooping, grinning, and glistening, but he’d be remiss to admit as much after the fact.

They join a game of Uno shortly after. Minho tells him he’ll do everything in his power to beat him and not to expect an easy game, despite the presence of other players. 

A few minutes into the game, Minho hits him with a draw 4 card, so Seungmin rebuttals with another, which leads straight to Chris, who has to draw 8. Minho still takes it as a personal affront, and this amuses Seungmin. 

During the game, people begin asking questions that should incriminate their shared secret. Now that Seungmin has gotten accustomed to it, he responds to every query with the first thing that comes to mind.

Someone asks why they’ve decided to marry so young, and Seungmin reminds them that Queer Americans are quickly losing their rights again, so they’re trying to get it over with.

Someone else asks who proposed first, and because both Minho and Seungmin answer ‘Me’ at the same time, they string together a story about how they’d both gotten rings ready and planned on proposing to one another whilst looking at the jellyfish in an aquarium display.

By the time they’d finished three rounds of the game and successfully foretold a questionable engagement story, neither of them end up winning. Minho says he got close all three times and counts it as a win over Seungmin. He lets him have it.

Seungmin keeps expecting to hit a brick wall at some point into his inceptive party – maybe around when he wholly realizes that they’ve dug themselves into a deeper hole. But even as he’s speeding down an uncertain road with his lights off, the expanse of a looming beyondness doesn’t scare him. 

He’ll let himself freak out later, he thinks. He’ll postpone it for when he’s not pretending to be engaged to the guy he’s unsure where he stands with. If he’s going to be stuck in a cyclic peculiarity, he might as well conduct his first attempt at courting in the most roundabout manner too.

It’s only when Seungmin’s internal clock – which has been toyed with immensely the past few nights – begins winding down that he decides to settle down on a plush cushion under the canopy-covered seating area.

It was three loops back that he was sitting here, instigating an argument with Jisung, trying to address the mental gymnastics of trying not to give into the fact that he’d begun feeling something for Minho that didn’t resemble pure hatred.

Seungmin has a nice view of the entire room’s span from here. Felix is declining Hyunjin’s special gummies, and Seungmin isn’t sure why until he sees them return to Jisung, who begins hashing something out with them passionately. 

With how tumultuous his own navigation with feelings has been, Seungmin is understanding more and more why Jisung must’ve had difficulty explaining his relations with Felix. He’ll have to ask him to divulge more about them sometime soon. Seungmin doesn’t have any plans to start a confrontation again.

He looks around again. Chris is reacting very negatively to Jeongin vaping, but only because the juice he uses is grape-flavored. Ryujin is squeezing gummy bears through the narrow mouth of a vodka bottle, and Chaeryeong is pouring the same choice of poison into an ice cube tray. Seungmin neglects to let her know that it won’t freeze.

Minho joins him after he’s scanned the room, coincidentally emerging from his blind spot. Seungmin remembers how it’d felt to look at him under the dreary lights of a nurse’s room. Or the drabby spotlight of a street lamp. The stages at which his makeup began smearing. The stages at which it went back to being intact again. 

‘You keep messing with your left hand.’ Minho remarks. 

Seungmin hadn’t even realized it, but he’d been routinely smoothing one hand along his left palm, waiting to feel for a gauze that was only ever there for a short period of time wedged between spaces of it that don’t exist anymore.

‘I noticed you keep looking at it,’ Seungmin comments. ‘Almost like you can’t stop yourself from checking on my ailment.’ 

‘You’re hallucinating.’ Minho says, ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Why would you think something’s on my mind?’

‘There’s a lot on my mind,’ Minho blinks an inordinate number of times. He twiddles with the hem of his stained shirt. ‘I’d expect you’d have a lot to think about, too.’ 

Seungmin hums, doing his best impression of someone not too heavily enthused by a conversation not yet had, ‘What’s on your mind, then?’ 

‘I asked first.’

‘I already had to be the one to get you to kiss me.’ Seungmin reminds Minho, succeeding in flustering him despite his pretense of being the one to catch Seungmin off guard.

Minho turns to him. He starts twiddling with the ring on his hand, and Seungmin hates himself for wondering if the version of himself in this timeline had fallen hard enough for Minho to initiate an engagement at 19.

He doesn’t think about the implications of these alternate timelines being as real as the several iterations of his relationship with Minho are.

‘Here’s the thing,’ Minho says, ‘I’m used to being in a controlled state. I attend parties on my terms and am meticulous when forming relationships with people.’ 

‘Relationships of all forms?’ 

‘I think you know what I mean,’ Minho continues, ‘It’s just this thing of wanting things to go as smoothly as possible. I don’t like the chaos of rushing into things.’ 

‘Oh.’ Seungmin frowns, ‘Does that mean you don’t want to…pursue this?’

 ‘Seungmin,’ Minho looks at him, and for the first time in a while, Seungmin cannot decipher what his gaze entails. He quite likes how stuck onto him it is. ‘I don’t normally kiss guys before I’ve gone on a date with them first.’

‘I feel like we’ve been on several dates by now,’ Seungmin mulls it over, ‘I mean, I’ve met your cats and seen your home. You cooked for me. We broke into a school together.’

‘Okay, fine, I guess this situation was a little unconventional.’ Minho peers down at Seungmin’s hand again before twining his fingers through his. Seungmin can more prominently feel how either ring clangs against the other.

‘Whatever this is,’ Minho tells him, ‘I don’t want it to stop there.’ 

Maybe Seungmin doesn’t really want to spend eternity looping the same night, even if it’s with Minho’s company. It’d drive him insane, and he was missing the warmth of sunlight and the knowledge that the days went on and the world kept spinning. 

But he’s in a good place for now. Minho’s presence is one that mercilessly intoxicates him more than any amount of any drink can. All he can think about in the present moment is how happy he feels. 

‘I want to kiss you.’ Seungmin tells him, consciously turning to remind himself of the room’s lively state.

‘Go ahead. I don’t have all night.’ 

Seungmin should have more trouble following through with that proclamation. But then a pretty smile blooms onto Minho’s face, and Seungmin decides it needs watering and presses his lips to his. Minho’s smile dims until he’s softly returning the kiss, a prolonged affair that helps mold the feeling onto Seungmin’s lips long after they pull apart.

Seungmin remembers the press and the graze and the dance even as he dozes off with his head leaning against Minho’s shoulder and his heart spread open.

Seungmin wakes slowly. 

The first thing he registers is the soreness of his muscles. The next is the small heft of weight pressed into his side. He doesn’t sit up or even really manage to screw his eyes open very much, but he manages to stretch his arm out. He feels something weighing over his arm shift at the motion. 

And then his eyes are open. A sliver of light presses into his vision, and he can feel someone’s chest under his head. Their heartbeat is pounding into his ear where he’d customarily hear his own through a pillow. He stretches his legs next, groaning as his muscles adjust to the movement. 

Seungmin sits up, looks down at the vision of a man dozing against him, and observes the signifiers of a party well-had. He still doesn’t realize anything is awry. He’s in a state wherein his wakefulness is still catching up to him, and he has not yet built the capacity to acknowledge anything.

As he’s wiping a line of drool from his face, he notices the beams of light spilling over the swinging hammock in front of them. His first thought, technically, is that he wishes he’d have slept on that. His second is that he hasn’t seen sunlight in a while.

It all catches up to him at once. Seungmin’s first thought is to jump up. This causes him to stumble, but eventually, find his footing and take his groggy self to the curtainless window. The pockets of light seeping through it strike him so suddenly he has to hold an arm up to shield his eyes from overexposure, but his excitement cannot contain him long enough to look away. 

His next instinctive reaction is to run back to Minho and shake him awake. Minho wakes quickly but responds with slight aggression, attempting to pull covers over his head to the utter dismay of nothing covering him up.

‘Hyung! Hyung! You have to get up!’

‘Go away.’ Minho mumbles, his mussed hair and smudged eye shadow a beautiful sight in these circumstances.

‘There’s daylight!’ Seungmin practically yells. ‘Daylight! Daylight!’

And then, to ensure they were really secure, Seungmin peers down at his hands and is delighted to see no ring. 

Minho is still squinting and barely regaining his senses when Seungmin decides he has to do something with the energy curdling under his bones and rattling him from the inside. 

He doesn’t wait before swinging past the entryway, leaping past the hall space to the back door, and feeling the sun spill over his shoulders as he stands under it. It encases him in autumnal warmth, and even with the accompaniment of a light breeze, Seungmin has never appreciated the feeling of peering up at a bright sky so much.

He hears the door click behind him and bears witness to Minho’s lucid shock. A sleepy depiction of astonishment. A sight as simple as the sun sunken between beds of clouds feels so invigorating; Seungmin never wants to take it for granted ever again.

Minho walks up to him, and before Seungmin can decide against it, he pulls him forward into a hug. His arms squeeze against his frame, and his head falls onto his shoulder. Quietude stretches thin as Minho circles his arms around his neck and pulls him closer, a hand pressed into his hair. A corporeal reminder that Seungmin’s last few nights had not been a figment of his imagination.

‘We did it,’ Seungmin quietly mumbles into his shoulder, ‘I don’t know how, but we did.’

Minho is silent for a few contemplative moments before whispering, ‘Do you think things will be going back to normal?’

Thankfully, the answer to that question comes quite soon, as their moment of jovial solitude is interrupted by the sound of the door creaking and clicking again. Seungmin lifts his head and makes direct eye contact with Chris, who is carrying a very large duffle bag and looks to have accidentally stayed the night as well.

‘What am I looking at?’ He asks, rubbing at one eye as if to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming. ‘Are you trying to strangle each other?’

Seungmin remorsefully lifts himself out of Minho’s embrace and tries to hand him a loving pat on the back, to which Minho’s expression does not evoke a positive reaction. ‘Nope. We’ve made a truce.’

‘For the sake of the team.’ Minho says, smiling in the same devilish way he would before making Seungmin do something embarrassing for a debate meeting. 

Seungmin quite likes the implications of things not changing too much. He thinks he'll be content as long as he still gets to take Minho on excellent dates occasionally.

‘Yep,’ Seungmin nods along, ‘for the sake of the team.’

Epilogue: Time Out

Seungmin can’t stop twisting the knob on his timer and listening to the steady click of every second passed. 

The fidgeting doesn’t help distract him much, so he resorts to tapping his feet against the ground to the tune of a song he’d gotten stuck in his head that morning. 

The 40-minute bus ride from Tacoma to Seattle was only so extraneous because their team had been reduced to a state of raucousness only mildly tamed by Chris’s impromptu motivational speech. 

They go over their argumentative motion, with Minho and Chris posing questions that may potentially be directed at them, and the cyclic exercise of ensuring everyone knows how to respond accordingly shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking for Seungmin.

He recalls a time when the competitive zeal of participating in an event like this had ingrained itself into his entire sense of self. A time when he would be asked to co-lead practice runs and team exchanges. It’d been so long since then that he can’t find a means of retracing the steps that took him there in the first place.

Jeongin and Hyunjin, the only two members with no prior experience with competitive debate, are being given another run-down by Chris when Seungmin hears someone take the chair by him. He can see behind the stage curtains from here and can’t remember how speaking in front of a crowd larger than seven people last felt.

He knows it’s Minho the second he’s near because he’s proudly caked in Chanel No. 5, a scent that has stuck onto some of Seungmin’s favorite articles of clothing. His recognition is only affirmed when Minho takes his hand away from the timer and encases it in his. 

‘I’m nervous.’ Seungmin states the obvious. ‘It’s been a while since…you know, and I can’t recall how I used to deal with the nerves.’ 

‘Seungmin, I’ve seen your earnings,’ Minho draws something on his palm with his index finger. ‘You know, I gave you such a tough time in our meetings because I knew you could handle it.’ 

‘Right, so, not because you had it out for me?’ 

‘People can have multiple motives,’ Minho shrugs casually, as if not disremembering crucial details. ‘This whole thing is a little silly when you think about it. We wear formal clothes to come here and professionally argue about stuff.’

Seungmin offers a half-hearted laugh, only semi-upturned by the statement. He knows how much it would mean for the team to do well and earn something grander than a participation trophy.

‘Seungmin,’ Minho twists his head so Seungmin has no option but to stare back into his eyes, ‘we gave you the role of opener because we trust you. That kind of thing isn’t passed around lightly.’ 

Seungmin exhales, smiling slightly when the motion makes a tuft of Minho’s hair move. ‘What if I fuck it up?’ 

‘You really think those guys would hold a grudge against you for that?’

Minho points behind him, where a few team members have paused their revisions to stack as many water bottles as they can manage. 

Seungmin smiles, feeling for the empty space around his neck where his camera’s strap would usually be. 

He turns back to Minho, grasping every bit of his attention for himself before raising two L-shaped fingers to emulate a framing motion before pretending to click down on a camera button.

‘What was that?’ Minho asks, bafflement twisting his features.

‘I’m taking a mental picture.’ Seungmin simply says, screwing his eyes shut as if to locate a slot for the image.

Minho doesn’t respond. Seungmin sees something as kindredly quiet as their shared silences in his eyes. Stillwater pools into his irises and his blinks are more disparate, as if he’ll take every second he can to look back at him. Seungmin thinks no picture could capture the feeling this invokes in him.

His past is bleeding into his future. His worldview could be stilted, torn apart, and shredded in a day. Time could stand still and reverse and shove him into its empty fissures. But Minho would stay the same.

Seungmin’s present can never be swiped from him. He lives in his present, no matter what. Minho leans forward to capture his lips, and Seungmin can taste increments of the coffee he’d drank on their way here. He kisses him and knows that this moment can never be displaced. 

In every iteration of their lives, Minho would stay the same.