Archive of Our Own

Hanbin watches the 1 next to his message disappear.

Minnie-hyung
Ok
Just Jerk tomorrow at 11?

Hanbin shows up to Just Jerk a few minutes early. He used to come here so often that the teachers joked they should put his name on one of their storage lockers. But back then, when Hanbin moved out of the Cube dorms and had nothing left to do, there wasn’t anywhere else he wanted to go. It’s an in-between space he can go to between his last big thing and the next; that’s how he ends up here again.

When everything is too much, all Hanbin’s body wants to do— can do— is dance. The person who has always understood that was Min. That’s why he agrees right away, no questions asked.

Min was there before Hanbin ever showed up. Min held on the longest, when everyone else had already gotten off the ride. Min watched everyone come; he also watched everyone go.

But Min always understood him, understood that they were both people who needed to move, to dance their stress away when everything else is falling apart. They both left, they both joined Loud, but Hanbin never held it against him that he made it much further. That he made it to the end.

“Hanbinie!” Min greets him with a hug and a big smile. “It’s been so long.” He sounds as fond as he always is. He doesn’t comment on the bags under Hanbin’s eyes or how greasy his hair looks.

“Minnie-hyung,” Hanbin sighs, unable to hide his excitement. “I’ve missed you.”

They haven’t been able to really see each other when they were both training after Loud. They’ve barely had time to see their own family. But Min squeezes Hanbin’s shoulder and it makes up for lost time.

They get to dancing.

It’s good. Whenever Hanbin gets like this, he needs to sweat it out. They decide to learn a new piece of choreography and Hanbin remembers why he loves this. The repetition. The honing. It’s like sharpening a knife, perfecting every detail until he’s satisfied. The fun part is that he’s never satisfied.

“Take five?” Min calls out.

Hanbin looks at him through the mirror. Min is already sitting on the ground, sipping from his water bottle as he watches Hanbin. Hanbin looks at himself. There’s a massive sweat stain on the front of his shirt; the back must be worse.

Hanbin finds his spot next to Min. He listens to Min. Maybe it’s because Min is just a great hyung, or maybe it’s because he trained himself to believe that. Leftover training that stuck with him.

Hanbin glances over at Min in a way he hopes isn’t too critical. “Are you still dancing regularly?”

Min looks back at him, unoffended somehow. Only because it’s Hanbin. “Is it that obvious?” He laughs, breath still uneven. “You know I'd rather hide away in the music studio.”

Hanbin looks at the floor. He knows. That’s why Min lasted so long at Cube; he made music, good music, the next idol-producer in the making. They loved him so much that they kept him locked away like a princess in a tower, rotting. It should be called torture when they dangle the promise of debut just out of reach for three years.

They’re vampires; sucking his best years and his spirit out of him before tossing him out for new blood.

“I hadn’t danced for almost three months before I left,” Min says. Different company, same old story. “They didn’t see the point anymore after the one-year mark.” A lot changes in a year. This time last year, Boys Planet was just a concept, two words in the back of Hanbin’s mind.

“Is this it for you?” Hanbin looks in the mirror. Min is slouching, all the posture training out the window.

Min snickers resignedly. “I’m old news. Even Yeonwoo is an adult now.”

Yeonwoo was just a kid even by the time Hanbin got there. It’s bizarre thinking of that kid, with wide eyes and fluffy hair, now being an adult. Things keep changing. What Min is saying is true. There will always be something newer and shinier coming along and one day, Hanbin will be old news too.

“Maybe I’ll enlist.” Min turns to Hanbin, smiling. “Get it over with?” It’s his attempt to make Hanbin smile.

Hanbin has to laugh or the twisting in his gut will worsen. “You’d look so weird without hair.” But he knows Min is telling the truth; even Hanbin is getting too old for most companies. Hanbin feels like he’s down to his last shot but Min has emptied out his barrel.

Min had been his hero. He was the one who would gather all of them up for practice, the one who consoled the crying trainees, the one who could make anyone laugh. All of Hanbin’s leadership skills have been built from mimicking him until he felt confident enough in his own skin. Min looked like he’d be the one to make it out of the practice room for certain. But looking at Min now, older, beaten down, slumping over like a bag of flour, Hanbin feels a weird sad guilt growing inside him. Min fought his way through a show to prove something and Hanbin followed in his footsteps; but they’re both back here at JustJerk, both still miserable and waiting. Built up frustration and misery with nowhere to go.

Min is still watching him, the look in his eyes turning softer. Maybe he got softer with time, or with distance, but Min lets it slip. “You’ll be okay.”

God, Hanbin must look terrible for Min to break out the sappy shit. It’s not true, anyway— Min is here too, isn’t he? He wants to yell at Min. What did you do all of this for? Was it worth it?

It hurts to think about it. There’s been too much hurting. “Thanks.” Hanbin sniffs, turning away. Now he feels hot and sticky in a way that isn’t from dance practice. He can’t think about it. Everything is changing, minute by minute outside this dance studio.

“I watched all of it,” Min says. Hanbin cringes. Is Min going to tell him he voted every day too? Kept daily screenshots? Should Hanbin thank him?

Then Min’s grin stretches out, wide and dark.

“You’ll be bigger than anything we were supposed to be.” Supposed to be hangs between them. If things were different, Min and Hanbin were supposed to be something together; but that world seems far away now. “I know it.”

Hanbin wants to argue. You don’t know that. Min has no idea what they could’ve been if they got to debut together, and he has no idea what will happen to Hanbin. But Min gives him a firm look. His leader look, his hyung look, his just trust me look.

For a moment, Hanbin lets himself believe again. If it’s coming from Min, he can believe it.

Hanbin stands up. “Let’s get back to dancing.” They still have ten minutes before their hour is done and Hanbin needs to rid himself of this heavy feeling in his chest and throat from looking at Min and thinking about this.

Min smiles, his hand reaching up in the air. “Then we’ll go get lunch? My treat.” Hanbin takes his hand and pulls him up with a grunt. This is like old times; if Hanbin closes his eyes and just listens to the noise of sneakers against the floor, it feels just like Cube. After practice, they’ll go out to eat at the restaurant Yekun likes, Yunseo will rattle on about last night’s game, and Geonwoo will beg Min to listen to his new song. Then they’d all go home and pass out on the couch together.

“Okay,” Hanbin says quietly, contently, their hands still touching. “Thanks, hyung.”